For a long time-hours, it seemed to Camilla-there was no sound at all. Nothing but dead, black silence. Except for the beat of her blood, which had begun to produce strange flashes behind her eyes. Not flashes of color, just little bursts of formless symmetry, rhythmic blooms of black light. The eye cups and the silk blindfold excluded even the faintest diffusion from the outside, so that she was not even sure whether the lamps in the room were on or off. In fact, the only thing she knew about the room was that it had a thick carpet on the floor-at least on that part of the floor where she lay-because they had blindfolded her before leading her in.
At first she had the feeling that they were already inside the room, sitting all around her in chairs, maybe, looking at her. But then she decided she must be alone. It was too quiet. There would have been a cough or two, surely, a shuffle of feet, a rustle of clothing... Maybe they were watching her from outside-through windows, or peepholes or soundproof panels of glass...
These and a thousand other speculations prevented her from adjusting her skirt. They had not taken her clothes off yet, as she had thought they would, and she had the feeling that her hemline was all rumpled and folded up high on her thigh, perhaps even above her thigh. She wanted very much, almost desperately at times, to smooth it down, to disobey just for one instant the command to remain motionless. What could it hurt? It was just a game, wasn't it? She wondered what they would do if- Camilla felt the footsteps before she heard them. Vibrations along her spine and through her palms. Her hands were still where they had been placed, about six inches from her hips, and were pressed deep into the pile of the carpet. They were pulsating at the same tempo as the black flashes in her head. The footsteps were approaching the room.
I wonder if my feet are toward the door. Yes, it's coming from that direction. They'll be looking right up my dress when they come in. That's why they spread my legs, I guess. Oh! here they are.
With an, explosive click the doorknob shattered the silence.
I hope they can't see my knees trembling.
The padding footfalls encircled her. The rustle and swish of flowing garments hissed in the shapeless dark.
There's more than just the four of them. Maybe Mrs. Boyce is here. But Camilla knew there were more than that even. She could already feel the maleness in the air. She could hear it and smell it. The heavy forms were settling down around her now... They are very close. I can hear them breathing.
For a few minutes there was only a slithering undulation of sound flowing around her, vague and unidentifiable. Then though at first she felt or heard nothing, Camilla was aware of warm flesh near her left ear, only inches away. The lights must be on. They couldn't get this close to me in the dark without touching me. I wish they would. Touch me. Or at least say something, so I could tell- Oh, now they're kissing...
The noises beside her ear now began to take shape. There was the moist hollow sound of open mouths in contact, yet not pressed together. Once a hot breath flowed over her cheek and into her ear. There was a heaviness, a certain muted violence of motion, that revealed clearly its masculinity, suffused with a passionate cooing purr, growing in intensity and breaking now and then into little breathy ohs and ahs, barely audible. He's feeling her up. I wonder if it's a man or a boy. Maybe it's Mrs. Boyce's brother. I'll bet he's in on this. The way they looked at me the other day!-both of them. But that's not Mrs. Boyce. It's one of the girls. Probably Marsha. She'd be the one to go first...
Mmmmm-!
Yes!-that's Marsha, it's got to be. Mixed with the passionate murmurs and girl-sounds now came a wet sucking noise. That's further away. He must be sucking her tits. Yes, that's what he's doing. He's doing it loud, so I'll know what's happening... Now he's moving down... Camilla could hear his knees on the floor. He must be kneeling over her. Yes, he's in her belly button now, sucking it... I guess she's naked already. Probably all of them are...
Camilla felt naked too. She felt that the little button that had begun to twitch in her pussy must be quite visible to everyone. I wish I was naked. This is torture... Oh God, what are they doing now? The new sounds were further down. Rhythmic lapping, slobbery sucking noises. He's licking her between the legs. I wonder how it feels... Camilla thought of the magazine she had found in her father's room one day after school; there were pictures in it of pretty girls licking each other's pussies. She had locked herself in the bathroom and tried to do it to herself to see what it felt like but couldn't. She remembered painfully how back home last year she had hardly allowed her boyfriend to touch her body. 'I'm not that kind of girl,' she had told him. What a stupid little bitch I was! NOW I'm dying for somebody to touch me. Boy, if Tommy could see me now! God, listen to her panting! It must feel wonderful. And all those others watching...
The lapping became wet and furious; the girl's passionate breathing changed into little gasps and high-pitched grunts came at the same tempo as the slurping between her legs, until Camilla could feel the vibrations of Marsha's body through the floor.
"-ah ah ah ah ahg ahg nn nn nn oh-!"
"mmm-mmm... " Camilla heard the chuckles and whispers about the circle as Marsha sighed and moved away with her partner. She was aware of another couple crawling into place above her head, but this time she could not identify the girl. Whoever it was, she blew deliberately into Camilla's ear. She felt the goose pimples racing along her inner thighs and the blood rush into her cheeks, but she did not move...
Throaty, sexual laughter, very close. The opening of a zipper. Hot kisses traveling up and down. A slippery sliding sound of skin on skin... What are they doing? There was a shifting of bodies, and then Camilla felt something hard against her left arm. It was the first physical contact since they had left her lying alone in the room, and it jolted her like an electric shock. A knee, it's a man's knee. He's kneeling beside me-oh!- Hot breath flooded her face, filling her nostrils with the smell of toothpaste and liquor. He's bending over me. A drop of warm saliva struck the corner of her mouth and ran down her cheek. Her lips trembled.
"You're not allowed to move until we tell you to," Marsha had said, "no matter what happens."
Mrs. Boyce had assured her that she wouldn't be hurt-it wasn't that that bothered her. It was just that it was becoming a thousand times more difficult to remain motionless than she had thought it would be. One moment it was all she could do to keep from rolling over on her face in shame and sobbing like a baby, or tearing off the blindfold and running home to Mother and Daddy; the next she was fighting an almost irresistible urge to embrace this man who grunted over her, drooling in her face.
She had no clear picture of what was happening until the first jet of hot thick fluid surged into her ear. That first shot was deafening, and so forceful that it knocked her head to the side; but she managed to recover and to weather the remainder of the copious discharge without flinching again. It filled and refilled her ear, splattering on her cheek, its heavy flood flowing down her neck and drooling into her hair...
Arn looked up from the typewriter to see Lisa standing in the doorway of the bedroom, stretching her voluptuous body in the yellow rays of the morning sun which streamed through the window behind her. The big brown nipples of her beautiful breasts bloomed vividly through the sheer blue nylon of her babydoll nightie, whose ruffled hem lifted as she stretched, unveiling for a moment the luxuriant nest of black curls at the apex of her slightly parted thighs.
"Jesus Christ," she said sleepily. "Working already?"
"Sure," said Arn, leaning on one elbow and looking her up and down, "it's late."
"Where's Emily?"
"Still in bed."
"Well," -she yawned- "I'm glad somebody's got some sense around here."
"Come here, sexy."
Lisa smiled and walked over to Arn's desk. "Don't tell me you're ready for more?"
He lilted her nightie and kissed her on each nipple, running his fingers over the soft, gentle curve of her belly and into the thick hair below, stroking the prominent lips of her vulva. "I don't get as much as you, you know." He pushed her breasts together and rested his chin in the cleft.
Ignoring the remark, Lisa smiled down at him, running her fingers through his hair. "You didn't shave this morning." He lifted his chin and bit her nipple. "Ouch! You're mean.-Hey, cut it out, Arn-Yipe!" He had slipped a linger between her naked buttocks and tickled her anus.
"Oh, all right," he said, slapping her on the butt, "if you're gonna be grouchy, you can go fix breakfast. Eggs and sausage for me."
"What are you writing now?" She picked up one of the pages. "Oh, about that initiation of mine, huh?... Pretty good... " She read one of the typed pages beside Arn's typewriter. "That's the way I felt, all right."
"Did that guy really jack off in your ear, like you said?"
"He sure as shit did! Well, actually one of the girls jacked him off. Hey, stop it, Arn! Emily's gonna walk in here at any minute."
"So what? She's seen it before, I'll bet."
"Are you going to tell about the peeping torn?"
"Sure. Do you think he was there when you were getting initiated?"
"Of course. He was there every night. Most of the girls didn't know about him, but Mrs. Jones knew all right. She always left a curtain open for him. I found out through Jill, after the big bust."
"His sister?"
"Yeah. You gonna put all that in it-about her father and all?"' "Are you kidding? Any resemblance between characters in my books and real persons, living or dead, is purely intentional; only the names have been changed to protect the guilty."
Lisa laughed. "What would you use for material without my childhood experiences?"
"Your adult experiences."
The grin faded from Lisa's lace. "Don't be mean to me. This was all your idea- "Lisa, please don't start that again."
"Do you still love me?"
"Of course I love you. Now shut up and go fix something to eat." He kissed her navel and left a thin line of saliva down the center of her belly with the tip of his tongue. "And for dessert I'll have some of this... "
"Ooooo, don't do that, Arn... Arn... " After that Camilla knew she could take whatever else they had in store for her. She felt as if she had passed the first test, and some of the tenseness left her limbs. Someone swabbed out her ear and washed her face with a warm cloth. I almost feel relaxed. But the game had just begun.
Camilla now felt a presence at her feet. In a moment there were hands on her ankles, smooth hands, sliding up her calves, her thighs, under her dress. She felt all gooseflesh now, from head to toe. I wonder who it is. She has strong hands. Too strong for Marsha, but it might be Janis. Or Mrs. Boyce... What if the Van Eckles came home unexpectedly and find their governess doing this? Wow. Would the shit ever hit the fan... Yes, it must be Mrs. Boyce. Marsha said her mother fired Mrs. Boyce once, I wonder why. Marsha threatened to run away from home, or did run away, I forget,-and so they hired her back. I'm glad. I think she's- Snick snick.
Metal on metal: scissor blades opening and shutting, high overhead, held aloft apparently by the person who now crouched between Camilla's legs. The silence about the circle deepened.
They promised they wouldn't hurt me.
As the snick snick descended, Camilla's blood froze. Then the sound changed- Sssssnip, sssssnip, sssssnip...
-and she felt a loosening of her dress about the hips. Oh, thank- God! She's just cutting my clothes off. I thought for a minute- God, what a little chickenshit I am.
Camilla was so relieved that she didn't even mind the loss of her dress. When it had been cut up the front from hem to neckline, the shoulders and sleeves were opened with the same careful, methodical snips, the shears doing their work with a kind of sensual slowness, as though the cutter were savoring the gradual revelation of Camilla's body, drawing out the act to extract its maximum pleasure. The dissected garment was laid open but not drawn from beneath her body, and now Camilla felt the cold blade of the scissors on her belly above the elastic of her lace panties. She held her breath as it slid up between her breasts and severed her bra with one snip. The lace cups were left in place until both shoulder straps had been cut, as well as the band under both arms; then they were lifted off, one at a time, and she felt warm damp exhalations on her naked breasts. I wonder if Marsha will be jealous of my tits? I'm the only one with tits as big as hers. Except for Mrs. Boyce of course. Boy, what a pair she has!-Oh!
The scissor blade slipped inside her panties at the hip. In a minute I'm going to be naked. They'll see my hair and everything. One snip and she felt the recoil of the elastic. When the blade touched her other hip, she noticed a vibration, a tremble in the metal. She must be nervous-or excited. My body is exciting her...
Both sides of the panties were severed, but the lace still lay on her lower belly. Oh, take it off, take it off... Then she felt the point of the scissors high on the inside of her left thigh. Ah! be careful- The blades nervously snipped their way through the nylon, moving at right angles to the trembling lips of her vagina. Once the sharp points caught in her maidenhair, but finally the crotch was cut through and the unattached front of the panties peeled away.
The hot smooth feminine hands now stroked Camilla's bare shoulders and moved down gently over her breasts, where they paused for a few seconds. This bold contact suddenly gave her a vivid image of her nude body with all its secrets on display. God, I didn't realize I was breathing so hard. Her bosom was fairly heaving against the hot palms that caressed it...
Then they moved down, over her rib cage, massaging her waist-/ hope they don't think I'm too fat-stroking the flare of her tingling hips, kneading the soft flesh of her belly, brushing-ever so lightly-over the crisp fuzz on her pussy. That tickles. A light sweep of gauzy material about her thighs, and she knew the woman had risen from the floor and moved away. Now what? Oh, I wish they'd do whatever they're going to do!
Almost immediately she was enveloped in hot, curling, breathing, groping flesh. She felt limbs, both smooth and hairy, chests and breasts, bellies, hands-as though she were being attacked by some conglomerate hermaphroditic monster. Saliva and perhaps other body fluids trickled and dripped over several parts of her body, and the black flashes behind her eyes were transfigured into kaleidoscopic flashes of the most obscene images. Try as she might, she could not separate the storm of sensations into coherent pictures of what was happening; she couldn't even pair up the hands that swarmed and crawled over her body. But she did not move. I've been still so long, I don't think I could move if I wanted to. I feel like a living statue.
Then the bodies withdrew as suddenly as they had converged upon her. Her skin rang from the abrupt withdrawal. / feel numb almost. Oh, what's that? Something stiff and warm was stirring the hair at the top of her head, twitching, jerking. A pair of knees, hairy knees, sandwiched her head from above, pressing gently against her hot cheeks. Then they relaxed, spread apart, and she felt a heaviness hanging over her, wrists along her waist, humid breath on her stomach... He's on his hands and knees-naked. I wonder how old he is. Jesus, that must be his- The rigid twitching thing was now moving about her face, across her forehead several times, down her cheeks, nudging at her eyes through the blindfold, tapping the sides of her nose, jerking along the trembling line of her lips...
-his dick.
Her face felt wet and slick now, and hotter than ever. Ooo, it's all wet. I guess they leak when they get hot, just like we do. I wish I wasn't so dumb. I guess I won't be after tonight. Oh God, now he's dragging his nuts in my face. They're all fuzzy and-Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! - From the first touch of the tongue on the tender lips of her pussy, it was all Camilla could do to prevent her knees from rising and her thighs from flying open all the way, so intense were the waves of new and forbidden pleasure that coursed through her body. As the tongue burrowed into the sparse ringlets at the upper corner of her vulva, probing for the hidden clitoris, the penis continued to slip and slide over her face, bathing her cheeks in its warm leakage...
Just when she thought she could stand it no longer, the face lifted from her crotch and the hairy genitals slid from her forehead. Oh my God-I've got to get my breath... I must be sweating. Uh oh, here's a girl. They're going to take turns, I guess. Heavy thighs. A big behind too. Long hair. I'll bet it's Carol, it's got to be. Oh, Carol, you naughty thing!
A pair of broad bare buttocks settled onto Camilla's belly and girlish hands fondled her breasts, pinching the nipples, stretching them, rolling them. Mm, they're getting all fat and hard. I can tell. Oo, that feels funny... The girl was rubbing her bush up and down Camilla's belly. God, she's hairy. Slimy too. Yipe!-don't bite me, Carol...
Soft lips, then teeth, nibbled at her taut nipples, passionately but gently. The. girl's palms cupped Camilla's right breast and her open lips encompassed its tip, sucking the firm flesh into her mouth and fluttering her tongue over the stiff knob of Camilla's nipple. That feels good... This is fun... Oh!...
Something was rubbing her between the legs again. At first she could not tell what it was. Then she felt toes on her lower belly. The foot was large, hard. A man's foot. She felt him drop to his knees astraddle her hips, behind Carol, whose furry crotch and thighs now rose off her belly. Carol crawled forward until Camilla felt her knees on either side of her head... Oh, Carol, get it off my face! Yak-it's so gooey... Nice and warm though... And fuzzy. Is it natural to want to lick it, I wonder? I want to. But that would be moving... Oh, Carol, stop it! You're so bad...
As the wet shaggy lips slid up and down Camilla's face, she was also aware of the male genitals tickling her navel. I feel like giggling. I'm getting drunk, I think. If I giggled it would make bubbles... Oh... what are they doing now? Carol's cunt had lifted off, and again Camilla felt testicles bobbing in her face. They aren't quite as hairy as the first ones... Then these too broke contact, but they hung not far above her face. / can still feel the fuzz... He smells funny... So does Carol. I can still smell her. Her cunt. Cunt. Cunt. Pussy. Dick. Cock. Prick. Balls. Nuts. Tits. Asshole. Cunt cunt cunt... I'm terrible. Why am I such a bad girl? It's not my fault. I was born bad... I've been good too long. It's no fun being good. This is fun-it's torture, but it's fun. Cunt, suck, fuck, dick, shit, piss, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me... I wonder if it will hurt. The first time.-Oh, God, goddamn, what are you doing, you terrible awful nasty goddamn wonderful people?...
Their knees, Carol's and the other two, were together now on both sides of Camilla's face, and she felt a tense twitching in the man's ankles, which rested on her upper arms. There was a cooing sound. A grunt. A sigh. And suddenly a violent agitation just inches above her face. A slippery sexual noise of flesh entering flesh. A hot, trembling, thrusting: Camilla could feel it through her cheeks: rhythmic vibrations of the close, supercharged air...
He's fucking her, that's what. Right in my face. That's awful... I wish I could see through the blindfold... They're doing it like dogs do it. There's all kinds of ways. I know from those nasty pictures in Daddy's books. They're going faster now. Go, man, go! Give it to her, give it to her!... Maybe I'll grow up to be a whore...
There was a sudden lurching convulsion of the two bodies above her- 'Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn-!"Ahhhhh, ah, ah, nnnnnnn-' -and a thick hot dollop of something dripped onto Camilla's nose and lips, and ran heavily down both cheeks...
CHAPTER TWO
On the brink of ejaculation Carl stopped stroking his penis, but it was too late. Shit! His semen made little splattering sounds as it spurted in rapid bursts against the stucco below the window. To him it seemed very loud, due to the extraordinarily quiet surf and the silence inside the room. He had not intended to masturbate this early, knowing much more action was to follow, but when the tall man had straddled the blindfolded girl's face and stuck his enormous prick into Carol's fuzzy little cunt from behind, he had forgotten himself, and his strokes became just a little too vigorous. Whew!... Goddamn, these parties get better every time! Carl leaned heavily against the iron window grill, trying to control his breathing. Jesus Christ, she leaked cum all over that chick's face. Sloppy.
Cooled off for the moment, Carl backed away from the window and wandered through the sharp moon-shadows along the south wall of the estate until he reached the bluff above the bright beach. He did not move cautiously; he knew from past experience there was no danger of getting caught here. He had suspected for a long time that they knew somebody was watching their parties-or at least that Marsha's governess knew. He was sure she had seen him that first night.
That had been-Jesus, three months ago? Doesn't seem like that long. Carl shuddered to think about it, it had given him such a scare. He had certainly not been relaxed that night. He glanced back up the lawn toward the yellow window from which he had just strolled and remembered how he had traversed the entire distance on his hands and knees. What a surprise he had had when he took his first fearful peek into that window! He would have considered himself lucky if he had managed to get a brief look at Marsha Van Eckles in her underwear; the last thing he expected to see was an orgy in progress...
From the moment Carl had seen Marsha on the beach that day and realized that this was where she lived, he knew that sooner or later he would end up outside her window some dark night-whatever the risk. She was a year or so younger than he, but her body looked several years older. Some of the other kids thought she was too fat, that her waist was too thick, but Carl knew she wasn't fat. To him she was just right. He loved the way her golden belly creased above her bikini when she sat up on her beach towel, the way her breasts bounced when she ran laughing out of the surf, as though at any moment they would spring free of the tiny halter she always wore. He used to lie awake nights, thinking about her, imagining how those tits would feel in his hands...
But even if Carl had been able to conquer his shyness, he would never have had a chance with Marsha. Socially and financially, she was far out of his reach. Her parents thought no more about a trip to Europe than Carl's father thought about a walk around the block. He would have to settle for watching her from a distance. Only at fleeting moments would Carl admit to himself that he was taking the easy way out, that he always took the easy way out, always settled for second best rather than risk a confrontation with reality. If you are a boy of Carl's temperament and intelligence, it is enough at this stage to withdraw and cultivate your sense of superiority; the soul-rending self-confrontations will come later...
In their own good time, Arn thought, getting up from the machine to greet Emily, just returned home from swimming with some girlfriends.
"Hi, Dad," she said, kissing him on the cheek.
"How's the water, kid?"
"Mmmm!" She hugged herself, squeezing her half-naked breasts together. "Wonderful! Why don't you drive over? It's just what you need. This weather's murder!"
"Yeah, I have so much time." He gave her a playful slap on her bikini-clad bottom and went to the kitchen to open another beer. He ignored the trembling of his hands.
In their own good time, in their own good time...
Carl did not immediately resort to creeping into the Van Eckles grounds. At first he spied on Marsha from a tall casuarina tree on the beach ridge just north of the estate. From here, with his father's binoculars, he could watch the girl and her chaperone as they sunned themselves in the nude on the terrace behind the big house. But between the wind and his shaking hands the view was none too satisfying, and at last he resolved to try his luck at the windows.
Half expecting vicious dogs, burglar alarms, high-voltage fences or worse, Carl was shivering so that first night as he hoisted his eyes slowly up to the windowsill that in the beginning he could hardly focus on the shocking scene before him...
On the floor a flower of naked legs, and buttocks rippled and fluttered like some fleshy polyp in the flow of an undersea wind. At its writhing center, surrounded by a circle of heads, both male and female, a small hairy mouth slobbered and smacked, snapping at the fingers and tongues which darted into the hair from all sides like tiny fish swimming among the tentacles of a sea anemone, intoxicated by the poisonous secretions, mesmerized by the languid opening and closing of the pink lips. Carl too was dazed, transfixed, as though he were being gassed by the heavy vapors of sex which rose from the hot flesh, and streamed through the window.
He could not make out very clearly the features of the girl whose vagina formed the center of this obscene lotus, since one of the men lay full length along her spread-eagled body, his thighs sandwiching her face. But he knew it was not Marsha. Too thin. I wonder who it is... Good God, these are all girls from Grillem-Emett'sl So this is what they learn there... There's Marsha. Look at her lap that pussy! And there's the chaperone. Wow! Chaperone, my ass. Got her fingers right in the pie... If I told anybody about this, they'd never believe me.
Sometimes there would be three or four hands and a tongue dipping into the humpbacked slit, stroking its inner folds, sounding its oozing depths, tickling its distended clitoris; then they would draw back to watch with fascination for a few moments as it convulsed and relaxed rhythmically, gaping like some beautiful furry fish, its little clitoris a deadly and irresistible lure, shivering and twitching in shameless hunger...
Carl was so overwhelmed by this sight that he forgot his caution-though he trembled now even more violently than before. He gripped the window grill with both hands and craned his neck to take in the whole scene. Somehow the lewd things going on inside the room seemed to lessen Carl's own guilt feelings; no longer was he spying on some decent unsuspecting housewife undressing in the privacy of her bedroom; he now had the somewhat comforting feeling that what his victims were doing was worse than what he was doing. He had risen from his crouch and was standing tall and wide-eyed before the window when Mrs. Boyce looked up.
If he had still been watching the snapping cunt at the center of the circle of faces, he probably would not have been caught unawares; but a rising and falling of the male buttocks that were now directly above the girl's face diverted his attention. Goddamn. She's sucking him off... He saw her hands slide down over the man's back until they cupped his small hairy cheeks, her fingers rippling into the crack as his penis oozed in and out of her mouth...
When Carl's gaze returned to the girl's crotch, he found himself staring straight into the eyes of Marsha's chaperone.
Now, as he sat down at the edge of the dark lawn and leaned against a palm tree, he looked up the moonlit beach and smiled, remembering how he had run all the way to the pier that night-without stopping. As after every close call he had ever had while peeping, Carl vowed never to go near another window. But this time, even as he fled in panic up the beach, he knew he would have to return. The next time he found the yard as dark as before and the curtain thrown open even wider. The thought that maybe they knew he was there, watching, made it even more exciting for Carl.
The Atlantic was a fat glassy bulge, split down the middle by a gash of moonlight. Hardly a ripple disturbed its tidal breathing. It's like the belly of the world, Carl thought. With a cunt full of moonbeams... He smiled at the thought and remembered the poem he had read the other day in school while he was supposed to be doing his algebra-
And nothing shone on the water's face
But the oil and bubble of the moon...
The Ballad of the Long-legged Bait, it was called. He had asked his English teacher what it meant. 'It's modern poetry,' she told him, 'it probably doesn't mean anything.' But I know what it means, Carl thought as he watched the vaginal moonlight fluttering among the shells at the shoreline. It's about a man all hung up on sex. There are a lot of other things he wants to do, great things, but he can't because he's hung up. Women fuck up his mind. He can't ever do the things he wants to do, can't ever be free, until he goes the whole route. So he goes fishing to catch his freedom. He uses a girl for bait-
For we saw him throw to the swift flood
A girl alive with his hooks through her lips...
-He sacrifices the girl to his hang up. she has to die-it has to die-but then he's free. Only it seems like he's old by that time-and like maybe it doesn't even matter anymore. Even the whales have stopped fucking. The sea and the cunts and everything have all dried up.-
... the fisherman lost on the land.
He stands alone at the door of his home,
With his long-legged heart in his hand.
Only at moments like this, when the edge had been taken off his lust, was Carl able to dwell on such things. He regretted it. He regretted not being able to sit down and concentrate long enough to write poems of his own. He had started several, but was never able to finish them. He wished he could express himself better when he talked to people, instead of always becoming tongue-tied and angry. Why shouldn't I be angry? I'm the only one in the world who knows how intelligent I am. If you don't make good grades in school, everyone thinks you're an idiot. I don't give a shit about the stupid school... Someday I'll write my poems. I'll be even better than Dylan Thomas. And I'll have all the pussy I can handle too...
But Carl's intellect, which, like a whale, surfaced only for an occasional breath of air, now sank back into the deep, as the blood flowed strong again into his penis and the lighted window beckoned to him as the flame beckons the moth. When he remembered the little show Marsha and Mrs. Boyce had put on for him several hours earlier, before the party, the last poetic reflection fled into the unlit corners of his mind.
He had arrived early; the twilight still hung blue and heavy in the west, and a grey blush of reflected light clung stubbornly in the east. But the ocean, which loomed up on his left hand as he rounded the wall, was an abysmal black, and he moved up the lawn in its shadow like a grey ghost. Carl knew it was too soon; the light was not even on in the little parlor where they held their parties. He knew there was to be a meeting of the club tonight-he had overheard them discussing it last week-and he hid in one of the gardeners' sheds to watch for the guests to arrive. But when the light went on in one of the bedroom windows, he crept over to have a look...
Marsha was standing in front of a dressing mirror, brushing her ash blonde hair. She had on a dark red dressing gown. Carl wondered if she wore anything under it. How beautifully her sexy hips flared beneath the thin cloth! He mentally undressed her. He knew every crease and blemish of her body. He even knew the texture of her skin, how it would feel to the touch, how her smooth curved belly would yield and undulate beneath his palm. A thousand times he had possessed her in his mind, raped her on the way to school, eaten her in World History. Once during Study Hall he had kidnapped her and sailed with her across the sea to the forgotten Land of Cunt. There they had lived free and naked on a diet of fruit and sex, beyond the reach of the world. He knew how her nipples would rebound from a flick of his thumb, how her full lips would feel pursed around the head of his penis, how the ambrosial balm of her silken vagina would taste on his tongue. He even knew how she would feel inside, the exact pressure she could exert on his fingers by flexing her labial muscles. When he watched her having sex with others, he felt no jealousy, because he was perfectly capable of putting himself in the place of her partner; though he had never touched her, he knew her body better than anyone else. In Carl's vicarious world she lived as a vivid unchanging gem, flawless and ever willing, the incarnation of the joys of flesh, yet beyond flesh, out of reach of all but him. He was at home and safe in that world; why should he have risked the dangers of this world?
Mrs. Boyce came into the room, flipping through a handful of envelopes. Her black hair was pulled back severely in a bun and she wore a pair of rimless glasses. She was dressed in her usual day clothes-a dark conservative knee-length dress, old-fashioned shoes and rather heavy hose. If her purpose was to make herself unattractive by dressing this way, she did not altogether succeed, but she did manage to blunt the impact of her natural voluptuousness. The stiff foundation garments she always wore-rigid long-line bras and tight girdles-gave her body a certain 'thickness' and added to the business-like prudishness that she tried to convey. Prior to that first night at the window Carl had seen her around town several times, usually in the company of her brother, a businessman of West Sago, always looking so prim and proper-she had an almost nunlike quality about her. This was why Carl had been so surprised and delighted to see her sunbathing in the raw on the terrace and absolutely stunned when he recognized her on the floor that night.
"Here's a letter from your folks, Marsha," she said.
"Another one? Read it to me, will you, Dora?' Mrs. Boyce tore open the envelope and sat down on the bed. Carl saw her grin several times while reading the letter aloud, and Marsha giggled once or twice..
"'Dear Marsha,-Am writing again to tell you of a change of plans-so you wouldn't worry when we didn't arrive as scheduled. Your father has decided he simply can't leave the Continent this year without seeing Greece again. So we are flying to Athens tomorrow. Don't know how long we will stay, but will let you know. In the meantime you can teach us through the address on the back of this page.
"'Europe is nice this year, but overrun with rabble. One hardly feels safe anywhere nowadays. Am so glad you are safe at home with Mrs. Boyce. You wouldn't believe what awful things young people are up to these days!
"'In her last letter Mrs. Boyce told me of the little club you have organized. Sounds wonderful. So glad you enjoy such wholesome fun. You should be very grateful to Mrs. Boyce for taking so much time with your activities. It was indeed a lucky day when she came to us! Please do as she says and don't give her any trouble. Don't mention this to her, but your father is contemplating a considerable increase in her salary. Have you had the picnic at Dickson John Park yet? Do be careful of snakes! Tell Mrs. Boyce that she is welcome to take you and the girls out in the boat, but be sure all of them can swim and don't go out in the ocean. Well, be a good girl, Marsha, and don't neglect your school work. Will send you some presents from Greece. See you soon. Love, Mom.'"
"Well, so you're getting a raise," said Marsha, turning from the mirror to face her chaperone.
"Don't you think I deserve it?"
After a pause they both broke into laughter.
"I sure do," Marsha said, hugging the woman's head to her bosom. In a moment their laughter had subsided into little murmurs and purrs, and Mrs. Boyce was nuzzling into the V at the front of Marsha's robe as she drew the lapels apart.
"Hey, you better cut it out, Dora... Oh, honey, stop... We have to get ready... Mmmmmmm... The girls will-be here soon... " Dora now had the girl's robe opened wide and off her shoulders. With growing excitement Carl watched the back of her bobbing head, knowing that she was licking Marsha's bare breasts. "I'll give you a bath," he heard her say in a husky voice muffled in soft flesh. With a breathy giggle the girl released the sash around her waist and let the robe slip to the floor. She now stood naked before the woman on the bed, whose lapping tongue was working rapidly down toward her navel. Now Carl had an unimpeded view of Marsha's proud round breasts, the little pink nipples swollen and gleaming with saliva. He saw the shimmering track leading out of her navel, down over that golden belly he knew so well. He knew the exact instant Dora's tongue would enter Marsha's furry groove...
"Wait!-wait, honey! Marsha lifted the woman's head and began removing the pins from her bun. It gave Carl a shiver of lust when those dense waves of crow-black hair fell free and spilled down Dora's back. "Stand up," Marsha panted, "let me take your clothes off."
Dora stood and turned her back on Marsha so that she was facing the window where Carl crouched. But he knew she didn't see him this time; her eyes rolled and closed in rapture as the girl unzipped her dress and tugged it off. Dora pulled her slip off over her head and stood with her arms above her uplifted face as Marsha opened the long bra, one hook at a time. The wire-boned cups were too small for her, and with the release of each hook her breasts swelled like inflating balloons and at last sprang free, bouncing and swaying with massy resilience in the soft light. Carl marveled at their jutting profile as Marsha turned her around and nibbled at her big brown nipples.
Both of them were cooing and moaning now, and the rest of the disrobing was frantic and rapid. Marsha unclipped Dora's garters and together they peeled the girdle from her heavy but breathtakingly graceful hips, and the fingers of Carl's mind stroked and twined among the thick black curls which grew in a solid fan-shaped mass high up onto the lower slope of her sleek belly. Not bothering to remove her stockings, she threw Marsha down on the bed and pounced upon her with the agility and ferocity of a lioness.
But it was not Mrs. Boyce who now lapped every hump and hollow of Marsha's delicious young body, who sheathed her in a sparkling skin of steaming spittle, who caused her skin to ripple and her hips to lurch with sexual hunger: it was Carl. It was he who crouched between the twitching legs of the golden girl; it was he, alone with her on the bounding mattress of the sea, who slipped his hands beneath her dimpled buttocks and lifted her flaxen slit to his lips; his tongue alone which licked those honeylips and sounded their squirming depths...
CHAPTER THREE
When the guests had begun to arrive Carl had to retreat to the shed because the headlights swept that side of the house as the cars rounded the bend of the steep drive. As usual the girls arrived first, then the men. Carl knew that the girl to be initiated would not see the men until later, after the blindfold game. He had seen this twice before, but when the green-shaded lamps came on in the party room and he saw the auburn-haired beauty in the blindfold, he knew this time was going to be especially good.
The two he had seen initiated-Carol and Janis-were very cute, but this girl was beautiful. Carol was a bit heavy even for Carl's taste, and Janis a little too slim; this one was just right. She was built very much like Marsha-large breasts just immature enough not to sag, yet too big to have retained much of their girlish hardness, flaring hips, fantastically well-contoured legs, dimpled knees... Carl was sure she was a new girl at Grillem-Emett's. / would have noticed a babe like that before now, he thought. Another confirmation of this was the color of her skin; her arms and legs were the color of rich cream. She could not have been in Florida long. Carl wet his lips in feverish anticipation of seeing that luscious body stripped and ravished...
Dora and Marsha, wearing dressing gowns, led her in and lowered her to the wine-dark carpet. Not a word was spoken. The girl wore a short yellow shift. Only her shoes had been removed. The older woman stretched out the girl's legs and spread them apart while Marsha gingerly flipped up the yellow skirt, exposing part of the black lace panties underneath. Then they stood up, appraised their work, and left the room. Carl saw Dora steal one last glance up the girl's skirt before closing the door.
The men were now being let into the outer gallery to be introduced to the girls as they emerged from another room, now dressed in their party costumes-anything from transparent underwear to the sexiest of negligees.
Sometimes they wore less than that, but never more. There was always a new group of men, so the procedures had to be explained anew each time. Carl knew all this went on while the new girl lay waiting on the floor, but he had given up trying to witness it. The blinds of the gallery were always drawn so that at best he could only pick up a few strands of the conversation, and the room where the girls dressed was on the second floor; so he kept his position and by the time the door opened again he had visually massaged every inch of the delicious initiate's ripe white body, peeled the garments from her up-thrust breasts, strained himself through the black lace sieve of her crotch and burrowed into her hot close slot, as happy and blind as a mole...
Dora led the barefoot procession into the green glow, and the slow circle surrounded the virgin victim stretched pale and blind on the sacrificial carpet. Dora wore a long black gown of the sheerest tricot, its open sides fastened only at her waist so that with each measured step a long bronzed leg unveiled itself to the hip. To Carl she looked like some Priapian priestess of the ancient world, leading a procession of silent suppliants into a temple of phallic revels. Her thick waist-length hair fell about her shoulders in snaky waves as dark as the ocean which rose over the bluff, and the sky-black fan between her thighs blazed in vivid detail through the gossamer gown.
Even the men, though they still wore their trousers, did not look as though they had just stepped out of the everyday world; the eerie light lent a certain heroic chiaroscuro to their bare chests, a classical strength to their facial features. Carl did not know how or by whom the men were selected for these meetings, but he suspected it was taken care of by Dora Boyce and her brother Thomas. He, Thomas, was the only man consistently present at the initiations.
The one thing in these bizarre goings-on that gave Carl a feeling of uneasiness was the incestuous relationship between Dora Boyce and her brother. He was unable to watch their uninhibited loveplay without experiencing a strange feeling of guilt concerning his own sister. He was not yet truthful enough with himself to admit his sexual attraction to her, and whenever this attraction manifested itself he immediately converted it into a dark brooding abhorrence of her mere corporeal existence, her very potential as a sexual object. He became furious at the slightest allusion to this aspect of her. Once, over nothing at all, he attacked one of her boyfriends and beat him brutally, refusing afterwards to make any explanation for his actions and accepting his punishment almost joyfully, it I seemed. It may have been because he was still a virgin himself that he was obsessed with preserving her virginity-a deep-felt inadequacy on his part. Whatever it was, Thomas was a fly in Carl's erotic ointment. He did not object at all to the middle-aged man climbing over some frail little virgin barely in her teens and ramming his big greasy cock through her hymen-in fact Carl enjoyed this immensely. But when Thomas mounted his nymphomaniacal sister the boy was filled with disgust. And yet, at such times, he watched more intently than ever...
The couples settled down in a tight circle around the girl in the yellow dress. Dora sat at her feet, her dark eyes smiling up her rumpled skirt, appraising the petal-soft thighs and the thinly masked mouth between them. At the girl's head sat Marsha, her green-gold body clad only in a short cape of red gauze trimmed in black lace. It fastened at her neck with a silk ribbon and hung open down the front; her back was to the open window, but this view of her alone was enough to boil Carl's blood: that silver-blonde hair swirling about her shoulders, the unbroken flow of her back, her soft buttocks spreading gently on the deep carpet, the V-shaped valley above them, the creamy crease between them... As her partner's hands began to stroke her hips, Marsha slowly uncoiled her body until she lay on her back. The man bent over her from above and Carl watched their mouths open and their tongues meet, sparkling in the lamplight, inches from the auburn-haired girl's ear. Even from the window their grunts and tongue-sucking were quite audible.
It was when the man rose to his knees and straddled Marsha's waist that Carl unzipped his fly and let his penis jump into his hand. With a flick of his wrist the man released the bow at her neck, peeled the cape from her pink-tipped breasts and covered them with hot wet kisses. Carl wondered what was going through the blindfolded girl's mind as she listened to those sucking, slobbering sounds... He closed his eyes... When he opened them the man's face was between Marsha's legs, his tongue whipping her tawny-haired slit into a green lather...
Everyone watched for a reaction from the girl in the yellow dress, but she did not move. Only the corner of her rosebud lips seemed to tremble as the loud and rapid tongue strokes sent Marsha into a grunting, lurching release.
After that the slim blonde named Erika had taken Marsha's place beside the initiate's ear. This was the girl whose vagina had formed the center of that human flower which Carl had seen on his first peek into this room three months ago. Erika was the only member of the club with a 'snapper,' which made her very popular. Tonight she had that talented twat of hers packed into a tiny black lace G-string, but she had such a heavy growth down there that the tawny curls formed a tufted border all around its bulging pouch. Her breasts, small button-tipped hemispheres, were bare and seemed to glow like twin moons against her sun-browned torso.
Erika tugged her partner into place beside the immobile girl and blew gently into her ear. With a smile Dora pointed to the goose pimples rippling along those milk-white thighs. She's feeling it all right, Carl thought. Erika's partner, a handsome young man with hair as blond as hers and a lusty fire in his eyes, jerked down his zipper and dragged a great club of blue-veined flesh out of his pants. Erika's throaty laughter as she lowered her face to his crotch made Carl unconsciously increase his strokes. She slid the man's trousers off his hips and nuzzled in the blond wool that spread over the base of his flat muscular belly. After thoroughly covering the thick shank of his penis with kisses, she began to stroke it with her hand, and in Carl's mind his hand became her hand: he felt her slender fingers curl around his prick, felt her soft palm, wet with his hot leakage, slick with her own saliva, squeeze its throbbing body, polish its twitching head- The caressing and undressing that had been in progress round the circle ceased as Erika's man hunched over the initiate's face and Erika aimed his penis at the pale delicate ear...
The last red rays of the setting sun streamed through the list rising above the shower curtain. Ow. Too hot. When she had the water at the right temperature Emily stepped out of her panties and turned up the little radio on the back of the toilet to drown out the rat-a-tat-tat of her father's typewriter, which reverberated through the wall. She put one foot on the edge of the tub and ran a hand along her shin. Shit, I'd better shave. Joe likes to rub my legs. Some guys never touch your legs.
As she stepped into the tub she noticed a pair of jockey shorts in the basket of dirty clothes beside the lavatory. Daddy doesn't wear that kind. The warm spray hissed over her shoulders and ran pleasantly between her buttocks...
... and jet after jet of thick hot semen splashed heavily against the girl's face, spreading over her cheek, running into her hair, gathering in gluey pools in the pockets of her ear. Her whole body tensed and trembled, but she did not move... " Lisa came into the steamy bathroom, pulled down her jeans and sat on the toilet. "Where you going tonight, Em?"
"To one of the drive-ins, I think. We're going on a double date with Mary and Steve."
"Oh. When are you leaving, about six?"
"I guess. Why?"
"Just wondered. Well eat early then."
"OK. Hey, Mom, whose are those?" She drew the curtain back a little and pointed past her mother to the clothes basket.
"What?"
"Those shorts."
"Oh. I don't know. We must have picked them up at the laundry." That's the second son of a bitch that's left half his clothes here. I guess I'm going to have to start dressing them myself before they leave. Men are such children. She wiped her crotch and stood up.
Marsha came back with a washcloth and wiped the sticky stuff from the girl's ear and face-as much of it as she could. /'// bet she's deaf in that ear, thought Carl, subduing his rising ejaculation by sheer will power. Ah, at last! The scissors.
As Dora placed the sacrificial shears between the 'victim's' beautiful legs and began stroking those ghostly thighs, the couples around the circle spontaneously began to peel out of their remaining garments like fleshy serpents shedding their skins until all were naked save Dora and the initiate.-"
"Arn."
-Snick snick. The blades flashed high and descended to the hem of the yellow dress- "Arn!"
"What? I wish you wouldn't bother me while I'm working, Lisa."
-Dora's eyes shot black sparks over the trembling girl and her tongue flickered over her lips- "I'm sorry," Lisa said in a low voice, but that guy last night left his goddamned underwear in the bathroom. Emily just asked me who it belonged to."
"Well,"-Arn leaned back and lit a cigarette-"what did you tell her?"
"That we must have picked it up at the laundromat, but I think she's getting suspicious. Arn, What if she... finds out?"
"If she finds out, she finds out, Lisa. Look, what do you want to do, call the whole thing off? If you want me to go out and get a job, just say so."
"For God's sake, honey, can't we discuss it without all that?"
"What's to discuss?" He turned back to the keyboard.
-With slow snips-too slow for Carl-she slit the yellow dress up the front. Carl saw the black bra and the deep pale crease opening and closing between the girl's breasts as they rose and fell- "Arn, will you please turn off the goddamn typewriter for a minute?" With the machine off the sound of Emily's radio and the hiss of her shower could be heard clearly through the wall. "I was only thinking that maybe they shouldn't come here anymore. We could tell Emily I was visiting a friend or something."
"That would be more suspicious than doing it here. She knows you don't have that many friends... What would you do, use a hotel?"
"I guess. Or a motel,-or the guy's apartment if he has one. Anyplace. I'm always afraid the kid's going to pop in on me. There's no telling what it would do to her."
"She probably knows what's going on anyway. Don't you suppose she's wondered before now where the money's been coming from this last year? She knows damn well I'm not making it."
"So you want her to know then?"
Arn blew a slow stream of smoke over the page in his typewriter. "No... But I don't want you to go out, Lisa." He slipped his arm around her hips and snuggled between her big breasts, soft and bare inside the plaid shirt she wore. "We'll just have to be a little more careful."
"OK, honey... " She stroked the back of his head as he nibbled her nipples through the shirt. "Whatever you say."
... As Dora lifted off the lacy cups, the full beauty of the girl's bosom was revealed to the anxious watchers. For a long moment Carl forgot to breathe. Jesus, they're bigger than I thought! They were as large as Marsha's, but more rounded at the tips-and larger than Carol's, whose weight was mostly in her hips. But of all the naked mammae, whether heavy or slim, that bobbed and swelled about the tightening ring, none were as white as these which had just been unveiled. They were like great scoops of vanilla ice cream, each topped with an over-ripe cherry.
Dora cut through the narrow strips of black lace between the leg-holes and the elastic at her hips, then through the crotch. It was so quiet in the room during those few moments before that last black scrap was removed from the girl's body that Carl heard quite clearly the hiss and plunge of a school of mullet out beyond the drop-off as they momentarily broke the surface in their mad dash to escape some hungry predator, submerging as abruptly as they had risen...
In the green ambience of the breathless room that virgin mound seemed to rise like a mossy knoll at the pale bottom of a warm tropical sea, ghostly and holy, ringed by naked leviathans twisting in the neon aether...
Dora leaned over it and placed her hands on the girl's heaving chest, the inflating flesh swelling between her fingers, the cherry red nipples stiffening to her touch. As she rose reluctantly to her feet, she trailed her palms down the white torso, over the deep-naveled belly, her fingers just brushing the uppermost curls atop the summit of that delicate hillock. Standing over the stripped girl, Dora then removed the pins from her shoulders and waist and her gown floated to the floor like a gossamer cloud. The men around the circle stared up at her as she began to stroke her own body as though she were in a trance, her head back, her legs spread. They watched her hands glide over the full flare of her hips, down her golden thighs. Bending her knees, she went into an obscene crouch as her hands came up into the shaggy blackness between her open thighs. With the forefinger of each hand she spread the humped lips...
And from the window Carl had seen the raw gash split through the black bush exactly as he now saw the moonlight split the black ocean. He grinned as he looked up at the moon and remembered how the woman had then smeared the cunt juice over her huge tits until they gleamed like globes of amber. There should be two moons instead of one. We have a one-titted sky. Too bad. Too goddamn motherfucking bad. A half-assed world full of half-assed people.- Now what in the fuck do I mean by that? Arn x-ed out the last paragraph. I never had thoughts like that when I was on the prowl...
As he walked back across the moonlit lawn toward the window Carl went over the rest of it: how they all closed in and swarmed over the blindfolded girl, licking her and feeling her and rubbing themselves on her; how Janis's partner had crawled over her and licked her pussy, dragging his stiff cock over her face; how Carol had sat on her and then rubbed her dark bushy crack over her mouth and nose, leaving her cheeks all slick and shiny; and then how they had fucked in the girl's face, Carol and her partner... / wonder what goes through a girl's mind during a thing like this? Why would they join a sex club in the first place? Shit, I wish I hadn't shot my wad, I'm getting too goddamned objective.
Arn ripped the page out of the machine and crumpled it in his fist. Goddamn it.
Even before he reached the window Carl heard the grunting, panting, slip-slop sounds of copulation issuing from the room...
-oh I can't stand it I can't stand it please do it to me do it to me they must have forgotten me they're all fucking I can hear them I can feel them and smell them fucking come on stick it in me anybody anybody split me open they can't be afraid because I'm cherry they knew I was cherry they said you have to be a cherry oh oh oh yes good that's it come on come on come on oh yes good mmmmm he's big his hands are big oh yeah squeeze them squeeze them suck them ah ah go ahead stick it in me hurry oh I'm afraid I'm scared I'm too young too little I'm just a little girl why did I come here oh god I feel it it's going to hurt I knew it would hurt Mommy Mommy don't be mad at me Mommy oh do it do it screw me I'm sorry Daddy I want it screw me fuck me rape me oh that feels- "AAAAAHHNnnng... "
The scaly predator split the satin belly of the deep, its dark wake stained with the blood of its finny victim, and streaked away in the moonshot current. But this time Carl did not hear it.- the oil and bubble of the moon...
Is it over? Camilla was almost numb between the legs. It's still in me though. The phrase "big with child" swam into her mind. / feel big with child. I'm glad I didn't see it before he put it in me. It must be huge. What cruel people they are. I wonder if I bled. They say you bleed. It will ruin the-Oh, so that's why they have a purple carpet...
Thomas raised up and grinned at his sister over his shoulder. "She liked it," he said. "See, she's smiling."
Dora laughed, still out of breath, sank to her knees beside the panting, sweating girl, and removed the blindfold.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lisa came in with her shirt open in front.
"It's eight, honey. He'll be here soon. Why don't you take the evening off?"
"Afraid the typewriter will distract the son of a bitch?"
"Oh, come on, Arn, snap out of it. You're in a horrible mood today." She came up behind him and rubbed her bare breasts on the back of his head. "Wanta screw me right now, to be sure I won't enjoy it?"
"You'd enjoy it anyway," he said, snapping playfully at her nipples.
"Aw... not even a quickie?' she begged, "just to take he edge off?"
Arn chuckled in the plush hollow of her bosom. "Y'old whore, ya!"
"Who's a whorya?"
Their laughter seemed to clear the air somewhat. Arn vent to the door and looked into the other room. "Emily gone?" he asked.
"She left hours ago."
"With Joe again?"
"Yeah, they double dated with somebody tonight. They're going to a drive-in, so they should be good and late jetting back. No problems tonight, anyway."
"Who is it this time?" Arn asked, staring absently out the window. Dark. Oil and bubble.
"I don't know. I never know their names."
Bubble bubble, double, double, toil and trouble. "What lo you call them? Snookums? Sugarstick?"
"Oh, stupid! I mean I don't know their names before they come."
Fire burn and cauldron bubble. "Oh yeah? They don't tell you until they come, eh? Odd."
"Till they get here! Till they get here!"
Laughing, they tumbled onto the cot beside Arn's writing desk. Again Arn wallowed in the warm valley between his wile's voluminous breasts. He imagined that he was her customer, that he was feeling the hot press of her flesh on his cheeks for the first time, that it was not his hand but a stranger's hand which now opened her slacks descended over her smooth yielding belly and entered the dense forest of crisp fuzz between her thighs... Strange flesh, strange hands, another man's wife, strange tits, strange cunt... Like she said, it was my idea. Why? Why do I let her do it?-really? For the money? For the writing? Arn laughed into the fleshy crevice as he remembered a line he had once written: "the soul-rending self-confrontation will come later." Yes indeed.
Suddenly he got that heady, dizzy feeling that came over him occasionally, that exhilarating feeling that he had somehow, after years of degrading drudgery, accomplished a miraculous leap into the dark, launched boldly into a new life. At such times he fell ashamed of his guilty naggings his stupid self-persecutions. He lifted his lips to Lisa's and inserted his tongue between her full moist lips...
In their own good time, he thought, in their own good goddamn time...
"Jeez, look at the tits on that one!" said Steve from the back seat.
"Steve, shut up," Mary giggled. "You'll embarrass Emily."
"Oh, sure, I'm really embarrassed," Emily sneered over her shoulder. Joe said nothing. But I think Joe is, she thought. It was Steve's idea to come to this one. I didn't think they'd let us in. That's a lot of crap, that Absolutely-no-one-under-eighteen stuff.
On the screen a dark-haired girl wearing a lei and a grass skirt was doing a pseudo-hula around a fire at the Saturday night luau on some South Sea island in Hollywood. Joe had wanted to drive down to Rodriguez where two James Bond movies were playing, but Steve had insisted on the "skin flicks," as he called them. "There ain't no better way to get into a chick's pants," he had said, "than to let 'em see it happening on the screen." Joe had tried to explain his relationship with Emily Nager: -"Steve, I coulda screwed Emily a hundred times by now if I'd wanted to. I wouldn't have to take her to a sex movie. It's just that she's -" But then he had become confused, rambling on about her being too young and a virgin and a lot of other things in an attempt to explain to Steve a thing which he himself did not understand. "Listen, man," Steve had cut in, "I didn't say she wasn't a nice girl, did I? I said you ought to fuck her. Nice girls like to fuck just the same as bad ones. If you don't, somebody else will, believe me. A cunt built like that-" Joe had agreed about the movie just to shut him up, but had become embarrassed in the mere act of pulling up to the ticket window. Mary had read the sign aloud:- "'FORBIDDEN ISLAND' and 'PASSION PAD.' Sounds good."
Joe wondered how Emily would react if it got really sexy. So far not much had happened. To change the subject after Steve's remark about the tits he said, "This thing must have been made at least ten years ago."
Emily jumped at the chance to scorn the movie-which in fact was beginning to arouse her somewhat. "More like fifteen," she said. It wasn't so much the action on the screen that was affecting her as the fact that she was watching it with a boy. Aside from an occasional glimpse of the hula dancer's nipples when they peeked out from behind the lei and a few mildly obscene un-Polynesian bumps and grinds there was actually nothing very different about this film from some others she had seen at the more "respectable" theaters-except the acting was worse and the story absurd.
"They always show the worst one first," Steve said. "The good one comes next. It's a new one."
Emily wondered how Joe would feel-how she would feel-if they showed any real sex. Even now she felt a strange excitement from the partial nudity of the actress, an excitement which she would not have been able to articulate but which had its origin in a vicarious semi-conscious identification with the girl on the screen. Whenever she exposed a breast or thrust her pelvis at the face of one of the men seated about the fire, it was somehow as if it were her breast which was exposed, her belly that was thrust into Joe's face...
"How 'bout that, Joey?" Steve cackled as the dark-haired girl ripped off her lei and threw it into the fire.
"But seriously, Lisa, since we don't know who these whore-hoppers are, there's always a risk it's going to be the wrong guy, you know what 1 mean?"
"You mean like the father of one of Emily's friends? I've thought of that."
"Or one of her schoolteachers. Could be anybody. Fargo's got no way of screening them. Maybe I should handle the whole thing myself."
"Now, how would you do that? Fargo's got the connections. I'm doing this so you can write, not so you can become a pimp." Arn winced inwardly at the word. "Anyway, you weren't worried before about Em finding out."
"I'm thinking of you," he snapped. "You could get a real thug, you know?-a rapist or something- Anyway, you're the one who brought it up."
Lisa gave him a wry smile. "I think you just want to select my lovers for me."
"Lovers, are they?"
"Well, customers then."
Arn did not reply. Lisa's flippant attitude was irritating him. Why the hell does she have to act like she can't wait? He tried not to look at her as she flitted about the room in her blue negligee, her bobbing nipples only faintly blurred by the sheer cloth and clearly visible whenever she bent forward, her protruding black bush glowing prominently through the tiny ruffled panties. Her high-heeled bedroom slippers gave her a certain imposing appearance, an Amazonian quality that never failed to give Arn a feeling of impotence. I bought her that negligee. She never wears it for me. Why the hell does she have to dress up for these idiots anyway? They're going to fuck her just the same. Might as well wear overalls.
"What type would you pick for me?"
"What?"
"What kind of men would you pick for me?"
Arn pretended not to hear the car which pulled up and stopped out front. "Old, ugly ones," he said.
She laughed. "Meany. Here he is now. Are you going to stay?"
"No," he said, standing up. "Seems to make the bastards nervous. Give me a kiss." A light peck. Wouldn't want to smear her lipstick.
"I love you, Arn-"
"I love you too, baby. I think I'll walk down to the bar. Don't have too much fun." He slapped her on the bottom and ducked out the back door.
"Mrs. Nager?"
"Yes."
"I'm Jerry Watson. I, uh-"
"Come on in, Jerry. This is the right place. Call me Lisa."
His original shyness, affected perhaps, faded rapidly as he gave her fantastic body the once-over. Tall motherfucker. Arn had a good view of them through the dining room window as they went through the formalities. Taller than me. Looks about thirty, thirty-five. In good shape though. He saw the big hand brush a strand of his wife's coal black hair from her forehead, slip down to her shoulder, her back, over her buttocks. God, you can see the crack of her ass as well as if she were naked. Nice crack... She likes him. I can always tell. The tall blond ones turn her on..
"Would you like a drink?"
"Well, I would, but actually I, uh,-well, I'm sort of in a hurry. My wife, uh-"
"I understand." She gave him a seductive smile. Uncalled for. Certainly puts her heart into her work. "Come on." Arn watched her blue-veiled butt rolling toward the bedroom door. That's her see-my-crack walk. He sees it all right...
There was just a hangnail of a moon. Racing through a ragged sky. As they ride on hear their- Horseshit. Ghosts. Like a ghost Carl crept across the...
Arn took up his usual position behind the hibiscus bush. The two bodies moved heavily through the murk. Only the night light was on. Like big fish. Sharks. Oil and bubble... What the fuck are they doing? "Speke, swete brid. I noot nat wher thou art." Fffffffffffrrrrrt. Help! Water! water! help. Double double, oil and bubble, water, water everywhere and not a drop to. Ah, the light. A blue glow filled the room. Like the aquarium down at the library. Kiss her, you whore-hopping cocksucker. Ram your tongue down her esophagus. Hangnail cracked from Adam, And, from his fork, a dog among the fairies, The atlas-eater with a jaw for news, Bit out his balls with tomorrow's scream. Jesus Christ. And other poems by. I could write a sonnet about your fucking bonnet...
"Here, let me help you with that," Lisa said, sitting down on the bed. Jerry ran his fingers through her long lustrous hair as she unbuckled his belt and opened his zipper. "Mmm, nice... " She held his long shadowy cock in her hands, turning her head from side to side as though appraising its worth. For some reason Arn was put in mind of a time years ago when he had gone down to Brugher's music store and asked to see the harmonica in the glass showcase. An eight octave chromatic that cost ten dollars. He was only ten years old and had no money. He had taken it out of the box and held it just like that, just like his wife now held Jerry Watson's cock, thinking, Someday I will be a great musician. I haven't changed my tune much since then. Now I say someday I will be a great writer. Someday. Someday. "We must get going. Tomorrow, tomorrow... " As Jerry's trousers fell to the floor Lisa's pale ghostly lips closed over his pulsing member, slid down tightly pursed along its heavy shank, and withdrew, slowly, leaving it with a coat of iridescent saliva, shimmering in the blueness of the room. His big hands moved out from her neck, sliding the ruffled sleeves off her smooth creamy shoulders. A slight shrug and it fell from her breasts. He held them in his hands and they glowed through his fingers with a fluorescence of pink and blue, the knobs of her dark nipples lengthening like shadows to his touch.
Lisa removed her arms from the sleeves and lay back on the bed. She stretched her feline form before him and flexed her pectoral muscles, pulling her heavy breasts high and taut. When she relaxed they softened and spread like firm domes of luminous blue jelly.
I wonder if she suspects that I watch. Always leaves the blinds open. Oh, you beautiful bitch! - Lisa arched her back, lifting her buttocks from the bed as the man dragged the gown from her lower body. His prick is big, she thought. Nice and big. I'll bet he eats me. He's the type. I like it when they eat me first. I shouldn't enjoy it so much. Maybe 1 won't later. After I get used to it. I wonder how long before Arn-- Yeah, he's gonna eat it, you can tell the way they look at it. He knows how too, I'll bet. Like Arn. She raised her knees, hooked her heels on the edge of the mattress, and spread her thighs wide. The man loomed over her, gazing into her crotch. Look at it. Gel a good look. Isn't it pretty? Pretty and pink and hairy. Oh, come on, take 'em off, take off my pants so you can see it better. Yeah, yeah, yeah...
The panties slipped smoothly up along her lifted legs and off. Goddamn, what a cunt she has! Mm! Doesn't act like a whore. Enjoys it too much. Look at her squirm! A housewife. Another man's wife. Wonder if he knows about her. The dumb fuck. If I had a wife like this...
Oh eat it, eat it! Suck my cunt, you son of a-!
"Oooooo-!"
"Mm. Mmmm. Ahm, yawm-" , Eat it up, old num. You'11 never taste a better one. I ought to know, I'm her husband. She's mine. Mine. I'm her husband. I'm her husband, I'm her husband, I'm her motherfucking husband- Arn hardly realized he had his penis in his hand, stroking it rapidly. Neither did he realize how hard he was breathing, but the sound was safely eclipsed by the sucking slurps inside the room.
Jerry hooked his thumbs into the lower jaws of Lisa's creamy vagina and lapped the long ridge of her stiff clitoris until her entire pelvis shuddered with pleasure. A little more, a little more, make me come, make me-oh, I'm coming, I'm coming, I'm- When her spasms ceased Jerry rose from the floor and crawled onto the bed between her legs. He lowered his juicy lips to her pounding bosom and sucked on her violet nipples. Her legs rose like snakes and entwined themselves about his shoulders. Eels, blue eels in the fish bowl. Beautiful pussy, 0 pussy my love, what a beautiful pussy you- Arn was close now, right under the window. He wanted to see it go in.
Lisa reached between her thighs with one hand and guided the great cock into her lathering slit...
"Oh------that's good, oh, all the way to the bottom-!"
He's got more than me. Longer. She loves it, loves it, loves it, ever since they blindfolded her and raped her she's loved it, loved it, can't get enough, fuck, fuck, fuck...
Jerry Watson growled, gripped her hips savagely, and began to drive his bludgeon in and out of her body at a furious rate. Look at those tits jump, look at those-Goddamn, goddamn what a cunt, tight-hot and tight as a- "Oh that's good, that's good, faster, faster, do it faster-!"
Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her... !
Arn's fluid hissed and sputtered, oil and bubbled, down the concrete wall, seething in the hangnail moonlight.
CHAPTER FIVE
At last the white trader pushed the evil chieftain into the volcano and sailed away into the sunset with the sexy native princess. The End.
Intermission.
Emily had to get out of the car. "Let's go to the bathroom, Mary-" God, Mary. Emily hadn't realized how passionate things were getting in the back seat. Steve had his hand inside Mary's opened blouse and his knee between her bare thighs. Their mouths were locked, their eyes closed. Maybe they don't know the lights are on. Mary's short skirt was up around her hips and the bright theater lights now vividly illuminated her white panties. "Oh, Maaa-ryyyy."
"-Yipe! Who turned on the light?" Mary giggled as she sat up and pulled her blouse together. Joe looked back at them and Steve winked at him, stretching his arms.
Emily opened the door. "Come on, Mary."
"Be right there, Em."
Joe watched the two girls walking toward the snack bar. Em's ass is bigger. Not too big, just right. Mary's nice though. Looks like she's been in a fight. Hair all messed up, skirt rumpled, blouse hanging out. Steve doesn't waste any time. "Want a hot dog or something, Steve?"
"No, man. I can't eat with a hard on. That's one hot piece of ass, man, that Mary. Mm!"
"She's tough, all right."
"Doin' any good with Emily?"
"Sure."
"Didn't look like it, man."
"Well, what am I supposed to do up here in the front seat? She's embarrassed with you two back there watching us."
"Ha! We ain't watchin' you, man. Hey, why don't you sit back here with us? Plenty o' room."
"No, man... "
"Why not? It'll be cozier, might loosen up your chick."
"Em wouldn't go for swapping, Steve-"
"Who the hell said anything about swapping? Anyway, you never know what they'll go for till you try 'em, man. Tell me you wouldn't like to get a little o' Mary's ass."
"Damn right I would, but Emily's not that kind of-"
"Oh, horseshit! They're all that kind of girl, man. You just gotta handle it right. But don't worry, I'll keep my shithooks off your girl. Just get her back here, she'll be more comfortable."
"Quite a crowd here tonight," said Mary as she came out of the toilet stall.
"Yeah. Mostly kids." Emily stood in front of the mirror, teasing her auburn hair.
Mary washed her hands in the lavatory and scrutinized her reflection. "Jesus, my clothes look like I forgot to iron them." She turned her profile to the mirror and stretched her pink blouse down over her small but well-shaped breasts.
Pointed, Emily noticed. Wonder if she wears falsies. Steve would know. It's hard to find a bra without padding. If I wore a padded bra I'd look like a cow. "He gets violent, doesn't he?"
"Steve? You better believe it." They giggled. "Hey, you don't look messed up at all." But noticing Emily's blush, she changed the subject. "I like your hair short. I was thinking about cutting mine." She tried to comb out a snarl in her long bleached hair. "Ugh!"
"Oh, don't cut it. You look good with long hair. I'm too fat."
"Too fat?"
"For long hair,"
"Don't be stupid. You're not fat! God, I wish I had your tits-"
"Mary!" Emily hissed. There were several other women in the bathroom. One of them shot a scornful glance at the girls. She doesn't care what she says. Look at the old bitch staring at us. Screw you, bitch. "Come on, Mary, let's go." Mary lifted her skirt and stood on her tiptoes to look at her panties in the mirror. She's just doing that to shock that lady. She wore bikinis too. Mine are black- "Like my panties, Em? They're new."
"Pretty." Shit, I'm blushing again. You can see right through them. Mine aren't that thin. She should bleach down there too- "Don't hide much, do they?" Mary said-loud enough for the woman to hear.
On an impulse Emily jerked up her own skirt. "Neither do mine," she said, looking down at her black lace bikinis.
They went out the door laughing.
Outside, under the awning of the snack bar, Mary took her cigarettes from her purse. "Got a match, Em?"
"Yeah. Here... Let me have a cigarette, will you?"
"Sure."
They lit up and Mary blew a long stream up into the dark racing sky above the theater. The smoke disappeared in an eddy of wind.
Walking up the littered sidewalk toward the bar, Arn noticed a chill in the air. Wind's changing. He wiped his hand on his pants leg.
"A new moon," Mary said. "This picture's gonna be something else, Em. I didn't tell Steve, but a friend of mine saw it last night and told me about it. Wow. Outa sight."
"Really? How far do they go?"
"All the way."
They discussed the movie on the way back to the car.
"Goddamn," Steve said with a shudder, "it's gettin' cold. Roll up your window, Joe, and come on back here. What the hell."
"OK, OK. 1 hope this flick's better than the last one."
"It will be, man, don't worry. Here come the chicks."
The fishing boats moored in Cape Fear River off Southport were tossing violently in the cold chop. Arn's mother sat in her rocking chair, listening to the northeaster whistling under the eaves of her darkened house. The pan of water she had put on the stove for coffee was bubbling furiously, but she did not hear it. An oil freighter was hove-to off New Inlet, waiting for the weather to abate before making its run up the river to Wilmington. Huge black seas crashed mercilessly along the beaches of the Cape, and the few ships that were at sea off Charleston and Savannah had set double watches, but the coast of southern Florida had just begun to feel the ground swells radiating from the storm. There the black ocean rose and fell with the same lazy undulation as Lisa's naked blue-white bosom as Jerry Watson reached across it to close the window. "Getting cold," he said. Lisa said she hadn't noticed. Jerry smiled and propped up beside her on his elbow. His eyes danced over the voluptuous form spread out before him. A feast fit for a king. God, she's beautiful! He reached out and placed his hand on the hairy hump between her open thighs, dipping his middle finger into the warm furrow...
"Want some more?" she asked.
"You better believe it, baby."
She smiled and stroked his testicles with her fingertips. "What about your wife?"
"Fuck her."
PASSION PAD "Now isn't this cozier?" said Steve. The girls were in the middle, the boys by the windows.
"Warmer, anyway," said Emily, snuggling under Joe's arm. "Brrr!"
"Hey, let's don't let the poor things get cold, Joe," Steve said with a wink, wrapping his arms around Mary and pushing her closer to the other couple.
Emily felt the firm press of Mary's buttock on her hip. Mm, she's warm. Hot. Feels good. Mary, you've got a hot ass. Oh oh. Titties already...
The entire screen was filled by two huge bare pink-nippled breasts, bouncing violently behind the credits. The camera zoomed away and it was seen that the girl was running along a deserted beach, her long blonde hair blowing in the breeze. She wore only the bottom half of her bikini; the top she carried in her hand, waving it overhead occasionally.
"Wow! How 'bout them apples, Joe? Hee hee!" Steve nudged Joe's arm which was wrapped around Emily's shoulder. Joe chuckled. Now the camera zoomed back in on the bouncing breasts. "Whooooooooooom! Biggest bloomin' booboos in the world-" Mary laughed and put her hand over his mouth. "Steve, shut up!"
Joe was unconscious of how tight his grip had become on Emily's thigh...
The buxom blonde turned now and ran up the beach toward a sprawling brick-and-glass house perched atop a rocky bluff, her half-clad cheeks jiggling up and down in the sexoramic sunlight. The scene changed to the interior of the house, and through the huge window that overlooked the sea the girl could be seen running up the lighthouse-like stairs from the beach. In a moment the door opened and she entered, panting and laughing to herself. The room looked like a page out of House and Garden, except that the abstract paintings on the walls were alternated with large photographs of various parts of the female anatomy. The camera panned around the room, pausing briefly at each photo. There was a large breast, a pair of smaller ones, a navel, a pair of buttocks with a heart tattooed on one of them, a thigh, a knee, and lastly a huge deep-creased vulva fully three feet across covered with an extraordinary amount of curly, red hair.
Mary turned her face to Emily and whispered, "See, I told you." Emily grinned at her.
"Told her what?" asked Steve.
"What I heard about this picture."
"You didn't tell me you-"
"Shh. Watch."
The girl now entered a bedroom in which a man lay asleep on a large circular bed. She proceeded to open the curtains which covered three walls of the room, letting the sunlight stream over the bed. The walls consisted of nothing but glass panels, and the entire room was apparently cantilevered out over the beach. The blonde spread her arms wide, marveling at the spectacular view of sky and ocean, then turned to the man on the bed. Her pink-tipped breasts were strikingly white against the golden tan of her shoulders and belly. "Hey! Wake up!"
The man rolled over in his sleep. She shook him.
Joe's hand slipped up under Emily's arm and pressed the soft outer swell of her breast. Look at those tits shake. Wow. They won't show any pussies, though. Never do. Maybe a glimpse or two. She's letting me feel her tit. Her leg feels hot...
Well, well. Joe's feeling me up, finally. The movie's getting him all hot. Me too. Funny. I wonder if she'll take off the rest of her suit. That was embarrassing, that picture of the pussy...
"Steve... don't... Steve-" Mary was twisting on the seat. Emily felt her hip moving against hers.
Steve whispered in Mary's ear, keeping his eye on the screen, "Shut up, bitch! You love it and you know it."
Her answering whisper was almost breathless. "But I want to watch the movie. If you keep that up we'll never make it to the end." With an effort she tugged his hand from the crotch of her panties. "Don't you want to see her pussy? She's gonna show it in a minute."
"Yeah?"-and in a louder voice: "Hey, Joe, Mary says-"
"Shut up, Steve!" She covered his mouth again with her hand.
The man was awake now and the girl was in bed with him. They were kissing, his hand traveling down her bare side, over her hip, her thigh... She rolled over on top of him and his hands clawed at her bikini, pushing it down until her buttocks were bare. The view was from her feet. The man was covered to the hips with a sheet, but obviously naked. The girl was on top of the sheet. Between the two of them they managed to get her suit off without showing any hair.
The position of the camera had been discreetly oblique during this operation, but now it swung around directly behind the couple and for a long moment the vivid crimson slit in its nest of brown hair was shown in shadowless clarity between the girl's spread thighs. Steve gave a low whistle, but none of them said anything. When Steve slipped Mary's open blouse off her shoulders she did not protest. Instead she finished removing it herself.
Emily pretended not to notice. Undress me, Joe. Undress me... Joe did not see the man on the screen dragging the sheet from between him and the naked girl, because he was watching Mary's back out of the corner of his eye over the top of Emily's head. He watched Steve's hand fumbling with the clasp at the backhand of her white bra. His fingers continued to lightly stroke the outer bulge of Emily's breasts beneath her arm. She snuggled closer to him. Her hand rested on his thigh...
On the screen the blonde was on the bottom now, the man's bare white buttocks grinding over her belly, and there were fleeting glimpses of her bushy crack as he rolled about, covering her breasts with kisses and occasionally sucking a nipple, but the man's own genitals were thus far hidden between his closed legs. But as the camera continued to circle the bed in increasingly faster orbits, the girl opened her legs wide and wrapped them around the man's waist and when he lifted his buttocks and put his hand to his crotch there was a fleeting view of his dark dangling testicles and the underside of his rigid penis, just as it slipped into the hairy furrow. This view of the copulating genitals was repeated on each revolution of the camera, but now the entire scene was a dizzying blur of spinning flesh against the blue whirling sea...
Arn's head spun from the straight whiskey. Drinking too fast. He tried to focus on the woman who sat at the bar a few stools away. Her bare crossed knees were turned to the side, toward him, swinging back and forth in short arcs. Got to be a whore. Not bad looking. She kept her elbows on the bar and did not look at Arn. She knows I'm looking though. Giving me the view. At the outer extremity of each arc he could see the crotch of the red lace panties beneath her short black skirt, and the mirror behind the bar gave him a view of her large slightly pendulous breasts bulging brazenly above the low neckline. Why don't 1 take her home, with me and fuck her on the living room floor?-make old Jerry step over us on his way out. Lisa too. He startled himself with a snort of laughter and was embarrassed when the woman and the bartender both looked at him.
"Like it this way?" asked Jerry, continuing his slow, deep strokes.
"Oh, yes, yes... "Arn never does it this way. He likes me to get on top. Oh, 1 love this!
Jerry had propped Lisa's buttocks up on two fat pillows and was on his knees between her legs, his big hands gripping her hips, his broad shoulders looming over her in the aquamarine ambience of the room. He was going slow to make it last. His third time. How virile he is. Arn only does it once. Most of them do it once and then run. This guy might keep it up all night. 1 won't stop him... Gonna fuck around the clock tonight, gonna fuck fuck fuck till broad daylight...
"How 'bout this?" Jerry drew his creamy cock from her cunt and spread her buttocks.
"Y'like it this way?"
She felt the slick head of his member forcing its way into her anus...
"Oh!"
Hearing the cry, Joe again looked away from the screen. Mary's skirt was bunched up around her waist and her panties were around her knees. Steve's hand was between her legs. Her bra was open but still hung loosely from her shoulders. As if of its own accord Joe's hand crept up Emily's back to the zipper tab at the nape of her neck. His other hand eased slowly up along the outside of her left thigh, under her skirt, until he felt the crisp lace about the leg hole of her panties. Lacy panties. Bikinis. She wants me to do this. He inserted his fingers under the lace... A loud "Wow!" from a man in the car next to theirs made Joe look back at the screen.
The scene had now changed to the large outer room of the "passion pad"-the room with the fetish photos. It was evening and a party was going on. Five or six couples in party clothes were sitting about the floor on cushions and in the center of the room a buxom brunette with Spanish-type features was doing an erotic dance to a loud, throbbing rock and roll beat. She had just removed her bra and was leaning forward over one of the couples' upturned faces, giving her huge, white, dark-nippled breasts a vigorous shaking. The man and girl on the floor kept snapping at the flying flesh, but the brunette kept just out of reach. The camera occasionally zoomed in on her grinding hips. The large triangular patch of black hair below her belly was quite visible through her sheer blue panties. Shouts from the other couples: "Take it off!"-"Let's see it, Rose!" -"Do your stuff, baby!"
Rose danced around the room, hips jerking obscenely, until she stood before the couple who had made love on the bed at the beginning of the movie. Here she stopped, smiling down at them, and raised her arms over her head. Her enormous breasts swung lazily to and fro and her hips rolled seductively. The view was from behind the two on the floor. Someone shouted, "Give her a hand, Susie!" and the blonde reached up and began rolling down the elastic of the blue panties. The springs of the car seat next to Emily began to squeak erratically. She forced herself not to look over her shoulder. Would she let him do it to her right here-right here beside us? They're breathing so hard! The first black curls sprang out above the rolled-down panties. They're going to show the whole thing this time. Oh, Joe, do something. Do something. If he moved his thumb just a tiny bit, a quarter of an inch, it would be touching my hair. He's afraid. Rose's entire black bush was now exposed. She stepped out of the panties and thrust her hips forward, slowly, until Susie's face was inches from her crotch...
As the blonde's face lifted to the wooly groove, the camera panned down until her head was out of the picture. The music faded and moans and slurping sounds were heard and Susie's long blonde hair indicated the movements of her head. Emily wondered how they could show that. She's eating her... After a few moments of this, the sloppy sounds becoming louder and louder, Susie's partner swept her hair aside and drew down the zipper at the back of her dress, exposing the long clean line of her back, unbroken by bra or panties.
Joe hardly realized what he had done until he slid his hand back up Emily's back and felt the backband of her bra. I've unzipped her dress...
Now all the men and women around the room were getting out of their clothes. Everywhere there were bare breasts of all sizes bobbing into view, erect penises springing into the light, feminine legs thrown open to the camera, hairy cracks being stroked and licked... Pan slowly back to the blonde and the brunette... This time the view was from behind Rose, who still stood in a half crouch, legs spread obscenely, buttocks twitching, wildly, opening and closing. Susie's chin could be seen working up and down between her thighs. The blonde was naked now and her partner was stroking her big white pink-tipped breasts as she worked on Rose. Then Rose's face, wracked wild ecstasy, filled the screen. Her eyes rolled back and her mouth opened- "Ah ah ah ah ah ah-------!"
Lisa's legs flailed uncontrollably and the room spun and plunged like an undersea rollercoaster as Jerry's hot, heavy bursts of semen shot into her rectum, sending her into a chain of orgasmic explosions that shuddered her body to the bone...
Arn was on the edge of his stool, about to approach the woman in the black dress, when a fat man got up from a table beside the jukebox and climbed heavily onto the stool beside her.
"Lemme buy y' a drink, baby," he said, throwing, meaty arm over her shoulders and a bill onto the bar. In the mirror Arn saw her smile at him but could not hear he reply. Fat son of a bitch. She had hardly taken two sips of her drink before they got up and left together. Story of my life. Arn gulped down his whiskey and ordered another.
The camera was darting about the room, staccato fashion, focusing on each pair or trio of naked lovers for only a second at a lime. It seemed to Joe that his entire body was throbbing with passion, his mind jumping from the screen to Mary and Steve to the half-undressed girl in his arms in a frantic blur of animal lust. She was no longer Emily Nager, the girl he might marry, the girl on whose virginity he had such a strange fixation: she was nothing but a hot, beautiful piece of ass, ready and willing. She had begun to stroke his stiff prick through the cloth of his trousers in time with the bouncing car seat. He covered her upturned lips with his and plunged his longue into her mouth as he helped her unzip his fly with fumbling hands. When her trembling fingers closed about his pulsing penis he was no longer in the back seat of a car at a public theater. Joe was in a flashing, bouncing Technicolor bubble, an island of surging flesh, light years distant, where the only real things were the teeth biting at his lips, the firm heaving tit which fell naked into his hand, the wet furry hump which jerked beneath his finger...
Mary's whisper came out a hoarse croak: "Oh, go slow, go slow, Steve, oh-!" Except for the skirt which was wadded up around her waist, Mary was completely naked now. She was astraddle Steve's lap, her hard stiff-nippled breasts, wet with saliva, oscillating from side to side across his mouth and cheeks, her slim buttocks quivering in his grasp, rising and falling over the red-hot ramrod driving deep into the hairy hole between her thighs...
Emily felt her pants rip as Joe jerked them brutally from her hips. Rip 'em, oh, rip 'em off me, Joe! Her dress too was crumpled in her lap and her breasts hung out of the bra cups. When her panties were off, Joe pulled his trousers down to his knees and pulled her onto his lap. She felt his stiff flesh nosing into the hair of her crotch, his lips sucking on her nipple. They were closer to Mary and Steve now, and she felt Mary's knee jerking against her own. A hand- Whose hand? Steve's. He's rubbing my leg. Oh God. Let him, let him. Feeling my ass...
She reached back and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the seat. I'm naked now. Naked. His dick is between my legs. Between my legs. The men in that car. They're watching us. They can see my tits. Good. Let 'em watch. Watch me get fucked. Oh-he's going to do it. Going to put it in me. Put it in me. Joe urgently slid the head of his prick down along Emily's slippery slit until he found the hole- "-Joe... Don't."
"DON'T? Why you little-!"
For all the lurching violence of Steve's sudden ejaculation, Joe was hardly conscious of it. Neither did he , hear the rising din of the music that accompanied the final scene of the film, which ended like it began-except that instead of a view of Susie's bare breasts as she ran along the beach toward the camera, the screen was filled with the cheeks of her bare ass as she ran away from it. All he heard were the sobs of the naked girl on his lap.
THE ENDAs Arn walked out the door of the bar the wind hit him like an Arctic blast. Goddamn! Cold. Should have worn a coat. He looked for the hangnail moon, but the sky was now completely overcast, a gigantic black mantle moving in a solid mass across the town. Nor'easter, Arn thought. He remembered his childhood at Cape Fear, how he had lain awake in bed on nights like this, wondering if his little sloop was riding properly, if she was taking much water, if she had broken her moorings. I was going to sail around the world in that leaky derelict. He laughed aloud at the thought. 1 was going to be a great and famous seaman, like Joshua Slocum. Greater than Joshua Slocum...
"I gotta have more," said Jerry, rolling Lisa over on her face. Her body was slick with perspiration, saliva and semen. "1 could fuck you all night, you gorgeous cunt!"
Lisa did not have the breath to answer with her voice; she responded by yielding to him, consenting with her body. He kissed her glistening buttocks and lifted them to his loins, his big cock slipping smoothly into her dilated cunt on the first jab. He gripped her broad hips and grinned at the runlets of perspiration that trickled down her spine from her elevated buttocks as he started a slow rolling stroke. Sweat, bitch, sweat...
Arn rounded the corner at a brisk pace. The cold wind had cleared his head somewhat. What the fuck?... He could not be sure at that distance, but it looked as if Jerry Watson's car was still parked in front of his house. Surely the bastard's gone by now. Said he was in a hurry...
A car squealed around the corner and roared past him, weaving wildly. Crazy goddamn kids. The car skidded to a stop in front of Arn's house. Someone got out. Uh oh. Must be Emily. Customer's still in the house. 1 could call to her...
But he only continued up the street, feeling a strange tingle along his spine. The car howled away into the night.
Emily had not seen her father on the sidewalk. She did not even bother to wipe her tear-streaked face, but went straight to the door of her parents' bedroom. She felt a desperate need to cry on her mother's shoulder, to be comforted, to be-perhaps for the last time in her life-a child. She had already opened the door and was standing frozen, with one foot over the threshold, when Arn entered the hall behind her.
The couple on the bed was facing the door, but Lisa's head was down on the sheet, her hair fallen over her face, and it was a few moments before she was aware that something had happened. It wasn't the sound of the doorknob that alerted her, because she had been aware of no sound save that of her own gasping breath and the slish-slush between her elevated buttocks; it was that the driving thing inside her had suddenly ceased to move.
Emily stared with disbelief at the blank face of the man on his knees behind the naked, sweating hind quarters of her mother. Later, after she went to her room, she wished Mama had not lifted her head and looked into her eyes. Then I could have pretended it wasn't really her. That it was some other woman. Her mother's cheeks had been smeared with dried sperm and she drooled at the lips.
Arn stood in the hall for what seemed to him a long time after Emily had fled into her bedroom, listening to her sobbing behind the closed door. He heard the nervous mutterings in the other room too. And the scrape of the tree limb on the roof outside in the whistling dark. Suddenly he became aware of something beyond his shame and guilt, something that hit him with the force of an apocalyptic revelation...
I'm a son of a bitch if 1 haven't got a bone on.
A great weight seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders. What a scurrilous lecher I am, 1 am, 1 am, what a scurrilous lecher I am.
CHAPTER SIX
I wish 1 had let Joe now. 1 wish 1 had let him fuck me. I'm going to fuck the next boy 1 see, so help me God. And the next and the next. It's just as well we broke up. Joe wouldn't want to go out with a whore. And that's what I'm going to be. That's just what I'm going to be. I'll bring them right here too, right here in my room. And just let her say anything! Or him. I saw him standing there. Her husband, just standing there. He knew. And he just stood there. He's been drinking. 1 smelled him before 1 saw him. That's where those shorts came from. In the bathroom. From him, that man. He's big. Bigger than Daddy. Daddy's afraid of him. Afraid to do anything. 1 wish he'd come in here and fuck me, and Daddy could watch that too. Come on and fuck me, Mister. I'll give you my cherry. How long has it been going on, 1 wonder? And she tells me to be good. Wow! And the way they were doing it. Like dogs. Makes it seem worse somehow. And that nasty stuff on her face. Awful. It looked like he had it in her asshole instead of... And she was drooling. Oh God, I think I'm going to throw up. Drooling like a pig...
1 wonder if the peeping torn would come if I turned the lights on. Maybe I could get him to come in and fuck me. Yes, and I'll open the door so brave Daddy can watch. I wonder who it is. I wonder if he knows I know. I always wait until I hear him out there to start undressing. He's not very quiet. Crunches on the leaves. Maybe he's out there now. Heard the car drive up and sneaked up to wait for me to turn the light on. Can't open the window tonight. Too cold and windy. Wouldn't be able to hear him. Next time he comes I'll give him a real show, brother. I'll lay right in front of the window and stick a banana in my pussy. Or something. 1 can't see how that would feel good in the asshole. Mary said somebody did it to her that way once. I'll try it though. I'll try anything. Everything. I'll make Mary look like a nun. I'll make you proud of me, Mama. Why did she have to do it here? In their bed, hers and Daddy's? Couldn't they have-?
A gash of yellow light momentarily split the darkness as Arn entered the room.
"Em?"
She tried to control her sobs but could not. She wanted to tell him to go away-Get out! Get the hell out of here!- but she was unable to speak. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her. His very weight depressing the mattress made a dark heavy sickness in her brain.
"Will you let me try to explain, honey?"- She shook her head.
After a moment he patted her on the leg and stood up. Get your goddamn hands off me! A lump of passionate anger swelled in her throat until she thought she would choke on it.
"OK." His voice was soft and gentle. "I'll come back later on."
Suddenly Emily was seized by a horror of being left alone with herself again. She clutched at his hand and pulled him down beside her. "-Don't go, Daddy," she sobbed.
"You son of a bitch, you've got to get out of here!" Lisa's voice was a hoarse whisper. "Please!" She tried to get at the doorknob but Jerry blocked her like a football player. He was not the same man that had come politely, almost timidly, to her door a few hours earlier. He had become a sex-mad animal, an insatiable brute. The interruption which had come on the verge of his fourth orgasm, far from cooling him off, had heightened the fever of his lust to a raging pitch.
"I ain't goin' anywhere," he growled, "and neither are you. I paid my goddamn money and you're gettin' fucked, baby!" He came toward her in a crouch, backing her into the corner.
"Oh, please!"-she was almost in tears-"That was my daughter! Don't you understand?"
"I don't care if it was your grandma, bitch."
He reared over her cowering form like a great white bear, his teeth leering yellow in the subaqueous light.
"He's her lover, isn't he?" whimpered Emily, finding her voice at last.
Arn held her hand in his, stroking it gently. "Her lover?... Yeah, that's right, honey. He's her-" Lisa's scream reverberated through the house, followed by a heavy thud which Arn felt through the floor.
Emily sat bolt upright. "Oh, Daddy! Do something!"
Arn's body stiffened. He did not get up.
[A word here to the reader who is impatiently anticipating Nager's next logical move (logical in a "bookish" sort of way), viz., for him to go into his bedroom with a pistol, or perhaps a shotgun, and blow old Jerry Watson's brains out. Forget about it. I must confess that I am not much at making up stories; whenever I try to alter the events of a personal experience, I invariably find my efforts becoming awkward and unnatural. This is a case in point: because in the original draft of this book I took just that "logical" step mentioned above, with the result of distorting the character of my unfortunate friend (here called Arn Nager) totally beyond recognition. To me, the touch of blood was not worth it. Anyway, I'm not much better at violence than I am at making up stories. It was a quick way to get my man behind bars, but it was the wrong way. He is in prison, and will be for some time, but not for murder-he didn't have it in him. Incest, yes; rape, maybe; but not murder. However, I promise you, the big bastard in the bedroom will not get away scot free.-R. J. Smythe.]
"Mama's all right, honey. She's-" Another scream. Higher pitched than the last.
"Daddy-!"
Emily would have leaped from the bed and run to help her mother, but Arn held her down.
"No, Em,"-his voice was soft but trembling-"don't go in there."
Her struggles only made his grip tighter on her arms. "WHY DON'T YOU DO SOMETHING? YOU'RE AFRAID! YOU'RE AFRAID! HE'S HURTING MAMA! -" She broke into anguished wails.
"Shhh. It's OK, honey. Don't cry now. Mama's all right. See, it's quiet now."
"But, Daddy-"
"Shh. Relax now, relax... " Lisa was pinned down on the floor, Jerry's knees crushing her upper arms, his huge cock jabbing brutally at her gasping lips. She could feel the flesh over her right cheekbone beginning to swell. The pain throbbed in her head. His hot, hairy buttocks rose and fell heavily on her battered breasts.
"-Don't you hear my-uh!-don't you hear my daughter crying?" He doesn't even hear me. I can't hear myself. My voice-my voice is gone. Got to scream. Oh, why doesn't Arn come? Why doesn't someone help me-? "No!-Agggh!-" With a growling laugh Jerry opened her jaws with his hands and rammed the great greasy muzzle of his cock down her throat.
"Take it easy, now, Em. It's quiet now. Mama's not getting hurt. People make noises like that when they make love, honey. I know it sounds frightening to you, but well, that's the way it is. Sex is a-a violent thing sometimes. You'll see when you get older."
Emily lay still now. Her body ached and burned from head to foot. Arn relaxed his pressure on her arms. I can't even cry any more. I feel empty. So tired and empty... She curled up on her side, like a fetus, her head on her father's lap.
"You're growing up now, honey, but there's a lot of things about life you don't know yet, things you don't learn in school. Maybe it's better that you're learning some of them now, instead of growing up with all kinds of false illusions like I did." He dried her wet cheek with a corner of the bedspread and rested his hand lightly on her hip.
"Most of what you've heard about marriage is false. Two people, falling in love, living together all their lives, having sex with no one but each other-well, it just doesn't work out that way. Not usually. It-it's hard to explain, you're so young-" He talked on, his voice soft and droning in the darkness, but Emily was not listening-not to the words. She felt a hardness, a slight stirring, beneath her cheek, but had no conscious thought of what it was. Instead there swam into her mind the memory of how Joe's penis had felt in her hand, how it twitched when she rubbed the end of it, as if t were a thing with a life of its own. She remembered something a girl had told her about men when she was only six or seven. They have a funny snake that lives in their pants, the girl had said. Emily thought about how she had laughed about that. Wish 1 could laugh now. 1 wish ] could laugh and laugh and laugh and it would all go away and 1 would wake up and laugh some more because it was a bad dream. 1 'd go and climb in bed with Mommy like when 1 was little and tell her 1 had a bad dream and she would let me lay there with her till morning and everything would be all right. Everything would be sunny and nice... God, listen to the wind. Howling... Why is he doing that? Rubbing my leg. He can feel I don't have any pants on. Yes. That's what he. 's doing. Feeling my back now. To see if 1 have a bra on. good. What do I care? Maybe I should tell him some of the facts of life... Poor Daddy. Poor Daddy. His hand is shaking...
Bitter bile welled up in Lisa's throat, bubbling about the oily shaft of hot iron that rose and plunged at the gagging hub of the spinning room.
"-and so you see, honey, your mother and I, we-"
"Daddy."
"Hm?"
"Tonight I... " She had spoken on impulse. The sound f her own voice frightened her. How can 1 tell him? My own father- After a long pause Arn spoke. "It's all right, honey. You can tell me."
He knows! But he couldn't. He's guessing. He thinks because my underwear's gone- Arn kicked off his shoes and shifted his position on the bed, stretching out beside Emily with his head and shoulders propped up on the pillows. He placed her head on his chest and his hand again fell softly to the thinly clad hill of her hip. Her upper knee now rested on the hump at his groin. "Now," he said, patting her gently on the butt, "tell the old man all about it. You don't have to be afraid, it's the most natural thing in the world."
"... What do you think I did?"
"Had sex."
"No! I didn't. I almost did, but... I wanted to, but... "
"OK, I believe you. Tell me about it."
"All right. But-Daddy, about Mama's-I mean, about that man and all-"
"Yes?"
"I love you anyway, Daddy. And Mama too."
"Sure, honey. And we love you."
She snuggled closer to him, hugging his chest. She was vaguely aware of his fingers slowly gathering up the material of her dress, its hem easing up her thigh.
"We went to this movie,"-The only light in the room was a dim diffusion from the crack under the door. Emily's eyes, half out of focus, were trained absently on her knee as she talked. It shone faintly against the dark of Arn's trousers. "Joe and I, with Steve and Mary. It was a-an adult movie, you know? I knew it would be sexy, but gosh, Daddy, I didn't know it would be that bad. They-they did everything. Right on the screen. And then Steve started taking Mary's clothes off and I-I was ashamed, but I wanted Joe to do it to me too. Take my clothes off. I'm sorry, Daddy, it was the movie and-"
"Don't be sorry. It was perfectly natural. Actually, it kind of surprises me that you've never done it before-made love I mean. You and Joe have been going together quite a while."
"He never tried before, not like that. Maybe I would have let him, I don't know... Anyway, we were in the back seat and Mary and Steve were right beside us, doing it."
"He screwed her right there?" Arn's voice carried a strange tenseness, a turbulent undercurrent. Emily felt something shudder under her knee.
"Yes. And on the screen they were all doing it. They were having a party, and everyone got undressed and started-screwing. They showed everything. 1 didn't think they could do that at a-"
"Pussies?"
Emily nodded, noticing for the first time how hard his heart was beating in her ear. A great dark amorphous thought swam upward through the depths of her mind, a shapeless blur just below the surface of consciousness, like some huge carnivorous fish without a name, about to stalk out upon the land . .
The powerful gush of semen surged down Lisa's throat, meeting the gastric eruption from her stomach with such force that both vomit and sperm sprayed from her burning nostrils like fountains of acid.
"Pricks?"
Why is he using those words? To embarrass me? He's trying to sound casual. Like one of the kids, I guess. "Yes," she answered, "everything. And then Joe took his out. It seemed so-"
"His prick?"
"Yes. It seemed so natural-"
"It is. Every man and boy has one. At times like that they have a way of popping out all by themselves. I'm no different. Can't you feel it?"
"... Yes."
"Fathers get hardons just like everybody else. Just hearing about that movie-" He seemed to choke on the words. She heard his heart catch and quiver. Poor Daddy. Maybe it's been a long time since he... Mama has her lover and all. Hardly realizing what she was doing, Emily lifted her knee and placed her hand on the bulge in his pants. It jumped and trembled beneath her fingers. His breath hissed through her hair. His words came out hoarse and labored.
"And then he took your pants off? I see you haven't got any on."
She noticed, almost without concern-I feel so strange-that her hips were bare, her skirt gathered up at her waist. Arn's hand pressed over the curve of her naked cheek. "Yes-Oh, Daddy." His fingers brushing the crease of her buttocks sent a tingling chill through her body.
"Go on, go on, honey. I understand, I-"
"And then he unzipped my dress and-" She heard the rasp of the zipper and felt the dress loosen about her breasts and shoulders, "-and then I took off my bra for him, and-"
"Go on, go on!" His voice was a wheezing whisper.
"And then he-he was rough. Joe was never rough before. He pulled me onto his lap, like Mary and Steve and-mmmmm-" Her breath was coming fast now. She felt delirious, she lost track of the things that were happening, of what she was saying. Beneath the words she thought, I am speaking, 1 am telling him about it. But the words seemed without sense or meaning. She did not know how her father's penis got into her hand, or how she had gotten on top of him. She felt almost weightless, as though she had floated onto him. She was never sure afterwards whether he had pulled her up or whether she had rolled over him of her own accord. Not until she felt the suction of his lips on her nipples did she realize that her dress was off. His hands stroked her hips, gripped them, gently, ever so gently, guiding her into position. Oh oh oh oh- "-and I felt his thing in my hair-my pussy-and Steve put his hand on my ass and-and-AH!"
Only then-at the instant her father's hands clamped down on her hips and his rock-hard penis rent through her hymen-only then did the swimming thought, the realization, spout in a gush of blood from the finny deep and clash its rainbow scales upon the flesh-eating land.
Lisa's breasts were numb. She no longer felt Jerry's teeth gnawing on her bleeding nipples, nor the swollen shank of meat battering the torn walls of her rectum. She concentrated all her remaining energy on the stalk of the blue glass lamp on the table above her head, stretching her hand out, out beyond the aquatic aura of pain, clutching desperately, weakly. When at last her trembling fingers closed about the cold glass she blacked out. As if in a dream she imagined the heavy lamp coming down through the sky in a long slow arc and shattering in a kaleidoscopic bloom of blue glass, like a dandelion, floating away on the wind.
She came to as though waking up from a long sleep. Something was crawling on her shoulder. A fly? She brushed it off. Wet. She was only mildly surprised when she opened her eyes and found it was blood. Her brain was numb. She could hardly breathe because of Jerry Watson's dead weight on her chest. God, I'm covered with blood. And glass. Got to get him off me. She did not realize that their bodies were still coupled, and when at last she succeeded in rolling him off, a sharp pain shot through the dull ache in her bowels as the head of his flaccid cock was torn from her anus. He flopped limply into the glass and vomit, his face and genitals red with blood. As she staggered into the hallway she wondered fleetingly if she had killed him. It did not seem important.
Again the gash of light sliced through the darkness of Emily's bedroom. For a moment Lisa's stooped form hung dark and still in the doorway, the wild halo of her hair stiff with blood. Emily's eyes were closed, but Arn's were not. Lisa saw the bright frantic fall and swell of her daughter's naked buttocks, and the sudden spasmic lurching of Arn's loins as he came into his orgasm. She could see the bloody underside of his penis, the livid scar of his circumcision, as it plunged up and down erratically between the black and crimson lips. They're doing it the way we do it, she thought, and then she collapsed.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Now we have about thirty pages to kill to make everything come out right, but I have every hope and intention of. getting through them as smoothly and as entertainingly as possible. I say "about," but of course it is almost exactly that, not much more nor less, and the reader who has not had enough of the rather depressing tale of Arn Nager has my permission (if it is mine to give) to skip over to Chapter X and follow the thing out to the end, or as far toward the end as I care to take it. As for me, I'm content to let it lie for a while.
However, I might say to those who choose to stick with me through this handful of chapters-so as not to leave the other shoe in the air, so to speak-that the man I call Jerry Watson did not die, though he took a few stitches in the head, they tell me. But I may as well let you know now that I don't intend to go into detail about the remainder of that windy night at Nager's house, in fact I think I'll skip it altogether. As I mentioned in a footnote a few pages ago, I'm a little weak on invention, and that's as much of the story as was told me-that particular part of it, that is. I heard it from all three of them-Arn, Lisa and Emily-though I got it in bits and pieces, widely distributed throughout this last year-and for some reason or other they all broke off their account of that night just at the moment when Lisa passed out in the doorway. The implication, I suppose, is that nothing more of any importance occurred for a few days. So, if you like, you can consider these next chapters a three-day interlude between Chapters VI and X. They are not that of course, but you can imagine so if you want.
But to tie up Jerry Watson for good and all-for he will not appear again in these pages-let me just say this: How he got out of the house that night, if he did get out that night, I don't know; but the way I figure it, Arn probably laid a little first aid on him, poured some coffee down his throat, led him out to his car and said something like, "Sorry this had to happen, old man," and sent him on his way. I even have a mental picture of my boy standing at the street waving as Jerry's car roars off into the distance. Knowing Arn, I offer these suggestions. I may be quite wrong of course; an author is the last person to really know his characters.
But enough of this shit. I'm not being paid for speculation and soliloquies, after all. Let's jump right into something juicy. Ah!-I have just the thing. How about a little cunnilingus?
This happened just the other morning. I was sitting on the floor, taking a break from the typewriter, listening to a few records, when out of the bedroom, dressed in a lacy red negligee, comes May, the woman I am presently living with-all right then, she's my wife. And she came out of the garage, not the bedroom, dressed not in a red negligee (she doesn't even own a negligee) but in a brown dress. However, it was a short brown dress, seriously, and she can look very sexy, my old lady, in a short dress. I happen to be one of those men (assuming there are others like myself in this respect) who periodically come into rut, if you know what I mean-like a tomcat or a billy goat. I will go quietly along, my wits about me, forging ahead on one project or another for weeks at a time with hardly a piece or two of tail the whole time; and then, for no apparent reason, I will suddenly come into season and walk around for about the same length of time with a perpetual bone on, a veritable somnambulist, a walking wet dream, nothing on my mind but cunt. I used to think it had something to do with the phases of the moon, but have since given up the notion. Probably just a traumatic quirk in the morphology.
Anyhow, at this particular time I'm talking about I happened to be in one of these periods of rut, so that a glance at my wife, her long curvy legs bare well nigh to the hip, standing there with a bag full of groceries in her arms, was enough to raise me a tremendous hard, on the spot, right in the middle of the second crescendo of the prelude to Tristan und Isolde.
"John!" she says, noticing it immediately, since I hadn't a stitch on, "you nasty thing." It was her way of saying, Hey, I could use a little myself. Turning her back on me, with a seductive grin over the shoulder, she did a gliding butt-swivel over to the table where she set the groceries down. To show how a woman who knows her stuff can put her whole sex into such a mundane act as dropping a sack of cans, let me focus in briefly on that moment.
First, as I told you, I was seated on the floor; second, May bent over much further than was necessary to lower the bag to the table. These two conditions, together with the shameless brevity of her skirt and a tear about the size of a half-dollar in the seat of her black lace panties-of which she may or may not have been conscious-resulted in giving me a fleeting but spectacular view up the crack of her lovely ass.
(On reading this she informs me that indeed she was not! -but women are natural-born liars in these matters.) At my insistence she wears the sort of panties that have no lining in the crotch, so that I also got a good look at the dark shag bristling through the lace in the vicinity of her perineum. (Speaking of shag, I might say here in tribute to my wife that cunt hair in quantity, that is to say, in length and density, turns me on, as those who read my books may have suspected; and so it gives me great pleasure to state unequivocally that May, God love her, has the thickest, the shaggiest, the longest, the blackest and the snarliest snatch grass of any cunt I have ever seen or heard of, save Cleopatra's, which is reputed to have hit her at mid-thigh, and that of the Indian woman known as Mrs. Verlain who ran the orphanage on Stone's Island during the Depression, which, according to the late Molly Goldsmith, hung to her knees.) Wait a minute. Let me break off this incident and jump to another which began the same way-with cunnilingus, as I promised. This will be much better because it will tie in with the letter I got from Drake Hackett the previous day-a letter which I intend to use to fill up some extra pages in the middle of this book. (That's cheating, I hear you say. Maybe it is, but my job is to fill up the goddamn pages-and as fast as possible. What do you care how I do it, so long as I keep your cock up, you son of a bitch? Read on, and keep your motherfucking opinions to yourself.) But just so as not to leave any loose threads, I can wrap up the above by saying that after May put the groceries on the table I pulled off her panties and ate her box. That's the whole thing in a nutshell, and it would have dead-ended there rather awkwardly after she got her cookies, while the following incident, as you will see, will lead us smoothly into some stimulating three-way sex and thence to a nice open-air nude scene on Stone's Island. At least this is my hope.
As I said, it started the same way...
I was sitting naked on the floor, taking a break, listening to some records,-Bartok this time, the Fourth Quartet--when in comes my wife in a short dress. But now it is late in the evening instead of morning, the dress is red not brown, and she is returning not from shopping but from "work." Otherwise things were similar.
"John! You nasty thing."
I said not a word but embraced her about the thighs and stuck my head under her skirt. Ah! what heady vapors had been generating in that fleshy hothouse, what sweet heavy fumes flooded my nostrils! She had the smell of a she-goat and a beard to match. And in the gloomy glow that reflected off the rug and filtered through the silky tent I could see that mossy hump looming dark at the tip of my nose, hot and moist in its transparent pouch of pale yellow tricot, a few curly shocks sticking out around the edges. I bored through the filmy crotch with my nose, straight into the fetid furrow, striking the arched ridge of her razor-backed clitoris dead center on the first jab, and she yowled and quivered and pumped her hips like a cat in heat.
I heard her saying, "Oh, John, oh, John," and felt her fingers through the silk of her skirt, trembling lightly on the back of my head as I rolled down her pants and dropped them to her ankles to the opening strains of the haunting Non troppo lento third movement. I slid my hooks over the cheeks of her ass, and when her thighs opened on cue-ah, those meaty gates to the dragon's hoard!-I pressed my lips to that hairy hill and bullied tongue-first into her rancid ruck. How sweet it was!-that heavy musk of honey bubbling from the creamy cauldron of her cunt, that oily balm of Gilead!
We were right in the middle of this operation, whipped on to a frantic tempo by the pizzicato whirlwind of the second scherzo (Allegretto pizzicato), when who should walk in the front door but our nymphomaniacal friend, Nadine N-.
If you happen to have read the little book I edited for her, Four Dirty Movies and How We Made Them, (being in a pinch for money), you are already fairly well acquainted with Miss N-, and I need only say here that she is a natural honey blonde, big-titted, deep-bored and otherwise pretty much like she describes herself in her book. If you haven't read it, then you'd better go out and buy the goddamn thing, because you'll hear no more from me about it, and I can damn well use the sale. "Unscrupulous!" you say, "Why didn't he let her sell it herself, under her own name?" Because she doesn't need the money and I do, if it's any of your goddamn business. Here I am, living on a shoestring, on the very brink of financial doom, going down for the third time in the sewers of debt, subsisting in a shack that should have been condemned the day it was built-I'm supposed to turn over what few shekels I can eke out of my derelict of a typewriter to a whore like that who could own the whole mother-buggering town if she wanted to? Fuck you, I say, you hypocritical bastard.) Now where were we before I was so rudely interrupted? Ah yes:-when who should walk in but, etc. She had knocked, so she says, but neither May nor I heard anything above the slurp-slurp of the scherzo, so finally she had opened the door and showed herself in. Being in the dark myself, I didn't see anything-except the faintly luminous swath of belly above May's bush-but 1 heard the click of the doorlatch and my wife's breathless exclamation: -"Nadine!"
Good, I says to myself, the more the merrier, and as far as I know I never missed a lick. May's stiff grizzly clit was shuddering under my tongue like a beached mullet, and the cheeks of her ass rippled with gooseflesh as the dress lifted from my head in a silky swish and Nadine said, "Aha, so it's you under there!"
Still I kept it up, my chin going like a jack hammer, May's bare loins now bathed in light. I looked up as I worked, feasting my eyes on the plump underbellies of her lace-veiled boobs as they bobbed and bounced in time with the baton that beat in her box. And as I watched, the bra floated off into space as though of its own volition, like in a television commercial, and I reached up and caught those swollen nipples in mid-jump, all the while sucking away like a bilge pump.
It was Nadine of course who had relieved May of her dress and bra-I was vaguely aware of her saying things like, "Keep it up, kids, don't let me slow down the party," and "Here, let me help you out of these things," and so forth-and the next thing I knew her own clothes were fluttering to the floor, and her naked body was slithering along the floor like a snake between May's legs, making straight for my twitching tallywhacker.
It was at the instant Nadine's lips closed about my joint that May started getting her donuts, but I was so hot by that time that before her frothing cunt stopped lurching I had pumped a good pint and a half of semen down Nadine's gulping throat; and so with the last heavy-bowed spasms of the Allegro molto finale- which, as all Bartok lovers know, ends the Quartet as it began-she sucked out the last drop, and May slid off my tongue to the floor in a happy heap.
Later, after we had had a good laugh and freshened up, May opened a quart of beer and Nadine told me why she had stopped by. She pulled a copy of one of my books out of her purse- The Orgies of Stone's Island.
"I wanted to talk to you about this book, John. I just read the whole thing-in one sitting. I just can't-Hey, your kids aren't going to be walking out here, are they?" (We hadn't put our clothes on.) I told her they'd been asleep for hours. "I just can't believe all that stuff really happened-I mean right here in Sago Beach."
"Well, maybe it didn't," I said.
"What do you mean? The facts are-"
"Facts are facts, but I mean who knows if it really happened the way Drake imagines it?* The last survivor of the fire is dead, and Stone's journals are in the West Indies-or at the bottom of the sea for all we know. There's really nothing left but moldy bones and a few inches of newsprint."
[*The book in question is another of my editing jobs, this time for my friend Drake Hackett, with whom I split the take. (And if you don't think I earned my money on that one, forget it; I had nothing to work from but a watersoaked bundle of illegible chicken scratches, biggest goddamn mess you ever saw.) Nadine was particularly interested in Hackett because, quite by accident, he appeared in one of her "dirty movies," he and his beautiful wife Yvonne. R.J.S.]
"You think he made it all up? "
"Not at all. I think it's just like Drake to find his own shadow buried in the ground. I think if he had never come here he would have dug up Simon Stone just the same, sooner or later."
May laughed at the puzzled expression on Nadine's face. "Don't pay any attention to him, Nadine," she says. "Very little of what he says makes sense. I married him for his body." I pinched her on the tit.
"No," says Nadine, still serious, "I think I know what you mean, John. You're talking about his character, his personality, aren't you?" I rolled my eyes and guzzled my suds. "He seemed so morbid in the book, like he knew he was going to have to destroy himself someday like Stone did, but he didn't want to believe that. It seemed like he was running away from something but getting closer all the time to the thing he was running from... " Sharp chick, Nadine. But I wasn't much in the mood for character studies, being in rut as I've indicated, and it was all I could do to keep my cock between my legs and my eyes off her tits as she talked.-What an enormous set of knockers, that kid's got! Enormous. She goes on...
"But that's what puzzles me-and what I wanted to ask you about. You've seen that film of ours with Drake and his wife in it, the one Jimmy took, you remember?" How could I forget? "Well, I ran it again tonight, after I finished the book, and I just can't associate the man in the movie with the man in the book. He looks so jovial and carefree, so healthy and-"
"Heavy hung," I put in. She agreed with a swoony smile. "I wish you two could have gotten together," I said, "but Drake sailed for Barbados several months before you first laid your manuscript on me."
"I know. I'd like to meet him sometime."
"It's not likely," I said, "unless you're planning a trip to Africa."
"Africa? I thought he was in Barbados."
I ignored the question. "If you had met him, Nadine, you would have been even more confused. He appears in every way to be nothing more than a wonderfully well-balanced clown, happy and promiscuous to the core, a man who, in the words of the sage, 'don't give a shit for nothin'. That's the man he wants to be, and that's the image he puts across." I picked the book up off her lap (mainly so I could see her cunt), and shook it in her face for emphasis. "But here is the real Drake Hackett," I proclaimed, "here in this book. He tries, but he can't keep up his shields when he writes. Like you say, his natural morbidity bubbles all through the thing-even the passages he intends to be humorous. You were right about his running too: he's running away from something and toward something, only he has a much better idea of what he's running from than what he's running toward." (I figured if I was ambiguous and circumlocutious enough I could bore her into more pleasurable pursuits.) "As long as his goal was somewhere up ahead, you see, vague and distant, his days of humiliation in the workaday world behind him, he could play the role of the rebel, the seeker after freedom, the happy-go-lucky renegade. But what bugged him-and you can see it all through his book-was that he began to realize that he was approaching the conditions of this 'goal' he had imagined, and that he was still running. In fact he was running faster and faster all the time. In the back of his mind he saw himself reaching and going beyond the limit, and, like Stone, not being able to get back. You see, Drake thought it was fine and dandy to live out one's sexual fantasies-in fact, he had a suspicion that it was the answer to all human ills-and then he saw the grotesque results of one such experiment in the life of Simon Stone." (The pregnant pause... ) "See, the thing that's always kept Drake going was the quest for the forbidden, and then he met Yvonne, with her money, and he quit his job and bought his boat, and began fucking everything that came in sight, and gradually he saw the forbidden dissolving before his eyes. In other words, he attained his goal and still could not stop running. While he was here in town it hit him that he no longer knew what he was running toward and that the only thing he was running from was boredom. What horrified him was to look down out of his sunny tranquility to see his legs still going like hell-as if he had the St. Vitus' dance."
"I'm not sure I follow you," says Nadine, obviously beginning to see through my authoritative stance, "Are you sure about all that?"
"Well, I mean, that's the way I see it," I backed down.
"But you've been speaking about him in the past tense. Where is he now?"
"In limbo," I said. Clearly she wasn't ready for sex just yet, so I pulled out the letter from Drake and handed it to her. "Here, you can read this if you like. It came yesterday."
And thus I slip cleverly into the letter...
CHAPTER EIGHT
K-, Republique du Congo
December 10
John - I'm taking a considerable risk in writing this - if it's raced back to me I've had it - but I've got to get this thing off my chest, and unfortunately I speak neither French nor Swahili. Besides, you're the only person in the world I can trust. To spit it right out, I'm wanted for abduction by the British government. It's worse than that even, because the girl is dead, but nobody knows that yet.
Sorry I missed you in January, it's been a long time. January! Christ, it seems centuries ago! Yvonne and the kid are fine last time I saw them - better off without me, that's for sure. As for the old man, I'm living a quiet life as root-picker here in "Darkest Africa," shacked up with a hot black mama with tits as big as basketballs and a cunt as deep as the Congo. If I see them coming for me, what I'll do is just climb into that cunt and hole up till they're gone. A man could live at least a year in there without ever sticking his head out - and it's stocked and furnished for comfort, too! But to begin at the beginning, as they say - It was a mild afternoon in July. I was minding my own business in a little dive off Trafalgar Square, surrounded by a bunch of white cunts on a tourist cruise, working leisurely on a hogshead of rum, when in comes this young chick with her Negro servant - real sharp, high-class-looking chick, but very young, like about fifteen or sixteen. Hot damn, I says to myself, I gotta have some of that. So I shoulder my way through the tits and walk right up to her. - Oh Christ, it was crazy, John! Makes no sense from beginning to end. There I am with all those gorgeous American cunts rubbing themselves all over me, tits popping out of their bras, just dying to be fucked by "the Expatriate" - that's what they called me - more pussy than a man could take care of in a month, so help me God. And not just that day, but every day - black or white, short or tall, slim or heavy, you name it, I was fucking it. I never had it so good. Money? - no problem. Yvonne had a certain molasses magnet by the balls ("the Sugar Daddy of Bridgetown," we called him), as well as a couple of other well-to-do limeys around town, and she was bringing it in hand over fist. - Oh, I gotta tell you this, it's right up your alley: - Most of Yvonne's nights were taken up with the Sugar Daddy, but during the days she would sometimes go down and pick up a spade or two at the docks where we kept the Argo and smuggle them up to our room at the hotel. I'd give her a little lead, and then follow with a white broad. There were two beds in the room with a reed curtain between them, and my chick and I would lay there and watch the black cats fucking Yvonne - through the curtain, see? It was wild, man! - And little Billy used to sit in a chair by the window and watch both beds. Sometimes I'd let him eat his mama's cunt (which he does so well), and the spooks' eyes - not to mention the white chicks' - would damn near pop out of their heads! It was too much, John, too much.
So what I did makes no sense at all - not to me, anyway. It seems to me now like maybe the young cunt didn't really have anything to do with it. It was like I was hell-bent on splitting out of that place almost before I got there - that "place in the sun" I had dreamed of for so long - and getting to this place, this God-forsaken cassava capital of the world, - hell-bent on cutting myself off from civilization entirely, one way or another, and that I just used her as a tool. I don't know. I really don't know.
Anyway, that day in July: I go over to this chick, Julia S - was her name, and start laying the usual shit on her. At first it was nothing more than just adding another cunt to my collection, and that's all it would have amounted to, I suppose, if she'd played along. But she put me down, John, put me down bad - in front of my tourist cunts and all. Maybe it was pride, eh? Whatever it was, I became absolutely obsessed with getting into her pants - and then not with just getting into her pants, but with possessing her, you know what I mean? First I wanted only her cunt, but now I wanted her soul. It seemed to me the most important thing in the world. I felt alive - more alive than I have ever felt in my life. It seemed to me that at last - and maybe for the first time - I was on the right track, that I was finding myself. But it occurs to me now - just now, as I write - that it was not the first time at all. I suddenly have the clearest vision...
A time years ago - I was just a kid, nine or ten years old - and I was in love, obsessed, just like I described above. And by God - so help me this never occurred to me before - that little girl I was in love with, she was the very image of this Julia! -What the fuck, John? Am I regressing, or what?
I have to go out and grub some roots now. It's "Root, hog, or die" around here - do your bit or stay away from the manioc. Be back later.
I'm back. You ought to see me, John - three months in the bush and I look like a black ass nigger already. I wish I knew what these bastards are saying behind my back. I have a strong suspicion one of the motherfuckers is going to either slit my throat or turn my ass in before long. But what the fuck? I don't really give a shit, to tell you the truth. Now, to get back to the story - Every day I would see my little Julia promenading around the Square and down along the docks, always with a new dress on. She had the sweetest little ass you ever saw, trim and cocky under her miniskirt, her slick mod boots flashing in the sun - she had long blonde hair and she wore it straight and loose - To me she was like a beacon, I could spot her in a crowd at a hundred paces. Her tits were like young papayas, still green and hard, and her waist - you could reach clear around it with your hands - except I could never get that close.
I used to follow her around everywhere, buy her presents, attempt to bribe her servants, everything. But it was no dice. I was just a dirty old man to her. She complained about me to her father- he was a British diplomat. Lord S -, filthy rich - and so he took to sending a bodyguard with her on her walks instead of the old lady, and one day the black bastard beat me to a pulp on the quay. I lay in the cabin of the Argo for two days, swollen and bleeding like a speared fish. I refused to eat or to let Yvonne fix me up. Every time she came aboard I told her to get the fuck back to the hotel and leave me alone. I was despondent, delirious, out of my head. It was during those two days that I made up my mind.
There was no point in going for her in the crowded square, so I took to lurking like a thief in the shadows between the warehouses along that side of the inner harbor where the Argo was berthed. I would go out at dusk with an iron belaying pin in my pants and stick it out till any possibility of her showing up was gone. This went on for three days before she finally appeared.
It was a starry night with no moon. Dark and still. There were only a few fishermen out on the end of the quay. I crouched behind a crate with my club clutched in my fist and waited until they passed-Julia and the bodyguard. Before she could scream I had decked the black man (killed him for all I know) and clapped my hand over Julia's mouth. I don't remember much of this - as I say, I was on the edge of delirium - but somehow or other I got her bound and gagged and the next thing I knew I was motoring the Argo out the mouth of the harbor and saying to myself, aloud, "What in the hell are you doing? What in the hell are you doing?" Even as I got the sails up and headed off on a long tack into the easterlies - just as if I knew exactly where I was going - I kept asking myself that question, over and over.
We were three days out before the storm hit, and why they didn't find me during that time beats the shit out of me. Probably figured I'd make a run for some hideaway on the coast rather than beat into the open Atlantic during hurricane season - and maybe I would have done that if I'd thought about it for a minute. But some unconscious force, some instinct, seemed to be driving me south and east - not just then, but always, all my life, south and east. Maybe Africa has been in the back of my head through it all, eh? Maybe I knew all along this is where I would have to end up - like a fucking salmon or something, returning to its birthplace to spawn and die. Why is it that "Africa" and "the Motherland" have always seemed synonymous to me?
Julia calmed down a lot sooner than you might have thought. She refused to speak to me after her first hysterical outbursts, but on the second day at sea she came out of the cabin and sat sulking on the deck. "She's coming around," I thought, "it won't be long now." But I didn't touch her - I hardly spoke to her, except to ask her what she would like to eat and such as that. Mostly I just watched her...
I watched the way her bare toes spread on the deck when she walked, the way her little tits flattened and bulged when she leaned against the mast, the way her bronzed thighs reflected the sunlight, the way her sad eyes stared at the horizon, the way her hair streamed away in the wind. I studied her- almost microscopically- I concentrated all my years of watching women on that one lithe form, searching methodically for some clue to her identity - her identity for me, I mean. One moment she would seem unique, perfect, not a woman at all but an angel, a sea sprite, a mermaid; the next she would become all women, the essence of womankind, embodying all the faults and virtures of every woman I had ever seen or touched. But I could never answer that one question: Why her?
One afternoon she sat up on the cabin trunk and looked me straight in the eye. Her eyes were wine-blue and as deep as the sea. "Did you kidnap me for money?" she asked. - My mind raced: what was in her voice? - not anger, not fear, not despair - what was it?
"No," I said.
"Why then."
"Because I love you. I've told you that."
She turned away, and neither of us said another word for the rest of the day. My brain spun with insane, incoherent thoughts, but my mind was a dead vacuum. It was that that kept me on course, that kept the sheets trimmed, the wheel steady - that dead eye of certitude at the center of my mind.
By morning the glass was so low my ears were popping, and by noon she was shipping it green and heavy. The wind had come around to the port quarter, and for the first couple of hours I ran her before it under double-reefed jib and spanker, but it soon became too much for the old tub - she kept trying to broach on me and bury her bows. She ran pretty well under bare poles for a while, but it was impossible to stay at the wheel in a sea like that, so I finally got her head to the wind (I had one hell of a time with it, but I won't go into that) and heaved out the sea anchor.
By then we must have been well into the southern arms of the hurricane. The whole world was a howling twilight, and the seas - by Jesus, you've never seen such monsters, John! - higher than the fucking mast, twice as high! In the troughs it would make you sick to your stomach to look up in the sky and see those gray mountains coming for you, and on top you didn't dare look down. It can't have been as bad as I remember it, it was like a nightmarish hallucination. And yet I wasn't afraid - or if I was, my fear was tucked away in some distant corner of my brain, out of the way. I had no particular concern for the boat, whether she would make it or not - none of that seemed very important to me. My foremost thought was that now, at last, we would be alone together in the cabin, Julia and I. I was actually grateful to the storm for aiding me in my courtship. Yes! that's the way I looked at it - as a courtship. As I stumbled down the companionway, I felt like a kid going to pick up his first date. My heart was pounding as loud as the wind! (You see I was mad as a hatter, John.) She was sitting on the port berth with her knees under her chin, bracing her back against the clothes locker. She still had on the same glossy green minidress - it was torn and soiled but she had refused to change into anything else - and I could see the lacy white bottom of her panties. She looked more than ever like a child, those long-lashed eyes, so big and blue and innocent - and yet that doesn't describe her well at all, not the way she appeared to me. A child should have been frozen with fear at a time like that, but there was nothing in her eyes, John, nothing but blue depth, an eerie blankness. She rode the plunging berth with an uncanny ease, like some beautiful wild sea bird, an albatross, calmly riding out the storm with not the vaguest thought of death or survival. She watched me with a kind of immense disdain as I got a jug of rum from under the sink - a terrifying indifference that chilled me to the core! Suddenly, in a flash I remembered that ghastly exclamation Simon Stone had written in his journal the night after he first copulated with his wife's corpse - "0 delicious chill!" God help me, John, I was going out of my rabbit-ass mind. I sucked on the jug until the words went away and then climbed up on the bunk with her.
"Here," I said, "this will warm you up." She ignored me. I managed to open the overhead locker somehow without falling off the bunk and got down the little chest where I kept the money (Yvonne's money). "Look," I said, dumping the loot on the mattress, "we can live high with this. I can give you everything your old man did - and more, once I get my Book published." ( -Let me say right here, John, in case you think I'm still the same man I was, that I've given up the Book - you know, the Doomsday Book I always said I would write - it was all a bunch of shit anyway. I'm a professional root-grubber now, fuck all that literary horsecrap.) I went on: "Cape Town's probably too dangerous, but as soon as we get to Zanzibar I'll buy you a new dress - fifty new dresses, whatever you want. Would you rather go to Madagascar first? We'd be safe there. Just name the place, Julia." Not a glimmer of response. The keel shuddered beneath us as though it were caught in the teeth of some sea dragon, and the Argo went over on her side under a ten-ton cross-sea. The money and the box went flying off around the cabin but Julia and I managed to hang on. All those greenbacks looked like so many dead leaves - just something to rake up and throw away. What useless stuff it is, money. I kept talking - I don't know how long, have no idea-don't even know whether it was day or night, but somehow I knew it was getting closer - it. I could feel it in my bones and in the bones of the poor tortured boat. So that when it came, I took it without shock or surprise. It happened in a split second, but it seemed to me as though she fell toward me through the green debris for hours, floated down toward me like one of those damned souls in Bosch's Last Judgment.
The Argo stood straight up on her stern and rattled like a hooked tarpon. There was an oily hiss, a sucking, bubbling sound, and then no sound at all. There was nothing outside the ports but black water. I remember thinking, without alarm, just before she hurtled into my arms, "Well, we've gone down for good and all this time. So be it!"
Locked together, we crashed into the companion stairs with me on the bottom. Should've broken the old back, but it didn't. I hardly felt it. How or when the old tub surfaced and regained her balance I have no recollection; all I remember is a kind of wild calm, a sensation of timeless hovering, as if we floated through a screaming void, steadied by some ghostly titanic hand out of the deep. The time had come at last.
She hardly struggled as I ripped off her clothes. We moved in a writhing huddle on the floor, surrounded by the rustling greenbacks and the shards of the shattered rum jug. (Not until it was all over did I realize that my back and rump had been cut to ribbons by the glass.) One electric lamp still burned, and in its dim light I drank in the delicious beauty of her nakedness. I covered the firm cones of her newly-sprouted breasts with kisses and clutched the smooth little mound of her twat, feeling the dainty crease of those almost hairless lips in a dream-like ecstasy that thrilled me to the quick. Time or place meant nothing now - not to me. I hauled out my cock and opened her legs. For a moment - we must have been hanging in space, weightless, as if we were in orbit - I got a clear view of that honey-downed slit, that secret mouth of forbidden flesh, pried open for the first time in a million years, that gossamer membrane peeking through the folds, that unbroken seal at the mouth of the ambrosial vessel - But we were wet - with rum and blood and seawater - and she slipped away from me. The boat lurched and before I could get to my feet she had thrown back the companion hatch. A surge of black water slammed into her face but she braced herself on the hatch rail, and when I could see again she was out of the cabin.
Why did she do it, John? Why in the hell did she do it? All the way to the coast of Africa I asked myself that question. But it doesn't seem very important any more. She did it, and that's that.
I dived into the cockpit and caught her around the knees in a flying tackle. She may have been screaming - you couldn't tell over the wind and water. Again I pinned her down and pried open her legs. This time I hit the mark - got it in on the first jab - but so help me I knew the exact instant that I burst through her hymen. I'll remember it for the rest of my life - that frail resistance of elastic flesh, the way it stretched before it tore - But that was all - just that one jab. A mountain of water came out of nowhere and buried us alive. In a black eddy we began turning end over end, still coupled together. Miraculously, when the stern broke water we were still in the cockpit, but the next sea swept the deck from bow to stern and Julia was sucked off my cock in a roaring rush and I saw her borne high up into the sky on the backside of the wave, her body limp and all aglow in the greenish black. As she disappeared over the smoking crest her very skin seemed to flake off in a shower of phosphorous sparks and her hair streamed out behind in a wake of fire and blood.
And that's it. That's the last I saw of her, John. It was several days later, I guess, that I came out of my delirium, found myself crammed up in the forepeak like a piece of flotsam, not quite sure whether I was dead or alive. The sextant and charts had survived, so I took a sun shot and found the Argo to be right on the Line - in a sea as flat and dead as a mackerel. Half my mainmast was gone but I still had the mizzen. Sometime during the blow the sea anchor had snapped its cable, so the old Argo must have taken a hell of a beating. How she ever lived through it I'll never know.
A strange calm emptiness had settled over me. I was as calm and dead as that mild blue ocean. It was like I had come through into another dimension. Everything that had gone before seemed like an hallucination, vastly unimportant. I got up and went about my duties like a dead man, like an automaton; I had no more remorse than a ghost. That "dead eye of certitude" I felt stirring in my brain before the storm now activated me completely; it was my sole source of energy and direction. I made a jury-rig for the main out of a storm trysail and set the spanker. The wheel had been splintered by the main boom when the mast carried away, so I rigged a tiller, and at the first puff of wind set a course flat down the Line - due east-without the briefest glance at a chart.
As for the rest of it - why go into the pitiful details: When I raised what must have been Annobon Island, I turned down the coast and came in on a deserted stretch of beach somewhere north of Ambriz in Angola. There I scuttled the Argo, and with a handful of green and a bundle of threads struck out northeasterly across country in the general direction of the Big River - "the womb of the world" as I like to call it.
Yes, I had several close calls, but I've said what I wanted to say, the rest is petty shit. I'm holed up in K - and, for the present at least, safe and sound. A few plantains, a hunk of cassava bread, an occasional piece of ass on my black mama - that's all I need, all any man needs, and to the rest I offer my middle finger, with a rousing "up yours!" to those who disagree.
John, if you'd write to Yvonne and Billy I'd appreciate it- just tell them I'm OK, and to forget about me. Say hello to May and the kids, and if you don't hear from me again just keep on toughin' it out, old man, you'll make it.
Drake
CHAPTER NINE
Nadine refolded the letter, saying nothing. I was getting downright fidgety by this time, no lie. She seemed to have taken hours to read the thing-and no wonder, considering Drake's handwriting: looks like he wrote it with a rusty nail and dipped the whole thing in the Congo before sending it. And all the while, largely due to the gentle rise and fall of Nadine's spectacular dugs as she read, the large vascular spaces interposed between the arteries and veins of my corpora cavernosa were rapidly losing their collapsed configuration - by which I mean to say that, in terms of the layman, I was getting one bastard of a bone-on. Finally she spoke.
"John, this is awful. What are you going to do?"
"Do?" says I, nonchalantly stretching out on the sofa with my head in her fuzzy lap, "Why, nothing."
"But the girl is dead, and what about -?" and so forth and so on, all about poor Drake and poor Yvonne, not to mention poor little Billy, on and on, ad nauseum. And whenever she leans over to look me in the eye for emphasis, her tits drop into my face - which would have been distracting even if I had wanted to hear what she had to say. As it was, it was absolutely disconcerting.
Meanwhile, over the hump of my shove-devil I can see my wife at the other end of the sofa giving me a bit of the evil eye. May is tolerant, yes, but she has never been able to dissolve that tenuous membrane of jealousy through which our emotions constantly osmose. (I'm not complaining, mind you; it is this very membrane, in my opinion, that makes our continuing cohabitation - our "symbiotic partnership," if you will - possible. And further, to all you would-be Arn Nagers and Drake Hacketts, let me just say this about that: hang on to your guilt at all costs. Without guilt, according to my calculations, exactly 83% of life's pleasures vaporize into thin air, and one finds himself - instead of free, as he expected -in the wood where the piggy-wig stood, with a ring in the end of his nose, his nose, with a ring in the end of his nose. And so taking this position, I end my disquisition.) So finally, to pacify May - you see, it was May who originally introduced Nadine to me; they met one night at a hotel where they both happened to be working, and I think she, May, has sort of wished ever since that she hadn't. Introduced us, that is. To pacify her, I say, I twiddled her titties with my toes and broke into Nadine's harangue with the following words: "The trouble is, Tits - er, Nadine, - the trouble is that you don't know Drake like I do. There's one very important thing to remember about the old lecher, namely that he's an incorrigible liar. Why, just look:" -I brandished the letter aloft, casually burying my left elbow in her right boobie - "he can't even write to tell me that has given up writing without trying to make 'the Great American Novel' out of the very letter itself! The man is a scurrilous old fraud, I tell you."
"You mean you don't believe him - about the girl and all?"
"I don't say I don't believe him, and I don't say I do. I say very simply, the man is a liar. And a very imaginative liar to boot."
"But there's a Leopoldville postmark on the envelope,"' I muttered something about being able to buy Leopoldville postal stamps in any dimestore in the world switched out the lamp on the end table, threw her down the sofa, crawled between her legs and jockied my jack-daddy into her belly fuzz. I had a hard-on that would choke an alligator (if properly applied), and the tiny little-known nerve-bundle, called the "genitourinary encephalon" or simply the "midbrain" by some adepts, situated in the glans penis, roughly 1.4 mm. below the urethral channel, now controlled my every action. "Enough of this intellectual catshit," it said to me, this little brain, "let's get on with it!"
Even as my tally whacker bored into Nadine's crack, she whined in a feeble voice, "It might be true, though, and -" but I muffled her with a stiff jab to the fornix - nay, I reached the very walls of her cervix! - and she moaned and mooed like a milk cow! Grabbing my wife by the arm, mid-stroke, I pulled her up to her knees on the cushions so that she straddled Nadine's pleasure-wracked face. Never decelerating the motion of my pumping pelvis, I drew May's face to mine and began sliding my tongue (which 1 suspect to have certain not-quite-atrophied erectile properties) in and out of her pursed lips at a tempo perfectly synchronized - thanks to the aforementioned brainlet - with that of my pile-driving ass.
I lowered my hands from May's tits to her hips, which I deftly maneuvered into position over Nadine's mouth, and let nature take its course. May gave out a little "Oo!" followed by an "Mm!" when Nadine's tongue found its way into the slot, and a sudden shiver of tension under my palms told me the exact instant that my wife's clitoris was licked from its fleshy socket.
I was hot as a blast furnace and cool as a cucumber, you know what 1 mean? I had one of those hard-ons that give every indication they will last at least a week. At these times I can sink myself in mindless ecstasy and at the same time be as objective as a judge (though that may be a naive analogy); so that now, while I whipped Nadine's cunt into a boiling batter with my cock, I found myself squeezing first my wife's tits then Nadine's, then both at the same time, one hand up, the other down, weighing, comparing, making judgments and the like, as calm as a clinician.
If I had been in this state of "fiery suspension" when my kids opened their door, I might have had the presence of mind to shout them back into the bedroom: but as it happened, when I felt May's upright body go into that peculiar limp rigidity which always proceeds the female orgasm, and also sensed that Nadine was about ready to lift off too, I decided to let myself go, and it was just then-just as 1 went smoking down that well-known incline of the ejaculatory roller-coaster, so to speak - that their little heads popped out. The boy gaped and the girl blinked. The only light still on was the little desk light over my machine, but that was enough. Both girls were lurching into their climaxes now, and it was all I could do to hang on, let alone take disciplinary action on a couple of nosy kids. So I let 'em gawk and proceeded to send two to three million highly active spermatozoa crashing and splashing into Nadine's heaving belly.
Well, maybe it's better the little buggers learn a few things instead of growing up with - but the hell with all that. The evening ended no differently than a lot of other evenings, so let's jump right to the picnic on Stone's Island which I promised earlier...
We are relaxing on the ruined terrace in the shadow of the Dragon Gate, my wife and I, Nadine and her little sister Peggy. The kids are playing on the beach at the foot of the hill. I have removed my suit to get some sun on my ass, and the girls have taken off their bikini tops. It's a beautiful day - sunny and clear. The lake is dotted with boats, but they can't see us because of the height of the terrace. Or days like this, when I was a kid, I used to sit on the seawall over by the pier and gaze for hours at that shimmering never-never land where the sea and the sky come together. If I stared long enough, I could see the Canary Islands and the minarets of Casablanca and the seven-masted cargo schooners with all sail set, tacking off Port Guinea and sheeting home on a course for Dakar or Gambia, loaded to the gunwales with beautiful naked slave girls. Ah yes, those were the days! What a little shittail I was...
Anyway, there I am, lying on my belly between the beautiful and golden, if slightly heavy, legs of Nadine's cute little seventeen-year-old sister, feeling with some discomfort the heat of the sun-warmed flagstones on the foreshank of my flaccid fiddle-diddle. - Now, when I say that I am lying between her legs, I don't mean that I am lying on her, mounted up, as it were, no: I mean just what I say, viz., that I am lying between her legs. To elucidate, my head is centered on an imaginary line drawn through her kneecaps, my shoulders on a similar line Connecting the heavy parts of her calves, my waist slightly posterior to her feet, and so on. Further, I am propped up on my elbows, scrutinizing the leopard-spotted hump of her cunt, which, if you're with me, you will realize is not a great distance from the tip of my nose. (This last intelligence makes it clear, I hope, that the girl is lying on her back, for if she were on her belly, then I would he scrutinizing not her cunt but her bum.) Nadine and May are sitting up, one on each side of Peggy, drinking and smoking and telling dirty jokes. But all that is going over my head - both figuratively and literally - and I am attempting to bring all my powers of concentration to bear on that cute little twat - only on that twat, and nothing but that twat. Of course her tits were nice too - magnificent, in fact: firm, full, the nipples proud and pink with well-defined areolae - but I have already gone over those pretty well, and besides, they are bare and her pussy isn't (yet), and that makes all the difference, if you follow me.
If you've read Nadine's book, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that she is usually the life of the party, but on this particular day I'm a bastard if she wasn't the fly in the ointment. The reason was that she was still all hung up on stories. I mean, Jesus Christ, the broad writes one fucking book and right away becomes "literary," you know? First thing when we hit the beach, she had to go down and see the bones. There's hardly a bone left down there since Drake opened the dungeons - damn kids have scattered them all over the island, playing football with the skulls and all that shit - but she had to go down anyway. Finally I get her back up on the terrace and it's nothing but yak yak yak. It was her idea, I should mention, that we come to Stone's Island in the first place - wanted to see what she'd read about, don't you know.
And then, as if Drake and Simon Stone weren't enough to occupy her mind, she starts in on Arn Nager. "John," she says thoughtfully as I begin to stroke the white-gold skin of Peggy's inner thigh just below two curly strands of blonde hair that have popped out of the leopard skin crotch, "what will Mr. Nager do when he gets out?"
Now how in the fuck should I know? It was a mistake to ever let her read about him in the first place. You see, this was at the time I was working on the original draft of the first two parts of this book, the one in which I had Nager wipe out old Jerry what's his name, remember? - and she just had to read it.
Anyway, instead of answering her stupid question I continue to stroke the aforesaid ankle of her sister's thigh with my right hand, while with the forefinger of my left I proceed to trace the delicate fissure below the mons pubis, to which the silky crotch of her bikini adheres like a second skin. (I intended to answer, mind you; it was just that I became so fascinated with the way that dainty crease began to open and close about my fingertip that I forgot the question.) "John," says my wife.
"Hm?" says I, observing a peculiar epidermal jerk in the medial muscles of Peggy's thighs - apparently of a reflexive nature - whenever I tickle her perineum.
"Nadine asked you a question."
"Oh, yeah, well - I suppose Arn will do what he's always done, go around telling everybody that'll listen that he's going to be a great writer someday - just as soon as he 'gets himself straightened out,' as he says."
"John, you puzzle me," says Nadine as I begin untying the knot at Peggy's right hip, "You seem so antagonistic toward the people you write about."
"Not at all," says I, "It's just that I know them, I see right through all their big ideas. I know them better than they know themselves. They consider themselves tragic heroes but they're nothing but perverted buffoons." I am now working on the left knot.
After gazing up at the Dragon Gate for a while, Nadine blunders on: "The book you're working on now -" I peel down the ventril flap of Peg's suit, baring her blonde bush to the sun. The curls are nice and thick on the hump, but they trail off to a few scant sprigs halfway down the exterior labia - which may explain that rather acute sensitivity of her perineum which we noticed a few moments before, that region being quite hairless - but I'm only guessing. Now, as I stroke those puffy little cheeks below the "vegetation line" (as we used to say in the world of land surveying) with the tips of my forefingers, I notice a definite response in the form of a slight contraction of the longitudinal muscles surrounding the petal-soft pothole of the umbilicus - not to say the Rectus abdominis - together with that spooky opening and closing of her entire Ostium cuntus, as recorded above. To quiet these responsive twitches I temporarily remove my fingers from her slit and cup my palms over the hairy hillock above it, thence proceeding eastward up her belly on a course which, if pursued, would lead past the omphalos, between her pink-tipped titties, across the tippy-tip of her cute little nose, through the Dragon Gate, out the inlet, and straight over the distant blue horizon of the Atlantic, geodetically speaking. I'm not catching but about every seventh word of what Nadine is saying, because 1 am concentrating on aiming in along this line - not concentrating really, just amusing myself - lying low, using the blonde fuzz on her mound as a backsight, having parted it down the middle, and her nose for a foresight. Reminds me of the old days on the rifle range at Parris Island... Only Nadine's last question comes through intact: "-what does it mean?"
"Mean?" I ask, cranking on a few imaginary clicks of right windage. "Why, it doesn't mean anything, not a goddamn thing. Just a little piece of entertainment, a divertimento, a fuck book, nothing to get upset over." Now I'm lining my fingers up along each lip of Peggy's crack, like two skirmish lines of soldiers, facing each other across a jungle stream. Their bayonets are fixed, their helmets buckled down, their feet already wet. But now they begin to retreat, and the stream widens between them... "Wait until I write my own book, then you can look for 'meanings.' "
"Your own book?" she says.
"Sure. I'll be getting back to it one of these days, soon as we get a little more bread in the kitty." Now I have the kid's cunt spread open like a slit mullet. My fingers are wedged into the close fleshy crevice between the outer lips and the exterior folds of the labia minora, which seem now to smile at me - in their vertical way.
Nadine says, "Why don't you do it now, if that's what you want to do? - instead of this other stuff? " I now begin to shift my fingers, one at a time, from the lilly white labia majora to the rosy red labia minora, inserting them gently into the fluted slot. "Plenty of time," I say, "plenty of time. 'Herein I imitate the sun,' as Prince Hal put it-
"'Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him... '"
-Ah, what an intoxicating gas of honey now rises from that Pandora's Box before my face! How the delicate gossamer of the mucous membrane (what remained of it) puckered and dilated below the urethral orifice! 0 Hymen, Hymenaee! -
"'I'll so offend, to make offense a skill;
Redeeming time when men think least I will.'"
"John," chuckles Nadine, "you sound like your Arn Nager."
"And your Drake Hackett," May puts in. Something strange in her voice...
A sticky warmth between the legs tells me that my bulbourethral glands are acting up, anticipating their lubricational duties a bit ahead of time, as they are wont to do, and this immediately sets me on a search for Peggy's anatomical counterpart to these little organs of mine, God love 'em, viz., her vestibular ducts. These will be found, common sense tells me, in her vestibule. But try as I might, damn me if I can spot the little beggars. "Ah! I have it," I says to myself. Following the inward curves of her upper-inner, so to say, which resembles roughly the lines of the forward half (and the after half too, for that matter) of a Viking dragon ship as seen from aloft, following these, I say, to their upper apex, I am able to lay a fingertip on each side of her taut shuddering foreskin, one to the left of it, one to the right of it. It is not itself shuddering, of course, this prepuce, but is rather conducting through itself the motion of the little cavernous button of erectile tissue beneath it, namely, the "little man in the boat." I now proceed to force this protective fold upward and back with my two forefingers, keeping the lower part of her gash open with my other fingers, until the cute little thing is fully exposed, quivering in the bright sunlight in all its crimson loveliness. - Ah, sweet homologue! Fleshy hieroglyph of our dim asexual past! Long may you throb!
Having done this, I now quickly lower my attention to the region of the vaginal orifice proper... Aha! I have found them - those vestibular springs. There, dotting the inner walls of her tender young vestibule, which I have folded hack, where the hymenal membrane meets the labia minora, I see their tiny mouths puckering and dilating as the thick oily secretions flow freely over the funneling folds.
As I lower my tongue to Peggy's twitching clit, my daughter's bulging eyes suddenly appear above the first crumbling step of the old stairs that lead down to the beach from the Dragon Gate. Sighting again along Peggy's nose, I am drawing a dead bead between her ears and remembering that old command - "Don't shoot till you see the whites of their eyes!" - "But, John," says my wife, "what really is the difference between you and them - Arn and Drake?"
Quite understandably, I think you'll agree, it wasn't until I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand and looked up, that I saw the tears in May's eyes. I laid it on her straight: - "What's the difference? I'll tell you the difference. The difference is that I got it and they ain't. Dig?"
- But enough of this dung. The rest will take you straight through to the rear cover or I am a eunuch else. Everybody in the pool!
CHAPTER TEN
For three days the sun had not shone directly on the town. The featureless grey sky seemed to streak along just above the bedraggled palm trees, and though it did not rain there was a never-ending mist of cold seafoam blowing through the streets day and night. Even as far back from the coast as Arn was he, could feel this salty dampness on his cheeks as he stood in his front yard. He lit a cigarette and spat into the dark. Goddamn wind. He shivered and re-entered the empty house.
But inside the plush apartment five miles away Emily was warm and cozy. Some of the windows on the weather side of the building rattled occasionally but this could not be heard over the music and the sloshing sounds of the man and woman copulating on the floor.
Emily wondered who would get her. But it didn't seem very important. Just so he fucks me, that's all. 1 don't care who it is. She looked around the room for Art, the man she had come with, but didn't see him. Probably he's in one of the other rooms with that girl he had his eye on. Holly or whatever her name is. Who gives a damn? Emily was sitting crosslegged on the floor near the feet of the naked man whose buttocks rose and fell rhythmically, almost hypnotically, over the belly of the brunette sprawled on the rug. Boy, look at them fuck. She's pretty. I guess you don't get invited to a party like this unless you're pretty. Can't remember if Maude introduced me to her or not. I'm drinking too much. Uh oh.
"Who're you?" she asked over her shoulder. A dark-haired young man had moved up behind her, slipped his hands over her breasts and pulled her back against his chest.
"Hal," he murmured in her ear, "Who you?"
"Emily."
"Hi, Emily." His tongue explored the recesses of her ear and his hands slipped up under her loose blouse. She felt his fingertips gliding up the deep close crease between her breasts, going lightly over the thin net of her bra cups, pausing at the nipples. I feel his dick. Poking me in the back. Feels nice. Hal began to unbutton her blouse from the inside...
"Hey, you two,'" - the blonde to their left was tapping Hal on the shoulder - "that's against the rules. You have to wait."
Hal said, "Wait for what?" but the blonde's eyes just rolled up in her head and a dreamy smile spread over her lips as she leaned back against the man whose hand cradled her crotch from beneath.
Emily pulled Hal's hands out of her blouse and refastened the buttons he had released. "Everybody is supposed to keep their clothes on till it's their turn," she told him.
"What are we playing? I just got here."
"Spin the bottle," she said with a giggle, snuggling against his cheek and dropping her elbow gently to his groin.
"Oh." He looked down into Emily's eyes. What strange dark eyes he has. Hal's hands rested momentarily on Emily's knees, then slid up along the insides of her spread thighs. The miniskirt gathered around her hips was no obstacle, but halfway to her panties his hands stopped. "How old are you, Emily?"
"I'm old enough, don't worry," she said, turning her face hack to the nude lovers at the center of the circle. God, I hate it when they ask that. What do they care anyway. They want us to be young, the younger the better, and then they feel guilty about it. Like Daddy.
"Do you have a date here?"
"Yeah," she replied, "but I don't know where he is."
"I came with somebody too - cute, but old enough to be my -" He broke off. Emily looked up at him again.
"Hey, you're not so old either, are you, doll," she said with a grin.
Hal did not seem to hear her. "You have beautiful hair," he said. His hands were still motionless on her legs. She wondered if the pulse she felt was hers or his. "Anyway," he continued at last, "we got separated too, my lady and me. How the hell do they cram so many people into one little apartment? It was like walking into Grand Central Station. But 1 don't care, she was just some whore Maude set me up with for the party. Let's you and me stick together, OK?"
Emily shrugged her shoulders.
"Whose turn is it next?" he asked.
"Hers." Emily nodded toward the blonde next to them who was still wiggling and giggling over the hand in her skirt. She wore a very low-cut party dress and with every breath she took it looked as if her big, pushed-up breasts would pop out the top.
"Wow," Hal said, giving her the once-over. "What's her name? "
"Paula."
"She spins the bottle and then what?"
"You have to spin twice, first to get your partner, and then to find out what you have to do."
"The person the bottle points to the second time tells you what he wants you to do?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds like a good game. And then it's your turn? - after Paula?"
Emily nodded. Why doesn't he move his hands? Grab my pussy or something? To the left Paula was still twisting rhythmically, and the red-haired girl to Emily's right was keeping up a subtle but steady pumping with her hips over the man's knee gripped between her thighs; there was the fluid beat and grunting sighs of the naked couple, their bellies slapping together, that plunging cock, those hairy lips - all this somehow lent an eerie unnatural rigidity to the immobile hands on Emily's legs. She felt as if she were in a dead calm, a chilling lull at the eye of the pulsating sexual maelstrom that surrounded her...
Then the hands moved. The tension was relieved, and Emily let herself flow back against the boy's lean but sturdy frame. His fingers rippled freely along the lacy leg-holes of her panties, tickling the sprigs of hair which the tiny crotch could not contain. It's OK now. It was me not him. I'm imagining things. He. must have felt that I was afraid of him. You can't he afraid of strangers any more, Emily, you little slut, you. Mm, how warm he is...
Outside the room a number of men and women in various stages of undress milled about the short smoke-filled hallway, getting acquainted, pairing off, or just talking and drinking. Lisa came in from the front room with a drink in her hand. She paused beside a potted palm, leaning into the foliage. Who am I hiding from? Her eyes drifted to the door at the end of the dim-lit room. I could go home. It wouldn't matter. Wonder where. Emily is tonight? Am 1 afraid to go home? Afraid of finding them together? - "Hey, Lisa!" It was Maude, the hostess, coming out of one of the side rooms, her low-necked dress hanging loosely about her shoulders and a few strands of her heaped-up ash-blonde hair falling in her eyes. "What are y' doin' in the bushes? Here, zip me up, will you?" She turned her bare back on Lisa. "I almost got raped in there! - Where's Hal?"
"I don't know, we got separated in the crowd," Lisa said, zipping up Maude's dress. "It doesn't matter, though, he's paid me already. I was thinking of cutting out."
"Ah, better not, honey." She reached into the thin silk bodice of her dress, realigning the white globes of her breasts, adjusting the position of her nipples just below the neckline. "You know how mad Fargo can get about things like that. I mean, that kid's got money, you know. He might cause troubled-like if he came looking for you and you weren't here. Anyway, you don't want to go out in weather like this - God, is it shitty outside! Come on, lemme bed y' down somewhere." She took Lisa by the hand.
"I'll just hang around for a while, Maude. I mean, I just got here, after all."
"I know what you need, honey - some nice quiet action. Come on, I got just the place for y' to hide out."
Lisa followed Maude's plump, thinly-clad behind down the hall to a door opposite the room where the bottle game was going on. Maude knocked and then opened the door.
The room was lit with soft, rose-shaded lamps. On the large double bed lay two men and a young girl with light brown hair. All three were naked.
"Just jump in any place, honey," Maude said as she left the room.
One of the men, the younger of the two, was entangled in the arms and legs of the girl. The other, slightly balding but large and well-built, smiled and held out his hand to Lisa.
"Come on," he said, "plenty of room for everybody. I'm Charlie." .
"I'm Lisa." She kicked off her shoes and sat down beside him on the bed.
"That's Art," said Charlie, jerking his thumb at the other man, "and the chick - Hey, Art, what's the chick's name anyway?"
Art lifted his lips from the girl's just long enough to say, "Holly, I think."
"That's Holly," Charlie said. "Here, lemme help you get comfortable, you beautiful thing." He unzipped the back of her dress and slid it off her shoulders.
In the room across the hall the naked couple had finally spent themselves and crawled weakly out of the circle, and now with an eager giggle Paula placed the champagne bottle on the rug and gave it a clumsy spin. It whirled in a looping arc across the circle and came to rest with its neck against the knee of a young man in bell-bottoms and an Irish sweater. Paula peered at him and said, "Hi," sheepishly. Everyone laughed, and the man stood up grinning.
"I hope you get me," Hal said in Emily's ear.
"I will," she answered, surprised at how breathless her voice sounded. Hal had been rubbing her vulva through the net crotch and the heat generated there was spreading rapidly throughout her body, causing her breath to come short and heavy. "I can control the bottle with my mind," she said. Hal lifted one hand from her crotch and smeared the hot slick secretion on his fingers over the smooth skin of her upturned cheek. Pussy juice on my face. I'm leaking through my panties. Warm and slimy.
"So you're a witch, huh?" he said.
"Wait and see." She took his hand from her face and put it under her blouse.
Now Paula spun the bottle the second time, jumping back with her hands over her eyes. "I can't watch!" she squealed. For a moment Emily thought the bottle was going to stop on her place and she wondered what she would say if it did, but the neck swung slowly past her and stopped on line with the redhead to her right.
"It's up to you, Sally!" the players shouted, "What's it gonna be, Sally?"
Sally leaned back against the man whose hands still cupped her breasts, rubbing her chin and squinting at Paula and the man in the sweater. Emily looked at her, wondering what she would say. I'm glad it wasn't me. Suddenly Sally clapped her hands together and said, "How "bout a good blowjob!"
"Sally, you bitch!" shrieked Paula, glaring down at the redhead. Everyone roared with laughter.
The man who had been playing with Paula's cunt said with a loud guffaw, "Why hell, Sally, that's your specialty!"
When someone yelled over the tumult, "Go to it, Jack!" the man grabbed Paula in a bear hug and slid his tongue into her mouth. Gradually the laughter and the chatter died out as Jack's hands moved down the blonde's back to her flaring hips and slid over her soft round buttocks. Their mouths still locked together, he pulled up her skirt and rolled down the elastic of her panties until her white cheeks blazed brazenly in the soft light. Emily saw Paula's legs quiver as the man's fingers entered her crease. It's going to be me out there next. Me and you, Hal. You can fuck me and suck me and everything, Hal. Oh, Hal - "Hal," she breathed.
"Hm?"
"I'm going to come any second if you don't stop."
Standing beside the bed, Lisa unhooked her bra and let her big dark-pointed breasts fall into Charlie's eager hands. Behind him Holly was licking Art's balls and sucking his cock, all the while making little grunting noises in her throat. There's a gal that likes it, Lisa thought. Oh, that's good, Charlie. Mm, suck 'em, Charlie boy, suck 'em good. She drained off her glass in one gulp and placed it on the night stand beside the rose-shaded lamp. Rose not blue. Rose from here on out. Fuck all that out of my head, Charlie. Fuck me senseless, Charlie...
Hal cupped Emily's pussy gently in his palm, patting it lightly. "Easy, girl, easy now," he soothed.
She grinned up at him over her shoulder, feeling the press of his penis at the small of her back. "You too, boy," she said, reaching back and placing her hand over the throbbing member.
Jack tossed Paula's dress out of the circle and removed his own sweater. The watchers were silent now. Paula's voluptuous body swayed seductively to the slow jazz on the phonograph as Jack knelt at her feet and finished removing her panties. When he nuzzled into her dark bush she spread her legs and lifted her arms for balance, thrusting her hips forward. Blonde on her head and brown between her legs, Emily thought. Like Mary. She remembered that time in the ladies' room at the drive-in. God, how long ago that seems. Wonder what Mary's doing tonight? What would she think if she knew about this, about me - what I've been doing the last few days? And Mama. Wasn't home when I went back. Out somewhere with her lover. Poor Daddy. 1 hate him. 1 really do. God, please, God, help me to hate him. I've just got to get out of this town. I will too. Maybe Hal will take me away. Wonder if he has money. He looks like he has money. He's nice too. Gentle. His hand feels so soft on my tit. On my pussy. He's different, somehow. Oh!
Paula's bra fell into Emily's lap. She had been watching without seeing. She wrapped the bra around Hal's neck and kissed him lightly on the lips. He removed his hand from her crotch and cradled her face in his hot moist fingers, looking down into her eyes. What dark eyes he has. A faraway look. Maybe he wants to run away too. She was about to say something - though she did not know what the words would be - when the redhead nudged her arm.
"Hey, you're gonna miss it, you two. Look."
Now it was Paula who was on her knees at Jack's feet, her large pink nipples brushing his legs as she swung her breasts to and fro to the music. Both of them were naked now, and Jack's long straight cock jerked and twitched a half an inch from Paula's teasing lips. Like a pink snake her tongue darted out and licked off the glistening drop of clear fluid which had formed at the tip of the violet head. He ran his fingers through her thick blonde hair, guiding her but not forcing her, spreading his legs and lowering his pelvis to the proper height as she cupped his testicles in her hand and slid her full moist mouth down the shank of his cock as far as it would go.
Lisa sighed and closed her eyes as Charlie's tongue worked between her legs. She folded her hands behind her head and worked her pelvis slowly up and down to the soft hot strokes. Beside them Art had mounted Holly and was fucking her with a calm measured stroke. The rise and fall of the mattress was soothing to Lisa. It's like a boat. Like I'm in a boat, sailing off over the sea. Never come back. Never come back...
The sea was like a vast lens of sapphire, magnifying the tiny fishes that streaked across the face of the slow rollers just before they broke and bubbled up the beach in a murmur of foam. It was early. Only one small sail stood apparently motionless just below the horizon and along the beach the rows of cabanas were still empty, the air mattresses still stacked up beside the life guard's tower. Camilla and the red-haired girl ran out of the water, laughing, their titties bouncing delightfully in their tiny bikini halters. The three boys in the water whistled and howled and turned somersaults, but did not follow immediately.
Already Camilla's pale complexion was gone and her skin glowed with a smooth reddish tan. She flopped down on her towel and the other girl fell down beside her, still giggling. Camilla looked her over... Of course she's not a Grillem-Ernett girl, but they might make an exception. Camilla's mouth twisted in a leering smirk as she thought of how this sexy little gold-skinned redhead would look on the purple carpet, blindfolded. Once Dora sees her - "What's your name? I'm Camilla"
"Susan," she panted. "Oh! - those boys are awful!"
"Did the big one grab you too?"
"'He sure did! He grabbed me right in the you-know-what!"
They laughed again and then Camilla said, "Hey, you want some real fun, Susan?"
"What do you mean?"
Arn tore out the page and cranked another one into the machine. Shit. The wind rattled the loose jalousies over his desk. He leaned back in his chair, unzipped his fly and hauled out his cock. He stood up and held it under the lamp like an ichthyologist examining some hitherto unclassified denizen of the deep, dredged up by chance in a random sample. Its head was smooth and salmon-pink, but its body was somewhat lumpy and discolored. It looked almost green in the garish light. Arn thumped it on the back of the neck. It was limp and unresponsive. Come to life, you son of a bitch. We got a long way yet to go, old man. A long goddamn juicy row to hoe.
He took his wallet from his pocket and spread his snapshots out on the desk beside the typewriter. His favorite was one of Lisa standing naked on a picnic table at Palm Pond. In the background was a boatload of fishermen and their wives. Their faces were out of focus, but Arn remembered how they gawked. Lisa's hands were on her hips and her legs were spread wide, her breasts glowing brightly in the sunlight. The great expanse of thick black hair on her lower belly and the hump of her vulva was at the very center of the print. Through it the pink slit of her inner lips peeked brazenly. You gorgeous lascivious cunt you... Not my wife. Somebody else. A woman I met at the park. Would you mind posing for me, miss? No 1 don't mind. Would you like me to take my clothes off? Please do. And after you take my picture, then what? Would you like me to fuck you? Oh, yes, would you? - right here on the table? I like to do it in the open. So do 1!
Arn's penis now stood out stiff and straight over his machine. A drop of amber appeared at the lip and he smeared it evenly over the taut-skinned shank. Heyo, Raw Billy! Play me a tune! Gripping it in his right hand he pointed the gleaming member downward and guided it slowly, pecking deliberately, over the keyboard: -
the sea was like a vast fd o vasd blue cunt a juicy bubblkimg grash gash globblingh ub the litty fishse
Paula's mouth was still working frantically, hungrily, up and down Jack's thrusting cock when his body hunched over and went tense in the loins. He's going to shoot now, thought Emily. Right down her throat. It tastes funny. 1 sucked off that man the other night, but I didn't swallow it. 1 couldn't. It was so thick. Like alum or something. 1 almost puked. Next time maybe 1 won't. I wouldn't mind doing it for Hal. His couldn't taste bad. I will do it for him, and anything else he wants, and then he'll take me away. Far far away. To the land where the... He'll be a prince and I'll be his princess and there'll no one anywhere to- There he goes. God, look at it gush!
Jack's semen filled and refilled Paula's gulping mouth, spurting out around her lips and clinging to her chin, but she never removed her mouth until his hips stopped lurching. She's swallowing it. As much as she can. God, that looks nasty. But I'll do it for Hal. He can come all over me if he wants. In my ears and up my nose. Drown me in it, Hal. When Paula sat back heavily on her haunches and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, Emily looked back at Hal again.
"Hal?" She had to raise her voice to be heard over the applause and the cheering.
"Yeah?"
"Whatever they pick -I mean, if I get you - whatever it is, I don't care."
He didn't answer until the applause died down and the bottle was again rolled into the center of the circle. Then he whispered in her ear. "I wouldn't hurt you, Emily."
"I know," she answered.
"Your turn, honey," said the redhead, tapping her on the shoulder.
A different mood was in the air now as Emily reached out for the bottle. Most of the players knew Paula, but Emily was a new girl. And she looked very young, for all her voluptuousness. There was a kind of tenseness, a seriousness, in the room.
Emily spun the bottle.
Point to Hal, bottle, point to Hal. Come on, bottle. Please, bottle...
The large amount of alcohol in Emily's system was beginning to tell on her senses. It seemed to her that the entire room, and not the bottle, was spinning around her, faster and faster, and that the bottle itself lay motionless at the hub, pointing straight at the dark-haired boy beside her. I'm getting dizzy. Wow. It won't be Hal, but what the hell. It doesn't matter. Let it be anybody. The one with the biggest- "I guess you are a witch," Hal said with a laugh. Only then did Emily realize that the bottle had indeed chosen Hal for her partner. With a burst of giggles she spun it again and it went flashing off in a giddy spiral across the rug, stopping only when its neck struck the knee of the man who had been first in the circle.
Without hesitation the man said, "In the ass!" and the players cheered their approval.
In her mind Lisa was turning lazily on Charlie's tongue like a windmill, a child's toy helicopter, caught on a warm tropical updraft, sailing smoothly and effortlessly over a broad rolling valley of pink turf and cherry trees in full bloom. Bleating lambs browsed on the hillsides, and smiling lions like circus balloons danced among the flocks. In the heart of the valley a freshet burst from the ground, a bubbling spring of translucent raspberry soda water. Now it gushed forth with tremendous force, tearing away the pink turf, scattering the lambs and the lions. It filled the valley to the brim and broke over the hilly rim, flooding the world beneath its effervescent mantle until Lisa could see nothing but huge dark shapes moving beneath the surface of a blood-red sea...
When her orgasm subsided she opened her eyes. The rosy room seemed to pulsate like a blood vessel. Nothing but rose now. No more blue. No more thoughts. The world is nothing but an enormous piece of pussy. That's all. I understand, Arn. If 1 were a man I'd have fucked her too. What's the difference? Lisa looked over at the girl beside her on the bed. Look at her. She's hardly older than. Same color hair too. She's got no problems. She's nothing but cunt and she knows it. Lisa reached out and stroked Holly's naked flank. So soft and hot. Up and down, in and out. The motion that runs the world.
Holly's legs were hooked loosely around Art's back and her arms flapped limply at her sides as he drove his long creamy cock in and out between the slobbering lips in her crotch. On her face was an expression of mindless ecstasy.
As Lisa moved her hand up along Holly's side to her firm heaving breast, brushing the stiff pink nipple with her fingertips, Charlie's tongue left her bush and slithered up over her belly, into her navel, continuing on to the underside of her left breast, leaving a swath of vaginal mucus and saliva. His lips clamped over her nipple, sucking the dark heavy flesh into his mouth, and she felt the tip of his tongue slowly circling the erect knob as his thick rigid member probed for the door to the hairy burrow between her legs. With her right hand still on Holly's breast, she reached down with her left and guided Charlie's cock into the hole.
Emily and Hal faced each other as they undressed. There were murmurs among the players about Emily's ripe young body as she removed her skirt and blouse. Her bra and bikini panties were of white lace and concealed few of her charms. Hal too seemed stricken with her beauty. He stood naked before her for a long moment, his eyes lingering on her swelling breasts, their pink nipples glowing radiantly through the lace, her narrow waist and flaring hips, the dark feathery delta of curls below the elastic of her tiny panties, the lithe fullness of her legs... Then he reached out and slipped the light straps off her shoulders, running his hand over the upper swells of her deep-cleft bosom.
Oh, you're beautiful, Hal. Your body is beautiful. Slim and strong. Hardly realizing what she was doing, Emily pressed Hal's erect penis between her hands, her fingers together as though in prayer. The turgid flesh jumped against her palms as their eyes met and a tingle of electricity swept through Emily's body.
Her fingers slipped from his member as he turned her around to unhook her bra. She let it fall to the floor and Hal's hands covered her breasts from behind. She breathed deeply and felt her flesh spread and swell against his palms and fingers. She felt his penis jab gently into the valley between her buttocks and then he was taking her pants down. When he knelt to free them from her ankles, she felt his cheek against her flank. His face is soft. Smooth. Not like Daddy's. God, do I have to compare everybody with him? Oh... Hal...
The boy embraced her and kissed her upturned face. She continued to stand with her head back as his tongue left her mouth and his lips closed over a nipple, sucking gently at the puffy pink flesh of her prominent areola. She heard her own moans of pleasure coming from what seemed a great distance. Oh, it feels good, Hal. So good.
Together they sank to the rug, and Hal lifted Emily's moon-white buttocks into position. In a fleeting flash she remembered how her mother had looked that night when she had opened the door, the glazed eyes of the man who mounted her, that monstrous limb of slimy flesh sliding out of her distended anus - but she cut off the thought and emptied her mind of everything but the warm wet pleasure of Hal's tongue as he spread the cheeks of her ass and lubricated the trembling hole with saliva. Oh, stick it in me, Hal! Let me see how it feels. Fuck me like q dog, Hal. Everybody watching. Like at home with the peeping tom only better. He'll have to find somebody else to watch now, whoever he is. Lots of peeping toms here- Oh oh oh! No, go ahead, go ahead, Hal. It just hurt a little. Better now. Ah. Oh! God - Hal worked it in slowly, rotating her hips with his hands, pumping her with short gentle strokes, gradually going deeper, a fraction of an inch at a time, until she was well dilated and taking his whole length into her rectum. With a gasping sigh of passion Emily lowered her shoulders and cheek to the rug, thrilling to the excruciatingly delightful vibrations passing through the sensitive tissues separating her rectum from her vagina, radiating through her body in waves of burning pleasure until she trembled to the very tips of her toes.
Hal quickened his tempo and slid his hands down over her breasts, clutching at them almost brutally as the fire surged through his body. Emily felt her insides tighten spasmodically around the intruding phallus as her juices rose toward release. Oh, give it to me, Hal, shoot it into me, oh, I'm gonna come, come, come, come, ah-"Ah, ah-!"
Hal grunted and hunched forward, the lightning rhythm of his hips changing into a chain of tense spasms that shook his entire frame. Oh, I feel it, Hal! 1 feel it squirting inside me! Ah -!
Holly sat up weakly. "Hey, where ya goin'?" she called. The rose-shaded lamp was off now, and the shapes on the bed moved like ghosts in the gloom.
"Gotta piss," Art said as he went out the door.
"Sonvabitch run out on me!" Holly said to the naked couple beside her. "Hey!"
Charlie slowed his stroke, and said, "Shh. He'll be back, honey."
Holly sulked for a minute, then flopped down again and snuggled her naked body against Lisa's in the dark, rubbing her fuzzy crotch up and down on Lisa's thigh and hip. Lisa put an arm around the girl's neck and massaged her breasts as Charlie continued his long deep thrusts. In and out. Up and down. Forever and ever...
: Hal?"
They lay in a dim comer of the room, still naked, wrapped in each other's arms. The stereo played on and the game continued, but Emily heard nothing but Hal's breath in her ear. What was I going to say to him? It was so important. Mm, I feel so warm. And dizzy. Then she remembered.
"Hal, wouldn't it be nice to... "
"To what?"
"-Wouldn't you like to go away?"
"Go away? Where?"
"I don't know. Anywhere."
Hal laughed. "Yeah, I know what' you mean. This town is nowhere."
Emily wanted to explain but the words muddled in her mind and would not come out. After a few moments Hal went on.
"Funny. A guy asked me that same question a few weeks ago. Wanted me to go south with him in his sailboat - as a deckhand or something."
"South?"
"Yeah, that's all he said - 'South to the tropics!' and stuff like that. Kind of a crazy guy."
"-Can we go?" Her voice was a paper-thin breath in his ear. "You and I? "
"Go where? To the tropics? Oh, sure." His laughter now bit into Emily's dream like acid.
"Don't laugh! Goddamn you, don't laugh at me! I have to get away from here! You have to take me and"-" The words caught in her throat.
Hal raised up on one elbow and looked hard into her face, his eyes blazing strangely. "You're serious, aren't you? Now you listen. I don't have to take you anywhere, you understand? You're nothing but a piece of ass to me, just like the whore I came here with. - Listen to me! The man in the sailboat is gone, and the 'tropics' - that's just a word. There isn't any such place, it doesn't exist. It's all a bunch of shit, you got that?"
When Emily's sobs subsided and she opened her eyes Hal was gone. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up. The room oscillated giddily from side to side but she managed to keep her footing. Whee. I need a drink, that s what. She found a bottle of something on a table and drank deeply from it. Ah! Good! Now for some cock.
At the door she would have fallen if Maude had not caught her.
"Hey," exclaimed the woman, admiring Emily's naked body, "You think you might have left something in there, hon? - like your dress maybe?"
Emily giggled. "I don't need that any more, I jus' wanna fuck. Will you fuck me?"
"Ha ha! Just stagger right through this door, my dear, I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for."
In the blade of light that sliced through the dark room from the open doorway Emily saw a pair of hairy, male buttocks bouncing up and down between a woman's thighs, but where the woman's head should have been was another pair of buttocks...
"Don't try to figure it out, honey," said Maude, "just jump in. They'll find a place for you."
And giving Emily a pat on her bare behind, she went out and shut the door.
Emily stumbled blindly toward the bed...
Carl yawned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Got a hard-on. Oh yeah. He smiled, remembering his dream. Wow! He stood up and stretched his naked body in the morning sunlight filtering through the half-closed blinds. Might be just a piss-hard. He stepped into his jeans and stumbled sleepily down the hall to the bathroom.
As his urine hissed into the toilet he suddenly realized how quiet the house was. He flushed the toilet and went into the front room. Empty. Oh yeah, the old man was going fishing today. Mom's gone too. Shit, that means no car for me today. He had wanted to go over to the beach below the Van Eckles' estate today and try and get a look at Dora or Marsha. It was Saturday and they usually sunned themselves naked on Saturdays.
Oh well, it's gonna be a big night in the game room. His prick became stiffer just thinking about it. At the window a few nights ago he had heard them mention that a new girl was to be initiated tonight. A real beauty, they said. Wonder if Sis went with Dad? He walked to the end of the hall and opened the door to his sister's bedroom.
She was still in bed. 'Hey Sis!' She did not respond. He walked over and stood beside the bed, looking down at her. She lay on her back, her soft red hair fanned out over the pillow, her nightgown nearly up to her crotch, the bed covers wadded up at her feet. One leg lay straight, the other bent, so that her thighs were spread. Carl moved a few steps closer to the foot of the bed where he could look up her nightgown. Black panties. The little whore. Gotta watch her every minute. Just because her tits are developing she thinks she can dress like a whore. Wonder if she's got much fuzz yet...
He tore his eyes from her pussy and looked at her breasts. Getting bigger. Too big for her own good. When she inhaled her little nipples thrust up vividly through the thin cloth of her gown.
He remembered those lines from Keats...
Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel forever its soft fall and swell.
Awake forever in a sweet unrest...
Carl turned abruptly from his sister's sleeping form. He walked hurriedly back to the bathroom, locked the door behind him, unzipped his fly and immediately began to masturbate.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Charlie had been practicing the technique of the slow fuck, the idea being, besides simply "making it last." to outdo his young business partner Art. It was sort of a contest between them. That was why Charlie had asked Maude to let them have this room more or less to themselves. They had at first planned to lake turns on Emily, the sexy young thing Art had picked up earlier in the day, but they had lost her in the crowd shortly after arriving at the party. It was Charlie who had spotted the half-drunk, half-naked girl named Holly propped up in a dim corner with a banana protruding from her pussy, and he and Art had immediately carried her to the room to begin the test. She was as young as Emily and looked very much like her - the same thick auburn hair, the same type of newly ripened body, that "immature-voluptuous" type they both liked so well - so they spent no lime worrying about the lost pick-up. "Stand 'em on their heads," Art had said as he lifted Holly from the corner, "and they all look like sisters."
Charlie, being the senior partner, fucked her first, and he had just finished up and rolled off when Maude let Lisa into the room. So while Art had his turn on Holly, Charlie had gone to work on Lisa and had already had his second orgasm of the night when Emily arrived on the scene, naked and ready.
Another reason for Charlie's giving Lisa the slow-stroke was to wait for Art's return - he had gone to piss but by the time Emily crawled onto the foot of the bed he had forgotten about Art and the contest and even about making it last, and his tempo was steadily increasing. It was Holly who was responsible for the rekindling of Charlie's sexual fires, because she had evidently grown tired of waiting for Art's return and had straddled Lisa's neck, sticking her ass in Charlie's facet and imploring Lisa to eat her, which the big-bosomed brunette proceeded lo do. Holly's twisting, trembling buttocks glowing dimly in the dark and the noisy lapping of Lisa's tongue between her legs soon had Charlie at a fever pitch of excitement, despite his age and his two previous ejaculations. The soft caress of long hair on his legs and the heat of her breath on his pumping buttocks now brought him to the verge of a premature climax, and he had to muster all his will power to hold it back.
(As for Art, on stepping out of the bathroom he had run head-on into the beautiful and now bare-breasted Paula who had just staggered out of the room where the bottle-spinning game was going on, and without a second thought had thrown her to the floor for a salutatory fuck at the feet of the passers-by and was now on his third orgasm, which put him one up on Charlie.) Lisa was lost in a warm wet fantasy. The feel of Holly's stiff clitoris on her tongue, the hot pussy juice flowing over her cheeks, the feel of ripe young breasts in her hands, the girl's childish squeals and giggles - all these things, together with the rigid cock slopping in and out of her cunt, had taken her far back into her childhood, plunged her back into those delightfully sinful nights at the home of Mrs. Jones, the meetings of the sex club. She was on the floor again, young and naked, her tongue lapping happily in her girlfriend's honey-flavored pussy while one of the strangers ravished her own tender flower. And the boy at the window is watching, she remembered. Watching us fuck and suck and eat each other's cunts. Watching and beating his meat. Like the man in the building when Mrs. Jones took us out in the boat. Shot out the window on us. Cum out of the sky... She remembered how those seminal bombs had fallen on her breasts, her face, her cunt, how Mrs. Jones had laughed. That was my baptism. The beginning of the -Oh! - somebody between my legs. One of the girls. Soft hair. Mmm. Wonder who it is. Nancy? Amy? Maggie?
Emily turned on her back and let her legs dangle off the foot of the bed, forcing her head as high as it would go between the man's and the woman's legs, shutting everything from her mind except the sounds of the sloshing genitals and the sexual heat pressing in upon her cheeks. She put up her hands and stroked the cheeks of the man's hairy ass as they ground away above her head. She heard his gutteral cry as her finger touched his anus and the grunts of the other woman coming into her orgasm - "Ah! AhlUhuh uh uh uh uh-!"
Lisa licked Holly's flowing crack and squeezed her heaving tits until the last spasmic tremor shook the girl's body and she rolled over on her back, exhausted. Lisa felt her climax coming from deep within her vagina and like a crazed animal she pumped her hips against Charlie's belly and raked her hand through Holly's crotch, wiping the foamy slime all over her face and chest, licking and sucking it from her fingers, laughing insanely as the spasms wracked her body.
Charlie kept jabbing but held himself back, letting Lisa finish her release. When the woman's hips ceased to lurch beneath him, he withdrew his throbbing cock and backed up.
Emily's eyes were now somewhat accustomed to the dark, and she saw Charlie's big dark balls loom up over her face as his cock slid out of Lisa's cunt and dripped copiously over her forehead. Then it was in her eyes and she saw only a blur of phallic flesh, but she felt the head slide down over her cheek and opened her mouth to receive it. Oh - mmm! Yeah, fuck me in the mouth, Mister. Oh, it's all gooey, sloppy, hot, thick -.' The frothy secretions from Lisa's cunt dripped from Charlie's pubic hair and ran in hot runlets down Emily's sucking cheeks as the big cock drove in and out between her pursed lips. Ah, give it to me! Choke me! Drown me! Shoot it down my fucking throat! Come on, mister! I wanna drink it! I wanna eat it! - "Ghaaaa glugh!"
Charlie's thick cascades of cum gushed into Emily's mouth with more force than she would have imagined possible. It filled her throat and her cheeks and sprayed heavily from her lips and nostrils, running into her eyes and into her ears. The sounds of his gasping grunts seemed to ravish the very pores of her skin.
"Uhn! Uhn! Uhn! Uhn!... " And a voice was speaking to her from some remote corner of her mind, light years distant, telling her in some unearthly tongue that her lungs would be filled and she would die, and the voice was soft, soothing, angelic, and it lulled her into a mild sweet sleep, a rocking, seaborn sleep that carried her far, far over the blue-black limb of the swimming earth...
Perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes went by before Hal appeared in the doorway. During that time the four on the bed lay limp and uncoupled in the breathing dark, each adrift in his own dream. Emily lay curled on her side with her cheek on the hairy cushion of Lisa's cunt. Lisa's thighs and belly were wet and sticky with the liquor Emily had regurgitated when her gorge rose, and her maidenhair was studded with lumps and strings of coagulating semen. The sheet beneath them was soaked. Charlie and Holly were both sprawled on their backs, Charlie's head resting on the girl's pussy, her legs draped over his shoulders. The legs and arms of all four were loosely interwoven, and in the sudden swath of light from the door they gave the appearance of dead bodies cast up on the beach after a storm.
"Hey!" Hal slammed the door behind him and staggered into the room. "Where the fuck's my whore? Hey, Lisa! Where the fuck are ya, babe?"
Lisa stretched and yawned and answered him in a sleepy voice. "Here I am, kid, take it easy, huh?"
"Hey, Lisa, le's fuck, baby - uh!" Hal crashed into the night stand and knocked the lamp to the floor. "Hey, le's have a li'l goddamn light in here." He picked up the lamp and turned it on.
As the rosy light flooded the bed with its tangle of bodies, Lisa's eyes fell on the head of the girl between her legs. For a moment she only admired the wild sweep of auburn hair, the sensual swell and curve of hip and thigh. Then, slowly, sickenly, came the recognition. It came heavily from the pit of her stomach like a wave of nausea. No. It's not Emily. Not Emily. She shut her eyes tightly and prayed. Please, God, don't let it be Emily...
Hal had already bent over Lisa and put a hand on one of her naked breasts before he focused his eyes on Holly, who was just coming to. He removed his hand and straightened up. Holly locked up at him through bleary eyes...
"Hi, Hal," she said with a drunken smile, "Is it time t'go a'ready?" She turned to Lisa and shook her arm. "Hey, tha's my big brother Hal. - Hey, open your eyes. Wha's the matter with her? Hey, Hal, wanna fuck?"
For a long moment Hal's face was a stony mask. Only his eyes moved, sweeping over Holly's nude body, over the man whose head rested between her thighs, whose slimy cock hung limp between his legs... And then a strange grin spread over Hal's lips and his dark eyes seemed to have lost their drunken glaze. He began to circle the bed like a stalking cat.
"Hi, Holly," he said, "Havin' a good time?" There was an ominous undertone in his voice. Holly nodded, a fuzzy look of apprehension coming into her eyes. "How many so far, Holly?"
Holly began to edge away from him, letting Charlie's head slip from her crotch. "Hal?"
"Yeah?" He unbuckled his belt as he advanced.
"You knew I was here, Hal. You said 1 could come, remember?"
"Sure, I remember."
"Then... you're not mad at me, are you?"
"Mad? Course not. Why should I be mad, Holly?" He sat down beside her on the edge of the bed. "How many so far?"
"Hal, please -"
"How many times you been fucked tonight, sis?" His voice was steely and his eyes bored into hers.
"Please, Hal, I'm drunk. I don't know -" Hal's lips suddenly drew back in a snarl and he grabbed his sister by the hair, jerking her headlong onto his lap and immediately dealing her a stinging blow to the buttocks with his doubled belt.
"AAA A AAA AAA -!"
Hal's words cut like a dull axe through her wails. "Isn't this the way Dad does it? You like it when he does it don't you? DON'T YOU?" The second fall of the belt on Holly's naked flesh cracked like a pistol shot and brought both Charlie and Lisa bolt upright. "That's two, Holly. How many more? Four Five? A dozen?"
Again the belt whistled and fell and Holly's shriek of pain split the air. But now Charlie was on his feet. "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doin'?" As he clutched the front of Hal's shirt in his meaty fist and began shaking the boy like a rag doll, Lisa sprang from the bed and tried to drag Emily's limp body away from the combatants, but she lost her footing and mother and daughter both tumbled to the floor in a heap.
For a moment "Hal looked blankly from the hand that gripped his shirt to the naked bulk looming over him, and then without warning he swung his belt hard across Charlie's face and the big man stumbled backwards, clutching at his eyes. A trickle of blood appeared between his fingers as his back struck the wall. Charlie took his hands from his face and looked with astonishment at the blood on his palms. In a voice which sounded curiously calm, almost pleasant, he said, "Why you little son of a bitch."
But Hal did not seem to hear him. He had turned his attention back to his sister's bleeding buttocks, the wild leer returning to his face. From the floor on the other side of the bed where she held her unconscious daughter in a protective embrace Lisa heard in Holly's almost ecstatic whimpering and Hal's eerie droning voice a vague and terrifying conundrum whose answer swam ominously beneath the surface of her consciousness like a living portent of doom.
"I'm gonna give it to ya good, Holly. Just like you like it, kid. I'm gonna beat ya till ya come, and then I'm gonna fuck the shit out of you. Just like dear old Dad. And you can tell him about it when we get home. It doesn't matter anymore. The man with the boat's gone. Sailed away without us, Holly. So it don't matter anymore, see? Nothin' to decide any more. It's just you and me and Mom and Dad. One big happy family... Ready?" He slapped the belt once into his palm and then raised it high over Holly's rump, but the blow never fell.
Charlie's hand closed around Hal's neck and lifted him straight up off the bed, throwing Holly to the floor. Hal's eyes bulged and he clawed frantically at Charlie's strangling fingers until the man slammed him hard into the corner. For a moment he hung there, pinned by the neck, his arms and legs flailing feebly, his tongue hanging from his mouth. And then Charlie's left fist smashed straight into his face and he crumpled heavily to the floor.
"There," said Charlie, stepping back, "that oughta hold the little punk for a while. Now - Hey!"
Holly nearly knocked him down in her headlong rush to where Hal lay. Frantically she embraced her brother's lifeless form, glaring over her shoulder at Charlie, tears streaming from her eyes. "You hurt him! You son of a bitch! You hurt him! GET OUT! GET OUTA HERE! LEAVE US ALONE! -" And then she broke into hysterical sobs, hugging Hal's bloody face to her breasts.
For a moment Charlie stood there, staring down at them. Then he shook his head and turned away. "Women!" he said as he stepped into his pants and snatched his shirt off the dresser. "Women!" He went out the door and slammed it behind him without even glancing at Lisa and Emily.
In the other rooms of the apartment the party was still going full blast. After a brief search Charlie found Art on the floor beside the front door, furiously fucking away between the enormous white thighs of a black-haired Amazon who was propped up against the wall, battering his bobbing head mercilessly with her gigantic red-nippled tits and shrieking with drunken laughter.
Charlie wiped his stinging eyes and looked around for a minute or two at the naked men and women dancing or copulating in the smoky glow... But he had had enough. He bent over and slapped Art on the ass.
"Polish it off, kid, and let's get the fuck outa here!"
CHAPTER TWELVE
The counselor was a barracuda with spectacles and a little beard. He wore his penis over his shoulder like a bandoleer.
It has come to our attention, he said, clearing his throat about every other word, that you are not satisfied with your life as a fish. What do you have to say for yourself?
Oh, it's not true, Emily answered earnestly. They lied to you.
Then you are happy with us here in this cummy sea?
Oh yes!
And with a flick of her tail she swam out the window, leaving a trail of thick sluggish bubbles which the counselor attempted to ward off with his phallus.
Emily swam straight toward the bottom of the clattering deep. She propelled herself through the teeming semen by sucking it in through her mouth and jetting it out through her gills. All around her swam the huge carnivorous gametes, their dark bodies looming up suddenly ahead and fading rapidly into the mucus behind, but she was no longer afraid of them. They can't see me, she thought, because I'm transparent. Like a jellyfish.
When she reached the bottom she fastened her suckers to the face of a large rock-like slab of cavernous tissue and listened to those pleasant sounds from below...
Emily? Please wake up, honey. It's all right now. Mama's here. Emily...
The semen seemed to be congealing around her. Huge clots of it floated past, tumbling end over end, and everywhere she looked the giant sperms were dying, suffocating, caught in the coagulation which swept through the slimy abyss like a pestilence. A dark opacity was overtaking the world...
"Emily? Are you all right, baby?" Warm fingers peeled the scales from her eyes and she looked up into her mother's eyes...
"Hi, Mom."
"Oh, Emmy! Thank God!" Lisa hugged her daughter tightly to her naked bosom, rocking her gently to and fro. Emily yawned and snuggled her cheek between Lisa's soft warm breasts. For a long time there was no sound in the room except the gentle moans and signs of Holly and Hal fucking in the far corner. Then Lisa began to hum softly. She hummed a lullaby as she had when Emily was a baby...
"Mama?"
Lisa dried the tears from her eyes and looked down at her daughter.
"Was it you on the bed, Mama? With that man?"
"Yes, honey. It was me. I -"
"It's OK, Mama. I don't mind. I'm bad too."
Lisa looked away for a moment. When she spoke her voice was soft and soothing, but empty, tired. "See, honey, I'm a prostitute. A whore. That's how we get our money. Daddy lied about that man being my lover, he was just another client. I'm just a cunt for hire, Emily, you may as well hear it straight. Tonight it was that boy over there in the corner. He paid for me but never collected."
"Hal?"
"Yeah."
Emily looked steadily up into her mother's eyes, a strange almost demented smile coming over her face. "Hal cornholed me, Mama. We played spin-the-bottle and Hal got to cornhole me."
Lisa hid her face in Emily's hair and began to weep weakly.
"Don't cry, Mama. I liked it. Don't you like it that way?"
Even through the dull ache of her sobbing Lisa felt that dark hot thing inside her begin to stir, that unnamable female thing that made her what she was. When she felt Emily's fingers on her nipple she knew she was slipping, slipping back into that blind sexual oblivion, that haven of safety from the predators of the daylight. Gradually her crying stopped; and she let her hand flow down Emily's smooth back and over her naked hip, down and around the soft full hill of her buttock...
Emily's body slowly uncoiled under Lisa's caresses and her lips fastened over one of her mother's large dark nipples. As she sucked at the warm flesh, Emily closed her eyes and returned into that translucent world of the seminal ocean where the sperms swam free, leaping and gamboling in the gluey flood. She felt her body turning, as though rotating in a void, as Lisa's fingers entered the cum-stiffened curls between her legs. Over and over she tumbled through the abysmal flesh-bound deep until she came to rest in a thick fetid clump of foliage. The heavy stench of vomit, liquor and vaginal secretions flooded her nostrils, but instead of becoming sick she became passionately hungry for the sweet darkness of that motherly pit from whence she came, and her tongue probed deep, deep between the close trembling walls, the palpitating antechamber of the womb...
Lisa eased her daughter onto her back, never releasing the grip of her thighs on the girl's head, and, as if in a dream, lowered her own lips to Emily's delicate slit, her very bones vibrating like tuning forks to the fluttering tongue in her cunt. Soon their bodies flowed and undulated together as one and their temperatures soared and broke into the primieval chaos of mindless flesh where nothing but the ancient songs of the phallic tongue lapped the flesh-black shores.
Later Lisa and Emily took a warm shower together in Maude's bathroom, got dressed and had a cup of coffee in the kitchen. It was nearly dawn now and the party was rapidly fucking itself out. In the bedroom Holly and Hal lay curled in each other's arms, sleeping peacefully, and Arn, still dressed, was sprawled on the little bed beside his typewriter in a clutter of pages, some typed, some scrawled by hand in black ink. His arms and legs twitched nervously, and from time to time he uttered incoherent phrases to the deaf, dumb dark...
"Mama?"
"Yeah, honey?"
"What do you think Daddy's doing right now?"
Lisa smiled and brushed a strand of hair from Emily's face. "Probably dreaming about you. Would you like to go home and make his dream come true?"
"Yes, Mama. I would."
Lisa stood up and held out her hand. "Come on then. Let's go now."
Outside the building the glowering brown dawn howled through the town like a huge famished wolf, and the teeth of the grey lake gnashed relentlessly at the shuddering seawall along the Boulevard.
Arn awoke with a start. "Hey! What-!"
"Shh." Lisa stroked his forehead and forced his shoulders gently back down on the mattress. "Lie still, sweet, don't say anything."
Slowly Arn relaxed. He saw the shadowy shapes kneeling beside the bed, felt his clothes being loosened, his pants being opened. He hardly dared to breathe for fear the fantasy would dissolve. Only when he felt the press of warm fingers closing around his half-erect penis did he realize that it was really happening, that he was awake, that his wife and his daughter were undressing him, preparing him for sex. Once, as Emily dragged his trousers from his hips, he opened his mouth to speak, but nothing more than a hoarse croak escaped his lips and he did not try again. By the time he was naked his cock was a pulsating tower of flesh, twitching in the breathy dark.
Arn felt the weight of his daughter's plump young tits on his hip as she bowed her head over his straining member and wrapped her fingers lovingly around its shank. He reached out for Lisa and pulled her to him, slipping his tongue into her mouth the same moment that Emily's lips slipped tightly over the head of his cock. Lisa's lips grazed over Arn's face and nibbled at his ear. Her whisper sang through his body like a wild hot wind from Hell.
"Wanta eat her, honey?"
Lisa stood up as Emily climbed slowly onto the bed without lifting her face from Arn's loins and gently guided the girl's hips into place. She lifted her husband's head and placed a pillow under it, bringing his face high up into the dark fork of Emily's thighs. Then she got onto the bed herself, kneeling above Arn's head, and gripping her daughter's naked hips, pulled them downward until Emily's freshly scrubbed pussy settled over her father's open lips.
With his tongue Arn parted the crisp feathery hair, the heady odor of sex and soap filling his nostrils, and with slow, savoring strokes began to lick the oozing slit. When he felt the hardening button of her tiny clitoris, he ran his tongue down the groove until he felt the upper corner of her inner lips and probed deep into the vaginal orifice at the bottom of the slit, teasing her puckering anus with his nose. He felt Emily's body tense and tremble and his genitals were bathed in the flood of saliva that sputtered and poured uncontrollably from her mouth.
Lisa rubbed her shaggy cunt up and down on the top of Arn's head while he slurped faster and faster at Emily's watering slit. She gripped her daughter's waist again and rolled the girl's hips upward so that Arn could more easily reach her clitoris. When her father's tongue fluttered into an earnest assault on this hypersensitive jewel, the juice fairly pouring over his cheeks, Emily began to suck frantically and hungrily on his cock, her head bobbing more furiously than ever, until his body went stiff as a stick, quivering on the brink of ejaculation. In this momentary suspension Arn saw Lisa's ghostly hand glide down over Emily's pale rump, and as his first bursts of cum shot into the girl's mouth, he watched his wife's forefinger disappear into her daughter's anus.
Even at midday, when Emily woke up, the room was still dark. She carefully disentangled herself from her parents' arms and legs and opened the blinds. A grey, shadowless half-light filtered into the room. Outside the nor'easter was blowing itself out. Warmer. Maybe tomorrow the sun will come out so we can go to the beach. Oh, my head. Wow.
In the bathroom Emily washed her face and rinsed out her mouth. She scrubbed her stiff, sticky bush with a warm washcloth and dried it thoroughly, running the towel vigorously back and forth between her legs. Turning to the full length mirror on the wall she examined her nude image, running her hands over her breasts and belly and fluffing up her maidenhair. She smiled at herself and winked her eye seductively. You got nice tits, baby. Thanks, so do you. She spread her legs and rolled her pelvis up until she could see the lull length of her vulva. Nice crack too. You too, baby. Bring it closer. She thrust her hips forward and rubbed her cunt against the glass. That's nice. Cupping her breasts in her palms she leaned forward until her nipples touched those of the other girl. Green sunbursts shimmered in their eyes like jade medallions as their faces drew closer. A cloud of fog rose up between them and their open lips pressed passionately together and their tongues met.
Lisa and Arn were still asleep when Emily returned to the room. The floor and the writing table and even the bed were littered with paper. God, what a mess. She picked up one of the pages and looked at it. Then another. They were numbered. She gathered up the rest of the pages and flipped through them, stopping here and there to read a line or two. God, this is dirty!... I think I'll read it.
Arn snored peacefully, dreamlessly, and Lisa floated without effort over endless continents peopled with fantastic sexless creatures with foam rubber bodies, as Emily stretched naked on the living room floor in front of the electric heater and began to read.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ross sent his baits whirling out beyond the breakers and stepped the rod butt in the pipe he had driven into the sand. He removed his shirt and filled his lungs with the fresh salt air off the ocean.
Ah I Beautiful morning! Shit, any morning's beautiful when I can get away from the old lady for a few hours. He opened a can of beer and sat down beside his rod. There wasn't a soul in sight on the beach, north or south, and even the sea was empty of ships. Behind him the thick vegetation of the beach ridge helped obscure the sound of an occasional passing car on the highway several hundred yards to the west. Ross had a wonderful feeling of being cut off from the world of men and machines, of having at least for a few hours left all his troubles and frustrations behind. All I need now, he thought, is a strange piece of ass to round things out. He laughed aloud and settled back on his elbows.
It wasn't until he tossed the empty beer can into the surf that a distant point of movement up the beach caught his eye. A figure walking toward him along the upwash line. He took the binoculars from his tackle box and trained them on the spot...
Jesus Christ!
Even at that distance Ross was stunned by what he saw: a golden-skinned woman wearing the smallest bikini he had ever seen, her long black hair flowing wild in the morning breeze. The closer she got the better she looked. Ross's cock was already as stiff as his fishing pole. Goddamn, what a set of tits! Come on, baby, keep 'em coming, keep 'em coming...
Her huge breasts swelled and swung magnificently inside her bikini top, which was nothing but two narrow strips of white cloth attached to a ribbon at the bottom tied around her neck at the top. As far as Ross could tell these strips were not more than two inches wide at her nipples, and great billows of gold flesh swelled out on both sides of them. A similar strip of cloth was attached to another ribbon tied low around her hips and barely covered her crotch. Under one arm she carried a blanket and in her other hand a straw bag.
A little over a hundred yards away, she turned up the slope of the beach and spread her blanket at the foot of the bluff. Ross never took his glasses off her. She knows I'm looking at her. She knows damn well. Goddamn, look at her shake those things!
She seemed to be deliberately causing her breasts to swing and jiggle as she adjusted the blanket. When she turned her back on him, Ross saw that the cheeks of her ass were completely bare. Only a tiny triangle of white showed at the top of her crack where it was attached to the hip band; the bottom point of the triangle became a string which was concealed between her buttocks. By God, if I don't get some o' that it's not going to be because I didn't try.
He reeled in his line, got his gear together and lugged it up the beach to a spot almost directly below where the woman lay. There he recast his bait, stepped his rod and glanced casually up the slope. She was lying on her back, feet toward the ocean, apparently paying no attention to him. He looked up and down the beach. No one in sight. Taking two cans of beer from his ice bag, he started toward her, not quite sure what he was going to say. It had been a long time since he had tried to pick up a chick.
As he approached Ross saw that she had a sun mask over her eyes. He walked softly over the sand. His hands trembled. The woman's suit was even more indecent at close range than it was at a distance; the cloth was so thin that it delineated every detail of her large prominent nipples and it was pulled up tightly into the crease of her cunt. Her legs were spread and the white crotch of the G-string was bordered on both sides by thick black curls...
Dora knew the man was standing over her, staring at her, but she pretended to be asleep behind the sun mask. Get a good look, mister. You like my cunt? God, he's panting like a dog. He likes it all right. All that hair sticking out. He's getting me hot as a bitch, why doesn't he do something? Get down and sniff it, motherfucker! Maybe if I started fingering myself he'd get the idea. Some men are such dodos. Fishermen especially. Like that dumb son of a bitch last week! - practically had to rub it in his face. Come on, stupid, say something. OK, maybe this will encourage him. Or else scare him off completely...
Still pretending to be ignorant of Ross's presence, Dora hooked her thumbs inside the strips of cloth that partially covered her massive bosom and casually pulled them from her nipples. She smoothed them down along the outer swells of her breasts and refolded her arms behind her head. Now, how ya like that, mister fisherman? He's still there. Come on, you son of a bitch, get down here and suck 'em! Oh, God I can't take it much longer - "Hello there -" Dora sat up, tearing off the mask. 'Oh!' She hurriedly readjusted the strips over her nipples, purposely leaving the inside half of one brown areola exposed.
"How about a beer?" Ross said. Jesus that sounded stupid. What the hell do you say to a cunt like this anyway?
"You scared the hell out of me," said Dora, "You shouldn't sneak up on a girl like that!"
"Sorry, I, uh, just saw you up here, thought maybe you'd like a beer."' Dora smiled and took the beer. "Thanks."
"Mind if I sit with you for a while?"
"Be my guest." She made room for him on the blanket. "Catch anything?"' "Huh?"
"'Aren't you fishing?" Boy, is this cat shook up. "Oh! No, no, not a thing. Not a bite all morning."
"Maybe I'll change your luck."
"Yeah," answered Ross, taking a nervous gulp from his can. I think you already have, you beautiful bitch. Goddamn, her nipple's in plain sight. Maybe I should just jump on her like a goddamn - "Say, while you're here you may as well make yourself useful," Dora said, getting her suntan lotion from her bag and handing it to him. "Here, oil me up, will you?"
"You bet," he answered, a bit too eagerly perhaps.
Dora rolled over on her belly and folded her arms under her cheek. Now with those magnificent bare buttocks within reach of his fingers, begging to be stroked, Ross found himself trembling all over. It's been so long. It's been so goddamn long. He began to smear the oil along the small of her back, hoping she could not feel his hand shaking, his pulse beating.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Dora. What's yours?"
"Ross." Jesus, what smooth skin she has. What would she do if I rubbed her ass? - that beautiful naked ass...
He worked the lotion up the center of her back and across her shoulders, down her sides to her waist and back up again, just brushing the bulging side-swells of her voluminous tits with his fingertips. Oh, come on, man, do it, do it! Rub it on my tits, on my ass, put your hand between my legs...
"You can get that strap out of your way if you want, honey,' she said in a languorous voice.
"Oh - OK." With shaking fingers Ross released the bow at the center of her back and lay the ribbon out on the blanket at her sides. She called me 'honey.' Let me untie her bra. Hot damn!
"You live around here, Dora?"
"Yeah, just up the beach a ways." He was kneeling over her now, working with both hands, up and down the long graceful lines of her bare back, each time moving farther down along her hips, but still not daring to touch those naked cheeks. She kept spreading her legs wider and wider until her crotch fairly bristled with exposed hairs. At first Ross thought he was imagining it, but every time his stroke descended below the inward curve of her spine her ass would rise up against the pressure of his hand like a cat being stroked...
Oh Jesus, I can feel the wind in my cunt hair. Come on, Rossy, my ass, rub my ass... "Don't miss anything, Ross," she said. Her voice was breathy - almost breathless.
By God, it's getting to her. Without thinking, Ross said, "Don't worry, baby, I'm not missing a thing."
Dora's throaty laughter broke down the last of Ross's timidijy, released the tension of guilt and fear that had held him back, that had been holding him back for so long. It suddenly hit him that this woman wanted exactly the same thing he wanted. And she wanted it now. It seemed so natural and right. He felt as though a dam had burst inside him. He felt like a young man again.
"Mm... that's better," Dora sighed as Ross's palms slid down over the broad round cheeks of her beautiful ass.
"Y' like that?"
"Mmhmm--" He pushed them together and pulled them apart, lifted them and let them fall, the firm full flesh shuddering deliciously in the brilliant sunlight. He worked with almost complete abandon now, his massages growing bolder and bolder, his fingers slipping under the hip band of her G-string, thinking. Gotta get this thing off her... 'If you don't mind, I'll just -' The rest of the words were choked off by his lust, but his fingers were already fumbling with the bow at her left hip.
"Go ahead." Dora's voice was like a hot jungle wind. 'It doesn't hide anything anyway.' When he had freed the left knot Ross straddled her left thigh to untie the other side. Hardly realizing the suggestiveness of the position, he then brought his other leg over and knelt on both knees between her thighs. Good God, what a view! Gingerly, with shaky fingers, he lifted the loosed hip band and slowly peeled the white string from the deep crack of her ass until the shaggy mouth of her vulva was bared to the sunlight. Goddamn, look at that cunt! He could see the juice sparkling along the lips...
"You have a beautiful body, Dora,' Ross said as he stroked the backs of her bronze thighs and the lower cheeks of her soft creamy-gold ass, his eyes riveted to her hairy cunt which now rose and fell to the sweep of his oily palms, "fantastic body."
"Thanks," she breathed, "Why don't you get a little sun too? I don't mind."
"Good idea." Ross stood up between her legs and unbuckled his belt. OK, baby, this is it. This is it...
Dora did not look back for fear of embarrassing him, but kept her head down on her forearms and her eyes closed, waiting with quickening breath for his entry into her body. Behind her closed lids she imagined that she was the girl who was to be initiated that night, that she was a slim young virgin, naked on the rug, surrounded by watching eyes, hungry eyes, waiting to see her tender body pierced by the brutal phallic flesh -!
But the sudden tingling sensation of Ross's bare toe tickling the tender region between her cunt and her asshole shattered her fantasy: it gave her an immediate image of her own weight and mass, her passion-charged voluptuousness, her wanton maturity and need, her shamelessness. A breathy burst of sultry laughter escaped her throat and she felt her hips rising uncontrollably off the blanket.
Ross was standing over her, naked now, his stiff gleaming cock in his hand, leering down at Dora's spreading hindquarters rising like moons of flesh to the stimulus of his toe in her crotch. When he worked the toe down into the bottom of her trembling slit and felt the hot juice on his flesh, she moaned with passion and drew her knees up under her until her ass was high and spread open like a flower. On a sudden frenzied impulse Ross dropped to his knees behind her and planted a passionate kiss between those massy cheeks, running his tongue stiffly into the puckering hole. He heard her shriek of joy as if from a great resounding distance and felt her body buck and shudder from head to toe. Even when he withdrew his tongue she continued to pump her legs like a cat in heat, her knees lifting and falling one at a time on the blanket.
Ross embraced her around the hips, flattening his cheek against that rocking ass, thinking. My God, I've never done that before in my life! Stuck my tongue right up her asshole! And it tasted good too. By God, it tasted good!
He ran his hands over the firm soft curve of her belly and into her broad thick bush, twining all his fingers into the black moss. Her butt bucked lewdly against his cheek when he spread the upper lips of her slit and squeezed out her twitching clitoris between his two forefingers. I'm a son of a bitch if her clit isn't damn near as big as my cock! She could fuck me if she wanted to! Hee, hee! As he stroked the undercurve of her clitoris with his finger, he brought his other hand around her leg and entered her crotch from behind, sinking four fingers into the bubbling gash.
"Oh, come on, honey! Fuck me! I can't stand it -!"
These words gave Ross a tremendous feeling of power - over her, over the whole world, a feeling such as he had not had since his marriage, eighteen years ago. In a steady voice of lusty exaltation he said, 'Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna fuck you, al! right. I'm gonna fuck you till you can't stand up!' As her groping hand found his cock and pulled it toward her gaping slit, he slid his hands down along the front of her up-ended torso until they covered her huge tits. Ross had large hands but his fingers could not begin to contain those firm melons of flesh. He squeezed, kneaded and mauled them methodically, almost laughing in triumph at the way her body shivered through and through when he pinched and rolled her big nipples between his fingers.
When she had the head of his cock started into the hole, Ross straightened up, gripped her hips, and leaned back in order to watch the entry. Slowly he pushed it in, watching inch after inch disappear into that fur-lined chamber of raw boiling flesh. He went all the way in, deep into her hot body, until he felt the very bottom of her vagina, the tiny cup at the lips of her uterus.
"Oh!" Dora's inner flesh rippled around his member and she reared up off the blanket, lifting her arms high. "Oh, you're so long!" She arched her back and her long jet black hair fluttered out before her face as Ross reached around her smooth sides and gleefully slapped her tits back and forth like punching bags, thrilling to the heavy slapping sound they made when they came together.
As his hips began to move Dora uttered another little cry and once more dropped her head and shoulders to the blanket. He lifted her ass to its maximum height and began fucking her at such a furious tempo that her cunt frothed and foamed like the surf, its creamy secretions drooling down her thighs and dripping from Ross's balls.
Soon he felt the muscles in her stomach grow taut. "Ready?" he panted.
"Yeah! Now! Now! -" The hot walls of her bucking cunt tightened around Ross's prick as his first bolts of semen surged into her. He thought it would never stop, he had never shot such a load in his life. It doubled him up, wracked his body like an electric charge, and his forehead bounced up and down convulsively on Dora's back as the heavy gobs gushed from his cock!
But as copious and lengthy as Ross's ejaculation was, Dora was still in the throes of her own orgasm when he discharged his last drop. Finally, with a moan of satisfaction she let her belly fall to the blanket and he sprawled on top of her, a dead weight, his cock still lodged in her crack.
A large amberjack which had ventured much further into shallow water than usual scooped up Ross's sandfleas, one at a time, with no apparent increase or decrease in its cruising speed, and continued southward along the drop-off, gnashing from time to time at the annoying wires which trailed from the corner of its armored jaw.
Ross lay beside Dora now, toying with her big dark-skinned nipples. They were propped up on their elbows facing each other. Both were still naked. Dora had been telling him how much she enjoyed fucking and that she saw absolutely nothing wrong with it.
"I think that if people were free to fuck whenever they felt like it - I mean, on the street, in a movie, on the public beach, in the drugstore - you know what I mean? - openly and in public - I think the world would be a much better place to live in."
"I'm with you, baby," said Ross with a chuckle.
"I'm serious," she said, giving him a playful slap in the face. 'Hey, how would you like some young stuff, Ross?"
"Young stuff?"
"Yeah, like about sixteen or seventeen?"
"Jailbait? Well, sure. I'll take as many as you can dish out- but what in the hell are you talking about?"
"Well, I know some girls that like to fuck as much as you and I do, and we're having a little party at my place tonight. If you want to come, you're welcome. All you have to do is keep quiet about where and who."
Ross drained his beer can, thinking. By God, if I could get out of the house tonight... "Where did you say you live?"
"In that big house a half a mile or so up the beach. It's not really my house, I'm just staying there while the owners are gone. Look for the name Van Eckles out at the street, you can't miss it.' "Jesus, if I can get out tonight I'll damn sure be there." Ross could hardly believe this was happening to him. The humdrum years seemed to be falling off his shoulders, the shackles dropping from his neck. He felt young, mischievous, and, for the first time since his youth, capable of sin. It was a lusty invigorating feeling and it made a sweet darkness in his mind.
Dora saw his eyes flashing as he thought of what the party would be like. She smiled. It'll be better than that, mister fisherman. "Listen," she said, stroking his balls, "there's a new girl coming tonight, one that's never been to one of our parties. If you like her, you can have her first. How's that?"
"What can I say?"
Dora laughed, causing her big breasts to bob and swell under his fingertips. "I have to go pick her up after while. She's going to spend the afternoon with me."
"You're not going to leave me here by myself for the rest of the day!"
"Yes, you poor thing, that's what I'm going to do.' She giggled and kissed him on the lips, rolling his stiffening prick between her palms. "Otherwise you won't be any good at the party tonight." She flopped down on her back and Ross pressed her voluminous tits together, sucking and nibbling gently on her nipples. She pulled his face down to hers and said softly, "How 'bout one more for the road?' He crawled between her open legs, buried his face between those hot hills of naked flesh, and drove his iron-hard cock to its curly hilt in her dilated hole.
When Ross returned to where he had left his rod he found it sloshing back and forth in the surf, half buried in sand and shells. Instead of feeling distressed or even irritated at finding all the line gone off the reel - snapped clean a few inches from the spool - he found it extremely funny and began to laugh. He laughed and sang like a lunatic all the way down the path from the beach ridge, all the way to his car.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Susan and Camilla sat on the foredeck of the cabin cruiser, waiting for Dora to come, down from the house. The sun was straight overhead and the surface of Lake Leethy sparkled like a vast bed of blue diamonds.
Susan leaned back against the windshield and tried to relax, but her knees trembled with excitement. She adjusted the tiny green bra on the swelling hemispheres of her tits and nervously brushed her red hair from her face.
"Nervous?' asked Camilla, her mischievous eyes sweeping over Susan's beautiful pale body.
"God, yes! I hope I don't lose my nerve."
"You won't. It's fun."
"Did you have to do this when you joined?"
"Shit, this is nothing compared to what they made me do! They took me up to the Baptist Church on Clematis Street on a Sunday morning, and when the people started coming out I had to walk that whole block in front of the church, stark naked. Boy, talk about scared! I couldn't even talk until we were ten miles away from there. But it's thinking about it later that's fun, you know?"
"Yeah. I just hope we don't run into my father or somebody I know."
"Don't worry about that, we're going way down the Waterway, probably all the way to Point Head. Dora's pretty careful about things like that. Hey, here she comes."
Dora still wore the same obscene little halter and G-string, and her huge, suntanned tits swung and bounced before her like live things as she walked out onto the dock. When she stepped into the boat Susan saw the thick fringe of black curls along both sides of the tiny white crotch. "Hi, kids. Where's Marsha?"
"Be right up," Marsha called from below.
"Well, Susan," Dora said, smiling down at the little redhead, "you do fill up a bikini, don't you?"
Susan thanked her, blushing with embarrassment.
"I told you, Dora," Said Camilla.
"Stand up, honey, let me look at you."
Susan got to her feet and stood nervously before the tall voluptuous woman whose leering eyes played up and down her body. "Nice... very nice." When Dora reached out and touched one of her tits, Susan drew back. "Hey, now, you're not shy, are you? This isn't the place for shyness. If you can't -", "N-no, I'm sorry, Mrs. Boyce. I'm just a little nervous, that's all.' Dora laughed. 'Sure, I know. All the girls were a little nervous at first. Just relax and pretend you're somebody else... " Again she placed her hand on Susan's breast, and this time the girl did not protest. Dora stroked the soft contours, running her fingertips several times over Susan's little nipple, smiling when she felt it harden to her touch. "I think you're going to like our little club, Susan. And I know our little club's going to like you."
They laughed and Camilla said, "Hey, let's get going, this is gonna be fun!"
"Come on, Marsha!" Dora called, 'We're shoving off.".
Marsha came bouncing out of the cabin and jumped onto the engine box, striking a sexy pose. "How do I look?"
She had nothing on but three thin red silk scarves - one tied around her buxom tits and the other two around her loins, knotted at the hips and rolled up so that two triangular flaps were all that covered her pussy and her behind. The scarves were so low on her hips that the crack of her ass showed in back and a narrow band of blonde cunt hair spilled over the front. She had folded the upper scarf into a strip not more than three inches wide, gathering it between her breasts, and the upper halves of her bright pink areolae peeked over the top.
Dora smiled in approval. "Wow. So that's what you've been doing down there. That's very good, almost as indecent as mine."' "Almost?" Marsha shouted, lifting the little flap below her belly to show that there was nothing but hair underneath.
Dora laughed. "OK, more indecent." She turned to Susan. "How do you like that, Susan?"
"I like it."
"Would you wear something like that out in public? - or one like this?" She turned around to let Susan see that the cheeks of her ass were fully exposed.
"Yeah," said Susan, "sure I would - if I thought I could get away with it."
"Good," Dora replied, jumping over to the dock, "because you're going to have to show more than that today if you want to be one of us. Come on, Camilla, help me cast these lines off. Start the engine, will you, Marsha?"
On the west bank of Point Head Lake a high-rise condominium was under construction. Some of the carpenters were on the job this Saturday because the work was running a little behind schedule, but their hearts were not in it. The day was too nice, the sun too bright, the lake too blue and too full of pretty girls on water skis for a man to concentrate on hammers and nails, with the result that more time was spent standing at the windows than working on the ladders. Even Pete, the foreman, had given the day up for lost and had his transit set up on the second floor, scanning the lake for cunt. The east wall of the building rose up practically right over the sea wall, so that the men had a good view when the ski boats made their westward sweep along the shore. Pete had been following a particularly luscious young thing on an aquaplane - she had on a one-piece black bathing suit with a wide V of net in the front reaching below her navel and exposing the inner swells of her milk-white tits almost to the nipples - so that he didn't notice the cabin cruiser approaching slowly from the north until Johnson called his attention to it.
"Hey, Pete, check this out. Looks like cunt all over that boat down there."
Pete swung his transit around and focused in on the cruiser...
"Holy shit... You ain't gonna believe this."
"Lemme see, Pete."
"Son of a bitch... "
"Come on, man, get the fuck outa the way!"
Maxwell threw down his screwdriver and joined them at the window. "What do ya see, Pete? Hey, ya don't need no telescope. Look at that!"
Dora worked the boat in close, steering from the flying bridge, threw her in neutral and drifted smoothly up under the shadow of the high-rise. Marsha lay flat on her back on the upper deck, hands behind her head, legs open toward the gawking faces above. The little silk flap lay in place over the hump of her cunt, but the point of the triangle reached only to the lower corner of her slit, and Pete centered his crosshairs on the naked flesh below it. The lower crack of her plump ass was fully visible and the blonde ringlets of pussy fuzz sparkled vividly against the red silk.
"Take a look at that," said Pete, stepping back. "Whew!"
Johnson peered through the scope. "Goddamn! That bikini ain't got no crotch in it!"
"It ain't no bikini, man, it's just a hanky. Y'ever seen anything like that?"
Johnson stared in silence, bringing the lens Into sharp focus, his mouth hanging open.
Maxwell said, "You think that's somethin', look at the black-haired cunt at the wheel!"
Dora had just bent over, showing them her bare butt, and now she climbed out of the flying bridge and lay down beside Marsha, raising one knee and looking up at the men through her dark glasses. She inserted her fingers into the inside edges of the narrow white strips stretched taut over her huge golden breasts and pulled them outward until the inner edges of her brown nipples lay bare.
"Look at the tits on that, will you! See them nipples? And look at that black cunt hair stickin' out. If that ain't an invitation, I never seen one. Ask 'em to .come up, Pete."
"Yeah, and what if the boss shows up?"
"Hell, let him fuck' em too!"
"Hey, wait a minute, here comes some more!"
Camilla and Susan came out of the cabin and strolled slowly along the starboard rail to the foredeck. They pretended not to see the men. Camilla stretched and shook her breasts vigorously from side to side. Susan stood nervously on the hatch cover and watched Camilla remove her arms from the shoulder straps of her bikini and sit down on the cabin trunk. In a low voice Dora said, "OK, Susan, do your stuff. Show 'em "what you got."
"Hey, Pete, that girl in the green suit - ain't that Dillard's daughter?"
"Dillard the contractor? Are you shittin' me?"
"It's her, man. I'm sure! Hee, hee! What in the hell's she doin' with them whores, I wonder?"
"Damn nice little piece, whoever she is. Look at them tits!"
"Maxwell, would you stick a greasy dick in that little girl?"
"Does a bear shit in the woods?"
"Hey- look at this! She's gonna take it off, bigger than shit!"
Susan turned and faced the building, untying the straps at the back of her neck. At first she did not look up at the men, but there was nothing casual about her movements; it was obvious that she was undressing for an audience. She shook her red hair in the wind, untied the bow at her back and let the bra fall to the deck.
"Jesus Christ! Look at them tits!"
"Let's get 'em up here, Pete."
"Are you crazy? That's jailbait, man! Anyway, what if that really is Dillard's kid? It'd be our ass for sure. Just enjoy the show and keep your mouth shut."
Susan stepped off the hatch cover and began strutting up and down the deck, her bare breasts bouncing brazenly, moon-white against the tan of her shoulders and belly. There was something almost frantic in her walk, something akin to that fluid desperation in the gait of a wild animal pacing its cage. At last Dora spoke, her voice low as before.
"You're stalling, Susan. Wanta pull out?"
Susan stepped onto the upper deck at Dora's feet and looked down at her. 'No,' she said.
"Then show 'em your cunt, little girl. And I mean show it."
Susan did not return to the foredeck but turned and faced the men where she stood. She turned up her face and looked right at them, a deliberately lascivious smile curling her lips as her hands went to the hip band of her bikini...
Maxwell leaned out the window and yelled, "Take it off, baby!"
The cry spread to the other windows in a chain reaction until the workers' lewd chants clamored out over the lake, and Susan's hips began to sway and grind to the rhythm of their clapping. Lower and lower went the bikini until the first red curls sprang into the light.
"Yeah! Let's see that fuzz, honey!"
"It's hair and hide time, boys!"
"Let's see if you're a real redhead!"
"Come on, babydoll, lay that crack on us!"
"Let it all hang out!"
Susan's eyes were now wild with excitement. Little grunts escaped her throat as she bent over and stepped out of her suit. She spread her slim legs and thrust her cunt at the solid wall of drooling faces that rose up above her.
"There it is!" she shrieked, framing her red bush with her hands. "Ya want it?"
The response was deafening, and it sent Susan into convulsions of hysterical laughter. She fell down on her back between Dora and Marsha, throwing her legs open as far as they would go and spreading the dainty lips of her pussy with her fingers, her hips jerking in obscene spasms.
"Look at that," said Johnson, "the kid's goin' nuts."
"Yeah, but who cares? Christ, I feel like divin' right into that thing!"
Dora was watching Susan's frantic sex-mad contortions with wild eyes, urging her on - "Ata girl, Susie, keep it up, baby, throw it in their faces! - Hey, look!"
In a fourth floor window directly abeam of the boat was a solitary man with his cock in his hand, masturbating furiously.
Dora shook Susan to her senses and pointed up at the man. "Look, honey. See the guy jacking off? You got him so hot he couldn't stand it. See him?' "Yeah," Susan panted, "I see him!" She raised her voice in a shrill shout, Hey! Gimme some cum! Betcha can't get it in the hole!' She raised her hips completely off the deck, aiming the opening of her cunt straight up at the masturbator.
"Hold it open, bitch," he yelled. "Here it comes!"
Dora and all three of the girls watched entranced as the white drops began spurting from the man's cock, falling in long slow trajectories toward the boat...
The first burst splattered on the deck beside Dora, but the next landed with a wet plop between Susan's tits and the third one hit her right in the cunt, dripping heavily between her fingers and running down along the hairy lips. The cheers from the men were ear-shattering.
"BULLSEYE!"
The rest of the man's ejaculation fell short into the water or onto the sea wall, but in the tumult that followed other men hauled out their organs to make their own contributions, and before Dora could get to the flying bridge and put the engine in gear, a veritable storm of semen was raining onto the decks and into the water. Just as she opened the throttle and spun the wheel a hot whirling oyster caught her right in the eye, and Camilla and Marsha laughed so hard they almost fell overboard.
But as the boat rose in the water and sped away southward, Susan just sat naked against the cabin where she had fallen, staring at the rapidly congealing semen on her fingers and between her legs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Snick snick.
Ross watched the snapping blades descend slowly toward the hemline of the redhead's miniskirt, flashing through the sea-green glow like some strange silver fish. He saw the wild light in Dora's eyes as they played up and down the girl's tense body. Dora looked different to him now than she had that morning, as though the night had transformed her into a beautiful witch. A sex witch, he thought. And these girls, where do they come from?
He scanned the circle again, trying to break through the dream-like spell that was falling over him, trying not to lose the pulse-quickening realization that this was really happening, that these half-naked nymphs were not apparitions but flesh and blood: - The blonde Erika, wearing nothing now but a tiny tricot G-string which served only as a picture frame for her extraordinarily hairy cunt, her small breasts with their jutting nipples covered only by her partner's hands; little Camilla with the auburn hair wearing only an off-the-shoulder fringe smock cut off at the hips through which her puffy pink nipples and fuzzy little snatch peeked and winked; Marsha Van Eckles whose over-developed tits spilled delectably out of her pink lace half-bra, her partner's hand which groped in her blonde bush perfectly visible through the transparent crotch of her tiny panties; - and Dora Boyce herself, her huge swelling dugs rising and falling with excitement inside her sheer black negligee, her bare suntanned thighs gleaming like green brass in the ethereal gloom. Yes, it's really happening, by God. I really fucked that beautiful witch this morning, and in a minute I'm really going to fuck that little red-haired nymph on the floor. But where in the hell do they come from, these girls? Who would believe this? Schoolgirls, no less! That one's no older than my own daughter. Not even in high school. And I'm going to fuck her. I'm going to stick my dirty cock in that sweet little twat right here in front of everybody...
For a fleeting instant a sharp blade of shame and guilt stabbed through Ross's mind and he had a desperate impulse to get up and run from the house, drive away and never look back. But what would I be driving toward? Toward her, my cold-assed bitch of a wife, right back into that emptiness and horseshit that I've finally broken out of, right back into that thankless trap. Who in the hell have I been sacrificing myself for anyway? No, by God, I'm staying. Fuck all that shit! Cherry or not, fm gonna fuck your little ass off, girlie.
Sssssnip, ssssnip, ssssnip...
They're cutting my clothes off. My new clothes. How will I explain that to Daddy? - or to Bubba? God, if Bubba knew what I'm doing! Oo! Cold scissors. I'd almost like for Bubba to know. It would be cruel, but he's cruel too. Cruel and stupid. If he'd have left me alone I probably wouldn't be here. It's his fault. I wonder if it's true, what Dora said today - that he acts like that because he's jealous, because he wants my body and can't have it and so he doesn't want anybody else to have it either? He does look a t me funny sometimes. I'd let him if he'd asked me. Dora says her brother Thomas fucks her all the time. There's nothing wrong with it, she says. Poor Bubba. He's so shy...
Sssssnip, sssssnip - There goes my blouse. Brand new. Oh, shit on it, I don't t care. I'm not even afraid any more. This afternoon I was afraid, but not now. Not after that cum-bath. Now I know what kind of girl I really am. I'm a slut and I like being a slut. All those men staring at me naked in the boat in broad daylight, holding my pussy open to catch the cum... It was like I was drunk. Their eyes made me drunk. At first it wasn't me but somebody else, like Dora said. Some dirty little slut undressing in front of all those men. But it was me, it was really me, and I loved it. And I love this. It's supposed to be a secret, but I know what's going to happen. Camilla told me. I'm going to get fucked. Oh, yeah, cut off my bra. Let 'em see my tits. Strange men. Staring at me. At me. Maybe sometime when Bubba and I are alone in the house, maybe I'll let him fuck me. I'd have to ask him to. What would he do, I wonder - Oh! - The point of the scissor blade dug lightly into the tender flesh below Susan's pussy as Dora snipped through the crotch of her panties. Then the dissected garment was laid back and she was naked. Dora ran her fingers lightly through the thin red curls of Susan's little bush as she rose to her feet. For a moment she stared down at the girl's spread-eagled body, a hungry twitching smile playing over her parted lips...
From miles at sea the big mako picked up the blood scent; some navigational instinct told him the exact point at which he could most quickly intersect the southward course of the wounded amberjack, and with a jerk of his broad tail he veered off toward the southewest.
Carl Dillard returned to the window just in time to see Dora open her negligee and slip it off. When his father had come into the room, Carl had turned away in shock and confusion. He had wandered aimlessly to the bluff and stared for a long time across the black murmuring sea with its gash of moonlight as the vaginal triangle of the Hyades bumped and ground itself into a frenzied blur above the far-off Land of Cunt beyond the eastern horizon. Something held him back, something told him to run for his life up the beach. It was not his father's presence, that was nothing; it was something else, some ominous thing within him, trying to speak, trying to reach him from some dark inner place far from the insignificant world of the here and now. 'Tomorrow's scream,' be thought suddenly, that's what it is. That's why I can't hear it. 'Bit out the mandrake with tomorrow's scream.'...
But he went back. And now, wrapped tightly in the dumb, numb foreskin of the concealing dark, Carl watched the men and girls swarming over the naked redhead, drooling on her pink-nippled tits, her flat belly, rubbing their genitals over her masked face and between her legs. He spat savagely into his palm and began to masturbate with a vengeance...
This is it, Ross thought as Dora waved everyone back from the motionless girl. How the hell can she hold still through all that? Dora looked at Ross and nodded. All right, let's see if she can hold still for this...
He crawled up between the girl's open legs and saw that they were trembling. He lowered his lips to her red-fuzzed cunt and licked the lips, probing for the button at the upper corner... Can't feel it. She's too young. Mm, what a sweet little slit! So young and sweet!...
He raised his dripping lips from her crotch and advanced up over her body. He forced her legs further apart and guided his cock up and down the slit, grinning when her mouth fell open and her lip began to quiver. The others pressed in on Ross and the girl from al! sides, leering and panting with anticipation.
Now he's going to do it. This time he's going to fuck me. Oh, come on; stick it in me! I don't care if it hurts! I want it to hurt! Ah, he's big and heavy. Hot lips on my nipples. Stick it in! Stick it in, goddamn it -!
"AAAAH!"
Ross felt the maidenhead split over the head of his cock as he drove brutally into the hole, and the girl came up off the rug in a spasm of pain, her face horribly contorted below the blindfold. Dora's hot breath inflamed his naked buttocks and he heard her harsh breathless voice as she watched the bloody penis driving in and out of the narrow orifice - "Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her, fuck her -/" Susan's arms flew around his neck, pulling his face against her bosom, and her legs jerked and twitched violently in the green air as Ross's juices rose out of control and flowed from his loins in a bone-wracking orgasm that sent black flashes coursing through his body.
Carl's semen was still spurting against the wall below, the window, and Ross had at last raised his head from the girl's heaving chest when the shark rolled his belly to the moonlight and cut the amberjack in half with one bite. The head was pulled rapidly toward the bottom by the weight of Ross's lead sinkers, but the shark scooped it up effortlessly on the second pass, just as Dora tore the blindfold from Susan's face.
"Daddy!"
I'm screaming, Carl thought. Screaming at the top of my lungs. Why can't they hear me? Why can't they ever hear me? -
And nothing shone of the water's face
But the oil and bubble of the moon.
