The book that had arrived in the brown paper wrapping was a whole lot better than any books I'd ever seen before. After looking at a few of the pictures, I started feeling wonderfully warm. I thought of that night with my brother Harold-instinctively I slid my hand down and began rubbing my crotch, turning the pages absent mindedly.
There was a photo of a girl with perfectly enormous breasts, all spread out in a weird position, with one rather good-looking young man pushing his dong into her cunt, and another one in a sort of straddle, so she could suck on his thing, which was the size of a salami, I swear. From her expression, and theirs, everybody was enjoying themselves. I wasn't though; I was plain envious-mostly of her development.
People have said I'm a bit overdeveloped for my age, but in that town, that didn't mean much. I didn't think so anyway.
Then I jumped up and opened the bathroom door so I could look in the mirror, and just stood there-dissatisfied. I have this good thick crop of hair, which I was wearing in a couple of braids just now, and I was wearing my house pajamas. I opened up the jacket front, and stared hard.
Mine were just nowhere, compared to those in the picture; about the size of apples, and the nipples weren't any bigger than pale pink dimes. They'd never get to be that size, I thought, no matter how enthusiastically Bo squeezed them-the way he had been doing lately down at the Passion Pit That was about Bo's limit, though if the movie were long enough he got as far as snapping at my pantie elastic once or twice.
Then there was the matter of hair; the young woman in the photo had an elegant triangle of thick fur, and me? Well! I had decided to check again, and undid my pajama bottoms, and dropped them. Fuzz as I thought. My brought Harold had more hair than that on his chest. Phooey.
I didn't put my p.j.'s hack on, because I was feeling warm and my skin tingled a bit- maybe the effect of the book. I flopped on the bed again, on my back, and took another long, envious look, turning the pages.
Now, this one was peculiar, I thought I hadn't known one could do that with such a large candle; I'd already tried it several times with a small candle, weeks and weeks before, and the first time wasn't any fun. Then, the second time, it felt nice, but nothing to write home about. Possibly, if I got a really big candle, I thought, studying the photo, I could have as much fun as this girl seemed to be having. And then, oh jeepers, I did something. I flipped at my clitoris with my finger-I went twang all over, and jumped about a foot straight up.
Well, for a couple of minutes I was just socked out I mean, I just lay there, damp all over and stars and colored lights rolling around in front of my eyes.
When I started beginning to feel a bit better, I just shut the book, got the wrapper back on real fast, and slid out the door and down the stairs, dropping it on the hall table where Harold would find it I mean, it scared me. And just as I ran back up the stairs, naked as a jaybird, who do I hear coming up the walk but Harold, naturally. It wasn't so much seeing me without my clothes on, because I suspected he'd done that quite a few times already, the lecher, but if he guessed I'd been at his book, all hell would break loose.
I got into my room, and in to the tub, where I was soaking comfortably when Harold came trotting upstairs. He didn't even know I was home, I thought, so I tried not to splash as I got out and dried myself. The tub hadn't done what I had hoped it would; I was still feeling very peculiar. I wondered if this was what a girl I knew had meant by saying she was horny.
I flopped on the bed and listened. I could hear Harold in his room and. his shoes thudded on the floor; then, the bed creaked a bit Alter a minute I heard the bed creak again, several times, in a regular way.
What Harold doesn't know-because I never told him-is that the peephole he managed to fix up in his bedroom wail to look in at me isn't the only one. I made a much better one in my bedroom closet, from which I can see Harold's room just fine. So I went on in, put my eye to the hole, and froze.
There was Harold, all right, flopped out on his back on his bed with that book in one hand and his wang in the other, and pulling away on it He was all naked and he wasn't half had, for a big yellow-haired lump. But that thing of his, in his hand, was a real surprise. It wasn't anywhere up to those gigantic pricks in the book, but it was a heller for a boy of sixteen-though I had to remember I was no expert on comparative sizes. The only one I'd ever gotten close to was old Bo's-and the time I accidentally-on-purpose grabbed it when it popped out of his fly during a double feature ... well it retreated like a scared snake into a hole.
Harold's didn't look like it was about to retreat at all-not from where I was. It was big long, and flushed-looking, with a lump of a head on top; and while I was at it, I noticed that Harold had a lot of hair, not like me, he had a real bush. But he was so busy I doubt he'd have noticed anything, even my breathing-which was pretty hard. He just kept flipping the pages with one hand, and himself with the other, moving around and kicking. And then, all of a sudden, he let out a big groan, and squirted a lot of creamy-looking stuff. After that he lay back and, closing his eyes, went a little limp, and so did his fascinating cock, darn it!
I just stood there, listening to his breathing for a while, and studying that thing of his. Of course-I kept telling myself-you aren't supposed to do it with your brother, because that's called excess or something like that, but looking isn't doing, is it?
The way Harold was snoring, I took it for granted he was not going to wake up unless there were an earthquake, and I'd had experience trying to wake him up. So I thought it might be kicky just to slide in and have a closer look, since he was lying there on his back, ready for inspection. I tiptoed out of my room (and, incidentally, completely forgot to put anything on, being in such a hurry) and into Harold's room, quiet as a mouse, and right up to him, where a ray of afternoon sunshine fell on his limp soldier.
Oh, gee, I thought, isn't that too bad, poor thing, all bent over and shrunken that way when it looked so marvelous before. So I gently reached out and touched the object and ran a finger down over his balls, a pair of plums.
Was I ever surprised? That dong of Harold's went right up as if somebody had a string tied to it-zip. It gave me a weird feeling of power, as if I'd pressed a button and released an atomic bomb or something like that There it stood, quivering a bit, straight up, and Harold still sound asleep, though he grunted and shifted a little. I bent over really close now and couldn't resist one more touch and it grew a full half inch. It was fascinating.
Staring at it, I wondered how the girl in the book had managed to put such a big one, bigger than this, in her mouth, and what it taste like. I was hypnotized. I bent over, closer and closer, kneeling on the bed beside Harold now, and almost as if it were an accident, I opened my mouth and came down on his quivering cock. I remember thinking, in a confused way, that he hadn't awakened at being touched before and maybe ... well, there I was, with his cock between my lips, my tongue on it, and I just tasted it a little. Faintly salty, but nice; I gave a small sucking motion, like a popsicle.
Harold emitted this weird sound, between a gasp, a choke, and a laugh, and flung up his hands, which landed right on my crotch. He dug fingers in and I went absolutely ape. I sucked three or four long ones, not being too careful about teeth either, while his fingers stirred around on my cunt, and he made some more noises.
I had to let go just as I began to notice a dampness on his thing that wasn't spit, be needed a lot more air so I could yell, which I did. And then Harold woke up, with his hands still on my crotch, and sat up giggling at me.
"Uh! Honey!"
I was sitting, naked as an egg, still holding his cock, and he was sitting with his right index finger two joints up inside me and it must have been a great way to come to.
For a minute he just stared, his eyes like saucers, and then he started to laugh. And then I laughed too.
It took us both a minute to get out of the hysterical mood, and then he tried looking serious.
"What are you doing, Honey?" he said. "I mean, don't you realize? ..."
"I could ask you the same thing," I said, and he noticed where his finger was. He pulled it out, but the effect on the way out was almost as spectacular on me as it had been on the way in. I let out a squeal, and fell over the bed, spread out, grabbing at Harold's prick, but missing. He tried another speech, but the words didn't come out. Old Debbil Nature took over, let's face it Two or three seconds, and he was on top of me, squashing me down flat under him, working his wang around till it was right there in the lobby of my cunt, so to speak.
I was in a helpful mood, so I managed to get a hand free and catch his balls and put two fingers around the base of that tool, just for steering purposes. A quick tickle back there, and he drove it right on in, like driving a fencepost into the ground, with two or three long strokes.
"Groovy!" I said, fingering his asshole, and he began to heave up and down, while I really started enjoying the whole thing. My nipples had popped right up and turned a bright pink, almost as good as my rival in the book, and I had an all-over melting sensation, as if I had turned to active jelly of some kind. I could feel every lovely inch of prick right up there inside, stuffing me like a sausage, so damn big that it felt as if it were about ready to come out my mouth. However, what came out instead were all sorts of encouraging remarks that I hadn't known were in me.
"Man, go, go, go, sock it to me, ooh, like a goddamned RRRRABBIT!" I yelped. "SCREW! OOOH, MAMA!"
And then, I felt several new and highly interesting sensations all at once. One of them was at rippling feeling down inside, where several muscles I hadn't known about were starting to squeeze and milk Harold's driving dong.
Next, there was a curious vibrating thing, as if someone were plucking on my spinal cord-but fun! It started twanging faster and faster, and my vaginal thing kept squeezing harder in time with it, and then, Harold let out a hooting noise and started to bite on one of my tits, which seemed to do the trick for both of us. I went up off the bed onto my heels and shoulders in a perfect arched parabola with my spine turning into a 20,000 volt high tension line, and Harold hooted. I felt a gigantic jet of warm wet cream flood me all over, and we collapsed, wheezing.
About five minutes later, Harold was beginning to come to, and getting analytical.
"We shouldn't have!" he said.
"Only we did," I pointed out.
"It's all your fault"
"All right," I was perfectly willing to take the blame. "Except you were banging your meat all by yourself. That isn't healthy."
He stared at me. "Healthy! Look who's talking! You ... why, you're only fourteen and doing this, and with ... with your own brother."
"You did it, with your own sister," I said, sweetly. By this time I was curled attractively at the end of the bed, adjusting my braids, and feeling gorgeously contented.
"It isn't normal," he said.
"How would you know?"
"I mean, normal girls ... well, they don't."
"Ha, ha," I told him, "I could number the virgins at South High on the fingers of ... one foot" Well, that might have been a little exaggerated, but dose.
"That's silly," he said, frowning. "Lots of girls ... won't."
"Won't, hey?" I said. "Such as who?"
"Dot Trent," he said. "She doesn't ..."
"Well, well," I said. "So my brother the make out artist didn't make out last Friday night, hey? That was why you looked so flustered. She fought you off, did she"
"I didn't try to make her!" he denied, looking foolish enough naked.
"Oh yes you did, brother Harold," I said. I noticed something else interesting, as I talked; his tool was starting to recover a bit As far as I was concerned, I'd recovered right off the bat.
"She told me all about it," I said smugly. "You got to feeling and flapping ... why, the poor girl was so bothered she almost died. Had that busy finger in there, too, didn't you?"
He glared. "Do you girls tell each other everything?"
"Everything," I said, my eye on the rising barometer of his dong. Hmm, I thought, if he's that interested in young Dotsy, a tottering spinster a whole year older than I, and as anxious a virgin as myself, too ... sort of.
"I'll bet you could make her, if you had a little help," I said, grinning. "From me, for instance. I think I could fix it up ..." His interest was coming up, all right.
I lolled around on the bed, rubbing my head up against his side, nipping with my teeth.
"If you do get her where I am, right now ..." I said.
"Hey!" he said.
"Will you let her suck on this a little ...?" I grabbed at it, and let go, just to tease. He flushed and snatched at me, so I rolled hastily onto my belly, reared up a bit, and peered around at him.
"Maybe you could get her into this position?" I suggested. "I think it's one on page 83 ... and stick your big ol' cock right on in ... oh!"
He hadn't been able to resist those apple cheeks of mine, wiggling up at him. My rear is my best point, I think-small, round, firm, and neatly divided as a peach.
He slid it right in this time, and it went straight to the bottom and struck hard, with a bong. I was really wet, hot and anxious, and I worked him for all he was worth, knowing we hadn't much more time. He rammed harder and harder, as I twisted around under him, and then he grappled my apples, one in each hand, drove it in good and hard, and hung there, gasping.
I tried those new muscles deliberately this time, moving in rhythm, my hips swaying as I let my lower lips suck gently, and then faster, one, two, three, CRASH-BANG, and I went all to pieces, floating away in a sea of electrical jello, while Harold creamed marvelously. And a half-hour later he fucked me again, but I told you about that. This time it was several minutes before conversation time, and I decided to take no chances. I was at the door when Harold started to stir.
"Better get covered up, Harold," I told him. "Uncle George."
"Uh," he said.
"I always keep promises," I told him with a Mate Han wink, and a wriggle of my entirely-contented hips. "You and Dottie will make it, trust your girl, Honey. Bye!"
Just incidentally, I happened to know why Uncle George was an absolutely safe bet not to come home while I was carrying on in that utterly perverse way. Uncle George owns the biggest and fanciest drugstore in town, and is a pharmacist himself, but he usually knocks off at three, leaving the place in the hands of Junior Kelso, who is a pill-mixer too, and quite old, almost twenty-five. However, Junior was a positive dreamboat, and very cool, and I know about some of his goings on; and after a prolonged and panting description of his techniques, which I overheard Lily Dacker giving, I had my mind made up that one of these days he was going to bruise my girlish flesh.
Though that might have one difficulty, Junior being as cool a cat as he was; he was therefore careful, too, and in no position to go around risking becoming the prison drugstore manager for the old statutory thing. That was about the main stumbling block in the way of most of us hot-blooded maidens around town-the fact that most males knew about the law. Even if we rip our own garments off and offer our pulsing flesh to some groovy cat, we're in much less danger than he is, until we pass the magic age-point. Pfah!
But Uncle George wasn't risking that; it was something else. Old George had a very close friendship with Miss Lula Grover, a young and curvy spade chick who lived in Gomera Junction, nine miles down the main highway-about ten minutes drive if you leaned on it, and Uncle George leaned on it whenever he got word that Miss Lula Grover's boy friend, Mr. Aldridge Sutter, was off on business elsewhere.
As I saw it, Mr. Sutter's function was physical and spiritual stimulation, which I rather thought Miss Lula needed a whole lot of; and my Uncle George, besides getting something stimulated himself, supplied one of the other ingredients a girl needs to stay young and beautiful-namely bread, loot, or cash, to be crude about it.
I was pretty well in on the whole thing, for one reason or another, as I earnestly hoped Mr. Aldridge Sutter wasn't Mr. Aldridge Sutter was a large, wide, gorgeous hunk of shiny black muscle, who had been a railroad worker before he entered new fields. He was now, believe it or not, a playwright and poet, and something in demand; he often went about organizing riots, protesting, turning up on TV, and lecturing to white folks who wanted to have their consciences shaken up.
Speaking of the great race thing, we are way ahead of the ignorant South up here in Connecticut, and while blacks still get paid less, work harder, and can't go around getting too uppity in some places, there are some things where equality goes, baby. I mean for instance, if Uncle George happened to get caught while clutching Lula's elegant coffee-colored body in his arms, he would undoubtedly get the finest thumping Mr. Aldridge Sutter could hand out, and there would be no lyching afterward either; just a good many laughs-on Uncle George.
As for my knowing about it, well ... that's a long story, and mostly, it comes from my close friendship with Lula's younger sister Jill, who confides things. Also, from my fascination with Mr. Aldridge Sutter, who is such a luscious lump of pure, vibrating male that I am damn sure any well-brought-up Southern girl would have dropped her pantalettes and begged to be defiled after one look at him. He was a living bilThoard in favor of miscegenation, and I itched to be miscegenated, should the chance arrive.
So, knowing that Lula was going to be her seductive self, nine miles away, I figured out the chances on Uncle George. Three fifteen, arrive; two rounds, a rest, some discussion of Lula's finances, and arrival at a figure, followed by one more round, and a longer rest. Three was about usual according to Jill, and at Uncle George's age, it was phenomenal. But then, there were all those vitamins, free after all.
So, when Uncle George, baldheaded, pink, and respectable, came in the front door, I was just descending, also pink and respectable, to carol a girlish greeting, and pop off to check Mrs. Achover, our housekeeper and cook. The image of a nice girl, that's me.
But I was laying my plans now. Harold's performance was so impressive that I had to plan really wild sequels. And, if he got Dottie ... well, I'd be doing her a favor, I could see that. A favor deserves a favor, doesnt' it?
Chapter Two
Some day, if I ever can figure out how, I'm going to find out something that puzzles me. It's this: Here we are in South Sodom, Connecticut, which looks just like everywhere else in the whole country, as far as I can see-same kind of people, same everything, right? I don't think we're any different here, so maybe the question I have is the same all over. The older people all do the same things, and pretend they don't, and you know what things, as well as I do. But most of them seem to really believe kids axe different from themselves. They really think we know nothing at all. And, they get awfully surprised and shocked when one of us gets caught doing something they do every day, as if it were something really unique.
So, my question is very simple, really. Are kids like my generation something new, or are all these grown people lying about that, too? Did people act so differently, back in the dark ages, before I came along?
I had a habit of thinking deep thoughts, that way, all the time. And that little incident with Harold certainly gave me plenty to think about, except that every time I thought about it I got all hot in the crotch and slightly woozy. At least once in the next couple of days I thought about it so hard I nearly wet myself. On the other hand, Harold was obviously doing his best not to recall any such events, and careful not to get into a spot where it might happen again.
That's something else I thought about. I mean, I always understood women were less sexy than men, or at least that they were more moral about it, or something. But I was beginning to think it was another story about the same as the one about storks.
But if there was one thing that was pretty clear, it was that it wasn't going to be easy to get that stud Harold in the saddle again. And now that I'd actually tried it, I could hardly wait for more of it. But as I've already said, most of the males around who could even be thought of as suitable were cagey cats, and you could tell that the thought of that statutory rape stuff was right up front in their heads.
For a while, I seriously considered old Bo, my movie swain, but there were reasons why not. For instance, I could possibly get him alone, but the chances were it would take place in that old Buick of his, and it didn't look comfortable. A second reason was that I was sure, from reading, that Be was probably pretty second rate in the screwing department; young eager types like him just get the thing in an inch or two, give two or three sliding motions, and go off, leaving the female half of the combination in a steamingly unsatisfied state. And third, and most important, Be was a great talker, and before you knew it, my reputation would be pretty much all over town.
One thing about Harold you could count on; he'd never talk about it. If he ever got caught, it wouldn't do a bit of good to go on about the ancient Egyptians, and how brother and sister used to ball as a regular thing. They wouldn't care about any old ancient Egyptians. Nope.
So, that left the idea of getting him into the sack with Dottie, and, since I most certainly wasn't going to get left out, me too.
I knew one thing about Dottie, and I was pretty sure Harold didn't know-that she wasn't a virgin. Of course, her sex life had been pretty microscopic, consisting of one fun filled hour or less in the back of that same Buick belonging to Bo. It had been Bo's friend Sam who had done the deflowering. (By the way, there's a funny word. I used to think there was some sort of daisy stuck in there, when I was around nine, and I looked for it once or twice but never could find it.)
According to Dottie, Sam had been really slick about getting her pants off and her dress up around her neck, and getting her so hot with all sorts of finger-fucking and the like that she couldn't say word one, let alone No. And there she was, with the springs under her going throom, and her ankles out on the window in the back seat, all spread out; so Sam came down like the well-known lion, but after a half hour of getting it in there and twitching, he left like a lamb. With apologies yet-which, from Dottie's account, were richly required.
Dottie had told me all about it, including her present conviction that sex was something of a bust, and probably wasn't worth the trouble. Sam had definitely caused a poor image, all right. As l saw it, it was up to me to reverse the image if possible.
My campaign began fast; I was at Dottie's house after school, and we were mutually be-wailing problems, such as the school grade situation, me with my trouble with math, and Dottie having problems in English. There was nobody else at home, which made it a good time for bright ideas.
I managed to subtly drag the conversation around to the possibility that Dottie's marks were sliding because of psychological problems, end so on. She turned down the record player in the middle of a Doors piece, which meant she really wanted to hear more about her psychological problems, so I pressed on. Maybe her sex life was unfulfilled, I mentioned, off-handedly. She looked a little odd, and asked me whether mine was, since I talked so easily about it.
"Oh, well ... " I said, mysteriously. "Hmm. I manage." Which led things around to how I managed. I was prepared for that one, too.
I had ordered the thing by mail weeks before, in fact, long before I managed to get Harold, and if I'd known how nice the real thing is, I'd never have bothered. Not that it wasn't adequate enough as a make-do, and certainly a lot more useful than those ridiculous candles. This thing was a rubber-covered vibrator, shaped like a thick finger, with a little electric motor and everything. Very clever, actually. The instructions said it was intended to massage gums or intimate, difficult to reach, orifices. Well, my gums were in great shape, but my orifices weren't so I tried it out, and it was fine ... as a substitute, of course.
I had named it Charles, after an old friend of mine who vibrated a good deal too, and I had Charles right there in my bag, with fresh batteries and all. So, I brought him out.
I must digress, as they say, and mention that we were lounging around Dottie's room more or less fully dressed, the uniform of the day being blue jeans and shirts with the tall out. Dottie, being the spectacularly-brunette type, looks absolutely savage in a white shirt, especially since she has a tan, and besides, she has these perfectly pointed bazooms, twice the size of mine. They push out a white shirt with great effect.
Dottie took a look at Charles, and goggled.
"What a crazy lipstick!" she said.
"This is Charles, and he's no lipstick," I said, with dignity. "He's a boon to fretful females and worried women. Charles is everything a man ought to be but frequently isn't, and I don't have to mention Sam, do I?"
At which Dottie turned very pink, and giggled.
"Frankly, I'm very fond of Charles here," I told her. "But I'm an emancipated woman, and I'm not jealous, so I'll lend him to you. Your glands will get all toned up, and you'll feel like a new girl, you bet."
"What!" Dottie looked as if she were trying to be indignant. But curiosity won. It took a good bit more argument, but in a while, we were peeling our jeans, and undoing our blouses, for a little experimenting with Charles the magical electric dildo.
Dottie was blushing all over by the time she got bare-ass, which looked dandy with her tan; I must say I was just a little green-eyed with envy at those tits, too. I had seen them before, but they seemed to be growing every day.
"Just lie down over here, comfortable," I said, and jumped up next to her, "and let Auntie Honey show you how it's done. Now, here's his little button; he has three speeds, like this ... slow." I pushed the button, and Charles uttered a lustful buzz. Dottie, lying on her back, with her naked tummy quivering, closed her eyes and looked scared.
I got right down to the point. I put Charles in among Dottie's thick furry bush, and worked him down to the crack, where her cit was hiding like a pink mouse in a field. I buzzed him against it, and she made a noise, WUH!
"That's his slow speed," I told her. "Now, medium ..." I sped him up a bit, and her legs began to spread out, almost of their own accord. I worked Charles around, opening her cuntlips carefully, and popping back for another? visit to the clitoris from time to time, until Dottie was flopping wildly, and gasping, bending up and down in the middle.
"And now, for a sample of the high speed ..." I said, and threw Charles into top gear; then I pushed him, buzzing madly, right up her wet, throbbing crack, and deep inside, working him in and out a little. Dottie yowled with joy, and grabbed at my hand, so I relinquished Charles; she pushed him all the way in, bouncing and squealing.
Watching, I was getting pretty hot myself, and I used my fingers, rolling around beside Dottie, and beginning to feel great. Suddenly, Dottie rolled over on top of me, and grabbed at me, along the upper thighs, Charles still buzzing away inside her like a faithful little electric stud; she came down on my opened slit, and her tongue ran down and up, flicking at my clitoris until I started to say, "Ooooogh, oogh!"
Suddenly, Dottie went into orgasmic knots, and poor Charles literally popped out, flying across the room as if he'd been fired from a gun; but as she bounced, she managed to get hold of my cit between her teeth, and nip. I went off like a living bomb myself, and we both rolled off the bed with a crash.
"Ooh!"
"Oh, far out!"
Beth of us lay, gasping, and getting our wits back together. It took awhile, but we managed it finally.
However, Charles, when we located him, was unsprung. He had collided with the wail, and he no longer buzzed on low, middle, or high gear. We dressed hurriedly, Dottie apologizing.
"Perfectly all right," I said. "I could fix him, but I've got something even better at home."
"Better?" Dottie's eyes got saucer-shaped. "How could it be better?"
I could have told her, but I'm clever, I am. Charles' demise fitted my plans perfectly.
"My Uncle George's going to be gone all weekend," I told her. "You come over, around nine-thirty, and I'll show you."
"How about your brother?" she asked. "Won't he be there?"
Won't he though, I thought. But I shook my head.
I happened to know Harold's plans to the letter, and where he was spending the evening, though he thought it was a secret. He was attending a lecture, at the YMCA, on guess what. Yes. S-E-X.
He was probably trying to find out what it was all about, as if any man could ever know that. It was probably due to his conscience, and I'm ever so glad I don't have one.
At any rate, Dottie showed up promptly and I led her upstairs.
"First thing we do," I told her, "is take a bath."
"But why?" he said. "Not that It wouldn't feel Dice ... I'm awfully warm." She was damp, as a matter of fact. She had probably been unable to stop envisioning the mysterious whatzit that was better than Charles, and had gotten herself into a real work-up.
I simply looked mysterious, and we showered together. I took the opportunities offered, to tickle and pep her up a lot, because I knew there might be problems. Afterward, I wrapped each of us in a big towel and we went into Harold's room. She sat down on the bed, looking around with that kind of paralyzed curiosity about a boy's room that a girl gets; I dug into Harold's secret biding place, and came up with a whole library, as well as something else.
"Aha," I said. My brother's stash, a couple of dozen neatly rolled marijuana ciggies, something else that he didn't know I knew all about. I fetched out a lovely big joint.
"Let's turn on first," I said, and Dottie reluctantly agreed after a bit of lecturing about how it was perfectly safe. We dragged on the joint, and flipped through Harold's great collection of pictures and words; out of the corner of my eye, I could practically see Dot-tie starting to come to a slow, rolling boil, as she read on.
I glanced at the clock, and it was just about that time.
"Psst!" I said. "Quick, turn out the light!"
I had the girl hypnotized, I think, she was so quick about it, and asked hardly any foolish questions, and the pot had definitely taken effect, all right. She sat there in the dark, next to me, hunched up and giggling quietly, till I held my hand over her mouth. Harold was thumping up the stairs.
The sex lecture had blown his mind completely, as I thought it would; he went straight into the bathroom without passing through the bedroom, as I had hoped. From the sounds, he shucked his clothes in a single swoop, and jumped into the cold shower, per instructions of the YMCA expert. This was supposed to control the passions, according to their notions. Ha ha.. Cold showers just warm me up, as a matter of fact; but so do warm ones, and not bathing at all is a gas, too.
In a half a minute, Harold came right into the room, rubbing his head with a towel; he took a suspicious sniff, detecting the pot, and switched on the light. There he stood, pink, scrubbed and stark naked, with his tool cooled and limp, and there, on his bachelor bed, sat two-count em, TWO-naked chicks, gigglingly, ready for anything. Tableau!
He simple didn't move, except in one place. There, to refute the YMCA lecture, he rose, fast. His dingdong went up at 45 degrees, and stood, swaying but ready, looking like a bowsprit on an old sidling vessel, and putting out vibrations that were obviously destroying Dottie's mind.
"Lookie!" Dottie said, her mouth open, staring at it.
"Marvy," I said. "Wizard. Hey, Harold baby, what else can you do?"
"What's going on?" he finally managed to ask.
"What's coming off, you mean," I said, and made a snatch, removing Dottie's towel and my own. When those magnificent jugs of hers popped out and pointed at him, he simply goggled helplessly, and stared some more. His cock seemed to add at least an inch, at the sight.
Dottie giggled, wildly, and I did too.
"You get us both," I said, between giggles. "But you have to start somewhere, hurry up!"
"Uck!" he said. "I mean, you ... you've got to be kidding."
"No, she isn't," Dottie said, with surprising firmness. "I want to ..." and she paused, and added, less certainly, "I think"
"If he won't play, we can always repair Charles," I told her, which sent her into a fit of wild laughter. I was infected, and we put our arms around each other, rocking back and forth, laughing hysterically. Harold, as confused as he could get, came toward us; I don't know what he had in mind, possibly having us both committed to a funny farm, or what ... but there he was, within easy reach, and we reached.
We dragged the poor boy down like lionesses leaping on their prey, and had him on his back between us before you could say boo. He was completely helpless; Dottie knelt over him, holding his shoulders, while I had his legs. Only his penis managed to remain as upright as ever, waving away.
"This is silly!" he said, trying to get loose.
"Yep," I told him. "Ooh, Dottie, look at that thing! Can we hang a flag on it?"
"If we had a ..." Dottie said, and leaned over to grab at the upstanding mast; those unbelievable jugs of hers hung right over Harold's popping eyeballs, and I felt his temperature going up a degree a minute.
I let one leg go, and used the palm of my hand to pat his dong so it swung wildly; Dot-tie got right into the spirit of the thing right away, and we began a lively round of ping pong, batting it lightly to and fro. Every so often l added a quick fillip to his balls, which were swinging as if they were a double pendulum. He howled with a combination of indignation and frustration, snapping at those swinging fits over his face like a barracuda.
"Now he wants to play," Dottie said, "Are we in the mood, Honey, or shall we torture him some mere?"
"Ooh, am I ever in the mood!" I said. "But let's torture him some more, anyway."
"Try this," I said, and started giving small; wet, fast kisses up his thighs, along the inside, which made him buck like a bronco, especially after I got to his crotch. I took his balls between my teeth, and held them, flicking my tongue, which made him really make a noise or two. In the meantime, Dottie had followed my method, working her way down, peck-kisses along his shoulder, into the armpit, and onward. She had reached his bellybutton about the same time I had reached his bails, and his nose was rammed into her bellybutton as well. He really leaped about at this combination, and I nearly snapped his jewels off; so I let go for a second.
"He's getting away!" I said. "Hold him, Dottie!"
She rose up a bit, and got herself into a comfortable seat, spread legged across Harold's head; only his chin showed, with her curly black pubic hair around it like a beard.
"My, you look great with a beard, Harold," I giggled, and renewed my attentions to his upstanding dong.
For his part, he must have suddenly realized his position, and decided to take such advantage as he could, because Dottie straightened out her legs, and assumed one of those expressions. She looked positively paralyzed with pleasure, her mouth wide open and her eyes dosed, as she squealed, "Oooh, golly he ... HE'S BITING, OH, LOVELY!"
I grabbed at his cock with my hand, gently rubbing it up and down, and took the tip in my mouth, sucking. I was fairly boiling, myself, but I held back, not wanting to go too fast. I wanted Harold to last the course.
"Omigod!" Dottie said, and fell over on her back, kicking. Harold sat up, his eyes rolling and his tongue half out of his mouth, and I compassionately let go of his dingdong. He tried whipping around with the obvious intention of getting into the available Dottie, but I was too fast for him. He had assumed a sitting position, legs down off the bed, as he came around, and I made a quick spring, and landed on his lap, legs spread out, facing him. His cock squeezed right up inside the opening of my cunt, hot, wet, and quivering; the tip touched my clitoris, rubbing deliciously. I grabbed his waist and bounced, uttering wild wails of pleasure.
"Cripes!" he said, and gobbled at my fit, wriggling his hips cooperatively, while Dottie sat up and watched, giggling with wild abandon.
"Oh, wow!" I cried, as the tingle got better and better. I let his cock slide all the way in, and wriggled my hips too, just once or twice; then, with a deep breath, I slid off, regretfully.
"Got ... to ... divvy fair!" I said. "Whoops, no you don't!" as he tried to pull me back. "Next!"
I put a hand on his chest and pushed, and he was over on his back again; Dottie, quick to catch on, swung over him, on all fours, facing him. She let her luscious bobbies bounce on his nose, squealing with joy, and then, slowly, she lowered her hips to impale herself on his up thrusting wangeroo.
But old Harold-boy wasn't in any slow-moving mood, by now; he brought his hips up, and grabbed her bottom, pulling her down hard, and from the gasp she let out, I knew it had really sunk in all the way.
"Hoo, boy!" he gasped, one hand on her tight round rear, the other squeezing one of the jugs. His eyes rolled at me. "Wow, Honey ... wha ... WHO ..."
"Gogogo, whee!" Dottie was crying out. "Oh, god, SCREW!"
Which Harold was doing, well and truly.
"Gluh!" Harold said, and bent up into the air, Dottie pinned up there on his up thrusting pole and flapping madly with arms and legs out, her eyes rolling, coming like a locomotive. "Ooogh!" she said, and fell off, still kicking, as Harold's released cock shot a small jet of hot cream out and up.
"I bet you thought ... you were ... all through," I said, flinging myself at him, and encircling his wet, hot rod with my lips. I sucked heartily, and dug my fingers into his groin, to encourage him. Ah! It was rising a bit, the blood beginning to pulse in it, and I worked harder at it.
"Oh, CRIPES!" Harold said, as I thrust an inquiring finger behind him, and ran it up into his rear a bit. It was supposed to work, according to that book of his, and by golly, it did. His cock expanded, nearly choking me; I released it, slid upward like an amorous cobra ... that's the way the book put it ... and managed to get it between my legs. I sat up, and squeezed down, and now he was inside me, throbbing and pumping.
Yanking him over, I rolled on my back, and lifted my bottom to get it in there even deeper, while Harold pumped it in and out as hard as he could. It took him a bit longer this time, which was lovely, as far as I was concerned; I came once, and nearly blew up, and the second time, and squealing wildly, tried for a third. There seemed to be some extra hands somewhere, and I discovered Dottie was helping out, or observing with interest ... it was hard to tell which. She had an arm under my rear, and another one around my front, and she was lifting, squeezing my breasts, and laughing wildly.
"AAAGH!" Harold yelled, and went off, a lovely wet hot jet squirting way up inside. But enjoying it as I was, I was still trying for number three; I rolled free of him, heaving around and grabbing in a kookie way, and caught Dottie, who wrapped up with me in a head-and-tail arrangement. I felt her mouth busy down there in my little pink slit, her tongue diddling away; and I could hardly do less. I was shorter than she was, so I had to stretch just a bit, but I managed to do it. I got my tongue inside her, and lapped swiftly, and as expertly as I could, considering my confused condition.
Number three happened just then; it was like a small atomic bomb, more or less. From the shriek that Dotty let out, I knew she had done it too, and we collapsed, gasping, over Harold, who was utterly and completely shot to hell.
Now, there are lots of things I don't understand, and men are the first things on the list. I mean, if you listen to the average male-type citizen, you'll get the impression that he feels perfectly capable of coping with six or eight chicks at a time, dashing from one to the next, dipping his wick like a crazy candle maker, right? One chick is simple not enough to cope with such a stud, no, not at all. Two chicks, why, that's barely sufficient to keep him in practice.
Oh, sure. And, there was Harold, a big healthy boy, all sacked out, even -after Dot-tie and I recovered completely. Of course, if we had waited indefinitely, he might have started taking an interest again, but a girl hasn't got all night, not usually.
Dottie and I discussed the subject at length, but we just couldn't seem to come up with a reasonable answer.
"It's your fault, you know," Dottie told me, pouting. "I like it now, and I wouldn't have, if I hadn't tried it. But I've got a feeling Harold isn't going to be up to one of us, let alone two. Maybe we ought to toss for him."
"We did," I said, thinking hard. "All the tossing that would help any."
"Gee!" Dottie said. "Funny, funny. But I keep thinking you were right. My psychology needs men. I bet my marks are going to get better next week."
"Maybe we can get Harold alone again before they go down again," I told her.
"Golly, Honey, do you think we're nymphomaniacs?" Dottie asked, with a worried look. "I mean, I keep wondering if maybe we couldn't ... uh, try a different fellow."
"Two or three different fellows, I said. "Hey! How about that? Who, for instance?"
There was a sort of deafening silence. We were stuck.
Either we'd have to trap one, as we had trapped Harold, or no go. The town males were an elusive and scary lot, or else immature. In other words, we would have to extend our hunting range, and lie about our ages, too. But both of us had come to some fairly definite conclusions about one thing. We like balling, and we liked it lots and lots; and if there was any way we could possibly get enough of it, we would.
Chapter Three
Of course, we had no idea about methods or anything; just ambition and hot pants. And a three-day weekend; the following Friday was a school holiday, which was just as well, because psychology or- no psychology, neither one of us was doing too well in school.
Friday morning, bright and early, Dottie appeared at my house with the car, a fantastic fireball that belonged to Creeps Kuroski who worked at the garage. It had no insurance, and Dottie had no real driver's license, but Creeps would have loaned it to her in any case. He hoped desperately to sink his oily.
fingers into those boobs of hers, but he was always too busy to try. I guess he thought of the car as laying a ground-work, sort of. In any case, he had no particular worries, since he had excavated the car out of junk originally.
It was bright orange, with aluminum trimmings, and some of it was Ford. but lot of it was Kuroski.
I climbed in, and slung a bag of things into the back; Dottie pushed down the accelerator, and we were off in a cloud of smoke.
"I told them we were going to the beach," I said, above the noise of the car. "And we might stay over with your aunt in Portsville."
"Crazy," Dottie said, taking a curve with abandon. "If we can't find something like men in three days, we aren't the Terrible Twosome."
We were dressed for the hunt, frilly dresses, lipstick, stockings even ... the works. We looked eighteen, we hoped.
Our plans were a little indefinite, but we actually did intend to start operating at the beach, above Portaville. It was far enough from home so that we wouldn't be too likely to run across old acquaintances. And if nothing else, we could always swim, too.
As it turned out, that was about it. Swimming, hah.
We had arrived, and strolled around the town, which was one of the antique-and-quaint ones we've got around our end of the country. Then, up and down the boardwalk, and finally we sat and absorbed sodas, thoughtfully.
"Plenty of admiring glances," I said, under-toned.
"Married men," Dottie said, "and with their wives."
"It doesn't look like a good day," I said. "And I'm hot. Let's swim."
"I'm hot too," Dottie said, and aimed a bedroom glance at the soda jerk, who turned bright red, and retreated behind the milkshake machine. "But I don't think swimming will help. Still ... I've got this bikini."
She did indeed, and if the town constable hadn't been absorbed in a copy of Playboy magazine, he'd have had to arrest her. It was an ultimate sort of bikini; mine, while fairly skimpy, was practically a Mother Hubbard next to it.
We lolled a little, but it really was terribly hot, and the sea looked calm and cool. We went in and swam out; after while we floated on our backs, with those jugs of Dottie's up over the water like water wings.
There was a shining white hull, quietly lying a distance away, on the blue horizon.
"Oh, my," Dottie said, dreamily, staring at it. "Sailors."
"Millionaires," I said. "Dried-up ones, I'll bet."
"Sailors, too," Dottie said, rolling over lazily, and stroking slowly toward the distant boat.
I followed, but called out. "You can't swim all that way."
"I know, but ..." Dottie said, and then uttered a small shriek. "Eee!"
I thought of sharks, but -- after all, we were buddies. I splashed on, toward her, hurriedly, while she performed some odd antics, diving, and surfacing, and shrieking some more.
"I - GLUB! - lost the TOP!" she screamed loudly, and dived again.
And so she had. Expecting a two-inch band-aid to hold in those bobbing boobies was a bit much, if you ask me. But it was gone, all right, and there was the Town Constable, back there on the beach, ambling up and down. He'd finished his magazine, damn it!
"Indecent exposure!" I said. "Wow!"
We're very big on indecent exposure and lewd carriage and all that, up here in Connecticut.
Both of us tried diving, and splashing a good deal, but no go. But without it, we had a large problem, so we kept trying. We came up for about the fourteenth time, and there it was, plowing along toward us with a white spray of foam under its bows, shining gold-leaf letters reading Cailipygee II, and a voice, booming at us.
"All right, girls, keep calm!"
Keep calm, he says. And there are these beautiful big brown male types, leaning over and hurling lines and so on, and an enormous male' grabbing at Dottie as he leaned down, with both hands. She kept trying to explain. But she was lifted hastily, as if she weighed nothing at all; his big brown mitts were under her armpits, and up she went, into the yacht. I felt another pair of male hands under me, and up I went, absolutely twanging with it all.
However, Dottie was the main item in the show.
The large gentleman who had pulled her out stared at her lush boobs with an expression of total stun, stepped back a pace, and looked again. He was big, with iron-grey hair, an enormous nose, and skin the color of mahogany, which you could see a lot of, since he wore only shorts.
The other two were also large, muscular types both with black curly hair, and looking a good deal alike. All of them looked goggle-eyed, and you couldn't blame them.
"I lost the top," Dottie explained, quite unnecessarily.
"We weren't drowning," I said. "But thanks anyway."
"Oho!" the large gentleman with grey hair said. "I see!" He grinned with glittering white teeth, and pulled an enormous bandana from his pocket, handing it to Dottie. "It is not polite, please to excuse. But they are so pretty. Ha!"
Dottie knotted it around herself, but took her time. However, once those two were out of the way, the men started noticing me a little, too, which I accepted with a ladylike flutter of the eyelashes.
"Me, I am Eugenious Polycopulos," the older man said, bowing. 'These are my sons, Pericles and Anaximander ..."
"Call me Perry," the slightly bigger one said, with more white teeth shining. "And Ax," the other one said. "Can't ask people to manage Greek names."
"Yes, so," the old man said. "Me, then, Gene, like everybody is calling me anyway, ha. So, you were not after all drowning when we fetch you out, like the Venus from the sea, hey?"
"I'm afraid not," I told him. "But don't let it worry you."
"But you must not be chill, yes," he said, and clapped his hands. "Diomede!"
There was a steward and there were drinks. Then, there we were in the salon of the yacht, very slightly warmed up with that marvelous booze, laughing and telling jokes, entirely at home. Gene turned on a record player and we danced; things got chummier and chummier.
The one called Ax seemed to have more or less selected me, while the other was paying attention to Dottie. Gene, who told us he was the owner of the yacht, divided his time between both of us, and it was all very exciting, if confusing.
"We are traveling around for pleasure, you understand," the one called Ax was telling me. He had his arm around me, and his fingers kept sliding up under my bikini top, very sneaky.
"Ah, pleasure," Perry agreed, walking his fingers around on Dottie's tummy, and grinning. "It's because we are Greeks, and Greeks are always great travelers. Odysseus, Columbus, all those. For instance, we Greeks are always going around the world."
"But everywhere we go, we still think the Greek wine is best, yes," Gene said, and poured some more all around. He put another record on and began snapping his fingers. "Also, the Greek dancing, the Greek sense of rhythm, ha." He skipped, and leaped, twiddling his heels, and Perry jumped up, and joined him, twirling around. "Yoi! Evoe!"
Gene spun around some more, and puffed a bit, grinning widely. "But I must leave you, excusing, please ..." lie said. 'To do this and that ..." He exited, and suddenly Ax's fingers took to exploring a bit faster. He managed to catch my left nipple and started to rotate it, as if he were trying to tune a radio. It felt very nice indeed.
"Eee," I said. "I think you're getting the wave length."
"Oh, American girls are so humorous," he said, and tried the other nipple for fine tuning.
Perry, on the other big seat, was trying his version of the same approach on Dottie, who seemed to be enjoying it too.
"You would like to travel, yes?" Perry was panting in Dottie's ear, while she wriggled. "Explore, maybe?"
"You're both explorers, I see," I told Ax, who was darting his tongue into my ear, and had his other hand down inside my bikini bottom, stretching the material quite a lot One of his long, busy fingers was sliding down the crease between my cheeks, tickling like crazy, and I simply couldn't wait for ever, much as I appreciated all this attention. It was time to get down to essentials.
I reached over and grabbed the zipper on his shorts and gave it a good solid yank, all the way down.
What popped out was ... well, I just haven't got the right word. Surprising? What an understatement!
Ax just grinned, looking pleased with himself, as he had every right to be, while I looked over the bit of Greek architecture I'd uncovered. He slid off his shorts, and kicked them into a corner, still grinning, and I just sat there looking at it for a moment longer.
"Wow!" I said to Dottie, who was sitting and looking at it too, just as agog as I was. "Isn't that thing the living end?"
She stuck out her lower lip and shook her head. "I think it's too big," she said. "I mean, it's nice. But it's too big. It'll never fit"
Ax was still standing there in front of me, his hands on his hips, allowing me to get a very close look at his manly physique. It was at least ten inches long, I thought, but maybe it was that Greek wine getting to my eyesight Also, it was rather slim, with a lovely round top, all flushed and ready-looking. I leaned back, and put my hands behind my head, fluffing out my hair nicely, and letting the postion lift my breasts up in that way men like, which seemed to get Ax even more interested.
"I don't know, Dottie," I told her. "You might be right, but a girl can only try. Hey, why don't you see if old Perry over there has anything like this?"
"After all, we're brothers," Perry said, getting up and removing his shorts.
Dottie looked from one to the other, and I did too, but we just couldn't make up our minds.
"I think Perry's is shorter," Dottie said, after a minute, wrinkling her brow. He looked slightly put out, and she hastened to add, "Only by a hair - and just as pretty."
"Hoi!" Ax said, advancing toward me. "This is maybe a beauty contest?" And he grabbed me, and began to peel me, not a very difficult task, when you remember what I was wearing.
I just didn't have time at all to pay attention to what might be happening to Dottie for a few minutes, because Ax was doing so many interesting things. I did my best to cooperate, but it got awfully difficult to remember all the bits rd read in Harold's' books; still, I don't think I did too badly.
He was pretty big at that -- all over; at one point he collected my right tit in one hand and squeezed, grabbing me between the legs with the other and literally tossing me up in the air like a doll-a head-spinning experience. However, a second or two later, I managed to get a firm grip on his jewels and started playing ping-pang with them, which heated him up a lot.
Just about then I caught a glimpse of Dottie, who was spread out across the other seat; Perry was pouring brandy into her bellybutton, and they were both giggling like lunatics as he tried drinking it out again.
"Oof!" I said, half across Ax's lap. "I'm as hot as a firecracker!" I grabbed that elegant dong and gave it an encouraging pull or two, rolling over on my back as I did it. I was sort of hoping we'd give up the Greek wrestling and get down to brass tacks.
The next things I knew, Ax was doing exactly that, but not quite the way I'd expected. He rolled me over, bottom up, and both big hands grabbed my bottom cheeks, spread them apart, while he laughed like anything.
"Ooooh, OUCH!" I shouted, loudly, as I had excellent reason to shout; he had inserted his thumb into my rear in a way I had simply not expected at all.
"Hoo HAH!" Ax said. "For this virgin, the Greek olive oil is the best thing, so." And he splashed something oily about, which he'd probably grabbed off the cabin shelves overhead; and the next thing I knew, that long slim tool was sliding into me by the rear entrance, all the way.
To my complete surprise, it not only didn't hurt, it felt rather nice; but much as I hate to kick over classical tradition, it wasn't nearly as much fun as the other way. It was for Ax, though, from the way he was carrying on; and his hand got underneath me, and he fingered away at my slit, which nearly made up for the rest.
From Dottie's indignant squeals, I quickly gathered that Perry had done exactly the same thing to her, and turning my head, I saw that I was right There was Perry, pushing at least half of his enormous length up between Dottie's tight round cheeks, whiles she bucked around and yelled; and he seemed to be enjoying it as much as Ax was.
I could feel that great big rod pulsing madly, as Ax bumped up and down, and from the way he was panting and kissing my neck, I could tell he was getting ready, all right But as far as I was concerned, I wasn't halfway there, in spite of feeling all nice and tingly all over. It looked as if Was going to be on the losing end of this game, and I made up my mind to try reversing things a little.
Ax emitted several bull-noises, and thumped it in right up to the root; but all the olive oil must have made his hands slippery, because I managed to slide around, very like an eel, and his tool came out with a pop like pulling a cork. Before he could do more than assume a surprised expression, which I could see by looking back over my shoulder, I lifted my rear way up, reached down, and tucked that pretty Greek thingie where I felt it be-longed, right in my quiff.
Ax might have been surprised, but he wasn't one to back out of anything, not that one; he slid it right on into me, where it felt like I'd been measured exactly for it Tight as a glove, in fact; I opened my mouth and meowed with the sheer pleasure of it, and started rippling and pulling on his dong with all I had.
"Whooooeeee!" he said, and then something explosive sounding in Greek, and he began pushing harder and harder, squeezing me as if he were trying to make Greek wine out of me.
"Ooooh, my, that's the RIGHT place!" I said, and started melting like hot ice cream. I caught one glimpse of Dottie, and in the middle of an orgasm, I began to laugh my head off, which fortunately didn't interfere with a thing. It was really funny though; Dottie had evidently decided against the Greek method en mute, just as I had, but had tried a different approach. She had Perry on his back and was vainly, but enthusiastically, trying to gobble all of him. She had only managed to get a third of his tool into her mouth, but she had the remaining two-thirds in her hands, and was doing all sorts of things to it.
But I was coming like a fountain, and so was Ax, and I just couldn't really pay much attention to what was going on over there.
"Oh, my, oh ... lovely, marvelous, FABULOUS ..." I was burbling away in Ax's ear, and he was gasping like a whale, and muttering Greek. I heard Perry making similar noises, too.
After a bit, Dottie and I sat up and started catching our breaths; but our Greek swains looked as if they weren't ever going to catch theirs. Perry managed to make it as far as the bar, where he fixed another round all around; then the two of them sat there, squeezing here and there, but not showing any signs of an immediate return to action.
"Uh," I said, to Ax. "Your father ... he's the captain of this ship, right?"
He opened his eyes, which were a bit glazed, and nodded.
"I think I remember somewhere, something about the captain being the one who deals with all emergencies, sort of," I said, sticking out my lip; I sipped the drink Perry had brought, and cast a quick look at both brothers. Dottie looked at me, and I looked at her.
"What's that big red button there?" Dottie asked, innocently.
"Uh?" Perry said. "Oh, that Emergency alarm to the bridge."
She reached over and pressed it, and a loud gong went off somewhere overhead. There was a sound of running feet, and Gene burst into the salon, puffing and frowning. He stood there for a second, in the open door, staring at the scene.
Perry and Ax had both jumped up, a bit guiltily, and dumped me and Dottie on our respective couches, where we reclined, looking seductive and smiling prettily at the captain.
"Who push button?" Gene demanded. "Is only for emergencies, like fires and sinkings?"
"Oooh, Captain, are you any good at putting out fires?" Dottie asked, innocently, and wriggled her hips a bit. I giggled and lifted a glass, gently trickling a little iced liquid down on my damp breasts.
"Might be a fire any minute down here, Captain Gene." I said. "Maybe you ought to stay and take care of it"
"OhohoHO?" he said, in that deep bull voice of his, which gave me all sorts of shivery feelings up the spine; and he grinned at both of us. Then he picked up a jug of wine off the bar, and threw back his head, draining it off.
"Is Greek saying, never send boy to do man's job," he commented, and then jerked his thumb at his two sons. "You fellas, go run ship for awhile or something, ha."
In a moment, we were alone; Gene ran a hug ham-sized hand through his iron grey mop, and grinned at us.
"Hey, what we got here?" he inquired. "Two nice girls, naked like Aphrodite, and it looks like my boys hardly up to stuff. Maybe I got to get cook to put more vitamins in their dinners, hey?" He glanced from one of us to the other, and belched thoughtfully.
"Hard to tell where to start," he said. "Okay, we do both."
He shucked his shorts, and laughed deep in his throat as we both sat staring in awed silence. This one would make his sons look like bunny rabbits, I thought. Even in what I assume was half-mast position, Gene's prong was a mighty sight.
"Nice, hah?" he commented cherry, and came over to sit down between us; one huge arm around each of our waists, he lolled back, chuckling, fingering my tits with his left hand and Dottie's with his right.
"Yah, is too bad," Gene said, his hands wandering around on us. "Young fellas nowadays ... not up to enough. Is funny, though, I notice girls do just same as grandmas used to when they were girls, bet. Me, I like American girls, yah." He gave us impartial bites on left and right ears, chuckling.
"How you like American boys, Sweeties?" he inquired. "You get enough, yes?"
"Well ..." I said, a little doubtfully, and Dottie lifted an eyebrow, meaningfully. Gene roared with laughter.
"Same trouble all over world," he told us. "We sail all over, everywhere girls complain, not enough ... hey, what's American word for it?"
"I think he means screwing," Dottie said, demurely.
"Balling?" I suggested.
"Hey, you know all words?" Gene said, with a surprised grin. "Listen, I learn English in Berlitz school; they don't teach good words. How about you teach me some words, hey?"
"Words?" I said, and I must have looked a bit put out.
He laughed harder than ever. "Okay, tell you what, we not stick to just words, hey? But every time I point, you tell me English words, I tell you Greek ones; we mix busy with pleasing, yah."
Both of us fell into fits of giggles, which Gene seemed to approve of, roaring harder than ever. He controlled himself long enough to grasp my bobber with thumb and finger, as if he were testing a grape, an bent to give it a smacking kiss.
"Wow!" I said, tingling.
"What you call that?" he asked, goozling Dottie's boobies a bit for good measure.
"Oh, wow!" Dottie said. "Eeeh. Breast, tit, eeh!"
"Boobies, bumpers ..." I started to say, but he laughed louder than ever, and grunted some more Greek.
"Lots of words for everything," he said, and swung Dottie up, as she squealed in surprise, and dropped her, spread-hipped. on his lap. From the open-mouthed noise she let out, I gathered the idea that the enormous thing had been growing since my last quick look at it a few seconds before. I certainly wasn't at half-mast then.
He crammed Dottie down on his lap, with her nose on his chest, one big hand on her bottom, and jounced her up and down, guffawing happily as he did. His other hand went all the way around my waist and down into my lap, flipping around in my sticky fuzz. I squeaked and rose like a pheasant, till I was standing on the seat beside him; but his active thumb followed me up, still flipping away like crazy.
He flung his head back, and swung me around, lifting as he pulled; I got my legs over his shoulders, until I sat astride him piggyback, or possibly piggy-front would be the right word. His mustache bristled right there up against my tender pink mound, and when he laughed this time, it felt as if a hot wind were blowing right between my thighs. I grabbed at his shoulders to steady myself, while below, Dottie was enjoying the ride of her life, from the sound.
"Ooof, oohgh, OOF!" she was saying. "It's so BIG, it's ... oh, Gene, it's enourmooooous ..."
If he hadn't been just as busy up at my end, I might have felt a little jealous, but I had no reason to be. Gene's big hooked nose was right up against my clitoris, and I swear he was wiggling the tip of that nose like an amorous llama; but even better, his tongue, as long and pointed as a snake's, was popping in and out of my pussy. In addition, he was blowing into it from time to time, roaring with laughter, and his bristly mustache was tickling my crotch into final ecstasy.
"Yi!" I yelled, bouncing on his shoulders, and he let out an ecstatic Greek grunt, just as Dottie gasped loudly; we were all coming together, and I had just a second to admire the marvelous timing of it all before I went into epileptic fits of orgasm. Finally, we were all flopped limply in a damp heap, Gene still grunting with elephantine laughter from time to time, and we two giggling weakly.
"Hoo BOY!" he said, sitting up. "First, an-other bottle." He stood up, grabbed one from the bar, and drained it; he turned, grinning, holding out another.
"You girls like maybe little pick-you-up?" he inquired. "Before next round?"
"Next round?" I asked weakly, and saw that that enormous pillar of meat of his was still up, and apparently undamaged, though somewhat damp. He glanced down at it with a prideful grin, opened the second bottle, and poured a slash of brandy over it. "Stuff good for both ends," he said, and laughed.
"He's got to be kidding," Dottie said, panting slightly; she was lying as limp as a French doll, goggling her eyes at Gene's inexorable advance.
"Okay, Sweetie, you get let off this time," he said, grinning at her. "Only, cute girlie here, she got to get one more, how you say, screwy. That right word?"
"Oh, my goodness," I said, as he came up and knelt over my slightly crumpled body. "I mean, it's the right word, but ..."
"Yum!" he said, and engulfed me in a bear grip, low down; his mustache felt like Brillo as he planted hot kisses on both nipples and his hands parted my thighs, spreading me until I suspected I might split. He blew in my ear and I felt the huge throbbing knob of his cock pressing against my wet slit; but he was surprisingly gentle, considering.
"Yah!" he said, nibbling my ear. "Now, we make old-fashioned belly bump, just for a variety, hey?" He slid it slowly in, an inch at a time, caressing me all over as he did it. It was tremendous, but to my surprise, it went in ... and in ... and IN. It was in so far that it felt as if it was bumping against my collarbone, and I felt as if I were simply filled right up- wow! I couldn't say anything at all except some odd meowing sounds, which seemed to tickle Gene enormously.
"Hey, girlie, you like, hey?"
"Oh, man, I LIKE," I managed to say, and he started moving it, very slowly. I almost fell apart.
"I like it. I LIKE IT!" I yelped, and brought my hips up in spite of his weight, got my feet around behind him, and started kicking my heels against the hard muscles of his back.
"Okay, first we go ... IN ..." he said. "Nice and slow ... and out ... and in ..."
"Christmas!" I squeaked, and shoved myself up against him harder, gripping him with my legs; his bristly hair against my fuzzy down scraped deliciously and now he really started moving.
"Uh, uh, UH!" he said, and pushed harder and harder; I thought something had come loose inside me somewhere, but I didn't care. Fireworks kept going off in my vision, and the last thing I remember was digging my nails into his hack and chanting something in what I thought might be Greek.
Chapter Four
I don't know exactly how much later on I started using my thinking apparatus again, but it was plainly getting dark outside. I noticed that about the same time that I noticed a funny thumping noise somewhere inside the boat, and I also noticed that Dottie and I were now alone. For a couple of minutes I was contented enough, just lolling around and feeling delightfully tingly and filled-up, with all sorts of interesting aches and bruises here and there. And then it began to dawn on me that the thumping noise was an engine, and that the boat was starting to move.
Dottie was flopped out, rear end up, on the other divan-her bottom bare except for several blue finger-prints -- soundly asleep. I reached over and slapped-hard.
"Yowl" she said. "Hey!"
"I think we're getting kidnapped!" I biased. "'This boat's moving!"
She snapped out of it fast, and sat up.
"Gee, let's get off quick!" she said.
We grabbed the bite of bikini lying about, and started off without bothering to replace them, out through the cabin door onto the deck. We could hear voices, but nobody was within seeing distance of us. The shore looked miles away, however, farther than when we'd come aboard.
There was a big raft-like object lashed to a rail, and we untied it, as fast as we could, and dropped it into the dark sea. We followed it down, splash, and came up grabbing it.
I blew out a mouthful of water, and started paddling.
"I don't think anyone saw us," Dottie gasped, paddling away next to me.
"This thing doesn't float very good," I complained, still paddling. But it was holding us up, anyway. In the twilight, I could see the Callipyge's lights going away, fast, and I breathed a relieved sigh.
"What ... were they going to DO with us?" Dottie puffed, paddling.
"Darned if I know," I told her. "I don't want to think ... about it. Just keep kicking." There was enough of a current going our way, thank goodness. But it still took quite awhile; we were pretty -winded by the time we got into the surf. And it was dark, now, which was a good thing, since neither of us had anything except a bottom half of a bikini left.
We pushed the raft up onto the beach and sat down on it, puffing and blowing; the town lights were on, but the beach was dark, except for a bonfire a little way off. There seemed to be quite a lot of people around the fire, and there was a sound of guitars-a picnic probably.
"Hey!" Dottie said, fiddling with the beached raft. "Look! No wonder this thing didn't float too well. It's got thing attached to it."
What was attached to it was a big plastic bag, sealed with tape, as big as a laundry sack, and heavy. I opened it, curiously, and then wished I hadn't.
"Golly!" was all I could say.
"It's pot," Dottie said, staring into the sack. "It's hashish," I corrected her. "Enough to turn on an army! Wow! That's what those characters were up to. They're SMUGGLERS!"
"Oh, boy, look at all that!" Dottie said, agog.
"We'd better not fool around with it," I said, worried. "We could go to jail for years and years."
"We could keep a little of it, couldn't we?"
"What I'd like to figure out is how we're going to get across the boardwalk to our car," I said. "Would you rather get arrested for public indecency or for dope smuggling, or both?"
But our problem was about to he solved.
The noise around the bonfire had gone up a lot, and some of it was music; and now, with the sea water drying out of my eyes, I saw that it looked like a really far-out, groovy thing. Lots of chicks and cats were bouncing around the fire, and it looked as if some of them weren't wearing much more than we were. It wasn't a squares' picnic after all, and the fire looked nice and warm too.
"Listen," I said, "let's go over there, and maybe we can sort of borrow somebody's top, long enough to get to the car. I can see several chicks who've shed theirs, and nobody will notice us, I'll bet."
"It looks like a smash, too," Dottie said excitedly. "Hey, let's!"
We abandoned our prize, and headed for the bonfire.
We were right about not getting noticed much; there were several chicks down to the barest minimum around the middle, already. It was a very groovy group and we melted right into the scene, with no introductions at all. The music makers were local kids, apparently, and they were really rocking. In no time at all I was getting fed scorched hotdogs and getting a fairly seductive line from a large brown young man who said his name was Ginger. I caught a glimpse of Dottie, also doing the visiting royalty line with a couple of very male types on the other side of the fire.
"How come I've never seen you around, Babe?" Ginger was asking, with his eyes fixed on my tits as if they were the only pair visible -- flattering, I'll say.
"Oh, we swam here," I told him. "From the other side of the ocean."
"I dig a sense of humor," he told me, reaching around and grabbing my left one, which he tickled a bit.
"Wow," I said. "Do them both, there's a luv."
He laughed, and just then, a joint came passing down the circle of revellers. He offered me a toke, which I took, and passed it on. It wasn't very good, I'm afraid. But the stuff does have this, decontrolling effect on me; even one little puff and I tend to forget common sense.
"There's a whole lot of much better pot down there on the beach," I told him. "A whole sackful."
He thought I was kidding at first, but the word got started, and several of the crowd went over to see what we were talking about The cries of joy were really something, especially when the first samples were lit up.
The music improved almost immediately, and so did everything else. Ginger rolled us the biggest bomber I'd ever seen, and we sat down in the sand, a little bit off from the fire, and blew our minds out.
"Ooohoo!" he said, blowing out a huge cloud. He was really a handsome cat, I was thinking, as my eye-balls rolled around a little ... even though he seemed a little adventurous. He'd gotten to the tit-squeezing stage and stopped right here, twice now.
"Where did you GET this stuff?" he asked, with his groovy little beard sticking out in several directions.
"Me?" I said, really innocently. "Heck, I never saw it before; it's just sort of shipwreck stuff, or something, I guess."
"Oh, boy!" Ginger said. He was watching the goings-on nearer the fire.
"Everybody's stoned!"
A tall, slim chick with nice boobs and long legs was prancing around with a pair of boys, and the action was getting busy. The boys were wearing swimming trunks, and she was down to a towel, wrapped sarong-style, but that hashish was getting to all three of them, I could tell. From the bellows of scented smoke, I guessed that somebody had dropped a couple of generous handfuls on the fire too, and anybody who wasn't turned on yet only had to breathe in deeply to make it.
"Golly, I never saw Priscilla acting that way before," Ginger said, in a puzzled tone. He was grabbing at my boobers again in a sort of absent-minded way, and while I liked that fine, I was beginning to wonder if I hadn't ought to encourage him a little.
Just then the slim chick, Priscilla, lost her towel, and both of the cats with her got rid of their items, too. They were a healthy pair, I could see, and one of them was absolutely marvelously well-hung in particular. Priscilla saw it, too, from the way she acted; she advanced on it like a tigress on a prime bit of spring lamb. She took a flying leap into the air, legs spread out, and landed on that boy's prong as neatly as if she'd been practicing. He went over backward, with Priscilla on top, both of them whooping away; and there he was, on his back in the sand, with the girl on top, her bottom going up and down.
Just then the second cat decided he had to have some of the action too, and came on fast. He grabbed Priscilla's busy rear, and spread her cheeks, sliding it right on in; and from the way she cheered, it was plain she thought two could screw as neatly as one, or whatever the saying is.
But my backward swain seemed contented to massage me a bit here and there and watch the action with a few amazed noises. At this rate we weren't going to get anywhere, I thought.
"Past!" I said, and blew in his ear. "Hey!"
He responded with a tentative pat or two an inch or so below my belly button, slid his hand a little further down, and suddenly caught on to the fact that I'd removed the bottom of my bikini again. The news didn't seem to encourage him, though, and I had to grab his hand to assist his explorations.
When his fingers got into my bush, you'd have thought he was getting an electric-shock treatment the way he jumped. He still had his jeans on, too, but I thought I spotted an encouraging bulge so I reached over with my free hand and unzipped him. His prick popped right out, a nice large one. But he looked at it as if he'd never seen it before. It was hard to tell in the flickering light, but he looked as if he were blushing.
But between all the hashish and my own natural inclinations, I just didn't feel like any more preliminaries. I reached over again and got a firm hold on him. It felt like a nice meaty, hot staff and regardless of what he thought, it was as ready as it was ever going to be.
"Hey!" Ginger said. "What? I mean."
"Oh, goody!" I said, and pulled on his dong a bit. "Come on, good-lookin'."
"I never did," he said, in a worried tone. "Gee, I ..."
He was probably the only virgin on the beach, I thought, and lucky me, I get him.
"Quit fooling around, then," I told him, and slid up close. I leaned over and bumped my nipples against his chest, using both bands in his crotch now.
"How long are you going to keep me waiting, Hon?" I asked in my sexiest voice, and started yanking his jeans down around his ankles.
"Oh, BOY!" he said, fumbling around. But he still looked worried.
"It's simple," I whispered in his ear as we wrestled around. He was on top, by this time, kneeling between my thighs, and I was doing all I could to navigate him into the right arrangement. His wispy little beard was tickling the hell out of my nipples, and I was feeling in a minute.
"You ... just ... put it RIGHT there ..." I told him, and got his dong in, just a tiny bit. I was all wet and wild by now, and my frustration was getting out of control. I bit on his ear furiously.
"Damn it, FFFFUCK me!" I yelped, pulling him down, and his thing slid all the way in. And then, glory be, he lost the shies or whatever had been ailing him, and he started pumping like anything, gasping and gurgling cries of joy.
I was so turned on that I lost control; I couldn't do anything clever at all, but I just lay there, kicking and wriggling, and absolutely dissolving in it. I was coming like crazy, and then he uttered a whuff like a mad gorilla and shot a perfect flood, grabbing me until I thought I'd break in half. But he didn't stop; he just keep on pumping until-all of a sudden-it happened AGAIN.
"Oh, GINGER, whee, what a stud!" I gurgled, the two of us soaking in musky sweat as he kept on, frying for number three. I reached down and around, curled my fingers around his tool, and let out a wild squeal as he drove it in hard for the big finale ... and he made it!
"Uck, ook, uff," was about all he could utter, as he went completely limp.
All I could say was a whispered, "OOOH, MAN. Too much!"
But, as I was beginning to discover about myself, there wasn't any such thing as too much.
There was for Ginger, apparently; he was completely gone, crashed in flames. He was lying there with a silly smile on his face, one foot still caught in his jeans. I looked up, and peered into the darkness, where I could hear a rhythmic sound of flesh slapping on flesh and Dottie's voice occasionally raised in erotic cries. I rolled over on my belly in the warm sand, feeling delicious; it was certain that I'd have to wait awhile for my busy friend over there, though.
Then I noticed that I was still feeling ... well, interested. It worried me a tiny bit, in a way. I wasn't thinking too well, but the thought went through my head ... gee, maybe I was some sort of sex nut. I suddenly realized that I'd had it twice, both times pretty well, too, and inside one single day; and I was getting these signals again. I wanted more, wow!
Well, all right, I'm a sex nut, I thought. Or maybe it's my glands making up for lost time, or something.
I stood up and stretched; it felt great, being naked in the cool sea breeze, with my skin all hot and glowing. I moved quietly away, stepping over a couple of intertwined bodies here and there, peering around for Dottie.
Suddenly, a hand touched my front and a male voice said, "Oops. Sorry."
"Think nothing of it," I said, to Mr. Invisible. There were two of them, it seemed; a second voice said, "Who's that?"
"I'm Honey," I told him.
"I'm Pete," one of the voices said. "And he's Van."
Somebody's hand was running up my leg, and I didn't mind at all, actually.
"Hey, you're ..." the voice called Van said, in a tentative way. It was probably his hand, I suspected; his fingers were touching my mound in a tickly fashion, and he sounded quite surprised.
"I sort of lost my clothes," I said demurely. Another hand reached me, higher up, and since it seemed to be a right hand too, I guessed that this would be Pete.
"You sure did," he said.
Those hands turned me right back on. I couldn't suppress a sexy noise, somewhere between a deep breath and a giggle.
"Well, well," Pete said cozily. "Hi, Honey." He made a couple of more tours, tweaking nipples here and there, while I could distinctly hear the other one, Van, breathing pretty hard somewhere.
All of a sudden I felt a bristly male chin on my bare thighs, and hot lips; Van was apparently kneeling in front of me, and his hands had grabbed around, cupping my bottom and pulling me toward him. My legs moved apart, in a reflex sort of way, and the invisible Van put out an invisible, but clearly feelable tongue. Whoever he was, he was an expert; that tongue slid right in, curling around, and hit the exact pink, twanging center of my clitoris.
"Oh, GOLLY!" I said
.
Then I noticed that there was a big, hard muscled male body right behind me, too- Pete's, I supposed. He had his arms around me, one hand on each breast, and his hips pressed against mine; I could feel his meaty rod tucked up against my rear, throbbing. I was doing my own share of throbbing, with Van's mouth busy down there, and I let out a couple of eeps and oohs as he got really active.
"You're tickling the girl, Van," Pete said, over my shoulder.
"Yummies," Van said, between my thighs. "Sure am."
"Isn't it a bit frustrating, Miss?" Pete asked, in my ear. "I mean, wouldn't you rather?.
"OOh, yes, I'd ... oh, wow, but I like that too," I said, a little confusingly. It didn't seem to confuse Pete at all, though.
"I'll just have to, Van, ol' buddy," Pete said.
"Mmm," Van said, and gave me a final maddening tingle. "So you do, Petey, buddy."
And so he did, with a minimum of fooling around. He turned me around to face him and still standing up, he lifted me a little, slid his hard thighs between mine and sat me down on his extended stingeroo, thump. In spite of all the satisfying events with Ginger, this was much, much better. Pete pushed his tool slowly and wove it around, using his hands with a lot of skill; this one was no amateur. He held me up off my feet and pushed in, harder, harder, until I was gasping with ecstasy and finally let go, as I came with him, both of us panting wildly.
As Pete's hot hands relaxed, I suddenly felt I another pair of hands on my waist, and found myself lowered to the warm sand.
It was Van, sure enough; once more I was penetrated deeply, and I floated away in a pink ocean of pleasure, hearing myself wailing happily as he went at it.
"Whee, Honey girl!" he was gasping in my ear, thumping away. "You ... you really like it, hey?"
"I love it!" I told him, wrapping myself around him like an octopus. "Go, GO!"
Big pink bubbles were bursting all over now and I scrabbled at his back, as he rose toward a climax.
"Eeee!" I squealed, and he exploded like a spaceship taking off.
This time I wasn't ready to move for quite some while. But from the heavy breathing on each side of me, my two recent accomplices weren't either. I lay on my back, absolutely glowing; I was surprised I didn't actually sort of light up, like a hot poker.
After several minutes, I heard a sound-a hiss.
"Psst!"
It was Dottie, all right.
"We'd better get out of here," she whispered. "I lost my bikini bottom, too, damn it."
"So did I," I said. "Come ON."
Chapter Five
We managed to bring the car back into Dottie's garage before the sun actually came up. We would have had no end of trouble explaining our appearance to any of the nosier types who might have seen us in the light. Peering into mirrors in the cold grey light of morning both of us looked a little ghastly.
"Like something the cat dragged in," Dottie said, checking a bruised ear.
"No respectable cat would touch me," I said. My hair hung like a wrung mop.
"How could we?" Dottie said. "Honey, I ... I mean, are we crazy?"
I giggled reminiscently. "Maybe," I said. "But would you rather give up men, or something?'
Dottie blushed and shook her head. "I guess we're just sex fiends."
"So, let's live with it," I said. "Now, who gets the hot tub first?"
I've heard that science has found out that the female is sort of less destructible than the male, or something like that; I mean, they have the muscles and all, but we women out.. last them, you might say. It's probably true. That morning, Dottie and I managed to look our normal selves again inside an hour, and we even managed to get some of the neglected homework done.
Not only that, but we were in school the next day, looking just as scrubbed and virginal as ever.
Not that it did a bit of good, alas. I mean, we tried, but when Friday arrived, Dottie called me, her voice sounding as gloomy as a funeral on the phone.
"It didn't help my psychology," she said.
"You mean you're going to fail too?" I asked.
"I'm definitely flunking English," she said. "You mean you're flopping math? Gee, I thought ... didn't you say all that stuff was going to help our psychologies?"
"I don't think Mr. Strong cares about psychology," I said, meaning my math instructor, who was a very groovy looking cat, but a Capitan Bligh type.
"Mr. Zeller doesn't either," Dottie said.
"Maybe we aren't flunking because our sex lives weren't fulfilled," I said, thoughtfully. "Maybe we're just dumb."
"But it certainly didn't look good. The term was almost over, and there wasn't going to be another chance to up those awful grades, except for one more test.
"Maybe we ought to give up men until June," Dottie suggested.
"Shudder," I told her. "Suicide first. We aren't going to pass that test, you know. Not with out heads ..." I stopped, with a glorious thought. "But maybe ..."
"I dig that Mr. Strong," Dottie said, wrinkling her brow. "Now if I asked him to give you just a little bit of a chance on those grades ..."
"And if l asked your Mr. Zeller the same thing for you ..."
"Only why would they do it?" Dottie asked.
"We could seduce them," I said. "I saw a French movie on the late show ...
Brigitte Bardot did the same thing."
"You aren't Brigitte Bardot," Dottie pointed out.
"I'm a lot younger," I said. "So, if I got seduced ... I could threaten to tell."
"Wow!" Dottie said.
"And if I get your instructor and you get mine, it's not so ... unethical," I said. "It's unselfish. Isn't it?" Well, it all made perfectly good sense at the time.
Getting it all done required some planning, but for a couple of scheming chicks like ourselves, it was easy. At least, my half was, but you would hardly expect anyone to plan for the sort of thing Dottie ran into.
But for me, it was simply a matter of ogling Mr. Zeller, who was a fairly susceptible type, as I could plainly see. He almost burst a button on the day I managed to let him catch a good look at my leg; the day after, I succeeded in letting a very interesting gap appear in my blouse, and from his expression, I could tell he was hooked. After that, it was just a matter of getting him into the right place at the right time.
In the French movie, Brigitte had just run off into the woods, with the seducee following at a gallop; but in real life, I found out there were things to contend with. Such as Mr. Zeller being a really cautious type, and running off in other directions every time a good chance came up. I suppose he had been grabbed at often enough to make him careful; he was kind of cute, what with a sort of Gary Cooper look and all.
But I finally nailed him. I got into the back of his car, and scrunched down, at the end of the school day; as I thought, he came out, got in, and drove off without seeing me. I knew he lived out on the North Road, so I didn't squeak until we were going along just outside of town, where nobody would see us. Then I popped up with a cheery hello.
Somehow, he didn't seem to be as surprised as I'd thought. His expression was a little peculiar, too-more of a smirk. In fact, as he slowed the car and turned up one of the side roads, he looked a little more like Vincent Price than Gary Cooper, and it occurred to me that he might very well be onto my little game.
"Yes, indeed, Honey," Mr. Zeller said, pulling up in a secluded spot. "I don't mind discussing your grades at all." And he smirked a little more. "Call me Sam," he suggested, leaning back, and giving me a hot-eyed look.
"It isn't exactly my grades," I told him. "It's a friend of mine, Dottie."
"Ah, yes," he said. "I thought it was a little odd that you would worry about passing English. But Dottie, now ... I'm afraid she's going to have some trouble." He nodded. "But ... how is it she didn't speak to me herself?"
"Well ..." I batted the eyelashes, you know ... that way. "She's shy. I mean, everybody thinks you're pretty ... well, sexy, sort of. I mean, she told me she wouldn't know what to say if you ... well, asked her to do something in return, for a better grade. Dig?"
He laughed, one of those chuckly sounds that gave me goosebumps.
"What would you think I might ask her to do, in return for better marks?" he asked, still hot-eyeing me.
"Gee, I don't know," I said, with my special round-eyed look. "Teachers ... well, everybody knows teachers aren't supposed to fool around. Anyway, I wouldn't think a groovy cat like you would want to do anything with a kid, I mean ... you probably have lots of chances with more experienced women, and ..."
He laughed again, but there was a funny note in it this time.
"Sure," he said, "In Sodom, Connecticut. This place is simply jumping with swinging types. Look, my nubile nymphet, I used to teach in the city. I took this place because I got tired of ducking bricks and switchblades. But after a year out here in the backwoods, I'm about ready to teach in the worst school in the city. I might get killed, but I won't be bored to death."
"Golly," I said sympathetically.
He opened the glove compartment and took out a metal flask, which he opened, and tipped to his lips.
"It's referred to as Dutch courage," he said, and offered it to me. I took a small swallow, and sneezed.
"Wow!" I said. "What is it?"
"Cognac," he said. "I keep it in there for snakebites and seductions and so on. You can tell how often I've been bitten lately by the fact that it's still full."
Seductions? I asked myself. Who was supposed to be seducing who ... or whom? ... After all, he was an English teacher.
"In fact," he said after a minute, "I've gotten to the point where I have completely lost all common sense, Honey." He reached over, and began to very slowly and carefully undo the buttons of my blouse, as cool as a cucumber.
"Hey," I said, but there didn't seem to be much that I ought to do about it. He went on unbuttoning as he talked.
"It might interest you to know that you're about the fifth adolescent Mata Hari that's tried this in the last two months," he said, undoing the last button. He peeled back my blouse, and contemplated my boobs with a thoughtful expression, like a man shopping for grapefruit in a supermarket; he reached out and tweaked one nipple, still absently.
"Also, you might feel flattered," he said, and tweaked the other one. "You're the first I'm going to give in to." He cupped one of my bumpers in his hand, and squeezed a bit. "Yummy, m'girl," he commented. "Yes, I'm finally going to risk my professional reputation and my liberty, and throw a good one into you, young lady. Because I'm about as bored and frustrated with things around here as I can get, and because I haven't had any in weeks, and because you're as. sexy a bit of puberty as I've seen yet ..." He bent over and started kissing here and there. It was pretty nice at that.
"And NOT because you're trying to get a good mark out of me, Honey girl, for your friend or yourself," he added, with another chuckle.
"You make it sound awful," I protested, wriggling around in his grasp.
"Calculating, yes," he agreed. "Awful ... well, no." His hands ran up my thighs, caressingly, and around my hips; he found my crotch, and tickled it, chuckling. "The complete modern chicklet," he said, and I gasped at the effect of his busy fingers. "No bra and no pants either. Came prepared, didn't you? Well, Duck so did I. You'll see."
He let go of me, and pulled a lever; the seats folded back suddenly, and flattened down into the back of the car, and I went over backward along with them. He sat beside me, grinning down at me.
"This car used to belong to a real playboy friend of mine," he said, undoing his tie. "Believe it or not, this is the first time I've had any use for that gadget."
I noticed that his breath was coming a little faster, in spite of the cool sounding way of talking. I put my arms behind my head, and let my breasts pop up and out a bit, watching him.
"Gee, what are you going to do, Mr. Zeller?" I asked.
"Call me Sam," he said, removing his shirt. He had a nice broad chest, very hairy, and a good tan. He stared down at my up thrust boobers and licked his lips. "MY! You aren't a virgin by any chance, are you?"
"Oh, no," I said without thinking, and then I blushed.
"Good," he said. 'Though I didn't think so I'll bet there isn't one over twelve in town. So ... you really want to know what I'm going to do, Honey?"
He leaned back on one elbow, kicking off his shoes, and grinned comfortably at me, sliding an arm around my waist and grasping my boob again.
"I'm going to screw you silly," he said. "I'm going to hump you till you holler. Or, to switch to the language of the sex education class, I'm going to place my masculine member between your labia, and shove it all the way up your vaginal passage until it hits your back teeth, my blonde Honeykins. Come here." And he grabbed at the zipper on my skirt, panting a bit harder.
I assumed it was time to help a bit, so I pulled down his zipper. The biggest tool I'd ever seen in real life emerged, standing straight up. It was even better than the Greek type's and it changed my whole point of view about English teachers.
"Golly!" I said. "I'll bet it could. Do what you said, I mean." He had my skirt off by this time, so I assisted with getting his pants down, while he continued to nibble me all over. It was very exciting.
In a minute, he was kneeling over me, and I was feeling wild tingly waves going over me from head to foot. This sex thing was getting better all the time, I noticed. I spread my legs apart and reached for his thing, grabbing it; it was hot as a stovepipe, and he let out a wild yip when I grabbed it. I tried to get it lined up for action, but he evidently had a new idea; the old-fashioned position wasn't exactly right, I gathered. He wanted to make a small improvement, which was a fat pillow; he got it out of somewhere under the seat, and slid up under my rear end, elevating me.
Then he knelt between my thighs and popped it in with one long, hard, delicious thrust, all the way to the very end, and held it there while I literally quivered like Jello.
"Ooooh, SAM," was all I could say. He held me tight, panting, and chuckling.
"You like that, do you?" he asked, squeezing.
"It's marvy," I said. "Oh, wow! I'm stuffed. Oh, God, don't move, don't take any of it out. Wuh ... wait ... hold it ... like that!"
Feeling as if I were sitting on an electric wire didn't make it easy to concentrate on anything, but I tried; I wanted to use those vaginal muscles I'd found out about. Sam stayed where he was, panting and I made my muscles ripple up and down, and grab tight.
"Yow!" he said, and his fingers dug into my bottom, hard, "You little devil!"
"Mmm!" I said, and did it again. "Want me to stop? Don't you like that?"
"Aaah," he said, his eyes rolling as if they'd come loose.
"Oooh, lovely," I gasped, squeezing harder. "Now ... now you can ... push. Come on, Sam, do it. Do it to me ... EEEE."
He hadn't waited for a second request, but started right in, long hard stroking movements that slammed his thing all the way in every time, jolting me hard. Every time it went all the way in, I let out a gasp and he did too, faster and faster, until I was kicking my heels wildly and feeling hot waves rising higher and higher
.
"I'm coming, I'm COMING ..." I gasped in his ear, and he thumped harder still. "So. ... am ... I," he told me, squeezing me against him so that my breasts were mashed into his prickly chest hair, which felt marvelous.
"Aahgh," he said, and suddenly slowed down. I had just been thinking how utterly groovy all that hair felt, like a sandpapery prickly tingly ... and all of a sudden, I went all over. I mean, it felt as if I'd been turned into a great big amoeba, absolutely boneless with one enormous ecstatic explosion going on all over me.
"Oh, gah ... gah!" I heard myself saying, which made no sense, of course ... while he kept sliding it in, slowly now, once ... CRIKEY! ... twice ... WOW! ... and the third time, and hot, wet, streaming, like somebody had fired off a volcano inside me, wheeee!
I haven't any idea how long we just lay there, gasping, getting-our breaths back. But I got my head together before he did, which is just another point in favor of women, as I've said before.
He was lying on his back, breathing hard, and not looking much like an English teacher, I can tell you. I was feeling all warm and lovely, and ready for more of whatever there was; I got up on one elbow and peered at him, but he wasn't noticing.
"Yummy!" I said. "Sam?"
"UH," he said. "Whuh?"
"You're the greatest," I told him, running my finger. down his chest.
"Wow!" he said, not opening his eyes. "So ... are ... you."
I glanced down at that marvelous instrument of his, and it was fairly relaxed, alas. Half-mast, you might say. Well, Honey knows what to do about that, I told myself, and slid down a bit toward it.
I got hold of his jewels in my hand, and used a finger to prop up his thing, which gave a small started twiddle at my touch.
"There's life in it yet," I said, and put out my tongue, touching it lightly. It ascended another half-inch or so, and I chuckled.
"Hey," Sam said, up near my middle. "What?"
"Just doing things,,' I said, and gently grabbed his dong between my lips, like a lollipop. It was salty and rather nice, I thought, and I ran my tongue up and down it. The response was pretty fast, all right; it expanded to nearly its original size, and I let out a strangled GLUP!
But I wasn't going to let go, now that I bad it, although I knew I had only the top fourth of it, what with the improved giant economy size. I kept on lolloping, hearing Sam's surprised gasps behind me.
"Jeez, Honey girl, I can't ... oh, hey! I can't let you.., do it all," I heard him say, and then felt his lips exploring the crease of my thighs and his tongue dipping into my bellybutton. His hands grabbed my knee and spread me out, and suddenly I felt his bristly chin on the inside of my thighs. I almost bit down in sheer excitement; he never knew how close he came to disaster just then. And when he started to use his tongue, flicking it in and out of my slit, I could hardly remember what I was doing.
I was starting to cream all over again, grabbing his head between my legs and probably nearly choking him to death, while I gave as much attention as I could to nibbling and gobbling.
"Urgh!" I said, my whole body twitching and wriggling as wild sensations chased each other up and down. "Uff ghull, SQUFF!" I haven't any idea what I meant, except that it really isn't polite to talk with your mouth full, anyway. And mine was full, all right; I gobbled in as much as I could, wriggled my tongue against that delicious thing, and sucked hard.
Sam clutched my thighs and uttered a strangled sound, and suddenly my mouth was filled with his juices, as we thrashed wildly.
"Oogh, that ... was ... wonderful." He was gasping, and we rolled, clutching at each other, his hands all over me.
"Me too," I said confusedly, and grabbed at his tool which had somehow escaped in the last few minutes. "Oh, golly, it's still big!" I exclaimed in some surprise. I hung onto it, tickling.
"You'll kill me," Sam gasped, but his hands were opening my thighs again.
"A great way ... to go," I said, and squealed happily an he rammed it all the way down into me again. I held onto his hair, gabbling in his ear. "I don't want to stop, ever, whooEE! Oh, Sam, do it hard!"
Which was perfectly true; I didn't want to stop, believe me. Not even when the bomb went off, and we were absolutely totally disintegrated this time-crash!
Several hours later, I was telling Dottie all about it up in her room, and she was listening with her eyes as round as saucers.
"What happened then?" she asked.
"He dropped me off here, and drove home," I said, matter-of-factly, and shrugged. "I mean, even an English teacher has some limits. Gee, I hope he made it all right. He was a little shaky-looking."
"Christmas!" Dottie said. "Maybe ... do you suppose he'll fix my marks? Golly, if he was all that good, maybe we shouldn't have switched around."
"Oh, I suppose if you want to try, you might manage to catch him," I said, with my evil grin. "I mean, as soon as he recovers a bit."
"You're an awful influence on me," Dottie said, "I mean, I feel all corrupted." Then she giggled, and I did too.
"Isn't it great, being corrupted?" I asked. "Now, how about Mr. Strong? What are you going to do about him?"
"I'm supposed to go over to his place and talk about my marks," she said. "But I'll get him onto your marks soon enough. I called his number and a woman answered and said he'd be there tonight."
"A woman?" I said. "He isn't married."
"She said she was his sister, visiting for the day," Dottie said. "But she won't be there tonight, ha!"
As she spoke, she was hastily ripping off her clothes and digging into her bureau for others. A shower of frilly articles flew over her shoulder, and then she was dressing.
"Lace panties?" I said, watching. "And that bra? Gee, I wasn't wearing anything underneath, this afternoon. I didn't want to slow Mr. Zeller down any," I giggled.
"Mr. Strong's more a sort of ... Continental type," Dottie informed me. She dabbled perfume behind her ears and between her boobs. She giggled too. "I think men like to have something to sort of tear off us."
It was a thought, at that. "Maybe I'll in-vest in some lacies, too," I said. "If it works." I stood up. "You be sure and tell me what happened, you hear?"
"I will," Dottie promised, as I opened the door to leave. "Maybe I'll stop by on my way home, all right?"
"I'll wait up," I said. "I just have to hear all about your Continental type, wow."
There was nobody home when I got there, which was just as well, because I was beginning to feel just a bit itchy, simply thinking about it all. I would probably have tried to get poor Harold to make it again if I'd been able to catch him, but he was pretty elusive since our last go-round. Instead, I watched some TV and thought about what a terrible sex-nut I was getting to be, and giggled some more.
About three in the morning Dottie showed up, tip-toeing up to my room and entering; I sat up and stared at her, agog.
"You look like the Ghost of Christmas Past!" I said. "What happened? Golly, Mr. Strong was a real Continental, wasn't he?"
"Ooooh," Dottie said, and sank onto the bed. "Oooog."
She looked as if she had been playing football. Her hair was all loose and stringy, several buttons were missing here and there, and her eyes were absolutely bagged.
I felt green with envy.
"It wasn't Mr. Strong," Dottie said, falling over on her back.
"What?"
"It was my own silly mistake," she said. "I checked the phone book later. That wasn't his number. It was somebody named Miss Strong. No relation, either. She must have misunderstood me when I called-or maybe she planned it that way."
"I don't understand," I said, puzzled.
"I don't mind being ... some kind of nymphomaniac, darn it," Dottie said, staring at the ceiling, "but a freak ..."
"Freak?"
"I'll have to tell you the whole thing," she said. "I got to the apartment, and there was this woman. A big woman, like some sort of Valkyrie, you wouldn't believe it. Sort of beautiful, but ... oh, boy, what happened. She started talking to me, and gave me a couple of drinks, and then ..."
"You mean there wasn't any man there?" I asked. "But the way you look ..."
"There didn't have to be any man," Dottie said. "It's probably your fault, darn it. I mean, we ... well, you and Idid things together, sort of. You know. So maybe that's why l ..."
"You mean the woman did all this? This Miss Strong?"
"Uh huh," Dottie said. "She got me all naked before I knew what was happening. She was doing all these wild things to me, and then she put on this enormous THING; my God, it was a yard long."
"A yard long?"
"Oh, maybe not quite that big, but big enough," Dottie said. "Oh, boy. What she was doing ... you'd never believe it. I mean, she did me, up and down and around, all of it." She sat up and glared at me, groggily. "And that's just the trouble, darn it; I liked it. I'm going to turn into a freak too, maybe. I mean, it's all right to like it from boys, but not that way!"
"Oh, well," I said. "If that's all that's worrying you ... according to the books, you shouldn't worry. You're normal."
"You think so?" Dottie asked, uncertainly.
"Sure," I said. "Only ... wow. If you got the wrong one ... and I'm not so sure I really managed to change Mr. Zeller's mind ... we still aren't going to pass, are we?"
Chapter Six
We weren't going to pass; that's right.
Crime doesn't pay, I guess. Or maybe we'd selected the wrong variety of crime. Still, as far as I was concerned, it wasn't what you'd call a total loss. I'd found out about English teachers, and that was worth it. Though poor Dottie hadn't done nearly as well, but then, that's the way it goes, isn't it?
But in the middle of perspiring preparations for that doomful final exam, something cropped up.
We called him Ali the Assassin, though be never gave his name to anyone as far as we could find out. But whatever his name was, he knew something about us, it seemed.
As I reconstructed things, he'd been seen registering at a local motel, driving a big black car; and later he was here and there around town, sliding around. He was a slim, dark, Oriental-looking type, with dark glasses, and a notebook in one pocket. He kept scribbling in it, according to one source and another, and every so often he would hold whispered conferences with people. They never seemed to want to talk about those conferences either.
Rumors around town held that he was a spy, or an FBI man, or somebody from Internal Revenue; except for the drugstore clerk, who read a lot of science fiction, and who told me that Au the Assassin was off a flying saucer.
"He's not off any flying saucer," I told Dottie. "I wish he was. Didn't you notice the way he keeps watching us every time we happen to go by him?"
"What do you think he is then?"
"An assassin," I said, grimly, and shuddered. "Those Greeks. They were mobsters. Smugglers! They sent him to find out what we did with their hashish-end as soon as he knows ... ZZIP." I drew my finger across my throat, and Dottie nearly fainted.
"But we can't give it back!" she wailed. "The stuff was all used up!"
"Exactly," I said. "We're doomed!"
"And we're going to flunk, too."
There wasn't any course of action left, actually, except suicide. Or running away.
"We could go to the city and become models or something," I said, chewing my thumb. "If we're going to flunk, anyway ..."
"That assassin might catch us," Dottie said.
"If we stay here, he will," I said. "I'll bet he's only waiting for orders from the top."
So, three days before the finals, we decided to go while the going was good. We packed a small suitcase apiece, wrote notes, and quietly and rapidly left town.
It was about five-thirty, and we were far out on the south highway, several miles away from dear old Sodom. Cars were going by and we stood, thumbs out; with luck, we could make it all the way to the city before it got really dark, we hoped. Or halfway, anyway.
Unfortunately, we looked a little too young and a little too far out in our jeans; drivers seemed to be cautious. It took a long time before a car finally stopped, and we got in.
The driver, a peculiar-looking little man with a bald head, giggled at us in a very odd way, as he started up.
After a while, he introduced himself as Kreef. "Andrew J. Kreef," he said, leering. The car was going pretty fast, too, I noticed.
"I'm a ... hee, hee ... footwear man," he said. He looked at our feet, in sneakers, and uttered another weird giggle. In fact, he stared at them so long that the car wove around alarmingly before he got his eyes back on the road.
I was getting a little nervous, and I asked, "How long before we get to the city?"
"City?" Kreef said. "Oh ... several days, I suppose."
"What? But it's only a hundred miles," Dottie said.
"Not on this road," he told us, with another whinny. "We're on seven now, going west. Didn't you notice?"
And he was right, too, the little rat; he had turned and we were going at right angles to the way we wanted. We were well up in the woods country by now too, and there wouldn't be too much traffic going our way. I was mad, but I concealed it.
"I think we should get out here," I told hint.
"Oh, darn," he said, but stopped the car. He stared greedily at our feet without opening the door.
"Wouldn't you like to stomp on me a little bit?" he said, wheedlingly. "I mean, I just go ape over young girls in smelly sneakers ... ooh." He grabbed at my ankles, but I had the door open by now, and was following Dottie out, fast.
As he whizzed away, we stood under the pines, in the darkening twilight, and stared after him.
"Maybe we should have let him do whatever he had in mind," I said, looking around.
"Brr," Dottie said. "He might have some other really funny ideas. I've heard about people like that. No, thanks."
"It's pretty empty around here," I said. "We might be worse off than riding with him."
Little I knew, as they say.
Doom arrived fifteen minutes or so later, just as we had about decided to start walking. It was a simply gigantic Harley, with an engine that sounded like a truck, and it varoomed past us in a cloud of dust. A second later, three more of them shot by, and then another two. Each one had a rider-a bearded, leather-clad, weirdly dressed character bent low; two had equally weird females clinging behind them.
"Motorcycle crazies," I started to say, and just then, I heard that varoom sound again; they had U-turned, and were coming back. I had a funny apprehensive feeling, but it was too late to do anything about it.
They came zooming up, and screamed to a stop ahead of us. The leading cyclist sat, staring at us through his goggles, his bushy red beard sticking out like a mop.
"Uh," he grunted. "Hey, you broads. Wanna ride?"
"Ah ... thanks, but we'd rather walk," I said, a little shakily.
There was a rumble of hideous laughter, and the leader growled, "She wantsa walk. Yuh. Oke. I dig blondies; I'll grunch this one. Hey, Scars, you take the other."
In seconds, we had been scooped up and deposited on the rear saddles; and we were hurtling along the road like rockets, hanging on tight.
It looked pretty scary, but I clutched the monster ahead of me, who seemed to be named King Kong. He had a certain resemblance to an ape, all right.
Then, the herd swung off onto a narrow road, and varoomed frighteningly around curves, through pines, and finally into an open glen, where they came to a stop. The two girls, both muscular-looking, blonde and silent, got to work with a small fire, and food appeared out of saddlebags. It was a picnic, of sorts.
"We're th' Purples," King Kong told me, as we sat leaning against his bike. He held a bottle of beer in one hand, and an enormous sandwich in the other; He broke off half for me and I ate it nervously.
"Hey, she's cute." It was one of the blonde riders. She stood, spraddle-legged, staring at me, and grinning. "Hey, honey, my name's Lila. Maybe we'll get together later, hah?"
"Listen, Lila, ain't I told yuh?" King Kong asked in a pained voice. "Perversions ain't allowed in this group. Whatcha want people to think-we're some kinda Hell's Angels?"
"So since when is a chick making it with a chick a perversion?" Lila demanded.
"Sure, it's a perversion," King Kong said. "We do it all straight, ya hear? None of that funny stuff. It ain't American to do funny stuff."
The other blonde approached, and stood listening.
"Gangbangs ain't a perversion?" she demanded.
"No, Sugar, of course they ain't," King Kong said. "I mean, when we done it to you, it was only one place, right? Not inna mouth, or the ear, or the armpit, just inna right place. So, that's the right way. It's the way we do it. Like, it's the American way." He stretched, and offered me his beer. "Want a little bellywash, sweetie? Before we start in?"
This could be awful, I thought. I mean, I like sex just fine, but I wasn't feeling too turned on by this mob. They'd take a lot of getting used to; and I didn't really think I wanted to try. I caught Dottie's eye.
"Well, gee, thanks for the sandwich and the ride ..." I said, getting up. "I guess we'll just walk along ... " And I started off for the dark woods, fast. Running, in fact, and I heard Dottie sprinting along just behind me.
But it seemed it wasn't going to be that easy. King Kong tackled me just as I made it to the edge of the fire lit area, and I thumped down on the grass on my face; he had my ankles, which he held up in the air as I wriggled like a fish.
"Hey, you're a real wild chick," he said, admiringly, and one huge hand grabbed at my waistband, and peeled my jeans off with an ominous ripping sound. "Wow, what an ass. Hey, I think you could be my old lady, maybe, hah?"
I was really annoyed about those jeans. I twisted around, and told him what I thought about him but he just looked down, laughing crudely. He dropped his leather pants, and snatched off my remaining clothes, all in one swift series of grabs.
"Hey, ol' King Kong gonna bang the blonde!" someone called. "Hey, King, look at this one. Ol' Snake and ol' Scars gonna do her, yeah."
They were all fairly drunk by now, and I caught a glimpse of poor Dottie, her long legs spread wide as one of the bearded beasts plumped himself down on her and began to shove and heave. King Kong himself stood before me, his erection up and ready, grinning down at me.
"Kinda nice one, ain't it?" he said, glancing down at himself admiringly. "Look at that; I got all my old ladies' names tattooed on it, see?"
"I've seen better," I told him, and let's face it, I had. It wasn't really impressive at all. Just adequate. But he seemed pretty sensitive about the subject.
"Arrgh!" he grunted, and flung himself at me. No style at all, really. He simply grabbed my knees, spread my thighs, and rammed. But it wasn't bad, actually. There are times when a girl might like that sort of direct action thing, I think. But I was pretty mad at him, too, though I could hardly help enjoying it.
"Uff, grr, oof!" he was saying, grabbing and grunting, bouncing away; the beer wasn't helping him much, I suspected, and neither was I. I let him keep it up awhile, until he started uttering happy noises; then, before he had time to resist, I managed to roll him over on his back I was still more or less impaled on him, you might say, but I had a couple of notions about what to do with him. With him on his back, looking slightly amazed, I rode on him, gripping tight, and banging on his chest with my fists.
"Go, go, GO!" I squealed at him, twisting my bottom and bouncing so hard that he gasped. "CHICKEN!" I insulted him, and he indignantly tried his best. In fact, he tried so hard that within minutes he lay, a completely inert lump; I had burned out his bearings, more or less.
I disentangled myself and stood up and there was Dottie, unlatching herself from the two who had been climbing all over her. Both of them were in the same destroyed condition as their leader. Another, unable to wait his turn like a gentleman, was rolling about in the long grass with one of the two blondes, and still another lay on his back in a beer stupor.
"If that's the best they can do, I'm almost sorry for them," I said, looking over the stricken field. "Gee, Dottie, you really did for those two, didn't you."
She giggled. "Shucks, 'tweren't nothing." Then, she sobered. "Oh, gee, look at our clothes."
That wasn't easy, because we hadn't any. Our biggest remaining hunk of cloth wouldn't have made a neck-tie; we had been undressed by a kind of tear-off method.
"We'd better get out of here, before there's any more of this," I said. "Clothes or no clothes. Come on; it's warm enough. Run."
So we ran. Into the dark woods road, and off, as quickly as a couple of naked chicks can Dottie was out-distancing me, and I suddenly remembered seeing a pair of boots in her hand; she had evidently swiped them from one of our late friends, and gotten them on in a hurry. They helped, all right; I kept hitting stones, while Dottie ran merrily ahead, a dim pale figure in the darkness.
"Wait - a minute!" I cried out, finally. "Whoa!"
I limped up to where she had stopped. "Can't run ... any more," I wheezed.
"Where are we going anyway?"
"Golly, I don't know," she said.
"We'd better get some clothes, anyway," I pointed out "At least shoes for me."
"I don't even know where we are," she said in a slightly-panicky voice.
I sat down on a tree stump and caught my breath, staring around in the starlit dark. There was an especially bright star, low on the horizon ... only it wasn't a star. It was a yellow light.
"I'll bet that's a house," I said thoughtfully.
"What'll they think?" Dottie asked. "I mean, a couple of nakeds walk up and say, hey, we were gang banged by motorcycle crazies, wow, can we borrow some pants?"
"Don't be a dope," I said. "They might have their washing on a line. We could steal something."
"You," Dottie said. "First you got me into balling your dopy brother, and then the next thing you know I was getting fooled around with by that awful Lesbian, and now you want to be a BURGLAR."
"Corruption," I said, "Oh, come ON."
We walked toward the light, along a narrow path; it was a lot further off than I'd thought, and we were really footsore by the time we made out anything about it. Also, we had run into several thorny, spots, and nudism just didn't seem so much fun anymore.
The light was a single bulb on a pole outside a big low-roofed frame building; behind it there was a shadowy outline of one or two more similar buildings Barely visible, we made out a sign.
GIRL RANGERS, TROOP 69, CAMP JOLLY.
"I told you there'd be laundry!" I whispered, pointing. Sure enough, a line held flapping garments, indistinguishable in the dark. Both of us advanced on the line, grabbing indiscriminately.
"They're all MIDGETS," Dottie whispered. "I couldn't get this blouse on, not in a million years."
"I found a skirt that fits-nearly," I said. "Listen, don't you complain. You had boots on. My feet are KILLING me."
"Oh, here's one," Dottie said, and began to get into the clothes she'd found, while I checked out for socks. I put on four pairs, one after another; they'd have to do instead of boots.
It was pretty hard to see, but it was just as well we couldn't see each other too well, or we could have died laughing. The Girl Rangers' uniforms were a kind of mud-green color, with skirts right down to the knees and a weird sort of military effect.
"I wouldn't want to get caught dead in these," Dottie whispered.
"If those motorcycle crazies ever catch us, you will be found dead," I told her. "I'll bet they really love their boots. And you had to rip off a pair, didn't you?"
"I think you've got some kind of hex on you, Honey," Dottie said, and I saw her eyes getting all round and glittering with fear in the dim light.
"Why?" I asked.
"Every time you say something awful is going to happen, it does!" she said. "Can't you hear that noise?"
Varoom, varoom. Oh, darn.
"They're looking for their boots," I said. The sound of their motors echoed distantly, but getting closer.
We hadn't any choice. There were the dormitories, and there were the oncoming motorcycle crazies. We opened a screen door, and dived for cover under a bunk where we stayed, listening to whistling snores and other sounds of what seemed like a regiment of under aged females.
The motor noises got closer and suddenly we saw a headlight reflection in a window. There were loud, cursing voices nearby, and now several of the Girl-Ranger types woke up, asking questions. A light went on.
Then a deep, loud voice came thunderously from outside.
"All right, you," the voice said. It was a woman's voice, too; and suddenly Dottie clutched at me like a drowning girl.
"It's HER!" she squeaked.
"Who?" I whispered. "And keep your voice down!"
"Miss STRONG," she hissed, with a shudder.
The bull dyke. Oh, my, oh MY. We had ALL the luck.
"Now, you men, turn around slow, hands in the air," the voice came again, and it sent shudders down my spine now.
She was evidently armed too-as if her voice wasn't enough to send even the motorcyclists into a panic.
"Now, you chicken bastards, start walking," Miss Strong's voice boomed. "And you, the ugly one ... yes, you. Zip up your fly, 'Third-face. This camp is full of sweet innocent young girls, and you're leaving. Coming in here with your heads full of dirty male ideas, I'll wager. Not as long as I'm Ranger Commander, you don't get the chance to play your obscene tricks, you hairy monsters. All right, quick-march; I'm right behind you with the shotgun, and it shouldn't take us all long to get down to the sheriff's office."
"Jeez, lady, our bikes!" somebody wailed. It sounded like Snake. "Hey, I can't walk, I ain't got no BOOTS."
"If you don't start walking, I'll blow off your balls, Mac, and then you won't need boots," Miss Strong advised him. Then, apparently directed at the windows of the dormitory ... "CORPORAL DIANE! GET THOSE CHILDREN BACK INTO BED, YOU HEAR?"
There was a wild squealing from the mop-pets who had been peering out the windows. They sounded like thirteen or fourteen-year olds, mostly, though the one addressed as Corporal looked a bit older, as I caught a brief glimpse from under the bed.
I heard the complaining as the motorcycle types walked away, herded by the indomitable Miss Strong. Until she was apparently out of sight, there was dead silence among the Girl Rangers; and then, a renewed squealing broke out.
"He had it hanging right out!"
"Whee!"
"Oh, go on, my boy friend's got a better one."
This from a blase young voice.
"I never saw one before," somebody else said, in an awed tone. "How can anybody get such a big thing inside? Wow!"
There was a chorus of giggles and females squealing.
Bare feet went by, and there were heavy thumps on the bed above us. Corporal Diane was having a hard time keeping order with the General gone, and some of the games were a little wild from the sound of it, as well as the conversation. The younger generation was getting out of hand, I guess.
There was loud whispering going on just above our heads, where at least three of the girls had apparently managed to crowd into the bed, from the deep sag of the springs; voices and giggles came clearly to our ears.
"Don't DO that," a voice whispered, and another answered, "How about this, then?" And there was a squeak and a twang of springs. Somebody breathed heavily, and gasped.
"Oh, gee, Linda, that's ... oh, boy, don't. Ooh."
"It's a lot better with real boys," somebody else whispered.
"How would you know? Have you been over the lake to the boy's camp?"
"Not yet, but ... EEEEEK!"
It was Dottie's foot, sticking out; the girl above had seen it and was shrieking like a fire siren. Dottie tried to pull it back, but it was no use. We were caught.
Chapter Seven
There were twenty-three of them, and they all talked at once, so it was some time before the conversation got to the point where anybody understood what was going on. But after awhile, explanations got made, somehow, and when the Rangers got the general drift of things, they came over onto our side-to a girl-even Corporal Diane, who turned out to be a sullen-mouthed brunette of sixteen or so, the oldest of the lot.
"It's pretty gruesome here, too," a small plump girl named Suzie was telling us, as we wolfed down a large supply of food that had been unearthed from various lockers and pockets.
"You bet," said a redheaded girl, extremely pretty. "It's all Miss Strong's fault. When she started running the camp, this year, it got just awful. She hates men."
"She hates boys, too," somebody else said. "She even hates tomcats," another chimed in.
"There's a troop of Boy Rangers over there on the other side of the lake, and we can't even wave," the redhead said. "Not only that, but Miss Strong keeps pinching me, in funny places."
"She's peculiar," somebody said.
"She sure is," Dottie said, darkly. "Hey, Honey, we have to get out of here, before she comes hack."
"If anybody'll loan me a pair of shoes ..." I started to say, but the redhead interrupted.
"If you go down the road, you'll run into her coming back, I'll bet."
"Oh, she won't be back till morning," Diane said. "That's why she chased those men down to town herself, instead of phoning for the sheriff. She has a thing going down there, I think."
"She's usually gone all night when she gets a chance," the redhead said.
"I still wouldn't want to meet her on a dark road," Dottie said firmly. "Brrr."
"Gee, do you know her?"
"What did she do?"
"Tell us!"
Bit by bit, Dottie's story began to emerge; and then, of course, it was necessary to tell what had led up to it, and before we knew it, we were going into the most delicate details. The girls loved it They hung on every word, and pried for more data. If there was a popular subject in that room, it was males, and everything that had to do with them.
Miss Strong's influence hadn't been able to do a thing about that taste for the opposite sex, no sir. But, as the pajama party went on, it got pretty evident that she had had an influence in another sense. Two dozen nubile chicklets had been kept up in the healthy mountain air for a month, in sight of that distant clot of boys, but with no contact; and the effect had been pretty demoralizing, I could see. The troops' private lives would have made ancient Rome look a little tame; and after a little time with them, Dottie and I started feeling a bit silly ourselves.
There was a lot of surreptitious petting and pawing going on, for one thing. I found that pretty redheaded girl, who seemed to be named Judy, had picked up several notions from Miss Strong's pinching and patting; she got up close and started the same sort of thing herself. She let her pajama top hang open, and a pair of pointy little knockers kept popping out, while she couldn't seem to keep her hands from me.
Telling all my adventures didn't help, either; what with one thing and another, I was beginning to get that old feeling, but here, with nothing around but girls, it seemed like a waste of vitamins to feel that way.
Just then, one of the chicks, near a window, began to squeal madly, and everybody jumped up to look.
"They're doing it again!" somebody cried.
Across the lake, a flickering light was going on and off, in sequences. One of the girls explained it to us.
"It's the Boy Rangers. Their scoutmaster must be gone, too. Whenever they can, they send us code stuff, out of the Ranger Handbook, you know. There's a boy there who knows the dirtiest stories, wow! Can you read Morse code?"
We had to admit we couldn't, and she translated, obligingly. It was a long, involved story about three Chinamen, a lady, and an elephant, and it was pretty dirty, all right.
One of the girls got out a flashlight, and began to signal back. After awhile, the conversation got really animated, almost too rapid for our interpreter to keep us filled in.
"Nobody here but us horny studs," the light from the boys' camp flashed. "Come on over and get yr cnts tckled."
"We wld lv to," the girl with the flashlight signaled, giggling hysterically. "We luv screwing. We will swim over all naked and ready fr beness."
The light at the other side of the lake flickered wildly, and was momentarily joined by half a dozen others, all signaling at once.
"Only can't," the girl flashed. "Canoes locked up. Why not you paddle over?"
The reply was gloomy.
"Same here. Big padlocks. Hell, shit, damn, phooey."
The redhead was feeling me all over by now, in a mad state of excitement, her fingers digging and tickling in one place and then an-other. I was getting a little out of control myself, and I let my hand touch her soft mound, which was lightly fuzzed, hot, and vibrating crazily.
"Ooooh, ooh," she kept saying, grabbing my hand.
I was feeling creamy, but furious. One little padlock was all that kept us from visiting with those steamy young males over there. The redheaded chick was no substitute, not for a girl with developing tastes, like me. I mean, this pinching and prodding was fun when I was a mere child of twelve or thirteen, but that seemed ages ago now.
Rangers were supposed to be resourceful. Let's go look at those canoes, anyway!"
We poured out into the dark, and down to a boatshed-windowless, and with a heavy lock on the door.
Across the lake the flashlights were bobbing and bouncing wildly, going around in circles and moving along the lake shore. The Boy Rangers had been caught up in the spirit of the thing, and were laying siege to their own locked canoe house.
But all we could do was mill around that locked door, helplessly banging on it; one plump girl ran at it repeatedly, crashing into it like a small battering ram, but without effect. Several girls began to talk seriously about swimming, which was almost certainly impossible.
Every so often I remembered that Dottie and I ought to think about serious matters, like getting out of the neighborhood of the camp entirely, but we had gotten all caught up with the thing and we were as noisy as the rest of the mob. But it was the little redhead, Suzie, who came up with the winning idea; she suddenly appeared, carrying an enormous wooden pole, a thing somebody said had been used for a big tent. The others ran and got three more poles, just like the first, and in a minute the poles were being rammed under the edge of the canoe shed and lifted by twenty enthusiastic young females. Camp life improves the muscles, after all, at least all the muscles except the ones that count; the leverage was working. The building rose, tilted, and went over with a crash, to the sound of wild girlish cheering.
A moment later a deep boom echoed over the lake, and a bright flash of light came from the other side. Our signal girl flashed a hurried question, and squeaked with excitement at the answer.
"They blew it up!" she cried. "The boathouse! They got their canoes and they're coming over here!"
"Let's go meet them!" a girl squealed, and the idea met with instant approval. The girls yanked canoes from the upended shed, and splashed into the water, yelling and shrieking. From across the lake there were distant noises indicating that the boys were already launched.
"Everybody's crazy!" I said, following Dot-tie into one of the canoes. I had never paddled one of the silly things in my life, but I did my best, and everybody else in it with me paddled too; we made a pretty fast speed, though we steered all over the place, in zigzags.
The moon was out, so it was a little easier to see; all around, there were canoes full of squealing girls, and in the one I was in, there were Dottie and the redhead Susie, and a girl somebody addressed as Pauline.
We met the other canoes almost in the middle of the lake, hail a dozen of them, filled with Boy Rangers just as steamed up as the girls. For a minute there was an argument about which side of the lake to head for, as the canoes milled about crazily in all directions. It was just that both sides had the same idea, and nobody wanted to wait too long to try it out. The little redhead, Susie, was so carried away that she hadn't any intention of waiting, anyway; she stood up and flung away her pajama top, her round little knockers popping straight out in the moonlight, which made the boy canoeists howl happily.
A second later, she had dived over into the nearest boy-filled canoe, and the craft spun like a top, paddles abandoned. Susie wasn't being picky; she simply grasped the first available boy and dragged him down into the bottom of the canoe, her legs kicking up.
"It's going to roll over!" one of the boys yelled, and another dived into the water; a second one followed him, and then the third, and the three of them swam, pushing the madly-rocking canoe ahead of them. Susie's wild squeals of joy canoe from inside the canoe as it went, accompanied by more swimmers; an-other canoe had capsized when its girl crew had tried something similar to Susie's stunt.
We were heading toward the girls' side of the lake, for no particular reason except that it was closer; the first canoe bumped on the shore, and then another. The one I was in was still well out in the lake, surrounded by swimmers and capsized canoes.
Suddenly a wet head popped up out of the water, like a seal, just beside the place where I was paddling; I almost hit him with the paddle by accident.
"Hi!" he said, blowing wet hair out of his eyes, which were big brown ones. Big brown eyes do something to me, darn it.
"I'm Carl!" he announced, treading water. "Hey, why don't you jump in? The water's warm!"
Well, you know how it is with me. I just don't have good sense, especially when I get all worked up, and I'd been getting more and more worked up for the last hour. Besides, that silly uniform thing I had on was itchy and uncomfortable, and he had those big brown eyes, and ... well, I just stood up, peeled and went in.
I heard two more splashes in the next second or two, which meant that Dottie and Pauline had both gotten tired of paddling too. The water was full of boys, but they had to get turned on by big brown eyes too, darn it. Well, I thought, I'm a pretty good swimmer; let's see who wins. I went underwater, straight for where I'd seen Carl last, and reaching. My hands caught a hard male leg, and I yanked him down underwater, where I could have him to myself for a minute anyway.
He was a well-brought-up Boy Ranger, and he was actually wearing swim trunks; but I managed to get hold of the waistband and yank them off. We came up, blowing water and wrestling.
Well, I like wrestling as much as anybody, but I wanted to get down to essentials, so I dived under again, grabbing. I got him by the valuables, which turned out to be a pretty nice set for an adolescent; he twisted loose, and then we were both underwater, twirling around. I managed to get a good scissor grip around his waist with my legs, and his tool came right up, tickling me half-crazy. He squeezed me to him, and we went under and around and around, while he tried wildly to get it into me, and I did my best to cooperate.
But in another minute we were up again, splashing. He gasped, and grabbed ineffectively in my direction.
"It ... won't ... work underwater!" he gurgled.
"If at first ... you ... don't succeed ..." I told him, catching my breath.
"Here I come," he said, and started for me. I giggled and stroked for shore. Leave this underwater stuff to mermaids, is what I say.
I beat him by only a yard or two, and he followed me out of the water like a whole bunch of Marines storming a beachhead or something, charging right up the gravel after me. I fully intended to let him catch me, but from the way he was carrying on when he saw my bare bottom just ahead of him, I was beginning to worry that he might turn out to be something of a handful, adolescent or not.
"Hey!" he bellowed, bounding after me. "Wait a minute!"
I ran full-tilt into something tangly, and fell over it, ending up hanging head down over the thing with my rear up.
It was a hammock, slung between two trees, and I was swinging there, peering down at the ground. But Carl didn't give me any time to study the situation; he arrived with a thump, up against my bottom, his thing sliding right along ahead of him and between my thighs.
"Wow, you don't fool around, do you?" I said, but I was enjoying that nice feeling, with his rod tucked up in there against me; I wiggled a bit, and he responded nicely.
"Gee, what's going on here, anyway?' It was another Ranger, in shorts, staring at the proceedings with undisguised awe. "Hey, Carl, what's happening? There's some kind of crazy party, hey!"
"You said it, Jack," Carl agreed. "Now, go catch a chick for yourself. This one's all mine.
"Hey, don't get bossy!" I told him, eyeing the new arrival. "He's kind of cute. Besides," I added, "I don't think there's enough chicks to go' around. You don't want to be selfish with your fellow Rangers, do you?"
Carl had backed off an inch or two, and I took the opportunity to get right side up. The hammock looked pretty strong, so I swung up into it, feet up, and rocked, giving him a big come-on eye, as he stood there. He wasn't noticing my eyes, not that one; he was running his eyes over the rest of me, and licking his lips, practically pawing the ground. The other one, Jack, was staring just as hard, but looking a bit doubtful.
"Hey, wait a minute, Carl," Jack said. "Don't forget the Ranger Code!" He saluted and recited, "I will lead a clean, decent life, and not pollute my health in any way, as befits a true Ranger ..."
"So who's polluting my health anyway?" Carl demanded.
"The Head Ranger said it led to pimples and going crazy and ..." Jack began, but Carl interrupted.
"He meant jerking off, you dope. Not fucking."
"You mean it's different if you do it with a girl?' Jack asked.
"Sure," Carl explained. "It's healthy that way."
"But you don't even know this girl," Jack said. "I mean, she's a perfect stranger. Maybe she doesn't want to do it with you."
The conversation was beginning to drive me out of my mind; and it could go on like this all night. I raised myself on one elbow, and looked firmly at the two of them.
"If you two want to be alone, I'll leave," I said.
"For cripes' sakes ..." Carl began, and I wiggled my hips invitingly, and batted my eyelashes.
"Why don't you just climb in here and tell momma all about it?" I suggested.
"Gee, he's watching us," Carl said, in a stage whisper.
"Let him watch, he might learn something," I said impatiently. "Damn it, fella, are you going to come here and bump bellies or are you just going to stand around, hey?"
He came right on this time, and jumped into the hammock right on top of me, thump! The air whooshed out of my lungs, and the ropes of the hammock made a loud creaky groan, almost as loud as the noise I made. You can get too much of this enthusiasm stuff, I thought.
"Hey!" I told him. "Take it easy! I'm a girl. You know, sort of fragile, dig?"
"Gee, I'm sorry," he said, and what with those melting brown eyes, and the way his nice warm skin felt, all over me, and one or two other things, I couldn't stay mad. Besides; there was Jack over there, looking on absolutely goggle-eyed, as if he'd never seen a naked girl before. Come to think of it, maybe he hadn't. I winked at him over Carl's shoulder, and giggled.
"Don't let it worry you too much," I told him, and nibbled on his shoulder. "Mmm, yum!"
He got himself up on his hands and peered down at me, studying my boobs as if he'd found gold.
"Gee, you know you're pretty," he said in a sort of awed tone. "Uh ... can I ... sort of fool around with these?"
"I'll kill you if you don't," I told him enthusiastically, and he grabbed one in a tentative way. The nipple stood right up and peeked back at him and he looked surprised. "It isn't a bomb, you know." I told him. "Don't worry, it won't explode. But I will, if we don't get a little action around here."
He got a little bit closer, and gave it a tentative nipple nibble, which felt marvelous.
"Oh, boy, do the other one," I said, wriggling. "Yipes, don't you dare stop. Eee!"
He had his arms clamped tight around my waist by now, and he was carrying on pretty well for such an amateur. His tool was squeezed up against my tummy, feeling big, hot, and pulsating away anxiously, but I began to suspect that he might not be too sure what to do with it. It certainly felt as if it were getting bigger and bigger, but it wasn't in the right spot. I slid my hand down between us, spread my thighs out, and started trying to tuck his tool into the right place, namely me.
I had it right there, poised in the hot little slot, before he quite figured out what I was up to; then, I began to tickle his balls, for encouragement, which it turned out he didn't need much of. He pushed hard, and in it went, deep, hot and hard. I let out a delighted squeal, and he gasped with excitement, thrusting in and out like a real expert.
"Oh you ... you're the greatest!" he said, in my ear. "Woweee!"
"I ... think ... you're groovy, too!" I told him "But ... don't stop, keep on ... like that!"
His slim hips were going up and down like a steam engine now, and his tool was sliding in and out at a great rate. Crazy tingles of excitement ran up my legs, through my belly, and went radiating out of my tight nipples, beep, beep, like radio messages; my hips twisted back and forth, and I squeezed his waist with my thighs, trying to get him in closer and deeper.
"Wheee!" I cried,. biting at him and digging my nails into his back. "Bang!"
He slammed it in harder than ever, and suddenly he gurgled wildly, his body arching convulsively. "Guh ... groovy ... " he gasped, collapsing against me, his mouth moving on my hot skin. Wet hot fluid tingled inside me and my most important muscles rippled, grabbing at his softening tool. I wasn't anywhere near finished; just heated up a lot.
But Carl was finished for now anyway. He just lay there, whiffling.
"Darn it," I said, vibrating all over. "That's what I get for taking up with Boy Rangers." I slid out from under him, and stood up beside the hammock, suddenly realizing that Boy Rangers were all there was. I almost wished the motorcycle crazies would come back.
Then I spotted Jack, still standing there staring like an owl. He looked like a well-constructed kid, and he was certainly male enough; in fact, watching Carl and me going at it had excited the boy into a real condition, as I could tell by the bulge in the front of his shorts.
But the excitement might have been too much for him too; he looked as if he were in a trance. I moved around the hammock and came up to him, but he just kept on with the owl look, as apparently calm as if naked girls walked up to him, wigging their hips, every day in the week.
I snapped my fingers under his nose, hopefully.
"Yo," I said. "It's me, your long lost Honey. Come out, Jack."
"Uh," he said, focusing a little better. He looked down at my pretty self and put out one hand, touching my boobs, which were right up against him. "Say, these are nice."
"They sure are," I said, grabbing his hand and putting it up against one. "Feel good?"
"Uh-HUH!" he said enthusiastically, and grabbed my waist with the other hand, pulling me up tight against him. I could feel his rod in his shorts, hard and hot, so I started pulling them off. Halfway down, he looked over at the hammock, where Carl lay on his face grunting, and said, puzzled, "Hey, we can't use that; Carl's in it."
"Listen, doll, I'm so turned on I can't WAIT!" I told him. "What have you got against nice soft grass?" And I slid down, yanking him down with me, till we ended up rolling about, wrapped up tightly in each other's arms and legs. I was really warmed up by this time and I went at it as if I'd explode if I didn't get what I wanted-which might have been the truth, too. I clutched Jack in my thighs and rolled him over on his back, thrusting my opened hips down over his hard tool and pushing up and down faster and faster. The crazy tingles began again, wilder and warmer this time, and I felt my insides beginning to pulsate in long, deep, sucking movements. Jack was arching up under me, up like a tightly-drawn bow, and this time I knew I was going to make it, wow!
I let out a long squeal of pure pleasure as I felt it coming, and rammed down against Jack tight, feeling his dong shoved up into me as far as it could go, while he bucked and gasped with equal pleasure.
"Oooooh!" we gasped, both at the same time, and relaxed, sliding into a shimmering ocean of ecstatic pleasure.
I don't know how long we might have lain there in the soft grass, feeling the cool breeze on our bare flesh, and listening to the wild orgiastic noises in the night all around us, as squealing naked Girl Rangers ran through the underbrush, chased by naked Boy Rangers. From the various sounds, they usually got caught, too.
It was a wonderful party, and I could have kept it up all night. The supply of boys was apparently unlimited, even if their individual supplies might run out from time to time.
But that's the way it goes; sometimes I start suspecting that you just can't win. There I was, all relaxed and fulfilled, and toned up, and Boom, the roof fell in.
Bright lights flashed out, and a booming voice bellowed shocked remarks; shrieking girls dashed for cover and boys splashed into the lake, a real "Last Days of Pompeii" scene, wow. Miss Strong was back-early.
Chapter Eight
I always try to think positive thoughts, personally; I mean, some things are not much fun, such as disasters and catastrophes, and Miss Strong's arrival at camp was that, all right. I just prefer not to think about ill the negative-type things that happened right after that. And I haven't the faintest idea what became of the various troops of kids who were caught by Miss Strong at that moment. The way some of them ran they might have made it all the way to the state line at least, if not clear out of the U.S.A. entirely.
If I had had my way, that's where I would have been-clear out of any country inhabited by Miss Strong-and Dottie, who was sitting beside me in the back seat of the big car, probably felt the same way. We were both wrapped up in scratchy blankets, and Miss Strong sat glaring at us, watchfully, as the car zoomed along. The driver was a dark, mysterious type, as sinister-looking as All the Assassin, and I kept nervously thinking that we had possibly fallen into the hands of the Mob.
Miss Strong was a frightening woman, all right; good-looking in a mannish way, her dark hair in a kind of squared-off Prince Valiant cut, with a pair of eyes that looked as if they'd been made out of chunks of blue ice. She was dressed in a Ranger uniform and wore shiny boots.
"Two wicked girls," she said, staring at us. "You've been a great deal of trouble; do you know that?"
"Gee, we're sony," Dottie said, in a shaky voice.
"You should be," Miss Strong said grimly. "You especially. You know all about me, don't you, Dottie? So I can't very well take you back to your homes, where you'd probably get exactly what you deserve."
"Are you going to kill us?" Dottie asked fearfully.
"That's a beautiful thought," Miss Strong said, and looked as if she meant it. "Unfortunately, I can't really do all the things to you I'd like to. All I can do is take you to where you won't be able to cause me a lot of trouble ... more's the pity, I'm going to actually have to do you a favor, you nasty girls." She laughed in an evil way, and it made me shiver to hear her. "At least, I suppose you'll think it's a favor."
"Where are you taking us?" I asked, trying to sound bold and not succeeding.
"Where you wanted to go," Miss Strong said. "To the city."
And that was all the information we could get out of her from then on. I thought about jumping out of the car, but it didn't seem practical, going as fast as we were; and all we had on were the blankets, which weren't exactly traveling clothes. So we sat there while the miles went by.
Finally, the car slowed down, and turned into a driveway, and then up to an enormous Victorian-looking house, brightly lit up as if a party were going on. But the car didn't stop at the front; instead, the driver went around and into a courtyard, where he came to a halt.
The place looked like a kind of castle, in a way; we had come through a lot of grounds, with big trees and a wall too. I didn't know there were great big places like this in the city, but I could see the city lights all around.
Miss Strong and the chauffeur hustled us inside, where we found ourselves passing an enormous busy-looking kitchen, and then up a narrow stair, until we went into a big room. It looked like something out of the movies-a thick rug, big leather chairs, bookcases and paintings, a weird-looking Chinese desk, and a fireplace. The lights were low, and the place looked a little spooky but luxurious too, like some sort of scary palace, if you dig.
"Both of you wait right here," Miss Strong told us, and went out; we plumped down in a couple of big chairs, and stared around, trying to get on top of the situation.
"Wow, those pictures!" Dottie said, and I looked too. They were pretty wild pictures, all right. They were much dirtier than the ones I'd seen in Harold's private library. In the dim light it was a little hard to tell who was doing what to whom, but there was a lot of naked skin, and several people all tangled up.
Dottie got up for a closer look, and stood on her toes, holding her blanket around her.
"This one's got three chicks all over one cat," she said, peering. "I don't know how they're managing it, but it looks like a lot of fun, especially for him."
"Good evening, girls," a voice came from the door. "Admiring my little collection?"
He was a tall, slim, elegant-looking man, and foreign-looking, dressed in an evening dress. He had black, shiny hair and a little pointy beard and mustache; and black eyes, very sharp and hard. It gave me goose pimples to feel those eyes on me.
"So, you are to be our new employees, hmm?" he said, coming into the room. He ran his eyes over Dottie and then studied me. "Ali hah. Very young, I see. That is good, yes. You will enjoy working here."
"Hey, wait a minute," I said. "Working where? What's going on?"
"Dear, dear," he said, and went to a table, where he opened a box and extracted a long cigarette. He lit it, still studying us. "So typical of my dear friend's high-handed methods ... she did not trouble to tell you anything, eh? Still, now that you're here ...
He clapped, his hands, and a man appeared in the doorway, another sinister looking type. I had the feeling I'd gotten into an Alfred Hitchcock movie somehow.
"I am sure you would care for some refreshment before we go to matters of business," the first man said. "Ah, yes, you may call me Mr. Smith. You are Honey, no doubt, and you are Dorothy. Now, here we have a little something to eat ... and a good champagne, yes?" The sinister-type was placing plates on a low table, and a bottle popped. We were pretty hungry, and this was real luxury; so I kept my questions to myself while we got filled up properly.
Mr. Smith helped himself to a glass of champagne and sat down, relaxed and elegant, as we finished up.
"And of course, there will be a proper wardrobe ..." he said, eyeing us. "Unless you really prefer blankets, my dears."
"How distressing," Mr. Smith said. "Now ... how shall l put it? I am in the ... ah, pleasure business. Here, we have a number of girls who supply various entertainments to my clients ... but only the very best class of customer, I assure you. At the prices we charge, we can afford to be choosy. And, of course, you will be well-paid ..."
"It's a h-house of ill repute!" Dottie gasped.
"Ill-repute? Hardly!" Mr. Smith looked slightly offended. "Our repute is of the very highest. Really, my dear ... such an idea."
"You mean we get paid to BALL?" I asked. I'm the practical type, as you may have noticed.
Mr. Smith put the tips of his fingers together, and looked soulful.
"To dispense the highest joys, to pursue ever the highest of artistic goals ... unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged, or the sacred state of Unplinprodu-Ooosh, as we say in my country ..."
"Unbearable pleasure indefinitely prolonged?" I said. "Gee, I doubt we can manage anything like that ..."
"Ah, but that is merely our ineffable goal, girls," Mr. Smith said. "A divine condition known only to the most advanced yogis ... we mere humans must merely strive, doing our best to merely approach the Utter Orgasm ... you understand me."
I didn't, but, oh well. I poured some more champagne all around, and Mr. Smith continued.
"I have sought for total perfection, step by step ... until now I am, as you see, in charge of this temple of delights, still striving ever upward for the artistic total triumph.., an expensive matter, of course, so my efforts require financing. Which is why we charge so much here, but considering how much we have to offer, the fee is actually nothing."
Golly.
"Gee, Honey, I don't know," Dottie said. "I mean, do you think we ought to do anything like that? I mean, I'm not sure we can ..."
"Nonsense, ducks, you'll enjoy your work," Mr. Smith said briskly, rubbing his hands. "I've been told that you have a little experience, in a non-professional sense. Why not try a night or two and see how you like it?"
"You mean trying to get to inscrutable pleasure or whatever?" I asked.
"Oh, just fuck them to a frazzle, and don't fret about the rest," Mr. Smith said cheerfully.
Well, that made a little better sense.
"Why don't we try it, Dottie?" I said.
"Well ... all right then, if you say so," she said, from where she still stood opposite me. Mr. Smith smirked happily, and stood up.
"Delightful children," he said, approvingly. "Yes, indeed, I'm sure you'll be great favorites. Now, if you don't mind. ..." He approached Dottie, who backed up nervously. However, she had no way of avoiding him; he reached out and took away her blanket, tossing it to one side. He stood studying her thoughtfully, tapping the side of his nose with a finger and uttering small hm sounds.
"I do hope you don't mind ..." he said, poking her here and there with an extended finger. "As an artist, I appreciate ... and as a businessman, I think I should know the ... ah, product. Yes ... you know, you do have a delicious figure, m'duck, but you may have a little weight problem there when you're a bit older. Never too soon to think about such things." He put a hand under one of Dottie's breasts, and jiggled it thoughtfully, smiling. "Though it's pretty well placed now, all this delightful pink meat. Yummy, I must say." He stepped back, and cocked his head, peering up and down. "Fine firm legs, nice flat tum, and my, my, what an absolutely perfect ass. Many of our clients are ass men, you know. I myself ... well, we all have our tastes. Now ... the bush. I wonder ..." He studied Dot-tie's curly dark triangle thoughtfully for a moment.
I wonder if it would look suitably ... nice, shaved," he said, and Dottie looked indignant.
"Shaved?' she said, pinking up. "Why?"
"It's something of a fad with a few of our clients," Mr. Smith said "Pink, luscious, pretty mounds of Venus, and so on. Though I do think it's more of a bother than it's worth. One or two of the girls do it, just for the kicks. But leave it as it is if you prefer; personally, I like the fuzzy little darlings, myself." He extended a long finger, and tickled it, and Dottie jumped back, squeaking.
"Now, you, my dear." he said, turning my way. I stood up, and removed my blanket, glad to get rid of the itchy thing, to tell the truth. The champagne made me feel a bit brazen and Marlene Dietrich-y, and ;I put my hands on my hips, and tilted my turn around, showing off.
Mr. Smith looked quite pleased, as he turned to look a batted my eyes at him, and he chuckled.
"Don't you go sticking any cold fingers in me, chum," I said, warningly, as he stepped closer. "I only like that kind of thing when it's meant in the right way, if you dig me."
He chuckled again, looking me over. "My, my, a regular little spitfire. And as pretty as your friend, too. No, we needn't do anything about the little blonde beaver down there. It's proof that you're a genuine blonde, after all.
Now, about a beginning ... ah, there you are."
The sinister man had come back into the room, soundlessly; he was carrying an armload of clothing, which he laid carefully out across the back of a chair. Dottie has always been something of a clothes nut, and she was at the pile at once, picking it over like an old lady at a bargain sale, oohing and ahing. I was a little surprised myself; the clothes were all really wild things, expensive-looking too. And they looked like the right sizes, too.
"Oh, we have a great many good clothes here, for the girls to select from -as they wish," Mr. Smith said, rubbing his hands again with a salesmanish air. "And of course, you may have a drawing account against some of our better local stores. We like our girls to have a certain air, so to speak"
I had picked out a wild frock in black, something that set off my blonde hair nicely, and I was trying to make up my mind if I really wanted to bother about undies; there were all sorts of lacy objects that looked great.
"I just can't figure out one thing," I said, doubtfully; I slipped on the frock, and turned around once or twice, admiring myself as I spoke.
"And what is that, Honey?"
"I don't really know anything about this sort of place," I told him. "But gee ... I had the idea the girls .just lolled around in their underwear, or maybe nothing at all, and it was all ... well, sorta sordid."
"Good heavens, not here," Mr. Smith said, in a shocked tone. "This is a class joint, darling. Most of our clients prefer to unwrap the girls themselves, and to do that, they must be dressed. And many of our clients like to indulge in little fantasies ... amateur theater, as one might say. They do not wish to think about the . ... ah, commercial aspect. The girls must resemble their ... ah ideal, you see."
He moved to a large television set that we hadn't noticed, in a corner. There were rows of buttons on it, and he studied them, thoughtfully.
"Let me show you," he said, pressing buttons. "Closed-circuit, of course ... one for each suite of rooms. I do like watching what's going on, both for ... ah, business reasons ... and pleasure. Let me see, now ... , here's Cynthia, for instance. I believe she has a gentleman caller this evening ..
The screen lit up, and Dottie and I both sat, with our mouths wide open, watching. Wowee. It wasn't a family-type show, that was for sure.
Cynthia was a long legged model-type, and the camera was aimed squarely at the bed on which she was presently sitting; she was nearly undressed herself, except for a bra and panties, and she was busily undressing a distinguished looking gentleman of middle age, who seemed to be enjoying it. She was handing the clothes to a small brunette chick, who was wearing a maid's apron, over a nearly transparent net body stocking, and who looked as sexy as Cynthia, if possible.
"Miss Selina isn't really a maid, of course," Mr. Smith explained with a chuckle. "Merely a part of the small fantasy, as you might say ... ah, the gentleman is a very old and valued customer, yes indeed. Now, watch this."
I wouldn't have taken my eves off that screen for anything. I think I've got this Peeping Tom thing a little myself. but the show was simply a wizard. Cynthia had the man bare by now, and she bent down, pursing her luscious wide mouth and darting her tongue in a very erotic way. The man's prong was a great big one, and the sight of it made me feel a little horny. Maybe I have a thing for older gentlemen, or something; but what with my limited experience, it still seemed to me that there was something about the older ones that had it all over the sixteen-year-olds.
But just then. Cynthia put that big object right between her lips, and sucked in. nibbling away and doing things with her hands around it; the man obviously loved the whole treatment, all right. He turned a bit, and I caught sight of his face, which was pink, moist, and very familiar.
Dottie saw it too, and we gasped together.
"It's Dr. Prattworth!"
"The customer is someone you know?" Mr. Smith asked in a troubled voice. "Dear me ... ah, might I ask that you be . ... discreet? Many of our clients are prominent, and ..."
"Oh, boy," Dottie said.
"Remember the big sex-education crisis?" I said, and we both laughed. I turned toward Smith. "That's Dr. Prattworth, and he's a big wheel back home where we come from. He's the head of the board of education, for one thing, and he's against sex, he said. Oh, wow!"
"No, no, please," Mr. Smith said. "I am sure you will say nothing ... under the circumstances, you understand."
"Heck, no," I told him. "Golly, Dottie, look at that!"
Cynthia had shed the rest of her clothes by now, and so had the imitation maid, Selina; the two of them had Dr. Prattworth flat on his back, and taking turns at his thing, which stood up between them. The two girls were licking it, kissing, it, tickling it with feathers and batting it back and forth playfully; between bouts of sucking on it. As one would pay attention to the upright prong, the other would work her way around on other parts of Dr. Prattwortki, bumping her breasts here and there, rubbing her hips against his chest, and so on. He was pretty worked up, I could see, and as Selina's luscious bottom got within reach, he grabbed at it, pulling her down toward his own pursed lips.
"That sort of thing might very well go on for hours," Mr. Smith said, punching a button, and changing scenes. The next scene was wilder than the previous one, and he was right, it did go on for hours.
He pushed a button and changed scenes. There was a room where a tall, black-haired girl dressed in what looked like shiny leather was whacking away at an upended male rear end. Mr. Smith chuckled, apologetically.
"A few of our clients do have such odd tastes ..." he said. "But I assure you, you will not be asked to do anything not to your own taste ..." He switched scenes again, and this time he tuned in a sound.
A slim red-haired girl was crouched against the wall of a big bedroom, clutching the ragged remains of her dress together over a pair of really enormous boobs, and screaming wildly. A naked man, arms extended, was approaching her, his eyes wild, snatching.
"Oh, please. no, no, don't!" the girl shrieked, as he snatched away the tatters, and clutched at her.
"Hey, what's going on?" I said. Mr. Smith chuckled.
"Violet ... we call her Shrinking Violet ... is one of our most accomplished girls," he told us. "'Our client ... a well-known military gentleman ... has a taste for raping virgins, and we always try to accommodate him, though our supply of virgins is practically nil, alas. Particularly virgins who wish to be brutally raped. However, Violet rather enjoys this sort of thing ... and the General, of course, enjoys it as well. Having been strictly a staff man during the wars, his opportunities for genuine rape were quite limited.
The General had seized Violet, and was thrusting his knee between her tightly pressed thighs, forcing them apart, while she beat on his chest, and shrieked protests. She kept bending backward, her enormous tits tilting straight up under the General's chin, and he gobbled at their rose-tipped nipples with eager lips.
Violet was wriggling wildly, but I notice she wasn't making it too hard for the General; his prong was up there, rummaging around in her fuzz, and she could have easily avoided it if the whole thing had been real.
Now he picked her up, puffing a little, and carried her to bed, where he flung her down and climbed on top. This time, I definitely caught her assisting him, as he pushed his tool up into position; and a second later, he was all the way in, jumping as hard as he could, while Violet continued to squeal and scream protests. Protests that were intended to keep the General's steam up, too, I noticed.
"Oh, don't don't, it's too BIG, oh mamma, stop, AIYEE, ohoho ... " Violet was wailing and just then-her face visible over the General's shoulder-she looked at the TV camera eye, and one big blue eye closed in a lascivious wink.
"I do like a sin with a sense of humor." Smith said. switching channels again. This one was a little odd. A girl with a somewhat schoolteachenish look was sitting in a spread-legged position. across the lap of a gorgeous young man with beautiful big muscles, who had his tool planted right in, and was bouncing her up and down, hard and heavy. She was very happy about it, too, from the way she looked and sounded, but somehow she didn't seem the right type for a member of the staff or whatever the right word was.
"The lady is the customer, in this particular instance," Mr. Smith said, smirking. "We do have a few lady clients, and we try to supply their needs. After all, the day of feminine equality has come, has it not?" He sighed. "Our girls even have a union of their own, I fear. And it's a difficult one to deal with, I assure you."
The next view was of a large room, dimly lit, with couches and Roman columns all around it; nobody was there at the moment.
"Our Orgy Rooms are noted for their decor ..." Mr. Smith said. "We have another for Babylonia orgies, done in early Cecil B. DeMille ... also a Western Saloon, and a Renaissance Room. Of course, we generally hold orgies on weekends." He turned off the set, and smiled at us. "Now, would you like to try it out?"
"Gee, let's do it, Dottie!" I said. "It looks like fun."
"I don't know." she said, doubtfully. "Cripes, Honey, you've gotten me into such trouble so far with all your ideas, and now ... well. I mean, doing it for money ... it doesn't sound moral."
"It would pay our way through college," I pointed out.
"We didn't graduate from Sodom High yet," she said. "And I don't think we would, even if we went back home."
I giggled, and said, "I've got an idea about that, too. But look, what's wrong with trying it for a couple of nights, anyway, while we make up our minds?"
"We haven't got any money, or any clothes or anything," Dottie said, thoughtfully. "And if we don't like it, we can quit, I guess. Oh ... all right. But maybe I should have stayed home."
"Good, good," Mr. Smith said briskly, rubbing his hands. "Now, we have no more customers coming this evening, so your arrangements will begin tomorrow. I suppose you girls would like rooms next to each other?" We nodded. "And ..." He hesitated; looking at us. "Naturally, there's what we ... aba ... refer to as the free sample. We like to think of all our young ladies as pre-tested, so to speak ..."
"Oh," I said, looking him over. Hard to tell, I thought, but he wasn't bad-looking, though somehow he just didn't really turn my burners on. Watching all that fooling around on television, though, had made me get that tingly feeling, and if this was a requirement for the job, I wouldn't mind at all. I started to undo the top button of the elegant black frock.
"Me first, or Dottie?" I asked, giving him the lowered eyelash bit. But he almost jumped back a step or two, looking nervous.
"Oh, no, not myself," he said. 'Though I occasionally ... ah, well, we all have our little weaknesses. No, the gentleman who does the ... sampling ... is the silent partner in the enterprise here. A man of taste, and ... heh! ... wealth. Yes." Mr. Smith smiled, obviously thinking about the wealth part, which made him lick his lips. "He told me, when he asked me to open this establishment, that he had always yearned to own such a place. It solved so many minor problems, he told me ... to have a large number of ready, willing, and above all, able partners always ready to hand. Being rich, he had no problems in finding girls, you understand ... but he was constantly coming up against amateurishness."
"Heck, we're amateurs," I said.
"I'll bet he's pretty old," Dottie said, pouting slightly. "Everybody who comes here is, I'll bet."
"Many of our clients are no longer youths," Mr. Smith admitted. "But Mr. Lancelot is not yet thirty."
"Then he's probably funny-looking, or something else," Dottie said, still pouting.
"Again I must disagree," Mr. Smith said. "But let me have you shown to your suite, and you may judge for yourself later."
Another maid appeared, dressed in the same sexy get-up as the one we had seen on television-a little apron and cap, high heels, and a tight, transparent body stocking; this one, however, was Chinese, and very pretty. She led us off through dimly-lit passages, until we finally reached a pair of doors, and entered a big room.
"The john's in there. Sweeties," the maid said. "And there's a little bar over here ..." She opened doors, showing us around. "If your gentleman gets a thirst or wants some thing to eat ... " she giggled ... "Besides what they generally like eating, that is ... just buzz the Room Service thingie."
"Are you a real maid or ... uh, one of the staff?" I asked, curiously.
"Me?" she giggled, merrily. "I'm a real maid. I never ball any of the clients; most of them aren't my type. Though I get offers, I'll tell you." She giggled again. "My name's Cookie Yes, and I'll be looking after you two mostly. Hey ... one little thing I was wondering, if you don't mind."
"What?" I asked.
"You're expecting Him, aren't you?" she asked. "I mean, he usually drops in on the newest girls."
"That's what Mr. Smith said."
"Oh, my," Cookie Yee said, her bright black eyes glittering. "I was.., well, I was wondering if you'd mind if I sort of ... hung around. I mean, he just might be in an Oriental mood, you can't tell."
"I don't mind, do you, Dottie?"
Dottie shook her head, but looked curiously at Cookie. "What's so special about him, anyway?" she asked. "You're sure acting excited."
"Special?" Cookie said, her cheeks pink. "Mr. Lancelot?" Oh, my, you'll see. He must be the greatest humper in the world, the way the girls act about it. I mean, he never did it to me. but I watched ... oh, it was out of sight!" She rolled her eyes.
Dottie and I looked at each other wonderingly, and I shrugged.
"Anyway, for him I'd break my rules about my not mixing business with pleasure," Cookie said. "You'll see. Now, how about I run your tub, hmm? You dig bubble baths, kids?" She bustled into the bathroom, and we followed, to take a look. The place was the size of an ordinary living room and the tub was a sunken black marble affair, big enough for six. Cookie turned a valve, and there was a stream of perfumed, bubbling hot water.
"Some people like to take baths in company," she told us. "Heck, some of the customers dig doing it in the tub, too. You two are friends, right? You could share the tub, then, if you aren't inhibited, hmm?" She started to help Dottie undo her dress, and I kicked off my shoes to dip a toe into the water. I felt lovely, I decided, and didn't wait for Cookie's help undressing.
"Mr. Lancelot likes the girl to smell good," Cookie told us, dumping in a cupful of perfume into the water. She straightened up, and looked us over, chuckling. "You're a cute pair, you two. How'd you get started so young, anyway?"
"Just lucky," I told her, and she giggled again, her bright black eyes frankly roving over our nude bodies.
"I'll help you get all prettied up the way he likes as soon as you're through bathing," Cookie said, as we stepped into the tub together, and sank into bubbles up to our necks. She sat down on a padded bench, and went on chattering merrily.
"You two aren't Lezzies, are you?" she inquired. "Lots of the girls have a touch or two of it ... adds a bit of spice, you might say." She giggled again. "I never really went for it much myself, not too much. I much prefer plain old-fashioned screwing, so far. But I haven't got time for it, darn it. I'm working my way through school, and you probably know how it is ... no time left at all. I get a couple of hours here and there to spend with a fella, and he wastes the whole time working up to it, when he ought to get in gear and start in screwing."
"We know what you mean, all right," Dottie said, leaning back into the deep piled bubbles luxuriously.
"Men," I said darkly.
"Yeah," Cookie said. "Still ... they're practically the only game in town." She stretched out her slim legs in front of her, and wriggled her toes. "As I told you two, if you get bored with plain old stuff, men and like that, the other girls around here have their little hen parties ... but I tried it, and it just doesn't have the same thing. In spite of all their drawbacks, it's still men for me."
After a luxurious while, we climbed out, and Cookie toweled us till we stood pink and shining. Then she brought out a department store full of cosmetics, and began going over us with artistic attention.
"Pink up the nipples a bit, like that," Cookie said, dabbing at mine; the two little tips stood up promptly when she touched them, and she giggled. "Sensitive, aren't they?" she said. "Drop of perfume here, and here ... uh huh. Now you've got the idea; finish up while I get your negligees." She came back with a pair of nearly transparent robes, black for me, and blue for Dottie, to set off our respective coloring perfectly. Cookie stood back, admiringly.
"Prettiest pair of pieces I've seen in this place yet," she said.
There was a soft ringing somewhere and she turned, excitedly.
"It's Mr. Lancelot!" she said. "Here you go!"
Chapter Nine
Mr. Lancelot was an absolutely, unbelievably, totally out of-sight living doll!
You might think I'm exaggerating, or maybe that my dizzy blonde head had been turned a bit more than usual by the elegant surroundings, or the bubble bath, or whatever. But all anybody would have had to do would be to look at my friend, Dottie, who was staring at Lancelot with a real stricken-deer expression, and you'd know she was getting the same vibrations.
And the worst part is that I honestly don't know what made him so utterly special in the Sheer Male line. He was good-looking, yes; wavy brown hair and nice, friendly eyes, a good solid-looking muscular sort of body, tall ... nearly six feet, I guessed. But there was just something special about him ... yum, yum. I mean, older girls tell me that Elvis Presley had it, whatever it was, or maybe Frank Sinatra. Just the right wave length, or something.
Whatever it was, it hit me, bang. I felt my little thing actually getting damp, I mean, really. I was creaming just having that utter stud in the room.
Hey, hold onto yourself, girl, I thought, and summoned up all the will power I could find, which wasn't much. But it prevented me from actually hurling myself at him and tearing off his elegantly tailored slacks. I could see Dottie having the same trouble, too.
"Good evening, girls," he said, and Dottie gurgled slightly. I couldn't manage a word, but I tried a smile. He grinned back, reducing me to jelly, and turned the grin on the Chinese chick, who also melted.
"Hi, Cookie," he said, and she uttered a slightly hysterical giggle. "Are you joining our little party this evening?"
"Ohhh!" she said. "C-could I?"
I've been thinking of inviting you for some time," he told her, in that warm, tingly voice of his. "I wasn't sure you'd want to step out of your professional role, though."
"Oh, boy," Cookie said, and pulled off her apron, flinging it into a corner, following it with her cap.
"Is it true about Chinese girls being imperturbable?" Lancelot asked, and she giggled wildly.
"We aren't ... inscrutable, anyway," she said. "Hey, boss man, how about drinks all around? I'm a gassy bartender."
"That would be lovely, Cookie." He turned to us. "What would you two lovely children like, eh?"
"Anything," Dottie answered, managing to get reasonably steady at last.
I knew what I'd like, namely I'd like to be screwed six ways and Sunday too by this perfectly groovy stud, but I kept my ladylike cool and said. "Champagne? I'm sort of getting a taste for it."
An enormous bottle of bubbly went into glasses for all, and we relaxed as much as we could. Lancelot sat down on the enormous silk-sheeted bed, and kicked off his shoes, sipping his glass; all three of us got up around him, harem style, me sitting just behind him cross-legged.
"Something of a busy day, today." he said, wriggling his toes. "But exhausting. Feels good to take off one's shoes."
There's the old hex again, Honey, I thought. The gorgeousest stud you've had a chance at yet, and he's all tired out. If he humps one of us, that'll be all. Which means I'm going to be the one, if I can, darn it. To heck with friendship.
"Let me take off those socks," suggested the wily Oriental, and did it. But I had one or two tricks 'up my sleeve, sitting behind him. I started the good old neck-massaging bit, which he really dug the most.
"Aaaah," he said, leaning his head back against my breasts, at which I practically creamed again; but I kept up the neck rub, anyway. Cookie was gently massaging his toes, and Dottie refilled his champagne glass, letting her luscious breasts brush his arms as she did so.
"Mmm," he said, his eyes closed. 'That's lovely, Honey, Keep it up a minute." He sipped champagne, and looked thoughtful.
"Do you girls think you'll like it here?" he asked. We looked at each other, trying to think of an answer, and he chuckled. "Really new at things, aren't you? Do you know, I don't really think you'll stay long, darlings, but I'm glad you're here." He remained comfortably pillowed on my absolutely throbbing boobies as he talked.
"You just strike me as true amateurs, like Cookie here, too."
"We are not," I said indignantly.
"You don't like amateurs," Dottie said, her lip coming out, pouting.
"Ah, you don't understand, Dottie," he told her. "I love amateurs, if they're like amateurs at ... say a game, like tennis. That only means they're people who play for the fun of it."
"You said it," Cookie said, worshipfully. "Fun, man."
"Don't let that worry you, dolls," he said. "Enjoy yourselves while you're here, and if you do leave, come and visit us sometimes, hmm?" He stretched his arms out over his head, and with the same movement, caught my head and drew it down to him, mouth pressing mine, tongue darting into my lips, until I nearly fell apart. He moved one hand down, caressing me through the thin negligee; then he sat up.
"It's a difficult choice," he said, thoughtfully, standing up and turning to study the three of us. "Now, how in the world can I pick one?" He studied us again. "How about a drawing?"
"There's a deck of cards in that drawer," Cookie said, and jumped up to get them. Grinning, Lancelot shuffled them with tantalizing slowness, cut, and dealt a card each.
"Now, hold it, darlings," he said, unbuckling his belt and pulling off his shirt. He had a lovely broad cheat, fuzzed with curly brown hair, the kind I dig most. "Before you turn over your cards, let me get comfortable ..." He stepped out of his trousers, and turned to face us.
I discovered I was bending the card I held nearly in half. My, oh, MY, I thought, goggling at him in a most unladylike way. He was such a hunk of man, I mean. Even in a relaxed state.
"Mine's a ten," Dottie said hopefully, and I looked at mine, and groaned. A three.
"Phooey," I said, and dropped the card. Cookie chortled wildly.
"A queen, whee!" she bounced like a Chinese doll on the bed.
"Then it's Cookie, and Dottie, and Honey," Lancelot said. Lucky me, end of the line, I thought. When those two get through, I'll get to kiss him goodnight, wow. Dottie looked mildly hopeful, and Cookie was in an Oriental flap, bouncing up and down.
"Now," Lancelot said, coming up to the edge of the bed, "I'm finally going to find out the truth about that story about Chinese girls ..."
"Absolutely untrue," Cookie said pertly. "It goes the same way, but lots nicer."
"I'll just check up on it myself," Lancelot said, kneeling on the bed. He caught Cookie's waist with one hand, and with the other he peeled the single tight garment down over her, revealing a smooth golden skin like a peach- small, round tits, and a lovely flat belly that tapered down into a dark-furred mound. She flung herself back, elevating her neat round buttock so that he could peel the garment the rest of the way down.
"Don't get off the bed, darlings, there's plenty of room," Lancelot told us. "And besides, you might want to get into the game some way." He was kneeling between Cookie's raised knees as he spoke, and now he turned his attention to her. "Hey, that's pretty," he said, and bent close to her quivering mound. He scattered kisses around, into the fold of her hip, along her firm belly, and slowly, maddeningly slowly, down toward her downy love-bump. She gurgled with ecstasy as he did it, and then as his lips moved on down, she squealed and bucked wildly; he had evidently reached the right place.
Her golden skin shone with moisture, and her slim legs kicked high in the air as he drove his pointed tongue in and around. Cookie gabbled wildly in Chinese, and arched her hips, squeaking; then, Lancelot lifted his head, laughing.
"It isn't true," he told us. "Chinese girls have exactly the same pretty things."
"Ah, ooh!" Cookie gasped, rolling wildly. "Oh, that ... that t-tongue in my twat, aiee ... oh, lordy, Bossman, if you s-stop now Ill dieeee!"
Dottie and I were both so wildly excited watching that we were nearly as badly off as Cookie. I leaned toward Lancelot, where he sat, and put my hand around his prong, giving it a pull; it rose like an elevator, and I let go, giggling crazily.
"Hurry up, Lancelot, for heaven's sakes," I gasped. "Give it to her."
He laughed at me, and still sitting, he took hold of Cookie's kicking legs at the knees, and pulled her toward him, spreading her thighs as he did so. Now her pulsating slit was held open and ready, close to his erect organ, and he lifted her swiftly, and thrust her down on it.
As she felt it entering, Cookie uttered a deep, ecstatic gasp, and strove to force her hips farther down, to engulf the delicious rod that penetrated her. She gasped, again and again, as he urged it in deeper, and now he brought her up against him, so that her face pressed against his chest as they sat locked together. His hands ran down her back, and cupped her firm little rear, squeezing appreciatively, and his finger tickled between her bottom cheeks as he moved his hips slowly and rhythmically.
He grinned at us, over Cookie's quivering shoulder.
"Oh, my," he said. "Eeeh. She ... was ... right about Chinese ... cunts ... wow, Marvelous!" He moved his hips out at a slowly increasing speed now, and Cookie cried out, bouncing her own hips and rubbing her breasts against him wildly.
"Oh, boy, the ... other girls ... weren't kidding!" she gasped. "You ... you're the wildest!" Her hands were running erratically up and down his naked body, and now she began to quiver all over, wildly. "Oh, ... I'm almost there, oooooh ..."
Both of us were practically coming ourselves, just watching. Lancelot's hips moved with real speed now, his muscular back knotting as he drove up into the gasping Cookie, with a pounding, climactic thrust, while she clutched at him, squealing, "Ooooh, I'm coming I'm ... oh, OH!"
Gently, Lancelot lowered the Chinese girl to the bed, where she lay giggling crazily, and breathing deep, gasping breaths. He rolled over and lay on his back, propped against the pillows, stretching his arms over his head.
"I really must add some Chinese chicks to our crew," he said, grinning at us. He reached for the champagne and drained a glass, while Dottie sat, holding her knees in her arms, watching him under her loosened hair. Her eyes were wide and a little scared, knowing she would be the next.
"Well, look at that," Lancelot said, in a surprised voice, peering down the length of his naked body. His tool had regained every delicious inch, and stood, wavering slightly, ready at attention; he finished his champagne and chuckled.
"Maybe it's like Chinese food," he said, thoughtfully. "A few minutes and you're horny again. Hi, pretty Dottie."
She giggled and said, "Hi."
"Whee," Cookie said, groggily, lying flat on her back.
"What about you, pretty?' Lancelot asked. "In the right mood?'
"If she isn't, do it to me again," Cookie said, giggling.
"It's Dottie's turn," Lancelot said. "How about that, Dottie? Do you like screwing?"
"Oh, golly," she said, in a confused tone.
"You forgot to ask me," I told him. "The answer's yes, yes, YES."
He laughed and stroked my leg, which put me into such a state that I was actually unable to talk at all. Then he held out a hand to Dottie. "Come over here, do." She slid over, and he rolled around, lowering her to the bed and leaning on an elbow over her.
"Mmmm," he said, his lips moving against hers, as she lay quivering. His hands gently opened the negligee, and spread it apart; he moved his mouth down over her lush breasts, kissing the nipples, then into the hollow of her armpits and elbows, while his hands slid down her waist and along her round thighs, stroking.
"Oh, yes, yes," Dottie said, her hands clutching at the sheets and her round hips sliding around and around. Her thighs spread apart, widely, and she lifted her body, toward him, panting. "Yes, I love screwing, damn it. Please ... don't TEASE, don't!"
"I won't tease," he told her. "But there's no hurry, is there?" He bent close to her middle, and then lower, his skillful fingers delicately parting her furry triangle, and gently opening the lips. Even from where I sat watching, I could see her pink flesh actually quivering with the maddening tingle of his touching; she moaned and writhed.
"Ooh. PLEASE!" she groaned. "Oh, God. I can't stand it! Put it into me or I'll die right now!"
"Bet you won't," he told her, but moved over her, and placed himself. Her hands grasped toward his stiff rod, trying to draw it closer, and he chuckled, bending nearer to bring his lips down on her stiffened nipples again.
"Aah-uh!" She let out a long gasp as he pressed down against her, his hips thrusting in a deep, penetrating stroke. He had his hands behind her knees, and now he brought her long legs all the way up, folding her up like a doll, until her ankles were hooked over his shoulders. He glanced at me and grinned at my wide-eyed stare.
"This way ..." he panted, ... gets deeper than any. Oh, my, your friend's a delicious ... juicy a ... one." He thrust deeper again and again, and each swinging push brought a wilder moan of ecstasy from the impaled Dot-tie. And now he was going faster and faster, the sound of his hips slapping against her thighs like a drumming beat, his body shining with exertion, until Dottie emitted ecstatic wails, like a wildcat.
"Ooooh," I said, and practically collapsed, falling against the nude body of Cookie, who was sitting up a little and trying to watch.
"Look at him go!" Cookie breathed, in sheer awe, her arms around me, and mind around her; we embraced without thinking, our bodies pressed damply together as my negligee fell open.
"He can't do it again after that," I whispered in Cookie's ear, as we watched the two locked bodies twisting and thrusting to-together, and listened to their wild gasps. "Oh, gee, I guess I just get to watch."
"Aw, poor baby," Cookie chuckled in my ear, her agile fingers tickling down along my belly, digging into my belly-button and stroking lower, lower ...
"Hey," I said, not really displeased. "Whoops. What's with the finger, doll? I thought you said you weren't that way."
"After the reaming the boss just gave me, Honey baby, I don't know which way I am," Cookie whispered in my ear, and blew into it. Her fingers were roaming in my crotch, now, and one agile thumb suddenly touched my clitoris and rolled it around. It felt as if I had suddenly been plugged directly into ten thousand volts of ecstasy electricity, if you dig me. I grabbed and caught hold of one of Cookie's little firm tits, like a hard little apple; to even things up, she began to kiss one of mine.
"You for me, me for you, wow," I said, and felt down with my hand, till I had Cookie's mound under my palm. Her hair was so silky and down-like that it seemed almost not there at all; her round triangle of swelling flesh pulsed under my hand like a warm kitten. I experimentally put my finger in, and felt around till I touched her little bead-like cut, and she wriggled with joy.
"Oh, golly, maybe we're both AC/DC after all," I said, and Cookie shrieked with laughter, rolling over and pulling me down with her. Her hot mouth moved over my body and I twisted.
She was kissing the insides of my thighs, and she stopped for a second, flinging loose black hair back from her eyes to look up at me with a gamin grin.
"Let's!" she said, and her mouth moved up toward my bush.
As Cookie's sharp little tongue parted my lower lips and began to flick at my clitoris, I had only a moment of clear thought before the waves of orgiastic pleasure rose over my head; I was obviously going to lose out on that gorgeous stud Lancelot, so why not? I dived toward Cookie's neat little Oriental pleasure pit, nibbling madly, as I heard Dot-tie's climactic squeals on the other end of the bed.
Meanwhile, Cookie and I were reducing each other to quivering jello, as we clutched and nibbled at each other. Then, pausing for breath, I heard Lancelot laughing, and looked up at his wide grin.
"Couldn't wait, Honey?" he said, his hand patting my up-ended bottom.
"All ... your ... fault, boss," Cookie gasped, rolling over and laughing dizzily. "Oh, God, that felt nice. For heaven's sake, carry on while she's still on the boil!"
"You ... have to be kidding," I said, panting, and staring at Lancelot's lovely thing, which was almost as good as new from the looks of it. "You don't mean you can do it again?"
"Encourage me a little, and I can do it again and again and again," he said. "I take vitamins."
"I love vitamins," I said, wriggling around until I was leaning over his lap. "Beautiful vitamins." I circled his prong with my finger and thumb, sliding it gently up and down; with my other hand, I cuddled under his family jewels, rolling them around like a pair of big old marbles oh, my. "Golly, what a set," I told him. I opened my mouth as wide as possible, and took the head of his luscious object in, running my tongue around it in a quick circle. The darn thing expanded so quickly that I almost got stuck.
"I still don't believe it," I told him, kissing the thing again. "You're doing some sort of trick. Nobody can keep it up that long."
"This isn't even one of my best days," he said, modestly.
"You come see me on one of your best days," I said tickling a sensitive spot on him. He laughed, caressing me.
"My, you're a confident one, Honey, aren't you?"
"Oooh, you," I said. "What a stud. Listen, you're a gas, I admit, but I'll bet I can go at it longer than you can keep it up, so there."
He laughed. "I'm tempted to try," he said, looking down at me speculatively. "But it might not be quite fair, darling. I mean, I've done a little already."
I looked over at the nude form of Dottie, sprawled out and still quivering a little, and I laughed too.
"No bet, then," I told him. "Not this time." I stuck out my lip, and pouted at him. "But you could try, anyway, bet or no bet, hey?"
"I could certainly fry," he said, pulling me to him. His arms were really strong; he squeezed me up against his chest, pressing my round boobs into flat pancakes, while his knees started pushing my thighs apart. I didn't need any preliminary fooling around, hot after the wild tickle and twiddle match with Cookie. I was as nicely moist and ready as I'd ever been, and the playing with Cookie hadn't used up a thing. It was as if she were dessert, but he was the main course.
So I rolled over and yanked him right down atop me, and his great big marvelous thing slid in as if it was on wheels, right up into me, setting off sparklers and firecrackers all the way in. He didn't waste any time either; he slammed it in and kept slamming, driving the breath out of me every deep push. I was floating around in sparkling oceans of pure pleasure, but I managed to get control of my muscles down there, and started squeezing-a long, pulling squeeze each time he drove it in.
Oh my, but it took willpower to hold onto enough self control to keep manipulating. I wasn't about to come-I was already coming and coming and coming, wild waves of whee splashing right up over my head, bent up in a half-circle right off the bed. But he was gasping wildly himself, and I felt that lovely thing in there starting to pulse harder with every stroke. I grabbed at him underneath, cramming him closer than ever, and he panted into my ear.
"Oh, Honey baby, you're amazing!"
"We're both amazing!" I gasped, feeling how close he was now to the big one. "Eeyow!" I heaved and roiled, with a big effort, and got him all the way over on his back. and myself locked atop him. Now, l used my hips, thrusting down harder and harder, so his tool entered me as far as possible.
"Honey, baby, how ... the hell ... can ... a teenager? ... " he was panting, and then he clutched at me, straining upward as he released, again and again, his grip bruising my tender skin as he thrust.
But I was merciless; I refused to release him and my fingers tickled and caressed at his softening flesh while I moved my hips insistently on his; in a moment, I had brought him nearly back to full erection, and once more I pressed myself down onto him. This time he ground himself against me tighter and tighter, and finally rolled over on top of me to thrust in a wild crescendo of drumming flesh to a climax.
"Oh, ooh," he said, lying limply across my hot wet body, as I lay quivering. "You ... win ... this time."
"Are you ... sure you don't want a little more?" I said in his ear, running my hands down the backs of his thighs. He laughed weakly, and I did too.
"It's a damned draw," I gasped, and lay as limp as he.
I don't know how long a time went by before one of us stirred; but it was quite awhile. The first one to actually make a sound was Dottie, who uttered a long, drawn-out breath, and then a sort of whistle.
"That's what I say, too," I heard Cookie say, in a faint voice. "Oooh, my, what a stud." I was half underneath Mr. Lancelot, and I wriggled out, to sit up and look at things. He was lying on his face, with a silly smile slightly visible, and his eyes closed.
"Oh, boy," Cookie said, peering down at him. "You certainly did it, didn't you?"
"I hope we didn't kill him." Dottie said anxiously.
"Heck, no," Cookie said. "But Honey, sweetie, you sure turned him every which way but loose. Do you know, you're the first one to do that since I came to work here? The very first girl to out screw old Superstud here?"
"Everybody helped," I said modestly. But I was a little anxious about cute little old Lancelot, at that. I tried tickling his ribs, and he merely punted without opening his eyes.
"Don't worry," Cookie advised me. "If you could die of that, he'd have gone long ago." She giggled. "But he finally did it to me, yippee! I've been trying to get him to notice me for months. Hey, maybe he'll do it again one of these days, if I'm lucky."
"Not the way he is right now," Dottie said. "Golly, I'm all damp and hot and sticky. Cookie, come show me how to turn on that marvelous bath tub."
Both of them scrambled off the bed, and in a moment, clouds of steam began to billow out of the bathroom door, and wild feminine giggles. I left our unconscious employer on the bed, and went into the bathroom, carrying an ice bucket with champagne in it.
Cookie and Dottie were frolicking in the water, pinching and giggling; I sat down on the rim, and paddling my feet, pouring tizzy all around.
"Wonderful," Cookie said, tipping up her glass. "Hey, you two kids are a couple of cool kittens, you know. Most of the girls around here are pretty square, actually."
"You wouldn't think so," I said, wondering. "I mean, how could they be?"
"That's the way it is," Cookie said. "Not many of the customers are wild studs like Lancelot."
"Hey," Dottie surfaced, blowing bubbles, wet hair around her face. "Let's give him a bath!"
"Crazy!" I said. "Maybe it'll freshen him up!"
The other two scrambled out of the huge tub, and all three of us ran into the bedroom, where Lancelot still slept face down, unaware of his fate. We grabbed him, arms and legs, and lifted; he was a solid young man, and no lightweight, but the three of us swung him between us, heading for the bath. Halfway there he came partially awake, and asked what was happening.
"It's bath time!" we said, and lowered him in, with a splash. He came up with a number of bad words, but as soon as he saw the three of us standing around the rim of the tub grinning, he started to laugh too. No man could have been in a bad temper under the circumstances. I mean, there are three pretty naked girls standing looking down at you as you splash around ... now, how would you feel?
"Aba!" Lancelot said, and caught Cookie's ankle, tipping her in with another gigantic splash. I wasn't about to be the last this time, so humped in, and Dottie followed. I dived under the surface and grabbed, catching Lancelot's cock in my hand; that poor overworked prong was as soft as butter, but I hung on anyway, as I came up for air.
"Oh, it's you, Honey," Lancelot said, and managed to slide out of my grip, laughing at me. "You won the contest, kid. Hey, let me have a breather, will you?" He floated, grinning.
"How about a return match?" Dottie suggested boldly. Cookie roiled in the water, lasciviously, lying on her back and coiling around Lancelot like a small snake.
"I'm surrounded," he said, and then emitted a surprised yell as I managed to lay hold on his handle again. It wasn't quite as limp as it had been, though it certainly wasn't it's old self either-yet. I gave it a twiddle and told the other girls, "The patient's recovering."
"Whee," Cookie said, and dived under the water, competing with me for a grab, while Dottie circled around us. Under water, we wriggled, each gaining a hold on Lancelot's tool only to lose it to the other one, until he started to play rough himself. He caught at my leg and his hand grasped my furry mound, his thumb neatly inserting and holding me. I squealed helplessly, caught; but at the same moment, Cookie must have gotten an even firmer hold under water. Lancelot yelped and fell over; as he went over backward, Cookie was momentarily visible amid the waves, her pink mouth firmly gripping his prong. Water washed out of the tub, all over the floor, and for a minute. I thought we'd all drown.
"Ohmigod, ENOUGH!" Lancelot yelled, and escaped Cookie's grip, climbing out hastily. 'There's a shark in there," he said, panting; then. as Cookie hurled herself out after him, he retreated to the bedroom, where all three of us caught him on the rumpled bed, and held him down, screaming with laughter.
"Look at this, will you?" I said, from where I sat on his thighs. His cock had regained a good deal of size and ring; I took it by the end and held it up for the others to admire.
"Let's draw for him again!" Cookie suggested, but Dottie and I both objected.
"I think you're too lucky," Dottie said, firmly.
"Hey, don't I have anything to say about it?" Lancelot asked. Dottie's luscious bottom was planted on his chest, just below his chin; he lifted his head and tried to bite it, playfully.
"Let me catch my breath a minute," he begged "Then ..."
"I don't think we ought to let him up," Dottie said. "He might get away from us."
"Do you know you've got an absolutely magnificent ass?" Lancelot asked her, from his position just behind her seat.
"I do, don't I?" Dottie said, turning her head to look down at him with a pleased expression. Suddenly, he managed to free a hand and reaching for her, he placed the hand on her belly and moved her backward a few inches with a hard shove. His head vanished under her, and Dottie's expression suddenly became very surprised.
"Eeeeeee!" she said. "Oooh!"
Lancelot's hand slid out, feeling around, and suddenly caught Cookie by the leg, sliding up. She uttered a pleased squeak, and drew the hand up, holding his wrist with both of her own hands, until his agile fingers had reached her slit; then she managed to insert several fingers at once, and fell over backward, gasping.
I wasn't going to get left out of this game; I flung myself across Lancelot's thighs, and seized his tool in my hands. It was standing up nicely, now, so I went to work with tongue and fingers, until he began to kick and wriggle wildly. With his nose buried in Dottie he could hardly speak too clearly, but it sounded as if he wanted something. I wasn't sure what.
I knelt over his heaving hips, my legs spread out, and took the end of his tool between my fingers, tickling a little to keep the old zing up; then I slowly slid down onto it, sliding it into me. I tightened my muscles on his too, as it slid, and wriggled my hips around, which seemed to make him act as if he were getting goosed with a live wire.
Dottie suddenly tipped over, gurgling with pleasure, and Lancelot's head was visible again, wearing an expression of absolutely zonked-out ecstasy. "Ooh, ash," he said, waving his hands at me as if he were trying to grab 'me, but missing.
"Wow, it ... feels ... wonderful ... " I gasped, bouncing up and down, his enormous thing squeezing into me and out, and in again. I closed my eyes and let out a wild yelp of joy; then, I slowed down and held still a second.
"Hey, Cookie, want to?" I said, giggling at her expression. "Come on, fair play all around." I rose slowly, letting him out of me, and rolled over; Cookie leaped, spreading her golden thighs as she came atop him, and down, driving her hips onto his with a yip. I leaned over his head, nibbling his nose, enjoying the completely boggled expression.
"I want to try some of that other stuff too," I told him, and moved my hips around into the same position Dottie had occupied; Dottie now lay, half over him, giggling feebly. I bent very low and peered down between my legs, backward, at Lancelot.
"Hey, have I got a nice ass too?" I asked.
He was almost incapable of answering, laughing and gasping as he was.
"N-nice!" he said. "Oh, wow, what are you kids ... trying ... to do? K-kill me? WhooEEl" I dropped atop his face, and felt his nose tucked neatly into my warm open slit. A second later, his tongue went to work, and I nearly exploded. Oh, my, it was better than the straight variety, in some ways.
Unfortunately, it didn't last too long, what with everything that had led up to it, and Cookie's frantic activity, Lancelot had no more zeal left. In a few minutes, we all lay in a frazzled heap, arms and legs tangled, completely exhausted.
Chapter Ten
"Good morning, girls."
The voice came out of the ceiling, and it startled me wide awake. I discovered I was in the big bed, but alone; evidently Dottie had gone to her own bedroom next to mine, and Cookie had vanished to her own place too. Except for a deliciously tired feeling, I wouldn't have known what a small orgy I'd been having the night before. The window was open, and I could see the city in the distance.
"Dottie and Honey? Are you both awake?" the voice said. It was Mr. Smith's voice; probably the speaker was in the other room too. I sat up, and the voice chuckled approvingly.
"Mr. Lancelot was terribly pleased with you girls," the voice said. "If you will look over on your bed tables ..."
There was a large orchid pinned there, and something green wrapped around its stem; I grabbed for mine, and opened it, and it was a wad of money. Five one hundred dollar bills!
"However, Mr. Lancelot has asked me to say that-he does not really feel you should stay with us. He says that the trouble is that you enjoy your work so much that you may very well wear our customers out, and while he will regret losing you, we must consider the larger Picture."
"Gee," I said, regretfully.
"Mr. Lancelot suggested that you stay for a day or two, till you have other plans clear in your minds. There's no hurry, naturally. Of course, if you should see any clients you're particularly taken with, you may ... ah, turn a trick or two, as we say in the business. And Mr. Lancelot particularly hopes you may be around for the weekend orgy scene, if you're in the mood."
"Orgy?" I asked. "What do you call last night, anyway?"
Mr. Smith's voice chuckled. "Dear me, hardly a full-sized orgy."
"I hope we didn't get the maid into trouble, inviting her to stay," I said, anxiously. "I mean, Mr. Lancelot seemed to think it was a good idea."
"He thought it was an excellent idea." Mr. Smith said. "He is thinking of installing an entire Oriental wing, to be called the Wang Dynasty Rooms ... "
There was a buzz and a click as he turned off his microphone. I slipped on a robe that hung at the bedside, and padded to the door, and opened it. Dottie, sitting up in bed in her room, looked at me.
"He left me five hundred dollars!" she said, excitedly. "Wow, I didn't know balling was worth money."
"Me too," I said. "But I guess he's a bit special. Plain ordinary balling is just for fun."
"If we stayed here, we'd make lots of money," Dottie said, round-eyed with thought.
"Not if the customers kept dropping dead from too much of a good thing," I said. "Dottie, baby, not everybody is like Mr. Lancelot."
"Nobody is," she said, her pink tongue dampening her lips reminiscently.
So most of the customers are probably old goats," I said. "That's the only sort with money enough to come here."
"Gee," Dottie said. "If only we could find fellows with ... oh, you know, the right sort. And plenty of money too."
"You're mercenary," I told her.
"It's your fault," she said. "All I needed was to have my marks in English get a little better. And you said it was my psychology, and if I got a little bit of sex and stuff everything would be all right. But I don't even know what my marks would be, now, and I've had a whole lot of sex, and darn it, I don't know what to think. Except maybe I'm a dope for listening to you."
"Oh, come on," I said. "Listen now, has anything bad happened, really? So, if we go home, we'll probably flunk out, but there's always next year. And we know lots more about men now, don't we?"
"That isn't going to improve the men back home any," she said.
"Don't you realize we've got all this money?" I said. "We could go looking around other places. There's bound to be a little bit of life going on here and there. Gee, all we did was take one trip, and look what's happened."
"Next time we'll probably get murdered,"
Dottie said darkly. "You act like this has been one big picnic, Dopey."
"Well, hasn't it?"
Dottie had described it all perfectly. A picnic. We certainly had tasted all the goodies in sight, right? And I think, with this wicked little smirk on my face, I'll end my little story right there.
