-For Tillie and Mac without whose inspiration I never would have....
CHAPTER ONE
David Cummings was as strong and healthy as an eleven-year-old boy could be; he had passed the five-foot mark on the kitchen wall family gauge months ago, and he was already looking toward the five-six stripe on his way to the goal of six-one (so he might pass his dad). He hated school, loved baseball, had perpetually dirty hands and feet, didn't like going to bed or getting up in the morning, carried a penknife, played hearts at the playground, tried smoking, liked Christmas, and spinach (just to be contrary), and he liked his mother, father ... and sister Corky. Sometimes.
Sister Corky was also a normal, natural, lithe-limbed thirteen-year-old girl-child. She had almost evolved from the stage where she compulsively fondled her cunt. Well ... scratched, tugged at and prodded might better describe what she did. She missed it, and couldn't think of a thing to do to replace the ritual. She only tried to quit when she became self-conscious about it. Her mother began slapping her hands and forecasting horrible physical deformities which would spoil the line of her prom dress at graduation time. But somehow Corky couldn't kick that erotic odor on her slender, bone-china fingers. Like a junkie, she was hooked on it. She, too, like David, loved her mommy and daddy-but unlike him, she favored school, hated baseball and had not yet smoked or been quite able to stomach spinach; she liked to listen to her records, cut out pictures of Rock Hudson and Donald O'Connor, dance with girlfriends in her room after school, and experiment at different ways a young lady in her bloom could urinate: standing; with one leg on the wet, cool white bowl; backwards; forwards; and through her erotically permeated fingers. And she liked David. Sometimes.
All went reasonably well with the rather idyllic family, until that summer when the children were eleven and thirteen. David's father (although quite well fixed financially) had earlier insisted that David take a paper route-so that he might learn some responsibility and the value of a dollar. David didn't really mind because all his friends seemed to have routes, too. But that summer his father dismissed him from the duty and, as David wished, allowed him to go to summer camp. And, indeed, it was.
Corky, on the other hand, had no interest in going to camp, and her father didn't see any reason to make her go. So she hung around the house all summer, dancing, smelling her fingers and cutting out pictures of Donald O'Connor and Jean-Louis Barrault.
They all went down to the railroad station to see David off on the big day: Mommy, Daddy, Corky and Melvin, the Dalmatian. After he had kissed his mother and shaken hands with his dad, the time came to face Corky. He didn't really want to kiss her, and to shake her smelly hand would have been awkward and ridiculous (not to mention nauseating in a rather stirringly disgusting way). She didn't know how to handle the situation either, so Mommy, as usual, came to the rescue and clapped them together like one of the Three Stooges used to do with the other two. Problem solved.
It was a sweet, sensuous, lingering kiss, as their tongues searched imploringly into the corners and moist reaches of one another's mouth. They finally parted, after a long moment, he glassy-eyed and she impervious to all but the taste of her brother's mind-boggling oral appendage.
While Melvin scampered, yapping in circles around them, Mommy smiled and Daddy tossed David and his paraphernalia onto the train and was rid of him for two months. After all the ludicrous and obscene waving and gesticulating had transpired, David settled back in a humid, sun-yellowed car to read the magazine he had brought with him; it was the current issue of Boy's Life, which seemed, at that point, silly-not to mention unstimulating. Then David realized that something was wrong: the crotch of his trousers was wet. He had ejaculated in his very jeans; the first rushing gush of manhood. He felt strangely pleased with himself and tried to snuggle down into it, but found it impossible, as his pants went the way of his thighs. He would have liked to run to the men's lavatory, but the inane red-headed boy next to him became a wall, as he constructed a large phallic symbol with an Erector Set.
Later, David discreetly dipped his hand down into his trousers on the pretext of fishing out a wad of gum, and surreptitiously came' up with a small tea-spoonfuls-worth of what looked to him like Italian Balm, or some other kind of ladies' hand lotion. He smelled it, tasted it, and tried to return to the magazine. But not without a memory of what was, and visions of what might yet come.
Meanwhile, back in the Buick, Corky sat alone in the back seat, pretending to read Modern Scum Magazine, but all the while responding gloriously to the awakenings of womanhood in her precious twat.
It throbbed, twitched, buzzed electrically and generally raised hell with her. It was as though there was a direct line from it to her heart, as that, too, acted up. She, like her brother, was moist all over down there and she wished fervently that she had a candle or a cucumber or some elongated thing, to ease the strange, deep itch. She was bewildered at the unutterable changes and growth her long-limbed body was going through: the baby fat was almost gone, leaving her torso graced with easy curves, her neck had grown swan-like as in a Modigliani painting she had seen at the museum, her peach-colored nipples had grown broader, darker, and seemed somehow to reach off her swelling breasts like the nipples on a baby bottle. And she felt so goddamned ... funny ... all the time. Sometimes it was enough to make her cry; other times ... well ... she would find herself in almost uncontrollable fits of hysterical leaping about, like a possessed faun. She stood for extended, speculative moments before her full-length mirror, tracing the outlines' of new tits and a gracefully exciting snatch; then her large, Keane-ish, green eyes would stare over one arched shoulder at the long pear-like sweep from her hip to the bulge of her buttocks, down to the extended slope of her suddenly perfect thighs.
Mrs. Cummings chattered away in the front seat of the car into her husband's deadened ear, while he looked away at other women: strange, exciting gash, their full, ripe-melon rumps wandering lazily under dresses and slacks as they walked briskly to certain assignations in dimly-lit taverns.
Corky, when she was certain she would not be observed, snuck her hand down into her jeans and rubbed furiously until she fell back against the plastic upholstery, sobbing softly and oozing chain-gang sweat.
Her mother, booming to alarm, asked what was wrong, in a shrill, panicky voice. When Corky came out of her thrall she explained (falsely) that she had just read a particularly touching article about Robert Lowery, Bonita Granville and the Hoosier Hotshots. Her mother, satisfied with the lie, returned to her chatter and Corky laid her blonde head back against a window, smiling contentedly and anticipating bigger and better things as great globs of nookie-nectar ran down her young, aching legs and settled into small, inert pools on the rubberized floor of the family car.
The two kids both wrote hot, furiously passionate epistles to each other over the summer. Mommy thought it was fine when her daughter ran to her pink room to read David's letters. What she didn't know was that, once in the room, her eyes would shoot alternately between her brother's twitch-ecstasies and a picture of Arnold Stang in a copy of Screen Stroke as she masturbated away the summer hours. Morning, noon and night, her hands were almost never away from her eager, quivering pudenda, as she read and re-read David's sexy notes and consumed, devoured pictures from the fan mags. Her types went from Stang to Bobby Darin, to Cornell Wilde to Phil Foster to Arthur Godfrey to Tim Carey, and on through Tab Hunter. Jackie Paris, Elvis Presley, Donald Meek, Ralph J. Gleason and finally wound up, in the waning days of July, with a quarter-page, back-lighted shot of a bow-tied Arthur Lake. She kneaded, rubbed, stroked and flayed herself until she was as red as a maraschino cherry (in heavy syrup) and sore as a boil. But nevertheless, she reveled in it, and could not wait until the first Sunday in August, when they would go up to the mountains to visit David. Camp day. And how. She knew he would have something scrumptious waiting for her. Maybe something sucky. even.
During this time, David discovered that his wondrous wang had a purpose other than ornamental. He began pulling his pud at odd moments-not only after "lights out." On hikes he would jump behind a tree with nimble stealth and jerk his meat until there were spots of fresh come on the bark. He always whipped off on the semen-white of birch trees, so he could not be easily detected by spies and Commies who might be lurking about. He'd sneak into the lavatory and shove skin during retreat-and, when others were eating their Jello at dessert, David would be wiping come on his napkin after an unusually dangerous, but inspired, session under the heavy wooden table. He could easily have walked off with the camp handicraft prize that summer-but he had other uses for his hands. Not, perhaps, as creative (in some people's estimation) but, none the less ... stimulating. His belts and beaded bracelets weren't too groovy-but he was developing the largest dong in the camp: it seemed to grow thicker and longer with each spurting exercise; he would watch it (not touching) by moonlight as it jerked in spasms to its maximum, the magenta foreskin stretching back across the swelling glans in calibrated thrusts, before seizing it in one hand or the other (he was ambidextrous) to begin his crimson massage.
One evening, aroused from sleep by an insistent thumping in the cabin where the boys slept, Rick, one of David's counsellors, snuck into the large barracks to discover David, hips up over his head, feet stuck under the metal pipe at the top of his bed, a rapidly softening penis only sexy inches from the eleven-year-old's boyish, cupid's-bow lips.
"I ... was just ... exercising my ... belly muscles ... and I got stuck...." he explained weakly.
Rick stood, hands on his hips, dressed only in bulging cock-weary jockey shorts. He sneered down at the fastened boy. "Stuck, huh?" He spat on the tip of his stubby thumb. "Well, stick this, squirt...." he said, plunging the huge digit into the boy's asshole, shoving it all the way in and twisting it firmly, deeply, methodically, until David's young cock lengthened again. Rick reached in between the boy's face and thighs, where he clutched the bulging cock in his hand, quickly yanking him to orgasm in a few seconds. Still smirking, Rick held the palm of his hand in front of David's mouth. "Lick it off, punk," he ordered. "Start sucking."
David did, swallowing the viscous globs, staring wide-eyed up at his counsellor. When he had finished the punishment, Rick turned scornfully and went back to his room at the opposite end of the cabin.
"Thanks Rick...." David said softly as the older boy's gleaming back receded into the night. He was still looking forward to Camp Day, though-Camp Day and his first real piece of tail.
Although there was never any written consent in their lascivious and pornographic messages to each other, they both knew It would happen on Camp Day. It was sort of a spiritual agreement. Corky oiled copiously at the thought of it, and her brother was hardly ever without some kind of impatient prong in his corduroys. They were hot for one another's bodies and horny as the New York Philharmonic brass section.
When the big day came, the youngsters dispensed with the cute, dumb formalities as quickly as possible. Then David took his teen-aged sister by the hand off into the dense woods, ostensibly to show her the flora and fauna, while the unaware parents contented themselves with looking about the grounds. Mother was disappointed that David's productivity was (apparently) not as great as' that of the other boys this season. She inquired if he had been feeling well. He said he felt "great." He didn't add that he had been frustrated out of his brains for the better part of the month in unspeakable porn-pangs over his sister's ripening body.
Once off into the woods, David and Corky didn't speak at all. He led her by her trembling hand through sun-patches and shade, past maple and birch (semen dried and shining on their ablated barks), over pine cones and poison ivy, hand-in-hand toward a spot he had anxiously prepared days before. It was in a three-sided lean-to, used only for bivouac purposes. Corky closed her anticipating eyes and allowed herself to be led to the site, thinking all the while of Robert Stack and Warren Finnerty. She was breathless in her eagerness to be done-and done-re-done, and done once again, if possible.
Perspiration rolled down the inside of David's lean arms. His hands were dry but there was a wide spot of dark wetness in the middle of his tee-shirt, right under the words "Camp Wee-Wee-Watchee" in letters which were made to look like pieces of wood.
Finally, out of breath, they arrived. David's face was fixed into the most serious expression and Corky's eyes were shyly averted. They sat on the empty, chain-wire bed rack, the wire biting into their tender rumps, in the weathered old shelter. David had provided an old blanket, which he had resourcefully found (before, one of his camp-mates had been careless enough to lose it). He made the first move, closely repeating the good-bye kiss on the platform at the railroad station, re-enacting it as well as he could, at first, and then he became lost in improvisation, as did Corky herself. He easily thrust his hand under her blouse and was at once confounded by his first brassiere (a new addition over the summer). Without taking her sucking, grabbing mouth from his own, Corky reached behind herself with both hands and undid the clasp (cleverly causing her apple-sized boobs to thrust further toward him). David was, however, eager to use his hands for something; working a middle finger of one up under her nylon panties, he found her tiny gash and entered it, while with his other he fussed with the zipper of her shorts. He was into female flesh! Part of him anyway. And it literally excited the pants off his submissive sister, who helpfully shed her lower garments as though they were burning her ass. David quickly removed his own trousers and shorts, and naked, clean, impatient and alone they were locked into each other's limbs as they groped at strange and welcome bodies before squirrels and chipmunks, who looked on curiously at the funny way humans made love. The rodents considered getting some water to throw on them, to force them apart, ending the sight of their obscenity.
Corky and David tried; they pumped and writhed, awkwardly strapped together, sweaty bod to sweaty bod. Neither could make it. They had at each other for a good half-hour before they finally gave it up as an over-anxious job. When they could finally bear one another's eyes, David was embarrassed-because along with the strange new elastic-strapped cups under her jersey. Corky had begun to sprout hair like a wild thing ... and David was as bald as Uncle Punky around his then-limp staff.
They talked and smoked for a while before getting dressed, both coughing like consumptives. They decided that they both needed more time before they could really have a meaningful hump (not the kind Mrs. Cummings had earlier suggested to Corky, concerning her prom dress). That time, they wisely decided, was too rushed and frantic. They talked longingly about when David would return and they would have a more leisurely attitude toward The Grand Grope.
Mother, father and daughter returned home that evening, driving another long road at sunset. Corky was frustrated beyond belief. That time, when her mother asked what the matter was. Corky called her a "stupid bitch" and told her to "mind your own fucking business." Mrs. Cummings' feelings were hurt by that. Corky tried the five-finger exercise-but to no avail.
She tried to sleep in the uncomfortable car, but that, too, was a soul-wrenching farce. Even her intense thoughts of E.G. Marshall and Sonny Rollins did no good. When she got home she removed her wet, well-tested clothing and threw herself on the bed with a picture (in full color) of a well-known Great Dane, with a gross, pink erection ... and finally made her mark, dropping into a shallow, troubled slumber.
David had to, again, secretly jack-off in his bunk-and he finally had a tight, incomplete and unsuccessful orgasm, while thinking intertwined thoughts of his sister, Anna Magnianni and Pearl Bailey. He wiped the residue from cock to sheet and fell into an exhausted faint.
Then, in fact on the very same day, the strangest things happened to the siblings.
Corky was dancing to radio music up in her room with a girl whose name was Nancy, but whom everyone called "Tomboy" or "John," because she played baseball better than any of the boys and she could already beat the shit out of her father. Corky had noticed that Nancy seemed somewhat preoccupied and uneasy during the afternoon, but she had chosen to pay no attention to the fact. Ultimately Nancy, who was three years older than Corky, suddenly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto delicate tip-toes, planting a full, sumptuously demanding kiss firmly on her tender lips. Corky's mouth opened in surprise in the first place, but she became unnerved when she found that the huge thrust of Nancy's tongue excited the clit out of her. It was as exciting as the thrusting grind of the girl's pelvis up against her own. They were both wearing short-shorts and before long Nancy's thick, muscular thigh was firmly planted up against Corky's succulent cunt, which, again, began oiling down her limp thighs and onto Nancy's stronger ones, inspiring the boyish girl to an almost asthmatic wheezing and a redoubling of her passions. Nancy slipped her bat-calloused hands up under Corky's blouse to her knob-hard tits and she began rather expertly stimulating her nipples to a pink erectness. Corky gingerly pushed her fingers down into the other girl's shorts and moved them over her stocky buttocks, one hand working its way around to the front and over her round belly, down into the moist gnarl of curly hair, which spread out toward her hips, and high, like an inverted pyramid, nearly to her navel. They continued to kiss long and deep and Nancy did similar things to Corky, both working fingers up inside cunts and shuddering with the thrill common to them both. They undid each other's clothing and stood naked before the mirror, kissing and sucking at their flesh, fingering in fissures, over swollen mounds and into dark valleys. Nancy fell to her knees and began nuzzling her mouth against Corky's downy blonde cunt, slipping her tongue up inside and working it around. Corky's knees bent involuntarily as the desire and its satisfaction coursed through her nerves simultaneously. She fell back onto the bed, her legs spread wide, nearly fainting. Nancy lunged forward and threw them wider, plunging her mouth once more into the morsel she needed, massaging her own large breasts as she did, seemingly trying to push her whole face up inside the younger girl, driving her wild on the broad bed, and Corky reached down her own hands and tried to draw the other girl's whole head inside. Nancy, wanting her cunt eaten too, scrambled onto the bed and maneuvered them into the Yin-Yang, classic 69 clasp, and they commenced gobbling gash, nibbling clit, stroking everywhere with their flying hands; and when it seemed unbearable to them both, they brought one another off in explosions and lunges of pure chick lust.
Nancy, on one elbow, fondled Corky's slit and stared at her shallow tits, while Corky, flat on her back, looked down across her mound at the face of a friend who had quickly become a much closer friend. She bent forward and gave the young dyke's cunt a lapping lick across her magnificent growth of fur. Just to say thank you.
Then, aroused again, they fell to fuck-at, suck-at and touch-and Corky had things done to her that she didn't believe: she had not only her pussy sucked, but her nose sucked and tongued, her toes sucked and tongued, her sweet, pink asshole tongue-reamed and tits shoved up it afterward. That afternoon she experienced four teen-age orgasms.
Thereafter, Nancy introduced Corky to three other pubescent lesbian apprentices and some new old native customs. The last quadrant of the summer swung hard for little Cork, as she made the gay scene with her new friends. The ones her mom called "strange."
The things that went on in that room! The five of them going at it at once in a huge circle of gyrating flesh, which seemed to be draped over one corner of the bed, a Morris chair, a vanity bench and much of the floor like a Dali pocket watch. When Mr. and Mrs. Cummings would go for a visit the house would be filled, it seemed, with running, screaming girls who, having teased up a desire for something thick, warm and living up inside them, chased an exhausted and bewildered Melvin all over the house and basement, the Dalmatian galumphing for dear life until two of the girls would catch him and shove him into a third, who waited on the floor with her winking snatch quivering for cock. Once inside, the canine would always somehow magically be revivified and carry out his chore, as man's best friend is supposed to do.
And one really fun thing, they discovered, was to squeeze two condoms, one over each buffer, on Corky's daddy's electric shoe-polisher, insert each end in a girl and plug it in. That was more than kicky.
But despite the soul which went into the chick-games, Corky was hiply objective and only waited for the moment when she could get David into the sack and show him some really groovy techniques. She balled and was balled at least three times a day until her brother returned.
The same day that Corky discovered that girls were fun, too, David had an experience of his own.
He had faked a headache and upset stomach on a field trip and wended his way back to the cabin to lie on his bunk and tug at his torpedo. When he got back, the screen door slammed behind him and two heads came up on a top bunk about mid-way back in the cabin. They were the heads of Johnny Running-Deer and Jeffrey Shapiro, an Indian and a Jew who co-habited the cabin.
They were, at first, quite embarrassed to be caught with each other, in the nude, on a bed, but upon finding David the curious type ("If he blows you, and I blow him ... will you blow me?") they invited him to join their select circle and make it a trio. They swung for the balance of the afternoon with variations of the old Circle-Jerk and Bunch-Munch. David was anally plugged and did some fancy fucking himself over the rest of the term of encampment.
For instance: the time, late one night, when they caught Rick by surprise and gang-fucked him. They shit on his face and made him eat it (he appeared to like it after a while!) They ran corn-cobs and boat poles up his ass (he appeared to like that after a while!) They tied him to tent stakes in center-field on the ball diamond, and beat him across the cock-and-balls with knotted ropes (he had taught them how to make the very same knots earlier that day) until he tried to scream past the gag they had stuffed into his mouth. Rick liked that, too. Funny: so did the boys.
They untied him and left him there, huddled into a fetal position just north of second base, a weeping, hysterical, emotional mess. That would teach him to fuck David Cummings around. Magnianni was out for a time, and so were Miss Frances and Dr. Joyce Brothers, as David indulged in sado-mastic ritual. His two new intimate friends and he experimented with all shades and nuances of the fag-game, and by the end of the season he was nearly as experienced in the ways of Sodom-homo-erotica as any Eighth Street queen. He also picked up some valuable tricks he thought he might show his sister when he returned home at the end of August.
They didn't have a real chance to be alone on the day he returned, but they did make a few arbitrary passes in such un-likely and improbable places as the kitchen (while Mom was preparing dinner), the dining room (while eating dinner), the bathroom (while daddy showered) and even earlier on the lawn as they came into the house.
Needless to say, by the time bedtime rolled around they were both primed and ready to jump. Just prior to retiring, Mommy and Daddy announced that the two kids would be sleeping in the same room soon, due to a prospected addition to the family (God knows how), and the children were not as upset by the announcement as Mommy and Daddy had expected.
When all was quiet and dark in the house that night, Corky crept into David's room and sat on the edge of his bed. She did not even have to be coy about whether he felt like it that night or not. They didn't talk much. She was no sooner seated than one of his hands was between her legs, two fingers wiggling into her snatch, and the other around her ass, two fingers deeply there. She fell across him, twisting so that her mouth found his hard, twitching rod, and surrounded it, plunging down and withdrawing with sucking grabs of her lips, her tongue circling the purple head, her soft hands cradling his dangling balls, a thumb stroking downward gently on them.
They each went 'round a notch ('round the world) and they re-grooved identical, super-sensitive holes, wrenching and thrusting to the first jazz of come. Then David reversed himself and entered her smoothly and quickly (having more tolerance to work with than he got with the average, early-teen, male asshole), and he whipped languidly up into her most delicate precinct, holding there the briefest shard of an instant (long enough to roll shifting prods around her young uterus and the innermost walls of her supple snatch) before rhythmically withdrawing himself in maddening temperance, only to re-shove himself to his hilt into the swooning, twitchoowee sister. After only minutes they had their first common rush, their mouths locked together, his tongue half down her throat, her tits flattened against his heaving chest, her legs clamped, along with her arms, to his ass and back, his to hers, carnal blatant fuck-oils and jism running mingled and squirting in spontaneous oozes....The first of five that night.
The Cummings kids were well on the road to a sophisticated, modern adjustment to the common complexities of life, and would not, ten years hence, have to pay twenty dollars an hour-that-isn't-an-hour to some poor doctor so that they could burden his mind with their abstracted and allegorical tales of repression.
CHAPTER TWO
"I could destroy that chick, man!" David explained to his naive friend, Neil Turner, several years and many, many greasy gropes later. They drove swiftly through the moonlit countryside on their way to a neighboring town's school d'ance early one warm September evening. In the intervening five years David had matured sexually perhaps ten. "She runs crying into her house: clam-clam-clam-BLAM, up those rickety-ass steps, across that dark, sexy porch and in through that goddamn foot-thick front door of hers." David angrily mashed his Pall Mall into Neil's father's dashboard ashtray. He rolled down the window and deeply inhaled the clean country air which swirled about his slowly, angrily shaking head. "In the car she came on all cunt, shoulders and mouth. She spilled her goddamn juice down the front of my shirt! And when I say 'Do me'-she starts crying! Crying! Christ, the chick is fourteen and she acts like she's nine! 'Who do you think you're talking to? What kind of girl do you think I am?' she says as if I didn't know. Long as she gets her cunt sucked she doesn't give a rotten carrot for anyone. All night long, man, I lay out all my bread, pouring down those milkshakes and sodas-I even brought a pint of wine that we drank in the car. Quarters for the jukebox-I must've dropped five bucks down that thing. She doesn't think anything of feeling my, you know, genitals under the table in the booth. She doesn't feel bad or embarrassed when her cousin, Helen, says, right there, that they bat each other all the time. She laughs, in fact. But just let me ask her to go down on me and it freaks her simple mind! But next time I get mine-or she gets hers!"
"Jeez," Neil told him enviously. "You still get more than most guys we know. What're you complainin' about all 'a time?"
"Yeah, but it's still not enough," David tried to explain to his pal. "Wait. You'll see. Wait'll you get your first taste. You'll be 'a cunt-hound, too." And in a secret cave, which was recessed somewhere deep in David's mind, he embraced the truth about himself for the first time: he was, indeed, a cunt-hound, and one of the horniest order-at sixteen! It vaguely troubled him; it confounded him--but as in all revelations, of any nature, it was somehow comforting to him to at least know who and what he, in fact, was.
"When are you gonna fix me up with Corky, Dave? She's the one I'd really like to start with....Man ob man, do I ever have hot pants for her!"
"Neil, I hate to say this to a buddy-but you wouldn't know what to do with my sister. She'd have you in a psycho ward in two hours. Besides, you're too young for her. And too short."
"Hey, c'mon...!"
"I'm sorry, buddy-but it's true. She likes six-footers with ten-inchers-minimum."
Neil Turner was a five-footer with a six-incher. "Five-two-and-a-half," he would complain, but whack off twice daily religiously though he did (and sometimes up to five times), he could not in good conscience dispute a six-incher charge.
"Some chicks don't have any respect for guys," David went on, ignoring his friend's melancholy for his own, still furious about the turn-down from Mary Carabotta the evening before. "They dig to ball their chick cousins, and that's it! Well, if you ask me, that's pretty sick! T mean, being that ... exclusive ... is just fuckin' sick! That chick needs a doctor! Her cousin gives pretty good head, though," David said speculatively. "After Mary ran in the house I turn around and look in the back seat-and there's Helen, smiling this weird, weird smile at me...."
"What're you laughing at?" David said crankily to the chunky, wholesome-looking girl who sat in the near-darkness of the back seat in his father's Buick.
"I'm not laughing," she answered. "I'm smiling at you. Do you want me to come up to the front seat? Or would you rather come back here?"
David, without further hesitation, crawled over the springy partition of the Buick, not bothering with door-transactions and the like. Right there, in front of Mary Carabotta's house, with her maybe even peeking out the window, he let her cousin go down on him. He slid his jeans below his ass around muscular thighs and sat back as she gingerly fingered his lengthening cock.
"What ... what do you want me to do?" she said. "This is the first time I....I mean I've only done this to girls before now...."
"Just shove it in your mouth and start sucking," David told her, helping the girl put it in between her generous, ardent lips, inserting the thick tool deep into her head. "You'll figure out what to do after that. It'll all come to you like magic," he assured her.
And it did. She at once began sucking, then gobbling, licking, lapping, slurping, engulfing, swallowing, absorbing, pistoning her head like a ten-dollar hooker on a princely pimp. Finally he came, jetting a torrid, sputtering series of thick spurts into her mouth. She began to gag, and David knew then that she would try to spit it out-but he gently placed a restraining hand over her trembling lips.
"Swallow it," he said quietly. Her eyes got bigger as he programmed her imagination with new information. "Go ahead. It's good. You'll like it." He bent his head toward Helen's, there in his naked lap; he rolled her body over and began licking his own sweet semen from her pale lips, and in a moment he heard the balance of it, in her mouth, slide in one huge slithering gulp down her throat. "See?" he said.
"It was good!" she told him in surprise and delight.
He reached his hand down under her skirt and began to pull off her white, nylon panties. Her knees snapped together. "Don't!" she yelped. "I can't ..."
"Why not?" David asked, genuinely confused.
"I'm a virgin. And I'm going to stay a virgin until my wedding night."
After a short, passionate, well-intentioned debate, David told her, with simple irony in his voice, "Okay-it's you who's gonna miss the kick...."
"But you can play with me if you want to...." she whispered, spreading her legs a bit.
Catholic girls! David thought, with sad no-no, as he removed the panties and began massaging the pulpy lips of her heavily bushed crotch-mouth. He inserted a surrogate finger into the already sopping cave ... and she cooed. He worked it around in deft exploration, defining the cave's size, conduits, protuberances, spelunking blindly in the hidden wonder ... and she gurgled fully. He ultimately worked his ambitious way up to the handle of a flashlight, which he found on the floor, under the seat. He had to keep his hand over the glass because every time he ran the switch under her rigid clit, the light went on; if anyone had observed, they might have mistaken it for some kind of distress signal and come to investigate.
With the insertion of the flashlight handle Helen set up a loud-groaning.
"Ooohhh! ... it huuurts! ... Christ Jesus it hurts ... so ... good . .
Just as he was about to bring her all off in a shower of pealing bells, floating flowers and Roman circus fireworks, he withdrew the instrument. She didn't lose a beat, but began a fast staccato stroking of her clit, fingering up into herself to purge her frustrated libido and blast herself over the edge, not noticing that David had slipped out from under and was kneeling between her legs, about to engage himself to her. He whipped her hand away and cast himself forward, entering into the fulsome girl's body, and she swooned loudly as she relinquished her "virginity" and gave herself up to the pleasure principle at one and the same time. She flung her plump, young legs wide, one falling over the back of the front seat, the other landing on the ledge in back. As David drove rhythmically into her she began a frantic, squiggly jiggling, squealing with his every thrust. Then she came; came and kept coming, her thrill ascending to epiphanies undreamed of, until David himself shot his second load, heaving it in one mercurial gush.
Two days after that, as they were kneeling in the hush of St. Donatien's Cathedral, Helen whispered to her cousin Mary that she had given up on the idea of "saving it for my husband," adding that "I'm not gonna fuck around, wasting my life, saving it for some dumb mechanic, who's getting his regular, right now . .
Mary said several lengthy prayers for her wicked, happy cousin.
But in the car, on the way to the Saturday night dance, David still complained in amazement, "But what I can't get over is that they go down on each other...." He marveled in silence for a while before remarking, "She has such good posture, Mary does
-but people with good posture are not always straight . .
"What?" said his less-sophisticated friend, the driver.
After the first summer at camp (and several other subsequent episodes), David began to worry that something was wrong with him. After all, none of his other buddies seemed to think that making it with a guy was a thing to feel good about. So David went to the library and stole some books on the subject. They wouldn't let a boy take the books out so that he could learn for himself what he was doing. They preferred, perhaps, to wait until the boy was a ruined man, and then he could have the books, to find out why he was hopelessly trapped in a world he really wanted no part of. He got all the recognized, standard classics on the subject: A Comprehensive Study of the Great Fags of History, A Place In the Toilet, The Pencil-Chewers, the controversial Suck My Cock, Nigger, and for pictorial references he even took a volume entitled The Layman's Guide to Hemorrhoid Surgery, which contained asshole art in glorious color. After reading these and many, many more, he came to the rational conclusion that he didn't seem to fit any of the classic patterns; so he decided that he simply liked fucking-with anyone, any kind of soft opening would do for David Cummings-and he decided to not let the fact worry him any further.
Aside from all that, in the car on the way to the dance he had realized that he was a confirmed cunt-hound. That was his main definition. Cunt-struck, as Karl Shapiro Said of Red Lewis. Cunt-struck, cunt-suck ... 'twas all the same. Cunt. Cunt was not a blessing-it was pure epiphany. As cock was not Christ-it was the cross of Christ. Being hung up on his cock was the most essential of his concerns. He always felt that the juice he left, wherever he left it, was a true gift of the most personal order. Whether it was to a woman or girl, man or boy-even a natural tree, or his thundering fist. It belonged all those places. The balm; honey; essence. That, he knew, was what it was for, yea, even to grace/grease the top of his fist. But those pockets of soft, raw flesh were fashioned for his come; his shaft for those cups. That was the nature of nature: there was no one way which was natural, to him-all ways were. And in his life he would fuck behind nature; fuck behind booze; fuck behind grass; fuck behind; fuck behind love; fuck behind law; fuck behind God; fuck behind pills; fuck behind; fuck behind the sofa; fuck behind music; fuck behind baby-making; fuck. Fuck....Fuck.
The sexual function had become the true, essential foundation on which he structured his young life. He even devised odd and wondrous ways to achieve or approach orgasm in public-sometimes without even touching himself! For instance, during gym classes in school, if they were sporting and frolicking outside, and the bell rang for them to go inside to shower and dress before their next class, David would shinny up the pole to the basketball backboard, reach out and grab the rim of the basket near the place where it was fastened to the board, swing his lean body out into space ... and hang there by his hands while his classmates would be funneling into the locker room. He would hang there, knowing that he was allowing himself to be late on purpose, grooving on the feeling, experiencing a tingle in his groin and balls, for some weird, psychological reason. And the longer he hung the more intensely he felt it. Frequently, while doing this, he would shoot hot come over, around, through, and into the cup of his jock-strap. Then he would become dizzy and weak, hang a moment longer, then drop to the cinder court. He would pick himself up and stroll back into the school, wearing the beatific smile which was so unnerving to the others.
The rest of the boys in his class would frequently sneak smokes in the boys' john.
Sometimes precocity is its own reward.
Like the time the guys had gone to a burlesque review called "Bits & Snatches." David made certain to be the first one down the aisle. Right away quick he spotted a likely prospect: a tall bleached blonde with a short fat-necked bald man, down near the front of the theater. There were more than enough seats in the row for all the others, so David forged ahead to that row and edged his way over toward the blonde (but not facing her), making believe he was perfecting the math of the situation, counting guys, counting seats, adding, subtracting, until his leg touched hers.
"Oh, excuse me, Ma'am," he said, with his winning smile. She, likewise, smiled at him, her tiny blue eyes flicking over his face and for a way down his body. David sat down next to her as the other boys witlessly shuffled to their places.
When the lights went down the other boys began giggling and punching one another, elbowing ribs and such-like, while the comics ran through the "Bits" part of the show. But that wasn't why David had come. Actually he hadn't come-which was why he had come.
When the "Snatches" came on his interest grew more lively. The first one had gotten no more than sixteen bars into her number, floating around the stage to the strains of "I Cover the Waterfront," trailing a diaphanous scarf behind her, before the woman next to him mumbled something which sounded like: "Phooey! What a pig! I could cut her stone cold!"
David could smell liquor in the draught of her breath and he looked at her. She looked at him. Her head was bobbing slightly and she smiled a crooked grin at him. Then she looked at her husband-or whoever the man was-and said, "I'm better'n that, ain't I, honey?" The man moved away from her and leaned on his opposite arm-rest. She turned back to David and wrinkled her nose in amiable distaste, saying, "I'm better than she is."
David smiled reassuringly at her.
She probably was better. It would have been difficult for a female Ouasimodo to be less attractive or sexually stimulating. The stripper was a short, dumpy brunette with droopy boobs for tits, a corrugation of flesh where, ideally, a flat, muscular belly should have been, small, heavy thighs and wide spatulas for calves ending in tiny feet. She was unusually graceful for someone so dumpy, but that grace was not a saving one-it only seemed to make her more grotesque, like an elegantly dressed hag. Only the least experienced and most desperately tumescent of the horny were not glad to see her go when the last note ended. And no one demanded an encore.
By the time they had worked up from the pigs to the star, who was exquisitely beautiful, with long, red hair and shapely, protracted legs, the lady on David's left had worked herself up, too. She kept muttering how much better she was than the pulchritude on stage, and the more the man on the other side of her ignored her performance, the more attention she devoted to David. She was supplely writhing in her seat in a very sexual, but intoxicated, routine of her own, her lower lip drawn down, revealing her lower teeth in a sexual snarl; her skirt was well above the top of her stockings and David could see the inviting cream of flesh in the darkness, beyond the darker stripe of nylon. She undulated there in her seat, moving her shoulders first forward, intensifying her already considerable cleavage, then backward, pushing her considerable tits out toward him, expanding their nose-cone niftiness, squirming, gyrating, almost pleading; and his eyes were no longer on the stage, but only on the woman who, though less desirable, was more accessible and real to him, and who performed for him alone.
She was thirty-five or forty, but beautifully preserved-or at least appeared so when dressed; he had no idea what sort of elastic bands and straps and cups and pads held her together under the red suit she wore. Perhaps she had even been a stripper herself at one time. She was certainly no older than some of the others who had just performed their ecdysiast arts there on the stage before them. David was more than hot and bothered, and right in front of her eyes he pulled his light topcoat over his lap, leaving it raised enough so that she could look down and see him unzip and deploy his straining red cock. Once he got it out he left it there, standing erect, alone, inviting her-he did not touch it. The blonde threw a sidelong glance at the man, who was not paying any attention to them, his eyes fixed in lascivious hunger on the swaying, prancing body of the redhead. The blonde (did she bleach her quim, too?) turned away from the man (while David shifted slightly toward her) and reached down under his coat and began jerking him off with a very practiced hand, at precisely the proper tempo for David. They both settled back, she stopped her wriggling, and she brought him off that rapidly. As she sensed he was coming she bent forward, dipping her head down in the darkness as he removed his coat, and his bulging, wailing cock disappeared inside her head for the finale as the five-piece band blasted into a final crescendo, and through half-lidded eyes David could see the beautiful redheaded stripper on stage looking directly down at the two of them, smiling broadly and winking, while David, below, exploded into a serial orgasm, coming-coming-coming-coming ... coming ... coming ... come ... come....
When the blonde was sure she had all he could give her she lifted her head from the darkness into the stage's reflected light and she smiled at David, her tongue quickly darting out to trap a random trickle of jism, which had begun to roll down to her chin. As she sat back in her seat while the house-lights were going on, she turned toward her companion, who was looking at her with thinly veiled suspi cion. She simply said, "Dropped my bag, sweetie," and turned to the bowing stripper, whom she politely applauded.
"She's really a prototype square," David said laconically to Neil, as Neil swung his father's Fury into the parking lot of the school where the dance was to be held. "I mean really-who needs a chick who wears Easter corsages in June?"
"Why don't you forget about her then, if she's so square?"
"Because I've never really fucked a square girl before-and I've got to know what that's like . .
"What about her cousin?"
"Aw, she wasn't really square. She was more like a closet hippie. She volunteered to go down on me, remember? But Mary! ... That one! ..."
"She gonna be here tonight?"
"I dunno," David said, waving the query away like a lingering fart.
She was dancing right near the door as they entered. She had insisted on that spot so that she might see if David Cummings came in, and if so, what whore he was with. She was relieved when she saw him, and saw that the whore was Neil, but she, of course, looked away as though she hadn't, and didn't care if she had.
David pretended to ignore her, too-and that girl was difficult to ignore! She was built almost exactly like her cousin, with two differences:
I) she was more slender all around, especially in the waist, and
2) her tits were enormous-and size 40-D, on a girl only slightly over five feet in height is no fucking less than spectacular!
Ring-a-ding, brothers! Yum-yum & Boobies'. And she had a prettier face, on top of it all-but how often did anyone look at that? Except if they were uptight and embarrassed. That was what made David so repellently attractive to her: he was so together that he would stare at those horizontal towers of flesh, glancing to her face only to answer a question occasionally.
Mary Carabotta had begun outgrowing other girls her age as early as ten, when her mother bought her her first bra. From then on it was no contest. The girls in her school and neighborhood (the wise ones, that is) just gave up on ever matching her and minded their own business. She didn't have too many girlfriends. Boys were another matter altogether; and early on she developed the suspicion that they only wanted her for her lovely tits, and that none would ever recognize the true, poetic beauty of her mind and soul-so it didn't take her very long to evolve a strictly hands-off policy, and that meant everyone. And more than one dance with her became an embarrassment of lust to both her and her partner, because of the inevitable erection which would surely ensue.
Her large black eyes flashed to see if David was watching. He wasn't. He had his back to her, talking to his dumb friend. She didn't care. She just got that queasy feeling in her more southerly regions; the one she frequently experienced when thinking about him, or seeing him: lean and beautifully muscled, with his longish brown hair, and the groovy way he dressed, so stylish in tight, form-fitting clothes. But she didn't care. She could even ignore the cunt-spasms which were then nearly destroying her brain, making her cerebrum a quivering mass of hypersensitive jelly.
As she was suffering these torments, David suddenly turned to her, smiled, nodded, gave a friendly little wave of the hand, and mysteriously disappeared through the swinging doors to the hallway beyond. He really didn't care about her. She was bewildered and almost ready to make a concession concerning her wonderful tits, in David's case. But no....
Once in the hall, David stealthily made his way to the cloakroom. It didn't take him long to locate her familiar green coat with the fake leopard-skin collar. He checked to make certain that he was alone and then he gently opened the coat and buried his face in the satin lining where it fell against those lovely tits. He inhaled deeply and imagined that he could smell the magic aroma of her sweet, naturally perfumed, supple flesh-which, naturally, made his prick brick-hard and reaching. Unable to bear it all, he zipped down and it sprang exposed like a suffocating man lunging from a finally unlocked closet. He made a satin-lined snatch of his hand and after seconds of furiously ecstatic masturbation he sprang off onto the lining of the coat. That would teach the cunt. Nobody fucks David Cummings around!
As he wiped his pendulous ram on the soft, exquisite fabric, something in her pocket bumped against his balls, startling him. He concealed himself, hiding his weapon once again, and inserted his hand into her pocket and removed a small book. Engraved in gold into the red cover were the words: The Selected Poems of Robert Browning. He was stunned.
Of course! he thought, excited.
Of fucking course!
He had finally psyched her out. He knew it; could feel it surging confidently through his loins. He had her locked. He thumbed through the book until he found an appropriate quote in the first three lines under the title "Andrea Del Sarto," quickly memorized it, closed the book again and installed it back into her pocket.
There, in a dumb, drafty, come-drenched cloakroom he found the key to his horny dilemma. Of all things ... he thought, as he made his eager way back to the gym. Christ am I dumb! Her tits had me faked out of my goddamn jock! He pushed through the doors and into the dance. He didn't see her right away-but she saw him soon enough to avert her eyes so that he could not see her see him.
Hoping desperately that he would come to her, she found herself falling away, in consciousness, from what the nonentity of a boy before her was saying-and then someone whispered into her ear:
"'But do not let us quarrel any more, No, my Lucrezia; bear with me for once: Sit down and all shall happen as you wish.."
"Browning...," she breathed in stunned rhapsody, as he guided her gently by the elbow, away from the hapless boy, past Neil (whose car keys he had deftly filched from his overcoat pocket). "You know Browning...."
"I don't know Browning," he told her softly, thrusting his tongue into the auricular swirl of her ear. "I embody him. I am Browning."
She was dizzy enough to faint as he got their wraps and led her to his friend's father's Fury and gently deposited her into the front seat. A boy, at last, who could love her mind and soul! He got into the driver's seat, looked into her eyes a long, liquid moment (forcing them from her magnificent tits), raised her hand in his and kissed it before switching on the ignition, gunning the engine and fairly peeling rubber out of the parking lot. He knew of A Place.
There, in the State Park, off the side of a utility road, behind huge, sheltering shrubbery, he stopped the car and reached across the seat, interrupting her thirty-seventh "You know Browning...." with a full, spreading, insistent kiss deep into her mouth. That brought her back to The Problem and she tried to hold him away. "No, David ... please...."
"You pretend to love and understand Robert Browning," he said in the most heartbreaking sort of voice, "and you treat me this way...."
"Please," she pleaded. "You're wrong. Recite more for me ... David . .
He hadn't had time to even read any more Browning, let alone memorize it. "I don't have to use another man's words to speak what is in my heart, Mary. I love you. I want you. Now, Mary. Please...." he said, taking her by the shoulders-and she let him kiss her.
She was faltering. Maybe she should. If he does love Browning-and he does understand everything....And besides, those distressing cunt-spasms were playing hell with her again, and....His hand was groping her tits outside her blouse, alternately touching one jug, and fumbling a button loose on its way to the other.
"No, please...." she said. "I can't....It isn't right. We shouldn't...."
But his tongue was lapping her neck, into her ear, across the top of her chest....And then he snuck in the zinger, to really secure his progress: "Do you want to go around for the rest of your life known as 'The Virgin Mary'?"
"No!" she gasped, horrified. "Who-who said that about me? Who calls me that?"'
"Everyone at your school. I hear it all the time," he said as he worked the final button open, while his other hand, already encircling her inside her blouse, artfully read the catch of her brassiere, negotiated the needed technique, and flipped it open. He was about to see them for the first time! An immaculate awe filled his being as he pulled the cups to one side and sat back to view her torso in its full glory. Astounding! They dropped not one inch when the bra was removed; they stood there, perfectly formed and monumental, as in a sex maniac's drawing, large, soft aureolae and nipples like the tips of her little fingers; two immense mountains of utter magic, sheltering the tiny gold crucifix which hung, almost hidden, between their magnificence. Christ of the Andes! ... He lunged forward from the waist in a vain attempt to engulf with his mouth that which would engulf him if his aim were not perfect.
She was a vessel of confusion: the shock of the reputation, which suddenly seemed silly and unnecessary; her upbringing, which loomed and receded in her mind; her cunt, which had begun copiously oiling and would not seem to stop; the electric, exciting kisses which were deluging her sensitive flesh; the helpless feeling of falling ... falling ... somehow unable to stop, feeling more and more helpless (and yet, wanting just that) as each new inch of her flesh was exposed to the night and the world and, most particularly, to this man, this young man, for the first time since she was a baby-it all merged into a thrilling throb which rocketed through her organs, making her weaker in the most delicious way imaginable. She felt a thrill-shock from the tender pippit of her left nipple zapping down to her oozing cunt, then at once careening back up to her head and back to her breast, completing the holy trinity triangle she felt inside, and she looked down to see the crown of that enormous mound of meat buried in David's sucking, undulating, wonderful mouth. He did things to her nipple with his tongue and she feared she might become addicted. His one hand cradled the breast he ate while the other found its way to her mound between her legs and worked past the silky, wet cloth to encompass the sweet, furry peach. She shuddered. His finger went up inside as he continued suckling her. After untold moments of this she found her own hand wandering uncertainly up to her other breast and, as intimately as if she were at home, alone, in her room, she began massaging its massiveness, circling down to the nipple with one finger, then stimulating it so that it stood more erect, taut and aching for she knew not what else.
David trembled, lurched and clenched behind incredibly painful fuck-fits. He wanted to out-and-out fuck; imbed his excruciating fleshstake into her dripping snatch. He knew if he didn't that he would carry that self-same hard-on around with him for the rest of his natural life. Her panties came off easily, and that was encouraging. Her blouse was still wide open and both beauties still boomed roundly out of the garment-and that was encouraging. He knew she was aroused because she seemed almost out of her mind, delirious, murmuring forbidden words like suck and fuck and "Oh, God, God, God cock my cunt...."
He led her out of the car and onto the grass, where he undressed them both. He took her, then, up into his arms, raising her high into the air, then lowering her so that his lunging cock slipped neatly and easily into her cunt, lowering her slowly until he could swear the tip of his lance reached all the way up into her boiling guts. Her arms around his neck, she broke into murmuring heaves, breathing "Oh ... oh ... oh ... oh ... oh...." He didn't move, but only held himself up inside her as deeply as possible-and she began to hug his cock with her vaginal sphincters. Amazing. A natural.
Her legs encircled him and locked at the ankles on the downward slope of his ass. He knelt in the grass, feeling the long-awaited bare tits against his belly as he tipped forward on his hands, gently lowering them to the ground. Then, in an amazing gesture of astounding will, he slipped himself out of her.
"No," she whispered huskily. "Wait-don't leave me-there must be more...."
"There's more," he assured her with a serious smile and he backed down, kissing, kissing, until he kissed her sex; then he began gobbling her deep, munching labial sandwiches, glorious sandwiches in his happy mouth as she writhed against the earth, rubbing her breasts, pulling up grass, enthralled to the very core of her being, pleasure mounting upon pleasure, her heart thundering all the way up into her head, her meaty hips thrusting and withdrawing, turning her into an ocean of unutterable joy.
David worked at her, wanting it to surpass perfection for her first time, playing her like a master musician would play a fine instrument, aware of every nuance, every tremor and sympathetic vibration, plunging his arched tongue into her fulsome slot, blowing up inside her, expanding the wet walls, then letting them contract as he took her clit between his teeth and bit just ... not ... hard ... enough ... to ... hurt-and she gushed forth a torrent of sounds and words and gestures and emotions, flooding him in the tow; and before she had recovered from that, he climbed her body there in the grass and offered up his ready-to-burst cock into the purse of flesh between those dazzled legs, and he mounted her, riding her back up along the breathtaking canyon walls, blinding her mind with the gorgeous orange sunset of his thrumming meat and muscle, pounding her mound with his, fusing with her-then coming apart-fusing again, their cells merging in a precious, urgent rapture, constructing a living monument, a life-lasting orgasm, plotting it with careful-but-abandoned improvisation, thrilling the air around them with vibrations of raw, graceful, hot and naturally driving sex.
Robert Browning could never touch it.
CHAPTER THREE
Corky wanted to begin her first day at State with complete independence, so she refused her father's nervous offer to drive her the two hundred miles to State's sprawling campus. She preferred, she said, to take the bus. The Cummings family always seemed to be parting from one another at railroad terminals and bus stations. The kissing and touching and tears took place as usual. Corky and David had passed the kissing-on-the-lips phase and were into the quick-peck-on-the-cheek stage. Mainly because David still sprang wang for his sister whenever their lips met-and it could be embarrassing. They preferred to do their necking in bed. Besides which neither of them approved of fruitless foreplay. Anyway, David had slipped it to her the evening before her anticipated departure.
While the amenities were taking place on the cool, shady platform, Corky's green eyes discreetly scanned the gaggle of fellow passengers, searching for an agreeable travelling companion. She spotted a likely one in no time at all: a dark (perhaps Latin-ate?) studly-looking sailor who stood wearily behind a large duffle bag. No doubt midway between home and his base, so tired and bored did he look; so lost and lonely ... so lean and sexy. Corky, with her natural, hungry hooker's aplomb, decided she would minister to him.
In her orgy of independence, Corky had insisted on working right up to the last day at the town library, in order to save enough money to buy a closetful of groovy things for her new life. School would officially begin two days hence, on Monday. Her family picked her up at work, took her out to dinner, and thence to the bus station. It was nearly seven o'clock when she boarded the huge, wheezing vehicle-carefully placing herself several passengers behind the sailor in the line. Exchanging kisses with her tearful mother and baby sister, Corky was preoccupied with the way the sailor's thighs bulged so muscularly beneath the blue material of his appealing uniform-and consequently she didn't hear a word of her mother's agitated warning about not talking to strangers, who might try to pick her up, or molest her on the bus. Once the parting had been effected and they had gone, she set herself for her next move. There might be trouble, she thought: directly in front of her in the boarding line was an obvious queen who was licking his lips, evidently over the sailor. The sailor seated himself near the back of the bus on the left-and the faggot was heading in that very direction in one large hurry. Corky hurried herself, and in her haste she became clumsy, lurching against the faggot's back, bumping him several stumbling steps past the empty seat alongside his innocent prey.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked the sailor, placing her purse and coat quickly and covetously down into the high-backed seat.
"No...." the sailor said, somewhat confused, having expected the inevitable, ubiquitous, fat, motherly matron, instead of this ripe-bodied young girl before him. "No, you can sit here. There's nobody sitting here. Sure...." he said, dusting off the furniture in question, straightening her purse and coat for her, so that there would be no doubt in her mind that she was very-even acutely-welcome.
Then Corky leaned back to the boy she had bumped and whispered, "Sorry about that Mary...."
The distraught and angry Wilde-thing was seating himself across the aisle, one seat to the aft, with a baleful stare. Her sailor was anxiously combing his shiny black hair.
"Would you watch my things for a moment?" she asked the uniformed young man.
"Sure," he said, afraid he would never see her again. "Sure I would....There's no one sitting here or anything ... and I mean the seat's empty and all...."
Corky retired to the toilet compartment, flashing a fifty-watt smile at the faggot as she passed him. Once inside the tiny phone booth of a lavatory, she hoisted her skirt over her hips and quickly removed the luxurious, black bikini briefs she wore under it, and rolled them into a small tube. She checked her face in the mirror, looked around the compartment, mentally cataloguing its facilities, gave her clit a stimulating flick (awakening her tepid blood), smoothed down her skirt, and went back to her seat, where she slyly slipped the panties into her purse. She smiled a pleasant, perfunctory smile at her companion and then turned her gaze out the broad window behind him. It was nearly eight o'clock and beginning to grow dark. That would suit Corky Cummings just fine.
"My brother's a sailor," she said to the young man. "I wonder if maybe you might know him."
"That kid with you back there at the station?" the sailor said, letting it slip that he had been aware of her trim ass and comely tits.
"Oh, no-not him. He's my younger brother, David. I mean my older brother, Robert."
"Oh-your older brother ... Robert...." he said, fishing into the suddenly turbulent pond of his mind for some semblance of a cool. "Robert! The same as mine!"
"Oh, your name is Robert, too! Isn't that blase?"
"Yeah," he said, not understanding French, but not wanting her to know that. "Gee-where's he stationed?"
"He's in Vietnam," she said, holding her cigarette while Robert fumbled in his shallow pocket for his matches. Corky suspected that his name was really Roberto or something Spanish like that.
"Yeah. Gee, that's tough. I sure hope I don't get sent there." She stared steadily into his black, black eyes. "What I mean is-"
"Oh, you don't have to explain. I'd hate it, too," she said, exhaling a haze of smoke between them. "Do you know why I wanted to sit here next to you, Robert?"
"Why?" he said, breathless, insanely hoping that every travelling man's fantasy would come true, right there, that night, in his arms.
"Because you're a sailor-and my brother's a sailor-and I feel safer with sailors than with any ordinary person you might meet on a bus. You never know," she said, looking around, letting her soft fingertips rest momentarily on the sailor's thigh, causing it to shudder violently. She pretended to not feel it. Instead she looked at the faggot, to emphasize her philosophy, and the faggot, who had snared himself a sailor, too, looked smugly back at her. His sailor lay back with his cute, white sailor cap tipped down over his eyes, snoozing. The sissy-boy screwed his face into a nasty expression and stuck his tongue out at Corky. She, in turn, winked at him, at the same time removing her fingers from the sailor's leg-not wanting to rush things along too quickly.
By the time total darkness had descended inside the bus, most of the passengers around them had scrunched down to try and sleep. Corky turned again to her sailor, smiling secretively. "Do you know why I really wanted to sit here next to you, Robert? I mean the really real truth?"
"Why?" he asked, still out of breath.
She leaned close to him and whispered, "It's because you have such fine, muscular thighs." And as she spoke her hand drifted over the surface of the left one of the pair, to feel those very muscles again spring to exertion, along with another muscle in a nearby member. She looked down and saw his prick stiffen into a seven-inch bulge down the inside of that thigh. She looked back up at his eyes and smiled. He smiled, too. Very, very nervously. Her fingers reached to the inside of his thigh and began tenderly stroking along the hidden shaft. Eight inches. She began to concentrate on the head area as she leaned forward and took his lips between her own, kissing him and stroking her avid tongue into his surprised mouth. It didn't take him long to forget his awkwardness and encircle her with his arms, drawing her to his side of the seat. He slipped his hand up under her blouse and began a rather good job of caressing her womanly tits. His wand seemed to be straining to get out of his pants-so Corky's expert fingers helped it to do just that. Free in the night air of the bus, it felt cool, though it had just been burning up. A soft sex odor wafted up to their nostrils, making Corky hungry. At Robert's stage of excitement he didn't care where they were, or who saw whatever it was that was to happen. Corky clasped the thick, erect rod in her hand and began jerking him off. Nine inches. Her hand commenced, slowly squeezing and releasing as she went to it; finally it flew up and down the shaft in a rapid, rhythmic pounding. Then she pulled her face away from his and bent forward toward his crotch to put the thing she so loved into her supple mouth, sucking him generously and well, slipping her tongue from side to side as the tool slid in and out of her mouth. A little over nine inches. She wanted to bring him up to ten, where he'd probably never been before. "If she had the raw materials to start with she knew she had the prodigious talent necessary to do just that. Robert's hips moved to complement her motions and in a short time he exploded into her mouth: one burst, then a pause, then a second burst; hot, boiling come squirting against the back of her palate, then down her gulping, undulating esophagus, as she swallowed, eagerly swallowed the heavy, wet nectar. She loved her mouth full of come. He squirted two more smaller loads into her head and sighed deeply as he began going limp. Robert had his, so his ardor had measurably cooled. But Corky continued circling the crown of his cock with her tongue and brought him back to attention, cleaning the shaft completely of any remaining, beloved-yea, even sacred, to her-jism.
"Shame on you, Robert," she admonished. "You haven't done me yet. Are you a selfish person? That's not nice."
"But ... h-how can we?" he said, understanding that for him to similarly service her would require an altogether different logistical permutation. He envisioned himself down on his knees in the aisle of a thundering Greyhound bus, stockinged legs flung about his shoulders, gobbling away frantically at some strange college girl's twat.
She winked, smiling at him, continuing her stimulation of his sated dong. "I'll go back to the john-you wait a minute, and then you follow me back. I'll let you in," she said, giving his schvantz a final, loving pat before getting up to leave. The other sailor was still sleeping and his somehow emboldened seat-partner had begun stroking his cock in an almost identical way to that in which Corky had stroked Robert's at first. The sleeping sailor had a more than respectable bulge reaching up to his navel, "Good luck," she whispered to his lover. That time she got a smile back. Sisters under the skin, she thought. The Colonel's lady and Molly O'Grady....Cock sure makes the world go 'round....
Having been in the tiny toilet earlier, Corky had mapped out tenable positions, and had decided on one by the time Robert timidly pushed into the darkened, minuscule compartment.
"Are you sure-" he began to say.
"Yes, I'm sure," she interjected, sealing his lips and whipping down his trousers at the same time. He had maintained his rod. Corky placed her back against the outside wall and her left foot on the opposite wall, about waist-high, near the door. Then she did the same with her right, surrounding him with succulent flesh. "Well, Robert?" she said pleasantly. "Are you going to sock it to me or not? Because if you're not I'll feel pretty silly in the event that someone should walk in and see me here, hanging from the goddam walls in this compromising position. Would you please lock the door first?" The amazed Robert looked first over one shoulder, then the other, then he reached behind himself and snapped the lock closed. "There. Now let's start shoving that big, red prick around, baby. Put it to good use."
Her sheer aggressiveness excited him to abandon his timorousness and he slipped it up inside her in one shove, placing his hands under her fine, round ass, holding her up some, while he worked himself in and out, she writhing there, suspended in space, grinding her cunt and its surrounding flesh against him, feeling the great glans nudging against the sensitive opening of her uterus. She was determined to one day find a man whose head could actually part the tender breach and enter into her sacred womb. But in the meantime she got all she could out of Roberto, hugging his ass to her crotch, shoving, pulling, grinding, and every organ in her luscious body began its familiar trembling vibrations (familiar, but she would never tire of their delectableness), and she emitted tiny, grunting screams as she neared the thrill of her climax-and then she spilled over into ecstasies and joy, pounding, pounding her snatch against his hilt and mound until all the beauty in the universe drained into her oiling, squirting, snapping quim.
Minutes later, as she passed the fag's seat, she saw his curly head moving up and down on the still-sleeping sailor's giant cock. (The sailor was dreaming that he was being sucked off by the gorgeous blonde who was sitting one seat ahead and to the right of his own.) From the looks of things, the effeminate young man had got the better of the bargain, it seemed to Corky-but she was not the kind to complain. She knew that she was still young yet, and that there would surely be other times ... other joy-glands to suckle on.
After taking Robert's address and promising to write him (though she knew she never would), she disembarked from the bus near midnight in the moderate-sized city, and took a cab to the hotel where she had earlier made a reservation. An hour after that she was lying across the first hotel bed she had ever graced, thinking about going back down in the elevator to the lobby and out into the strange city to possibly hunt up some fresh, fuckable, suckable horns ... when she fell asleep. She was more tired than she thought. She slept soundly ... soundly, as do only the innocent....
The following day she was able to take a room at Snavely Hall, her dorm, fortunately acquiring one with a rather pleasant third-floor view of the campus around the Quad, which was replete with trees and grass and bright colonial architecture. The weather was becoming brisk, but the trees had not yet begun to change in their annual spectacular extravaganza of color and aroma. She anticipated that enthusiastically. There were things in life that Corky loved beside balling her brains out. There would be hayrides and sleigh rides and winter foreplay rides to the stars. She walked around the small room, her arms folded, imagining what would go where and what she would put on the salmon-colored walls. Pennants? Hardly. That was not her scene at all. Pictures: that poor, lovable little sparrow, Dylan. A sparrow with boots. Mick Jagger, with his sneering, lascivious lips. Jim Morrison, who was pretty enough to be competition, but who, she thought, would probably fuck like a pile driver. And a huge, gigantic, full-color poster of Jimi Hendrix and his electric prong. She wondered what the Jimi Hendrix Experience would be like. And the Noel Redding Experience. And the Alvin Lee Experience. Are you Experienced? Have you ever been Hindrixed? Or Jimied? Doors have been notoriously jimmied-but have they been Jimied? Have the Doors been Creamed? Or the Airplane?
And on and on and on went her fertile imagination as she designed and decorated the room she would live in for the next four years, while she learned how to teach-or compute-or heal-or design-or God knew what. Corky didn't, at that point; she thought she would sample and see. Though she was matured in some ways, she was wise enough to know that she would need more time to make up her mind about what she wanted to do with her life. Professionally, that is. Ten years earlier she knew she wanted to be a cowboy-and she had changed her mind about that, certainly. Who was to say that if she felt she wanted to be a physicist at seventeen, she wouldn't change her mind again when she was twenty-one and want to be a tap-dancer or something? On the other hand she had always loved the romance languages....Or perhaps she could become a Joyce scholar and learn how to translate his work into Swahili ... all those poor Africans who would never read the man.
Having nothing better to do then, after getting her things put away and in order, she decided to continue her exploration of the campus. Corky was not a compulsive person, but she did like to know where things were in her environment. So, armed with a mapped booklet supplied by the college, she strolled the groves, wandering around the stadium, the Student Union, the complex of buildings which housed the medical school and the law school, the campus-oriented shoppes: malt shoppes, rathskellars, drugstores featuring college necessities (Enovid, prophylactics, Cuprex, A-200, sanitary napkins, hamburgers, aspirin, amphetamines, Lysol, penicillin), and bookstores which carried condensations of all required reading, crib sheets, two-dollar porn novels for the liberated-but-lonely, Tolkien classics for the acidheads and magical-minded, Che and Eldridge for the politicos, and textbooks for the mousy grinds. All in all she was impressed with the place and she thought that she would enjoy her stay at the school while deciding what it was she wanted to do with her life. The business part.
Late in the afternoon she headed back toward the dorm, having pretty well isolated each section of the campus and Srmly inscribed in her mind the locations of all the places she thought she might need to know about. A block away from Snavely she saw a tall, slender girl struggling with two valises; she would walk ten steps, stop, put them down, shake out her arms, lift them, walk ten steps ... Corky trotted up alongside her and said, "Hi! Can I help you with one of those?"
The girl had an angular, high-cheekboned face and light blue eyes. She smiled cautiously and then said, "Whew! Boy ... thanks!" They began walking, toting the heavy load. "I oughta have my silly head examined for trying to take everything all at once like this...."
"Are you heading for Snavely?" Corky asked the girl, deciding that she was pretty; pretty in a truly classical way. She also speculated that she was probably a freshman like herself.
"Yes," she said. "Are you staying there, too?" Corky nodded and told her, "It seems really nice. I'm sure you'll like it. Is this your freshman year?" The girl nodded a bit shyly, having been a freshman twice before: once in junior high school, and then again in high school. "You?" she asked Corky.
"Yes. My first term, too. Isn't it exciting?"
They chatted and discovered where each other's home was, what they wanted to major in and such-like. The girl, whose, name was Cynthia, wanted to teach school: seventh grade. As they approached the buff-colored building down a trim, neatly manicured walk, Corky said, "Hey, listen: I don't think they've probably given me a roommate yet. If you want, why don't you ask them to put you in my room? It's up on the third floor, on the corner, and it's got a great view of the Quad on one side, and you can even see a small piece of the river on the other."
Cynthia smiled, flattered to her tummy that she had barely gotten into town and there was someone being nice to her already. Cynthia had a problem: she was painfully shy, and had fervently hoped to turn over a new leaf at college and try to be more outgoing and vivacious. She had tried with an elderly couple on the train down to State, but it had come off in a disappointingly bad way: they thought that she was on drugs, or at least a wee bit psychotic. People in high school thought she was a snob, when she was really just shy. She felt comfortable with Corky, though-and so she agreed to her suggestion. They arranged it and Corky took her new friend up to show her the room. They chatted and giggled girlishly and Cynthia was pleased with herself, so pleased, because she could almost feel the shyness disappearing, evaporating like perspiration in a cool autumn wind.
Corky allowed her to choose which bed she wanted, as a first gesture of friendship, and as Cynthia was putting her clothes into her dresser, the inevitable question was asked-inevitable, that is, to Corky. No one had ever asked Cynthia before, so she wasn't like other girls in that respect. In fact she was shocked.
"A virgin?" she said, shocked to her trembling twat. "Did you say am I 'a virgin'?"
"Sure. What's wrong with that? Are you?" Cynthia turned her head away, which didn't prevent Corky from seeing the crimson glow of her neck. "Hey-what's the matter? Did I say something wrong?"
"No-no, it's okay," the other girl said, fighting back the shock and shyness, the fear and distress. "I-uh....Yes. I am. Aren't you?"
"Christ, no!" Corky told her, walking to her package of cigarettes on the nightstand and lighting one. "Not for a coon's age! I don't know-are there any more virgins? Oh yes-I guess there are; you said you're still one." Corky said this not with any malice or mean feelings, but as though Cynthia had confessed some rare and hideous malady to her, and Corky sympathized. "Well, don't let it worry you, Cyn-you won't be forever," she commiserated. "Someday They'll Find A Cure." Cynthia then had to fight the surging feeling that perhaps she had made a mistake in consenting to be this strange, frank creature's roommate. What might happen? But she could see that Corky was merely being forthright, not evil or slutty or anything like that. She commanded her mind to be open to her and what she was saying. "God!" Corky went on. "If I still had that to worry about, along with what I want to be in life, and all-I'd really be a psycho case!"
Cynthia considered that as she absently gathered up her robe, soap and shampoo. She had to admit that it truly was a great source of anxiety for her-and that she did spend an awful lot of her time thinking about it. Too much time, for a bright, Christian girl like herself.
"Where are you going?" Corky asked her, afraid that she was going to the shower room and that she would undress there rather than in their room.
"Huh? Oh-to take a shower. I'm absolutely grimy. Where did you say it was, again?"
"Out the door, turn left, and you'll see it down at the end of the hall ... Rats....
"Okay. I'll see you in a while," Cynthia said, slipping into her rubber clogs and scuffing and flapping down to the directed quarter. The dorm was beginning to accumulate pubescent bodies as the twittering girls registered at the desk, thence to ascend in the elevator in twos and threes. She hoped that there wouldn't be anyone in the shower room-and then she reprimanded herself, reminding her mind that she would be spending four long years there, and that she had darned well better get used to it. She pushed open the door and to her dismay discovered six stall showers-open-fronted stall showers!-and she started to leave before she realized that there were others in the room: one showering, several at stool, several others shampooing and drying their hair, and a knot of eternal gossipers. She couldn't leave. She battled her mounting hysteria as she undressed, showing as little of her front as possible to them (like an ostrich, she somehow felt that if she couldn't see her backside, her long, lovely, pear-shaped buttocks, then neither could they, and she finally stepped into the nearest stall at the end. After washing her front for ten minutes she decided that she would ultimately have to turn and do her back. Just as she did, in walked Corky, who stopped directly in front of Cynthia's stall, her eyes slowly traveling over her long body, while Cynthia copiously lathered her snatch and covered her tits. Cynthia tried to smile.
"You've got a lovely body, Cynthia," Corky said.
"So have you," she answered automatically, through a blush, though, of course, she had no way of knowing what kind of body her roommate had-she was just returning a compliment, the way she had been conditioned to do. As Corky walked to one of the other stalls, Cynthia tried to deal with strange and confusing feelings rising in her mind about that which had just occurred: somehow there was a tide of ... excited peace flowing over her. She could finally bring herself to look over, past the partitions, to Corky, who, under the splashing spray of water, smiled at her and winked, then batted some droplets of water in her direction; and Cynthia returned her assault in kind. Soon the two of them were in a giggling, abandoned, rainy water fight-and Cynthia had come somewhat unglued.
Back in their room, Cynthia sat on her bed bundled in her large, terrycloth robe and flannel pajamas, her knees drawn up, excitedly spilling out the wretched story of her crippling bashfulness for the first time in her life, pausing only occasionally to make herself look at Corky's ample, well-shaped breasts, and the reflection of her pussy in the mirror, as Corky sat naked, brushing out her honey-blonde hair in long, graceful strokes. "And, like, I've always been this way! Ever since I was just a little kid, I guess, probably, it's because my parents are so ... stern and everything, you know? I mean so ... tight about everything. You know ... I've never seen a naked person in my life!"
"Oh, come on, Cyn-you must have! Didn't they have gang-showers after gym class in high school? Or something like that?"
"Well, if I ever have seen one I don't remember it. Except for little kids under four or five...."
Corky whirled on the seat, her naked butt and moist snatch squeaking on the plastic, and she opened her arms like a model, pressing her knees together discreetly and tilting them to one side, saying, "So look! Nothing under the sun to be ashamed of. The human body is a beautiful, beautiful thing; something to be admired and loved-not hidden and ashamed of. Why don't you take off your clothes for once? You'll be surprised at how liberating it can be. I think it would be good for you if you could do that. Go ahead, Cyn. You'll see." She rose and, going to her side, rested her hand on the tall, slender girl's shoulder. Then she let her hand fall to the collar of the other's robe and began gently pulling it aside.
"Don't!" Cynthia snapped. "I-I mean ... I'm sorry....But I'll do it myself. Let me. It will be better if I do it all by myself...." she said, just as would a little girl. Corky shrugged and went back to brushing her hair. The two girls' eyes locked in the early-evening-light reflection of the mirror.
"I won't look at you while you do it-if you'd rather I didn't," Corky said.
"No ... that's....Whatever you feel like...." she said, removing the robe and laying it softly across her bed. Then she remembered the shades and she went and closed all three, then walked back to her bed. She unbuttoned her top and opened it slowly, then decisively spread it wide and maneuvered her way out of it, dropping that, too, on her bed, 'alongside her robe. She held her wrists out in front of her nipples, not touching, but only shielding them. Then she turned toward Corky, who was concentrating on her hair-brushing. "Corky...."
Corky looked up at the reflection of the girl again. Her hair was almost dry, but she continued brushing it with sensual gestures. "Well?...."
Cynthia knew that it wasn't enough; there was more to go. She had to get herself stone-naked-or it wouldn't mean a thing. Corky looked back at her own reflection and continued brushing (looking back at the slender torso when she knew Cynthia couldn't see her). Cynthia unsnapped the metal fastener at her waist and slid her cool hands, palms inward, down over her hips and spread the elastic band, bending down and raising first her right foot out of the garment, then her left. Corky had turned to watch, admiring the slight curve of her smallish but well-shaped mams; the graceful curve of her back into the angular flow of her hips and ass, down to her long thighs (which were longer than Corky's own). As she turned uncertainly toward Corky, Corky forced herself not to look at the girl's muff, but rather at her eyes, which questioned Corky's own; questioned the rightness of what she was doing; questioned Corky's friendship; questioned her own hangups; questioned the undeniable wash of freedom which was coming over her, baptizing her in electric ablution-and Corky's eyes substantiated its rightness. Cynthia gradually straightened herself and her chin lifted higher than normal as her eyes slowly closed in a quiet rapture, her arms coming away from her body in release. Release. Then and only then did Corky allow herself to look upon the girl's sweet, umbrageous cunt, with its tiny, silky ringlets of hair. Corky stood and walked to her roommate, kissing her softly on her downy cheek. She tasted tears, which streamed from the outer corners of the taller girl's eyes.
"There," Corky said softly. "Don't you feel freer now than you ever have in your life before?"
So great was Cynthia's smile that it strained credulity. Her tear-filled eyes opened on her new friend and she threw her arms wide and clasped Corky to her breast. "Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she said ecstatically. "I can even touch you! God!" And she became aware of Corky's large-beautiful, she thought-breasts under her own, against her clean flesh, her ... super-sensitive beauties ... TITS! resting on, pressed against another human's! Then she stepped away, a concerned expression suddenly etched onto her face. "Oh, Corky-you don't think....I mean, because I hugged you and everything...." She was aware that Corky hadn't embraced her back, and she was afraid that Corky might have thought....But Corky stepped up to her, erasing the void Cynthia had mistakenly created.
"No, you dear, wonderful girl," Corky said, embracing her, feeling her joy as she abandoned her hands once more and re-embraced Corky, the release of a joyous laugh chiming in the quiet room. And as she did, Corky began moving her hands over Cynthia's body, saying, "Go ahead: touch me. Move your hands. You'll see. It's wonderful. It's beautiful, the body-not wrong. It is a pure perfection." And though she could not see the expression on Cynthia's face, she accurately imagined the wonder thereon, as the girl slowly moved her long fingers and palms down, down to Corky's hips-as Corky's palms moved to hers-then back up to the shoulders, around, down, down, the two of them pressing together there in the Autumn night. Corky touched Cynthia's breasts at their sides, then stepped away, pressing the other girl's hand to her own ripe-melon globes, saying, "Feel....See?" And she could see the excitement on her face. Corky drew the palms of her hands gently, softly over the small mounds, stirring her nipples-and Cynthia, following, did the same, her wonder-filled eyes closing and opening, opening and closing at the rapture. Then Corky's hand moved down and down and down over the belly, making them both shudder and grow weak in the knees, and Cynthia's hands fell limply to her sides, and they stood, two feet apart, Cynthia's head dropped back, her neck curved exquisitely, Corky's hands avidly and intently exploring the belly, hips and thighs of the other until Cynthia was in such a blissful swoon that Corky took her hands in her own, allowing her to slowly, gracefully lean back onto Corky's bed. Corky helped her down, making her comfortable, cooing, "Such a lovely, beautiful body...." And she began to love it with her moist lips and tongue, as well as her soft hands, tracing curves, rises and valleys, kissing nipples, tonguing them into helpless, divine erection, compassing her cunt, but not yet touching it, teasing it until she saw the other's hips begin lifting themselves from the bed to meet the searching, stroking hand, whimpering and writhing as she did. Cynthia was feeling a wildly intimate and sexual feeling of love simply from being in Corky's bed, and finally, knowing what she must do, Corky slipped her hand down all at once, slithering it through the precious, silky hair, curving the first two joints of the middle fingers into the opening, then at once slipping them all the way up inside, in and out, in and out, and the poor creature nearly came apart at the seams with the ecstasy of it all, fucking at her friend's firm but gentle hand. After Corky had allowed her to taste the deep beauty of that for a while, her fingertips found Cynthia's rigid clit and began massaging it. Then Corky could no longer bear it and her face flew to the other's luscious crotch-mouth, engulfing it at first, then spreading the outer labial mass with her thumbs and pushing her face deep as it could be pushed, loving the clit with her tongue and teeth, ordaining her, rolling up onto the bed with her, throwing one leg over her body, dropping her juicy, oozing cunt just inches from Cynthia's face. It took but a moment before the inexperienced girl grasped Corky's haunches and returned in kind, burrowing up into the quivering, undulating mass of soft, raw flesh, and she fell to sucking and tonguing and doing to Corky everything she could feel Corky do to her, wanting to please as much as she herself had been pleased by her wondrous and loving new friend.
Cynthia came first-and it was sheer beauty for them both to behold. She came thrashing, sucking, gobbling, weeping, moaning, and it was a reason for life. And when she found that she could make Corky come-and cause such bliss in another, in Corky-it was another reason for life. Then, exhausted, grateful and in peace for the first time ever, she fell asleep in Corky's warm, loving arms, under her caring caresses.
CHAPTER FOUR
"Awww . .
"Please!.."
"Carole?..
"No!"
"Christ!"
"God!..
"Shit!"
"Hmmph."
"Carole?...."
"What?"
"Please?...."
"NO!"
"Why?"
"Because."
"Sick?"
"No!"
"So?...."
"NO!"
"Aww...."
"David?...."
"Yeah?...."
"Ummm...."
"Yes?"
"Well...."
"Ah!...."
"Wait."
"Ohhh...."
"Okay."
"Mmmmm."
"Where?"
"Mmmmm."
"Where?"
"Mmmhere...."
"Here?...."
"Yeahmmm . ."
"Well...."
"Mmmmm...."
"Careful."
"Baby...."
"Watch!"
"Luscious...."
"Sorry."
"Da-vid!"
"Ouch!"
"Well?"
"Wow!"
"Heh."
"Mmmmm."
"Comfortable?"
"Mmmmmyes...."
"Unnhh."
"Oooooh...."
"Unnhh."
"Ohhhhh . ."
"Unnhh."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Unnhh."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Unnhh."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Unnhh."
"David!"
"Unnhh."
"Watch!"
"Unnhh."
"Ooohhh."
"Unnhh."
"Ooo ... please!"
"Unnhh."
"Don't!"
"Unnhhwon't."
"Ooohhh...."
"Unnhh."
"Ooohhh....
"Yarehhhnnnnahhhh!...."
"EEEEEEEEEE."
"Ooops!"
"No!...."
"C.od...."
"Well...."
"Oh!...."
"But...."
"Shithead!"
"Carole...."
"Oh!..
"Please...."
"Oh!"
"Sorry...."
"Well...."
"Okay?...."
"Well...."
"Good."
"More."
"More?"
"Yes."
"Heh."
"Mmm ... mmmm...."
"Baby...."
"Sweet...."
"Unhhh."
"Ooohhh . .
"Unnhhh."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Unnhhh."
"Ohhhhh...."
"Unnhhh."
"David!"
"Oh shit. Yessir?"
Mr. Cummings strode from the open door, where he had been standing in his moment of shock, to the reception room's leather couch. "David, for God's sake, what is the meaning of-Just what do you call this?"
"This, sir?" he said, leaning up off the mortified girl, on one elbow. "You mean ... this--?" he continued, gesturing between himself and his father's secretary. "It's called 'fucking', I think, sir...."
His father raised his arm across his chest in a classic backhand gesture. David proffered a courtesy cringe. "I ought to slap you silly, you smart mouthed, snot-nosed punk! What if someone beside myself had walked in here? What then, bright boy? What do you think this is? This is my office, young man! This is my secretary!"
"We've met, sir."
"... People come and go out of this office all the time!"
"Yessir."
"And Carole-I'm ashamed of you! I didn't realize that you were this kind of girl when I hired you...."
"Oh Mister Cummings...." the girl said hopelessly, as she arranged her clothing, temporarily kicking her red lace panties back under the couch with the heel of her pump.
"Sir-please don't be hard on Carole," David said, nearly giggling aloud over the image of "Hard-on Carole."
"It was all my fault; I talked her into it."
"David! You don't talk a girl into something like this!"
"Oh, Dad, yes....Yes, you do. At least I did. It can be done, sir ..."
"David ... David ... David...." his father said, as Carole disappeared from the office in humiliation and job-panic.
"Dad-I had to introduce myself, didn't I? I mean, you weren't-"
"I know how you mean that, you young scoundrel-and its not funny!"
"Yessir. But really. Dad-don't fire her...."
"That'll be up to me," Mr. Cummings said, storming to the door to his inner office and pointing to it. "Get in there."
Preceded by his irate father, David entered the office and went directly to the chair opposite his father's broad Danish Modem desk, flopping (as well as one can flop on such furniture) on the severe chair. "It's just this kind of nonsense that I wanted to talk to you about. It's why I told you to be here this afternoon-and look! Just look at what happens! I simply don't know what to make of you, David...."
"Dad-it's just the antics of a healthy, normal, growing, American, teen-aged schoolboy, that's all. Think about it. I'm sure you'll-"
"I've thought about it, thank you! And I don't remember hearing about other kids getting caught at it all the time, at least as much as you do! For Heaven's sake, David-don't you have any ... any ... discretion?"
Mr. Cummings did not know-nor would David tell him-that David's secret ambition wish for himself was that, being that cornucopia of delicious sin, he' would someday be banned by both Boston and the Legion of Decency.
"It's not that, Dad-it's just that I'm not as ... as reticent as other guys, you might say," David told him thoughtfully. "Yes ... yes ... you might say that...."
"Reticent?" his father told him, with middle-aged amazement. "Reticent?" He fairly bounded to his feet again, and began a decrepit, panther-like pacing around his son's chair, staring at the boy in astounded horror. His little son, David-caught three times in as many months flagrante delicto! Three times! The first time, with a neighbor girl, was shocking enough; but the succeeding two times made the situation intolerable for his family. The second time he was discovered by the principal of his school, utterly stark-o, as was his art teacher, Miss Cravage, and he was fucking the mother loving buns off the harlot, on the floor in the back of her very own classroom! She was, of course, summarily dismissed from her job at the school, and David was suspended from classes for a month and remanded to the custody of the assistant minister of his family's church. The teacher, it was said, had fled the city, knowing her reputation there was destroyed. But the third time! The third time was with his very own aunt! Uncle Punky had come home from work early one afternoon and found his wife Hazel and his nephew having at one another in a sweaty humping match atop his very own Sealy Posture pedic! Naturally Uncle Punky had to put in a roaring bitch to his wife's sister's husband, in an hysterical, screaming confrontation, which ultimately began to bore David, causing him to tell his uncle, "If you took care of her properly, things like this wouldn't happen." Which nearly gave everyone in attendance apoplexy. The truth not only hurts-it can sometimes almost destroy: Uncle Punky and Aunt Hazel went through the normal three-day period where they were going to dissolve the marriage. Then, instead, they both went into therapy, and besides that they began seeing a bachelor marriage counsellor. And Mrs. Cummings herself went into therapy, after nearly having a coronary from this latest news about her son and her sister.
They tried to force David to see a shrink, also; but he refused, saying, "Are you out of your minds? I should go to a doctor because my aunt happened to be hot for my body, and I happen to be, like any normal guy my age, horny myself a lot-so I did something about it. What's the hassle? She takes pills, doesn't she? Neither of us has the clap or anything. Tell me what got hurt besides Uncle Punky's delicate pride, and your personal sexual hang-ups?"
"Shame An' Scon-dal In De Forn-a-lee . .
The Pleasure Principle: If it feels good-DO it! And David, as young as he was, understood The Principle better than most of his elders, elders who are "elderly" long before their time; who deeply resent those who act out their very own desires-the ones they deny with every conceivable psychic muscle (the inconceivable ones are the ones which do them in, in the long run); elders whose petty, niggling complaints seem the only spice in the dull soup of their lives; elders who bear the same cowardly stripe as those who hounded, jailed and committed Sade and Reich; elders who make psychic hunchbacks (like themselves) of the children they claim to love, but whom they would as readily (more so!) sacrifice on the altars of ignorance as the Aztecs would on the altars of their religions. They would just as soon crucify a David Cummings, to be rid of his reminder-if they didn't suspect there to be so many, many his age like him today.
"So what's up, Dad?"
"David-I've got a job for you. I wish to God I could have gotten you one in some kind of construction work; something more physical-so you could work off some of your ... energies, as it were....But you know how impossible the construction trade unions are. The nepotistic bandits....Why don't you go in for sports any more? Summer's coming, you know-you could join one of the local sports teams or play basketball down at the schoolyard playground. David?"
"Huh?"
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yessir; you said you'd gotten me some kind of a job or something . .
"The sports, David! Sports! You really should try to get more exercise."
"I get plenty of exercise, Dad."
"That's not the kind I mean!" his father snapped, grousing and wiping his perspiring face with a handkerchief. "I don't know....Anyway, I asked Mister Hocker if he had anything for you to do around the drug store-"
"Mister Hocker? That pig? I don't want to have to work for him!"
"Now you just keep a civil tongue, young man."
"Why can't you get me a job here? Selling or delivering or something...."
"David-this firm manufactures ladies' undergarments. Do you think I'm crazy? Do you really think for one minute that I'd let you work anywhere in this organization? I can see the headlines now:
SEX-CRAZED STOCK BOY
RUNS AMOK ON SOUTH STREET!
RAPES FIVE!
Un-uh. Not on your rotten young life. You'll go to work for Hocker beginning Monday. At least it'll keep you out of mischief for forty hours a week. I'll have to come up with something for the rest of your time . .
"Why don't you just have me arrested and thrown in jail-or pilloried? Then you wouldn't have to worry about me at all," David said, rising to leave.
Monday morning at 9:17 sharp, David reported to Hocker's Drug Store.
"You're seventeen minutes late, David," Mr. Hocker told him. "Please try to be on time from now on. The first thing you have to do every morning is remove the gates from the front doors and carry them down to the basement. I had to pay a neighborhood boy fifty cents to do it today, and I don't want to have to do that again. Is that clear?"
"Yessir," David told him, nodding a good morning to Mrs. Hocker, a buxom woman in her thirties, who smiled out from her cage at him. David wondered if she put out.
She did. Before lunch that very day. It was really weird. David was in the basement stacking cases of cosmetics, sanitary napkins, candy and sundry products, when he heard the clear, sexy click of spike heels on the stairs above the nook in which he was stacking. The fire-door opened behind him and in walked Mrs. Hocker. She almost didn't see him back in the slot between cases and boxes and she had to return a few steps to verify the impression that he was there.
"Hello there, David. How's it coming?" she said, with a strange smile, which looked to David to be bordering on something as unpleasant as ... irritation?
"Oh, fine, I guess," he told her, straightening a load of Pond's cold cream on top of another case like it.
Her smile changed as she studied his face more closely. "I'll just bet you're a wow with the girls, a good-looking boy like you."
"So-so," he told her.
"Do you have a regular steady girlfriend you see all the time or something?"
"No. I ... play the field, you might say. Yes-you might say that...."
"Do you play fair?" she asked with sly coyness, giving him a ruddy nudge with her hip. She had square, meaty hips and rocket-nose-cone tits. And, he had noticed earlier in the morning, very shapely legs; short, but shapely. He realized then that he had never seen more of her than from the waist up, behind the bars of the cage she worked in, selling stamps and taking care of postal matters. It also occurred to him that he had always vaguely thought of her as being rather vertically partitioned, too. And now, there she was, standing her full five-two, with no up-and-down lines. Her cage opened on one side to the area where her husband filled prescriptions, behind a swinging door. She sat on a stool, her back oddly arched, which seemed to emphasize the powerfully structured bulge of her rump, and further enhance the thrust of her tits. She did have queenly nates and a lusty bust-and she knew it. It was truly strange to David, having known Mrs. Hocker nearly half his life, to realize that he had really only known half of her-the half that talked and was capable of nursing a pair of babies simultaneously (which she once had to do, having borne twin daughters), not the half which was capable of walking and servicing the loathsome mountain of flesh that was her husband, the pharmacist. He wondered how she could bear it.
But then, on a humid June morning, in the gloom-suffused dungeon of the Hocker's Drug Store basement, she was asking him if he "played fair", and "Do you get much? Huh?" with a cunning wink. "I'll just bet you have every girl at school all hot and bothered when they're around you, don't you? Huh?"
"Well...." David said, blushing a shy, boyish and utterly charming flush (he could do that at will). She really had a rotten, tacky line, he knew that-but she probably didn't get around too much. "Nothing built as good as you," he told her. "You're really something else, Missus Hocker-all the guys I know say so...."
She beamed, turning her plump body into a modified profile, cornily running her hands over her curves, down past her tightly cinched waist and over her hips. David really wanted to tell her that she needn't have gone through the cheap, B-movie hooker business if all she wanted was for him to fuck her. But he didn't want to confuse her routine by saying so. It might have blown her mind and screwed the deal. "You ever touch a breast like this one, David? I mean really; one this large?" she asked, outlining it for him, as though he couldn't have seen it without her having done that.
"No, I haven't," he lied, his mind lusting after thoughts of Mary Carabotta's really winner tits.
"Would you like to sometime?"
"Gee ... sure...." he said, playing his part as he felt was expected of him.
"Come on with me, then," she said, turning and stumbling over a small carton of Jergen's Lotion. "You should keep those out of the aisles, David."
"Yes. I know."
She stepped out around the boxes and walked toward a dark, arcane recess somewhere way back at the deep, unused end of the basement.
"What if Mister Hocker comes down and sees us?" David asked, not really caring. It would have served his asshole old man right. The very first clay! He would have absolutely shit!
"Don't worry about Mister Hocker," she said. "He never comes down here. He's too fat to manage the stairs." She was unbuttoning the florid blouse she wore.
"Was he this fat when you married him?" David asked, curious about the match and things like that.
"Not quite," she said. It was so fucking dark David couldn't have seen Annette Comer if she was standing there en deshabille. Mrs. Hocker took his hand and led him around a corner where it was even darker. He was hoping that she really wasn't a vampire disguised as a horny housewife when he heard her negotiating the latch on a door. In a moment she turned a light on. It was a small room, perhaps eight by ten, containing a single, red-satin-sheeted bed, a small red-lacquered end table with an ashtray ... and that was all-except for the fact that three of the walls were lined ton to bottom with mirrors, and the floor was littered with rancid nests of soiled and torn jockey shorts.
Mrs. Hocker turned, smiling, toward David and said, "You can call me Ida, David." And she began removing her b'ouse, leering at the shameless way he stared at the billowing cleavage in the wide V of her bra.
"Ida...." David said, again mesmerized by the lust he felt for another in the seemingly endless succession of bodies which streamed, sweating and coming, through his life.
She reached around behind herself and unhooked the substantial bra, removing it and dropping it to the floor near the foot of the bed. Her saucer-nip-pled tits sagged only slightly, and David was grateful for that. He found older mammalian freaks a whit disgusting. She massaged the lines the bra had left in her outsized beehives, smiling all the while at him, cupping them from beneath like fantastic presents, holding them out like a butcher holds really excellent cuts of sirloin. "Go ahead," she said. "You can touch one if you like...."
David stepped forward and said, "Let's cut the charity bullshit, Ida," and he took her around the waist, pulling her to him, bending his head down to kiss her. Her arms went up around his torso and neck the way she must have seen Joan Fontaine do it in a long-ago movie. But she kissed pretty good-sloppy as hell, but good-and David's cannon grew stiller. He handled her tits, stimulating the nipple at once, peeking at her face to see whether or not her eyes were closed. They were. He looked down at the dandy double feature and saw several long, black hairs extending antennae-like from her aureolae, and he pulled them gently.
"Oh, David ... she moaned. "Take me ... take me...." she .said as she sat back on the bed and extended her hand toward the evident boner down the right leg of his trousers. Take you where? David thought. I'm no fucking bus driver! Or maybe I am ... She petted his dong once before tugging down his zipper. David flapped his belt loose and stepped out from his trousers. Ida had removed her skirt and struggled out of her girdle and stockings while David made himself totally naked. She lay back and he examined the totality. She had a typical Slavic-peasant body: short, with a narrow waist, bulky thighs and hips, considerable tits replete with prickly skin and bright, easily definable veins-and she spread the whole banquet to welcome his flesh into hers. He mounted and entered the cavity easily, as she was a woman who liked the backs of her thighs against her lover's chest. David ploughed all the way up the hilt at once, and she gasped, "Oh Dave, Dave, Davey-my Davey-you're so big! You fill me up!" Which he knew he could never do, but he began pumping her out all the same as her phlegmatic, ecstatic moans inundated the tiny room.
Ida Hocker was the first female David ever seriously thought he would actually have to teach how to fuck. She seemed so totally ... programmed; as though there was not a real response she was capable of achieving. She had her orgasm, which seemed pale and uninspired, by David's standards. When he had his own, she seemed shocked by the power of the noises he made-and he sensed her feelings. As soon as he could, he got up and sprinted, buck naked, through the dark shapes in the basement, back to where he had been when she came down to seduce him. He tore open one of the cardboard cartons, removed an item from it, and sprinted back to the small "secret" room. She was in the act of putting on her bra when he came back through the door.
She looked up at him. "Pond's?" she said rhetorically. "What's that for?"
"You'll know in a minute," he told her, uncapping the jar and jabbing his cock into the cool, white cream, all the way to the bottom of the jar, making it effulge up over the rim. He pushed her back down on the red sheets as he set the jar on the end table, wiping a huge glob of the soft cream from the rim as he did. Her legs went up, knees to shoulders, almost automatically, and he slapped the cream down below her moist hairy cunt, smearing the perfumed lard over her pink asshole, and threw himself down upon her, forcing his stalk up inside, fighting past restricting anal sphincters until he was halfway imbedded into her gut.
"Hey!" she yelped, shocked at the new feeling: as though a monstrous turd, frightened of drowning in a toilet, was trying to fight its way back into her bowels.
"Be quiet and relax," he said. But she couldn't. Not until he had shoved himself entirely into her, his balls whapping against her cheeks, and she felt that her actual stomach would be invaded by his immense, insane prick. Then she abandoned herself to it, feeling, too, several of his fingers in her more commonly used hole. She began to feel faint as a heavily breathing David whispered to her, "You've fucked all your stock boys, haven't you?"
"Y-yes...." she admitted weakly, embarrassed at hearing that word.
"But none of them ever fucked you like this, though...." She shook her head, and David could feel a new passion mounting in her breast as her arms clasped to his back and she tried to pull him further up inside her. "This is a real fancy fuck, isn't it?" But she had transcended the stage where one must use words to communicate. Her legs crawled out from their customary position and were clawing in the air, as though she was running, and she humped back at him harder than ever before, as hard as she could manage; and David rammed and drove at her, humping furiously, and finally he detonated a holocaust of thrills in the woman, who let out a scream of pleasure and a series of shuddering convulsions before falling limp against the wet bedsheets. her eyes were glassy, her mouth slackened, red lips apart, a trickle of pure drool running out and down to the pillow case-and David pumped her another dozen times before his own second jazz of jism showered up inside the depleted woman's ass.
When she was somewhat more revived she stared at his face with a mixture of awe, bewilderment and residual bugger-lust. David dressed and helped his boss' wife make herself once more presentable. "I never...." she kept saying. "Never before....No one....This is....I can't....I mean I never had...." And David just smiled while he screwed the cap back on the jar of Pond's and picked it up. "No!" she cried, staring at it. "No-please ... Leave that here...."
David went upstairs first. He had to take a large jug of Dexamil to Mr. Hocker, who looked at him with a rather strange, almost 'apologetic expression on his wormy face. David couldn't understand it. He also couldn't understand it when, minutes later, he saw Mrs. Hocker in the excited, wild-eyed process of some intense sort of explanation to her husband. David could see them through the window to the prescription-filling area. And, because she was gesturing and speaking so broadly, David could faintly hear the words and read her lips when she said, " ... then you actually missed the best part!"
What the hell....
He thought about the incident that evening and decided that the following day he had better go down to the clandestine fucking room and check it out-and he found it. Directly above the bed there was a one-foot-square crack in the wood of the ceiling. Later that day, when Mr. Hocker had waddled across the street to the Hot Food Diner to engorge himself with lunch, David went into the prescription-filling area, where the gross man always sat and which he never left, except for lunch sometimes, and to go home at the day's end, and there David (having calculated the architecture of the situation earlier) studied the floor while pretending to sweep it. It was covered with ordinary dark red linoleum. Perhaps his theory was off base. Then he began opening the bottom drawers all along the complex of cases. One just to the right of Mr. Hocker's stool was empty-and there was a small, incriminating ring on the bottom, which was attached near the front. David lifted it and saw another ring on the floor, beneath the cabinet, which he likewise pulled up. He could then see a perfect aerial view of the bed. Without his knowledge he had participated in a peek-freak scene! Not to mention the unnerving possibility of hidden cameras! So that was why Hocker couldn't seem to keep his stock boys for more than a few weeks! Well, David Cummings would fix his ass! Nobody fucks David Cummings around!
The following afternoon, when Ida had coaxed David back into the secret room ("Do my bottom again! Oh David-fuck me in the ass!" she had said, using the word "fuck" for the first time in her life in front of another human being. Such a liberation!), he had arranged her on her hands and knees and was shtupping her from the rear, squeezing her tits from around back and ramming at her voluptuous ass with his groin-and right in the middle, with Ida wriggling, gasping and squealing there on the end of his rigid dick, he turned his face up to the peephole, smiled, winked, and waved to his boss' startled countenance, which David could see just above the man's pudgy, stork-jamming fist. Then he turned himself once more to the pleasure task at hand, bringing the nearly delirious woman off even more excitingly than he had the previous day.
When he went upstairs after that, David had a few extra, choice cards to play. He walked back to the pharmacy section to confront a boss who was embarrassed out of his skull. "Hi, boss!" David called out in merry salutation, with a big, cheery smile. "How about a raise?"
Mr. Hocker was confounded. "Listen, David-you're in this as deep as I am . .
"If you're referring to Ida," David began slowly, with malice, "I'd say I was in deeper."
"If this gets out you'll be in bad trouble . .
"I'll be in bad trouble? What could happen to me?"
"You'd get a-a reputation . .
"Mister Hocker-I already have a reputation, you know. You're the one who would be in trouble. You and your missus. Contributing to the delinquency of a minor, and so on. You'd have to leave town. Now then, if you'll just see fit to come across with a twenty-dollar-a-week raise you can even come downstairs and watch in comfort, whenever your wife feels like getting gored. Do you see?"
The gargantuan jerk-off stroked one of his chins thoughtfully and said, "Twenty dollars a week, you say? You wouldn't tell anyone about this? No one?" David shook his head again. "Okay-it's a deal. But I'll watch from up here, if you don't mind. Being in the same room gives it a sort of ... unreal quality-if you see what I mean. But of course you're too young to be thinking thoughts like that. Besides, I wouldn't feel comfortable knowing that at any time either of you might just turn around and see my ... err ... activities ... if you know what I mean...."
Before the summer was over, David had convinced Hocker to introduce his twins into the proceedings. Hocker was reluctant at first because of their youth (fifteen), but the idea of it made him hornier than anything else he could think of. Aside from that, they were always talking at home about how "cute David is!"-and they had already been discovered once, during an "unnatural act." They were giggly about the proposition-but more than willing partners. Imagine the heady freedom of being but fifteen years old and not only knowing your parents are aware of your sexual activities-but also that they even rather approve!
The girls, Sandy and Mandy, unlike their pudgy-wudgy parents, were gracefully awkward stalks of girlhood. As they were identical twins, David couldn't ever tell them apart-but that was of no consequence for their present purposes. First it was David and Sandy alone: standard, routine rutting. Then David and Mandy: same thing, all-y same-same. Then David and the pair-and new variations were introduced. All the while their father upstairs furiously beat his meat, as he peered down from ten feet above them. Finally it was a mother and daughter act, along with David-and he taught them all sorts of things, such as the joys and delights of sucking cock, which none of them had ever done before, being rather sexually straight laced. Also the varieties of cunt-sucking. David would be fused with Sandy, for instance, who would be eagerly chomping on her sister's clit and labs; and Mandy would have her face buried in the warmth of both their crotches, slurping her sister's quim, working her tongue into her sister's furrow from time to time, providing a sliding groove for the top or bottom of David's thick tool; and Ida would be scurrying around the bed, kissing here, sucking there, Sandy-sucking, Mandy-munching, Davey-doing, touching, tasting, fingering, caressing ... murmuring all the while, "In the ass....In the goddam ass....Someone fuck me in my goddam ass, please'." Then they would change places for the second round. Everyone but Papa, that is, who, like Wotan, remained on high to gleefully view the quirky circus.
Because of the new nature of his job, David, being only human after all, began sampling the various kinds of stimulants which were readily available in the drug store, realizing that his personal energies were somewhat limited, thus becoming a bit of an amphetamine-head-not an addict, really, just a frequent user. And one muggy, grey afternoon, feeling particularly testy (as users of such substances are won't to do), he was sent to make a delivery to a nearby apartment building. A middle-aged woman came to the door thoroughly disheveled, wearing a loose chenille robe, and high, black, patent-leather boots. She seemed in a state of exhaustion, perspiring freely as she rushed back into the apartment to get the money to pay for her purchase. Without being specifically invited to do so, David stepped into the foyer, and with a turn of his head he could see into the apartment's bedroom. There was a balding, middle-aged man tied to the bed in a spread-eagle position. Just at that point the woman came rushing back from the kitchen with her purse. She was fishing in it for change and did not see David there in the foyer. Her robe was flying open and David could see that she was naked underneath, except for the boots, black stockings and the black garter-belt which held them up. She was startled when she saw him inside the door.
"What the hell's going on here?" David asked her, starting for the bedroom.
"Stay out of there!" the woman snapped, grabbing his arm. He pulled free and continued toward the bedroom. "Please...." she whined, grabbing him again. That time he pulled her around and shoved her through the door and she stumbled to her knees next to the bed. The man had an erection and was covered with furiously red welts, evidently produced by the riding crop, which lay at the side of the bed. "Please...." the woman whimpered once more.
David knew what the action was, having once recently seen a magazine devoted to the practice. "What is he? A masochist?" The woman nodded, lowering her head. She began softly weeping. "And then I guess you must be a sadist?"
"No...." she sobbed. "I'm maso, too-and it's so hard for me to do this ... Then she looked up at David with an entreating expression on her face.
"Please...." she said again, earnestly, to him. "Please ... would you?"
David was curiously intrigued. He had been intrigued at the magazine, and here before him was the possibility come to being, where he could even avoid the hang-ups of feeling people out, risking rejection and even being thought a super-weirdo. They were asking him! He felt his skin-lance growing longer as he pushed back the sleeves of his sweater and reached down to the bed for the crop, and the man's head fell backwards to the mattress, his own cock twitching to its full capacity. "How do you want it?" David asked the man.
"Tell ... tell ... tell him what...." the man breathlessly told his wife.
"All over...." she replied. "Everywhere," I she said, averting her eyes, sublimating with the first cracking snap of the truncheon, which David brought firmly, squarely down across the man's chest: WHAP! The man squirmed and contorted in his bondage on the bed-and David repeated the gesture again and again, up and down the length of the man's body, concentrating two or three whacks across his dong every time he reached that area, until the final time there, after David had accustomed himself to the beating, applying more and more strength with each stroke of the crop, the man loosened his teeth and let out a yell as he came, spurting gushes of pearl-grey, balm up onto his chest and chin. And David stopped, to hear the woman beg, as she shuffled off her robe, "Now me! Please, now me!" as she cringed before him. She was in her forties, once certainly attractive, now gone a shade to seed. Her breasts sagged; her constant sniveling and weeping had probably affected the skin on her face as salt water would a mariner. To beat her without guilt, David could easily have used the excuse that she deserved it for having so little respect for the human body-especially her own. He began by whacking her across the shoulder, and she rolled, cringing on the floor, her forearms across her eyes. David whipped her back, her shoulders, and when she pulled her head back and drew her arms high, exposing her flattened breasts with their sad, elliptical nipples, he whipped her there, across them, until she grew pink, pulling her knees up, and he whipped her on her knees, WHAP! WHAP! KRACK! She rolled, revealing the muff of her cunt from behind, and when she did, David lashed her there, swinging his arm back and forth, criss-crossing the pink and red welts, which disappeared in the dark of her bush, buried in the soft rump-meat, back and forth, sweating, giving the man a random, occasional free whack to keep him happy, WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! KRACK! KRACK! BAP! And the woman was sweating and the man was sweating and David was drenched and looping his arm this way and that, cutting down a shower of blows, switching hands, back and forth....
Finally he staggered away, dropping the riding crop to the rug, and fell exhausted into a wing chair near the dresser, drawing a single index finger across his forehead, wiping the sweat away. Then before David knew what he was saying the words had left his mouth:
"Come over here and blow me, lady."
"Oh no...." she whined, already on her knees. "No! We don't do that. .
"You're gonna start," he told her, deploying his throbbing red cock.
Her husband strained against his bonds on the bed, muttering sounds through his clenched teeth.
She crawled across the floor to where he sat-and she blew him. Very unprofessionally. But he sat back, exhausted, his legs draped over her narrow shoulders as she licked and nibbled his joint, growing more frantic with each passing suck. Then, after he shot his wad into her gagging mouth, she dropped her head and began reaming out his ass, shoving her tongue very far up inside, giving David that precious tickle. All the while her husband glared at the humiliation from his prison, glared with large, round eyes.
When she finished she got her change purse from her robe pocket and she took a twenty-dollar bill from it and thrust it into David's shirt pocket when he was ready to leave.
"You don't have to do that, Missus. It was worth it for the experience."
She just smiled at him, refusing to take the money back. She just smiled at him and said, "Won't you come back and visit us? Any time at all. Please? I really mean it. Any time ..."
"Any time, son!" her husband called out from the bedroom, where he was still tied to the bedposts.
"Sure," David said, waving his little wave at her as she closed the door.
He stood for a moment in the carpeted hallway wondering if the man had a job or what. Or did he stay eternally strapped to his furniture? Then he remembered passing a study or something on his way to the door from the bedroom, where he saw a ticker-tape machine. He probably worked at home.
They seemed to dig it, David thought. But I think I still prefer fucking, sucking and jacking off. But deep in his mind and groin there gnawed a yearning for a sexy little exotique.
CHAPTER FIVE
Corky, of course, being Corky, daily ran the risk of being altogether thrown out of State. She was forever doing that which could have plunged her into a serious, serious batch of trouble. She might do one thing-one-which was perfectly normal for the Cork, but which could bring dire repercussions from all points of the social compass. Like the time she was determined to get a long prong into Cynthia for the first time; her initial male-bang. She could have been jumped on with both boots not only by the Snavely Hall sentinels of morality, and by the school, but also by the Law and Cynthia's parents-not to mention the selected banger. But-if it feels good Corky had for weeks been lauding and extolling the beauty and power of the phal, the male protuberant reamer, and she did it lovingly, describing the shaft, the head, the hilt, the network of arteries and veins which circumscribed them, and the balls; how the cock grew and swelled when aroused; how hard it could get ("Like a weight-lifter's bicep!"); what men could do with it; how it felt ("Like you've got roller-coasters in your cunt!") ... and it built and built and built until Cynthia was so primed and ready her friends suspected that she had been noshing Spanish fly instead of the customary potato chips or peanuts.
After the first few days Corky, without actually saying so, made it a personal crusade-a construction, or a creation of her own, so to speak. And on the day of The Night, Corky teased her roommate to the door of orgasm seven times, and each time denied her entrance. They lay naked on Corky's bed from noon till six, listening to Ravel's Bolero continuously, Corky's face almost never away from her friend's cooze, her tongue almost never out of it, licking, diddling, teasing, taunting, sucking ... then withdrawing at the crucial instant, driving the poor virgin nearly frantic.
At six o'clock she began Corky Cummings' infamous "Rolling Stones Lewdie Cunt Tantalizing Torture," featuring several hours of the Stones' most lubricious spasm-chants. By nine o'clock poor Cynthia was nearly ding-a-ling with desire, when there came a firm, loud knocking on their door. Corky went to the thing and opened it.
"Excuse ... me ... Miss...." the campus cop said, his bug eyes riveted to Corky's cheery nipples. He tried to compose himself. "There's-uh-there's a complaint about your music there-" was all he had time to say before, to even Corky's surprise, a pair of long slender arms and hands suddenly reached from behind her, clasped the cop's lapels and yanked him into the tiny, feminine room.
"Listen, Mister," Cynthia said, her voice shaking with unbearably demanding erotic passion. "You're gonna take out that powerful cock I know you're hiding down there and shove it up my cunt and fuck me till I scream."
"Say, wait a minute ... What's going on here?" the cop said, all at once confronted by a sweet male dream all come to life in glorious flesh-tones.
"That's right, babes," Corky said, lifting the officer's cap from his confused head and tossing it, spinning, to the top of her bed.
Cynthia was unstrapping his garrison belt. "Hey, lissen-I can't right now! I'll ... I'll meetcha later er somethin' ... Hey! C'mon now...." Cynthia dragged him by the epaulets toward her bed, pulling the officer down on his knees. She fell back on the mattress, pressing his face to her bush-and his struggle rapidly diminished, to be replaced by a sudden ardor. He slipped his hands beneath her haunches and began serious munching as Cynthia pumped her hips and drew dirty pictures in the air with her legs and feet. Then the officer began to use his hands to undress himself-but Corky went to his aid, freeing them for their former pursuits, and she had him naked in no time at all. He was about six and a half feet tall and slender-not skinny, but endowed with a respectable girth, though not of the wide-shouldered variety. She sat on the floor next to him with her back to the bed. Corky didn't want to interfere or horn in (hole-in?) on Cynthia's first lay, but she was sensitive to the fact that her friend was perhaps a minute or two away from orgasm-and the officer's cock was so near, so available, so long and throbbing . ... She could just imagine its hardness and, well, it just looked so ... wrong, rising alone there without anything soft and wet and sucky around it. So Corky leaned across his bent knees, her armpit damply warm against the man's upper thigh-and his prick jerked with a mighty spasm. Corky clasped the hilt in her right hand and began to beat his meat, at the same time plunging her face down, taking the head between her lips, and then deeper up into her mouth, stroking him off all the while. She put a fast and powerful sucking on him, hearing his vocal sound muffled by Cynthia's succulent crotch-meat, and as she heard the other girl start to go off above her in squeals and gurgles, Corky put a wrenching torsion into her lips and sucked the cop's brains out through that tiny slit, his thighs and torso wracking with a series of shuddering convulsions as he shoved spurt after spurt of stingo-cream into her mouth, pushing his cock so far in that it wedged into her throat near the root of her tongue and felt the pulsing contraction/expansion of her pharynx squeeze his glans as she tried to swallow his essence.
Cynthia was up on the bed breathing heavily, wanting her cock so desperately that her cunt ached with the desire. Corky, below, gave the officer's balls several affectionate licks and promptly, with her tongue, her teeth and her cylinder-stroking hand, brought him back to full, commendable tumescence. "Go ahead, man," she said, "do her." And Corky went to lie on her own bed to watch the lovers.
The officer, no longer self-conscious about anything, rose to his feet and took Cynthia under the arms, lifting her, moving her to the center of the bed, then kneeling beside her. "Wait," Cynthia said, propping herself on one elbow. She wanted to know a cock in her mouth, and she put her pretty head to it, feeling the shaft imbedded in the warm place, licking it a bit and sucking with the wrenching motion Corky had told her about, hefting his considerable balls with her hand, touching the surplus of shaft lovingly, while he held his hands firmly to the back of her head, his thumbs stroking her long brown hair, his own sandy blond head thrown back in bliss. She didn't want to work him up too much, so that he would come too quickly, so she lay back. She didn't have to wait too long. The man centered himself between her bent knees, lowered to one elbow and pushed his dick firmly but gently up into her. She gave a small cry, never having had anything quite that large in that precinct before but she bravely pulled her legs wider and took it-and then a bit more, then a little more each thrust until she had accepted his whole tool inside herself, up to her uterus, touching it, thrilling it with soft prods, as his hilt thrilled her clit, which by then, after the day-long foreplay, had become a bright, almost sore, red color. Fortunately for Cynthia, the officer was a natural cocksman. He rubbed it into her long, slow strokes at first, sending her up toward her goal in a steep, steady ascension, as he, on one elbow, caressed her ass with one hand and her tits with the other, watching the mounting rapture on her face, the shallow light in the room glinting on her high cheekbones, and he shoved and rubbed and began sucking her tits, first one, then the other, finally settling on her left one as he began speeding his tempo, faster, faster, and he heard chick-sounds tumbling deliriously from her happy mouth and her breath matched his speeded thrusts, and then he began slamming into her soft crotch, slamming, slamming, and she went off in throaty cries and gasps and moans of sensual delight and her first male lover sent out his second series of discharges of the night, then slumped down, one elbow on either side of her pretty face, to rest his long form down onto her breasts--and she bore the weight gratefully, softly stroking his back with her hands.
Corky had discovered earlier in life that she had a modicum of voyeur in herself, while watching one of her girlfriends and her girlfriend's boyfriend screwing during a Sunday afternoon picnic. She was walking through the woods with her current beau and they saw them, lying in a small clearing, on an army blanket, naked, with the shadows of needles and pine cones mottling their fine, sweet, clean, young, naked and loving bodies. Corky stopped in her tracks and stared, fascinated, stimulated, and quietly watching them make their love to one another. It was an aphrodisiac. So while Cynthia and the cop were fucking, Corky fetched her foot-long, homemade, hand-carved wax-candle dildo from a dresser drawer and lay on the bed, watching them carnally while she used the surrogate dong on herself to satisfaction, achieving the special dildo climax she always had with the device, at precisely the same moment that Cynthia had hers.
"Thank you," Cynthia said to the cop. "It was my first time-and it was beautiful."
"Oh," the officer said opaquely, and he began dressing himself. When he had finished he went to the door and started to open it. Then he stopped. Without turning to them he said, "I'm a married man." Then, after a moment, he did turn, and he said, "You will keep that thing turned down, won't you?" And he left.
Corky and Cynthia looked at one another, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Corky got up and went over to turn off the phonograph just as Mick Jagger was singing, "I don't want your ID...." And they did laugh, and each sat on her own bed facing the other, to begin an instant-replay discussion of Cynthia's new experience.
There was one professor Corky was especially fond of: Charles York, a serious, intense English professor. Charles York was under her height specifications, being slightly below six feet tall. He was slender and handsome, despite the corny, Mickey Mouse horn-rimmed glasses he wore (she couldn't stop wondering what he looked like without them). His hair was his most striking feature, being a light, shiny blond in color-almost, but not quite, platinum-and its texture was that of corn silk, so that no matter how he combed it, he had to constantly keep brushing strands away from his brow with an automatic index finger-the way that same finger was employed in pushing his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. When he didn't wear his black minister's suit (with the matching tie) he wore corduroys-only corduroys-corduroys, corduroys, corduroys; corduroy shirts with corduroy neckties, corduroy socks (corduroy underwear? Corky wondered). But he looked right in it; corduroy somehow suited him perfectly.
Corky enjoyed wearing micromini skirts, as much to give pleasure to others as to show off her long, beautiful legs. She didn't need the compliments or the currency of lustful stares-she knew what she looked like. She just dug the vibrations it set up whenever she strolled the campus; the warm rapport which flowed between her and the boys. It was, however, a nervous-making thing for some of the older people on the turf-especially one thirty-one-year-old English professor named Charles York. Corky, incidentally, happened to sit in the first seat, second row from the door, and Charles York had himself a bitch of a time keeping his mind on what he was doing and saying, and an even harder time keeping his eyes off those long, graceful, plump-thighed, erotic goddamn monumentally fuckable legs-and the soft, curved, white nylon-covered treasure there where her legs concluded and joined her pelvis. God! he would think. Deliver me from teeny boppers!
And Corky, having a ripe streak of pranksterism in her, one evening while studying her English text and thinking about him (Corky York, Corky York-it has a sort of euphonious ring to it ... I wonder how he's hung ... ), had what she considered a brainstorm. She put away her English text and got out her embroidery paraphernalia and went to work.
The following day, in English X01.8002, Professor York wasn't five minutes into his lecture when he saw an unusual flash in the part of the classroom he seemed lately to be (annoyingly) most concerned with. His eyes flicked toward Corky Cummings' cunt-space. She had her right leg drawn up, heel on the seat, and there, embroidered in red-on-white, was America's (and Corky's) consummate invitation:
S U C K
He saw it just as he was quoting a line from Blake's "The Tiger": "Did he who made the Lamb make thee?" and somehow he couldn't think of what he was supposed to say next. What was the quote pointing up? Where was he? What was he doing, wherever he was? All that, compounded by the fact that somehow he was acutely unable to breathe, and his notes had slipped from his suddenly rigid fingers, all combined to make a doddering farrago of his mind, and so he could only keep repeating, "At any rate....That is, at any rate....So then....Anyway...." until he retrieved his notes, the pages of which, much to his dismay, were unnumbered. He then, in a flourish of more characteristic honesty, abandoned all pretenses of composure and fell to silently putting the pages in proper order, while the class before him crumbled into cretinous snickers and chuckles.
After class that day Corky waited under an elm outside the four-story building where Charles York conducted his classes. He was a long while getting himself together enough to face the world once more (being a bit of a shy person to begin with), and it was a good fifteen minutes before he appeared diffidently on the other side of the glass doors, to peer out right and left, scouring the grounds for anyone who might give rise once again to flush-faced embarrassment over his doltish behavior in class. He didn't see Corky, for some blockish reason, though she stood directly in line with the door not more than twenty feet away from him He left the safety of the building and began walking hurriedly up the path. Corky skipped up alongside him, smiling her most lascivious leer.
"Hi, Professor York!"
Ulp. Trapped. He considered lunging back into the building for a fleeting, psychotic moment, so irrational that he made himself believe that she wasn't really there. Instead he bobbed his Adam's apple, smiled a quivering, shit-eating grin, and said, "Oh ... hi there, Miss Cummings...."
"Professor York," she began, walking beside him, emanating her sunny radiance, warming him despite anything else. "May I ask you a question?"
"Certainly," he replied, switching his briefcase from his right hand to his left, so that it swung between them. Then he added hopefully, "Is it about Blake?"
"No ... not exactly. It's about you: are you married?"
"I-uh, no, I'm not. Not exactly, that is ..
"Oh come on, Professor," she chided. "There is no such thing as not exactly married. That's like being almost pregnant." I Then she stopped dead, causing him also to stop. She looked at his hair, pointing to it and saying, "Hey-almost married ... You're not a faggot, are you? I mean your hair: is that your real color hair?"
He brushed a strand away from his brow, saying, "This? Yes, this is my real hair....I mean-did you think ... that about me?"
"Well, Professor ... a girl just can't be too sure anymore. You know what I mean? And, hey-I feel silly calling you 'Professor'. May I call you Charles? Or Charlie? Which do you prefer? Or is it Chuck? Or maybe Chuckles! Have you a nickname?"
He had a nickname, which he very much wanted to forget, and which he was not about to disclose to anyone any more. It was "Whitey." And, because he had retained such a youthful appearance for so long, he didn't like his students calling him by his given name, so he told Corky, "I would prefer you to call me Charles."
"Charles," she said breathily, pronouncing it with relish. "Well, Charles-what about this marriage business? Are you engaged, or what?"
"Well," he began, "there is someone whom I am seeing rather steadily...."
"Is she the only one you see?"
"Well ... lately, yes. Lately."
"Uh-huh. So tell me about her. What's she like?"'
"She-say, why are you asking me all these questions?"
"You said I could."
"Yes, but I assumed it was about your class work or something...."
"Well it is about something...."
"But why do you want to know about ... that?"
"Because I want to see what kind of woman attracts you."
"But why?" he pleaded, attempting to be so naive that it would have given an ordinary man a hernia.
"Because I want to know if I'm the type who attracts you, Charles-because I could put a fucking on you that would not only curl your pretty blond hair, but would change your soul, and would be something you would remember to your dying day. Interested?"
"I-" he said, with simple eloquence.
She hooked her arm into his and allowed him to lead her to his lair.
It was a small, sunny and light apartment near the campus, which embodied the neat clutter often found in the digs of a scholar or academic person of some sort: books and papers stacked everywhere; tasteful prints and posters on the walls; good component phonograph arrangement; functional desk; the right cans on the shelves in the kitchen; a bachelor-ish bedroom, with the television set situated on a tabouret near the bed (a small Sony-declarative of the minuscule importance it had in its owner's life).
Corky strode brightly through the three rooms, while her host stood, benumbed and uncertain, three feet from the front door, where he remained riveted and transfixed, barely hearing her piquant comments about the decor and furnishings. She especially loved the somber marble fireplace and its beautiful andirons, screen and accoutrements-not to mention the lively contrast of the aquarium filled with many-colored tropical fish which was situated atop the mantelpiece.
Charles York was no stranger to sex. He had what might be considered his share, under the circumstances. But aggressive women always seemed to throw him into a state of absolute stupefaction and rendered him incapable of any free will at all. He remained standing there, terrified of who-knew-what, muttering senseless replies to barely heard questions, while Corky made herself at home on the sofa in front of the pensively brooding fireplace. He didn't move a muscle until he realized that the reason why she kept looking at him and patting the sofa pillow next to her was that she wanted him to go over and sit down there, which he obsequiously did. He was still clutching his well-used attache case, which he held in both hands by the handle, upright, in his lap.
"Are you afraid of me, Charles?"
"What? No-of course not. Don't be silly. Why on earth should I ever be afraid of you? You're a student-I'm one of your teachers. You should never, ever forget that. It's a very special relationship. Socrates-"
"Why don't you fuck me, Charles?" It was a simple, straightforward request for information.
"Well....It's not a question of that, so much as it is-"
"Charles?"
"Yes?"
Corky put her cool palms on his cheeks and drew his face toward her as he moved hers toward his. When their mouths met, Corky did not push the situation; she remained, her hands parenthesizing his face, her mouth softly against his, until she could feel the slightest vacuum generated by the cavity between his jaws, and she began to return it in kind. Minutes later they had sunk against the sofa's soft, giving back, sharing that selfsame kiss, and Charles was warming to the event: his left arm encircled her neck and shoulder, the hand of that arm cupped against her ribs beneath her arms. Her right arm was around his waist and her left hand rested on his chest. When he moved his hand to the curve of her mandible, touching it lightly, she allowed one of her fingers to slip into the front of his shirt, there to stroke against the flesh of his chest. His hand traced a line down her neck and halted for a moment at its slope into her shoulder. She opened a button on the shirt. His hand hesitated in the clear air in front of her breast as he moved his tongue past her lips and into her warm, waiting mouth. When her tongue welcomed his, circumscribing it, licking it, sucking it, he allowed his hand to float down and touch the mound of flesh beneath. He grew more erect as Corky opened another button and moved her hand inside, touching his chest, petting his nipple with one finger. Then he moved away from her, whipping off his jacket as he stood. He extended his hand down to her and helped her to her feet, preceding her into his impatient bedroom.
It was a cool autumn day, in the late afternoon, but still sunny enough to fully light the sleeping chamber. Corky smiled at him and he gave back a genuine one of his own, no longer uptight. Corky watched him remove his shirt and tie, liking what she saw. He was lithe but with muscles-no ribs showing. Then she set about getting herself into the buff, and when she looked at him next she was astounded; in fact she gasped audibly and raised her hand to cover an open mouth as she took an involuntary half-step backwards, away from his form. Charles stood next to the bed with a grave smile creasing his face. His erect prick was more than a match for her candle-dildo lover: it had to be more than a foot long! And Corky's mind was a tangle of genuine fear, excitement, lust, and a hundred other things. She couldn't move and Charles had to go to her and lead her to his bed.
"Go down on me," he said softly, his tone somewhere in the odd netherworld between a command and a request. "Eat me, Corky." And he lay back, moving up on the bed, placing two pillows under his head, so that he might watch the act. He was sensitive to the astonished bewilderment experienced by women on first encountering his stupendous lance, and he always gave them time to accustom themselves to its size before using it on them.
And Corky was glad he didn't want to start screwing at once; she wanted to get more used to this wondrous, magnificent tool, to explore its incredible dimensions. First of all, it was just about the circumference of her wrist, just above the wristbone; the head was a bit smaller than her fist; and its length close to that of her forearm, between the elbow and wristbone. First she kissed it on the shaft, just below the round, lavender-colored head. Then she licked up to the head, drawing her tongue flat over the slit; and she circled it in lapping passes, as she might an ice cream cone. Next she worked down the shaft, air around its thickness with broad, flat, sucking kisses, till she arrived at the underside just above his pendulous testicles, which she touched and hefted in awe: real nuts, like chestnuts, and a scrotum like two soft lightbulbs! How did he conceal it all during the day in class? Why had she never noticed any telltale bulge? She sucked her way around back up to the top and surrounded most of the head with her lips, genuinely sucking, feeling the mammoth rod twitching-and she thought of doing, in that rare blowjob, something she had never considered doing before: she seized its tender head in both hands, one at the top and the other at its bottom, and she squeezed it, opening the outsized slit at the center, and by pointing her tongue to a tiny nib she inserted it a small distance into the cock-head-cunt, setting Charles into a scream of exultation, and she tongued him that way a few moments more. Because nobody had ever been creative enough to think of doing that to him before (and, indeed, even Charles himself had not been erotic-minded enough to conceive of it) he was put into a state of sensual grace. Corky grew familiar with the Gargantuan cannon, thus less fearful.
However, she was nowhere near finished exploring its abundance when Charles took her by the shoulders and pressed her down to the bed. With one hand he held her wrists together over her head and he began kissing down her body, tonguing in her ears, licking her throat, sucking hungrily at one breast while manipulating the other in an almost clumsily aggressive wav-which did not disturb Corky in the least. In fact she reacted with unfamiliar ravishment at having her wrists semi-bound over her head that way, and as she squirmed with pleasure there on the plateau of his bed, she tried weakly to free them, and to her satisfaction, could not: she was his to do with as he chose. At that point he chose to leave her sweet aureolae with his lips and devote them and his tongue to her curlicue navel--still clasping and kneading her breasts as he did, though. When he thrilled her to sound there, he began sucking the flesh around the navel, down to the sides of her waist, causing her to convulse with the tickle. Then he went to her belly, sucking at that with starved pulls of his mouth, putting a garland of hickies there and biting her with love-bites. He then worked his way down to her feet-something which would always drive her wild. He had to release his grip on her wrists to do it-but she made believe she was still fastened, and held them together, shoving them under the wood of the headboard to intensify the illusion for herself.
Before he could make oral love to her feet, though, she called to him in a whisper of need, saying, "Your cock! let me hold your cock, baby! I need it...."
And Charles inverted himself on the bed, pushing his groin toward her, allowing her to grasp his sex in both hands, pressing the head between her billowing breasts, rubbing it there, squeezing them against the wondrous prod by pressing her upper arms inward against her generous tits. She stroked it gently with both hands, bending her lovely head down toward it to tongue her way into his slit once more.
Charles put his lips to her toes, taking them individually into his mouth, sucking each one and caressing them with his tongue; richly kissing the insteps and arch, licking up over her metatarsus, covering both the pedal extremities with a light film of mouth potion, driving her to moans and tiny screams. He worked his way back up her legs, sucking at the tender insides of her thighs, going up more quickly than he went down, until he reached her cunt. He kissed and sucked all around it for maddening moments, wetting all the pungent, tender loins and parts before taking one lip into his mouth and massaging it, then the other, then touching her reaching clit with the tip of his tongue, making it spring, while she kissed, fondled and sucked at his own massive sex. By the time he buried his open-mouthed face into her, she came in a glorious orgasmic oratorio, shuddering and convulsing and sobbing, crying genuine tears at its sheer beauty.
Charles moved himself around until their hungry mouths met again, and as their lips sought after one another, he took one of her wrists in each hand and pressed them together once more, sending a shock to her snatch. Why is he doing this? What's wrong? She thought, trembling behind the utter thrill of the experience. She could feel his tremendous, steel-hard staff hot against her thigh ... and her hip ... and even her belly ... at the same time-and no matter what, she wanted that beauty jammed all the way into her guts, through that waiting hole of hers-and she wanted it right then! No more waiting! "Now!" she breathed huskily into his sucking mouth, causing him to take his head away from hers. "Fuck me now with that gorgeous goddam weapon of yours! Lance me with it! Crucify me on it, for god's sake-but just fucking give it to me!"
He was grim and his left hand gripped her wrists even tighter. She was making another feeble attempt to see if she could free them when she felt the head pressed up against her opening-and she started, looking down at it. Her head fell back in distress: either it would split her wide, disemboweling her, or she would be altogether unable to receive it-and she could not decide which of the two would be worse for her. She flung her legs as far apart as she could, at the same time trying to concentrate on relaxing her cunt muscles, to make it easier. He didn't even have the head ail the way in when she first began experiencing pain; her lips stretched so far she felt that there surely must be tearing and blood; she felt that a baby's head could be no larger. She moaned.
"Am I hurting you?"
"Yes...." she hissed through clenched teeth, beneath clenched eyelids. He began to withdraw and with all her strength she whipped her hips toward Heaven and received the head with a loud scream of pain, sobbing, in fact, tears of the tormented, saying "You pull out of me now, you sonofabitch, and I'll kill you! I swear to Christ! On my goddam mother's name and by anything that's holy; if you don't start shoving the most magnificent fuck possible into me right now, I'll slit your fucking throat! Now go, baby!"
And with a smile of relief, he began. Once she had passed the head of his prick it wasn't so painful, concealed there in her delicate cavern. But could she take the length? She didn't care anymore; it no longer mattered to her that she might die there, impaled on the end of his fantastic cock-she just wanted it all. And he began running it to her, two more inches at a time, measuring with perfect calculation as he drove deeper and deeper into her, concerned for her, knowing, too, from his past experiences, to wait for his pleasure until he was sure his partner could manage him. She groaned in discomfort until she felt his glans pressing, pressing against her uterus: the mouth to her secret womb. She tried, but knew of no way to relax that passage, if indeed it was at all possible. Then she felt a sensation she had never before felt, one she had fantasized since she knew she had a uterus: it was opening for his head, spreading slowly, painfully. And then a magical thing happened: all the pain disappeared and was replaced by the most excruciating, blissfully enchanting, epiphanic rapture she had ever known. She felt his entire head slip past her uterus and into her womb-and then some. And as he finally set to serious fucking, assured of her safety, she felt the ridge around his head enter and leave her womb, enter and leave, enter and leave-and she was screaming and losing her fucking mind-it was destroying her brains and she didn't care! She just wanted more and more and more and for it to never, never stop for the rest of eternity, this constantly evolving, ascending, unending serial orgasm! It was a twenty-minute, non-stop COME for her.
And when her magnificent lover had his joy, she felt it striking, splatting against the far, rear wall of her womb, shooting hot pints of sweet lava into her womb, flushing her insides with torrents of fuck-oils.
He lay atop her, exhausted. She could feel him growing soft and she begged him to take it out of her while it was still at its rigid maximum length and thickness. He worked it back up easily and as the head left her womb she felt her uterus pop! round it as it went, zapping a flash to Heaven through the deeps of her body and as it continued down, she felt it flush against every throbbing inch of her cunt, which clutched at the monster, trying to retain it, almost desperately, then feeling it leave, leave .., leave.
... And he was gone.
She lay there, incapable of speech, for many long moments, feeling the soft trickle of his ambrosia dripping from her womb, into her vagina, pooling there, then dribbling over her labial lips, running out of her, and she touched its wetness with her fingers, blessing them with the sebaceous fluid. She felt truly empty for the first time ever, and she sadly considered that she would feel that way for the rest of her life. Before she could even begin to collect any kind of thought, Charles, his head propped on his fist, leaning on his elbow, looking at her, spoke with a deep, throaty voice.
"Corky-will you be my wife?"
She looked at this ... this ... man ... She touched his chest lightly with a fingernail near its center and smiled at a realization. She said "I will marry you-if you'll do just one thing for me first."
"Anything," he said, meaning it.
"Let me see what you look like without your glasses?"
He grunted a chuckle and removed them.
She looked for a moment, then she said, "Put them back on."
CHAPTER SIX
Late in the winter David got himself all involved with a leather gang: a motorcycle gang with motorcycles. Either they were too poor to own them or they weren't interested in the things. A rough-looking, really butch kid named Nails, who was new to David's school, greatly attracted him. David saw something eminently appealing and desirable even through the grungy armor of Nails' rough-trade facade-and he was determined to reach and uncover whatever it was which lurked beyond the shadowy chimera.
It was the first day of the new semester. David had been through most of the really desirable girls in his school. Through and back again. He would still occasionally ball three or four of the best of them; but the other girls being what they were, all wanted David for their own exclusive use. David, of course, would have none of it; he still preferred to "play the field," as Ida Hocker was so fond of calling it. He didn't work at Hocker's Drug Store anymore, due to an "incident." It seems that David was pissed off one day at the uptightness of the neighborhood and the people in it. It was when he was getting off speed, and everything irritated him: the way people hid behind their dumb pills, their cosmetics, their stupid devices and so on. Mr. Hocker was over at the Hot Food Diner garbaging up, and Ida was locked in her cage doing her "Postmistress" number. David took a long, very thin hatpin out of her hat, which hung on the small storage space just at the top of the stairs to the basement-a room barely large enough (though convenient to the cash register) to contain all the sex paraphernalia in the store. David opened one large drawer and carefully inserted the hatpin down through the center of stack after stack of prophylactics. The holes were all but invisible. Then he proceeded to exchange a large bottle of saccharine tablets for birth-control pills. Beginning nine months after that day, and continuing for several months thereafter, the neighborhood and environs experienced an astonishing leap in population. That summer the neighborhood was positively crawling with pregnant women. Perhaps "waddling"' with them would better describe what it looked like. It was an obstetrician's dream. Or nightmare.
It didn't take long for the men of the area to examine their remaining supply of condoms more carefully and discover the fault, or for the women to have their pills tested, only to find they were downing a substitute for sugar instead of one for babies. And they all came running back to a bewildered Richard M. Hocker, threatening litigation (child support, proxy rape, first degree fucking-up etc.), assault and battery. David, of course, denied any knowledge of the tragic situation, and so Hocker fired him. He still went back occasionally to plug Ida's plump rump and pick up a needed twenty in the bargain. He didn't make himself that unpopular there. Besides, their new stock boy drew the line on any kind of "dirty sex" (i.e. anything other than straight belly-to-belly fucking), and he was such an acned, sore-skinned, out-of-it kind of lunatic that David didn't bother wasting the effort trying to convince him otherwise. So David was more than welcomed by both Ida and Mr. Hocker (who had become bored with watching the same thing over and over, since David had left after broadening their tastes).
At any rate, it didn't take David (or anyone else for that matter) long to notice Nails. David, being the wise little prick that he was, was naturally in the First Section of his class which is to say the brightest of the eight sections. The very first class of the semester was an English class, beginning at nine o'clock, and that's when David Cummings picked up on The New Kid. David sat in the last seat of the first row, alongside the blackboards. Sitting two seats ahead and one row to the left of him was obviously a transfer from some other school, since no one there at Julius Schmidt High School had ever noticed him around before. He wore a tight, short black leather tee-shirt, very tight-fitting brown leather pants, and high (almost to the knee) black leather engineer's-style boots. Over the tee-shirt he wore a black leather jacket (not motorcycle-style), which would have been also very tight-fitting had he worn it zippered; but he chose to let it hang open and loose, so that everyone could see and be shocked by (thus attracted to) his navel and the firm, hard muscles of his abdomen, visible above his low-slung pants and wide, heavy brass-buckled garrison belt. A three-inch band of taut flesh covered with a fine tangle of black hair was visible at all times to anyone who cared to partake of the lewd spectacle (which included just about everyone everywhere). Nails was medium in height and wiry in build, with long, straight black hair framing his pale, intense, gray-eyed countenance, which often betrayed a true sensitivity to less "masculine" matters in the world around him.
He and David had every class together, including gym, where David had a chance to observe the boy's fuckstick as he removed his white leather gym suit. It was of average length and thickness, and attractively bullet-shaped. David knew, though, that a limp dick meant little; guys who were well-hung in repose were often not much larger when they had raging hard-ons, but average or even smaller-dicked guys would reach about the same length as their well-hung brothers when they were up and ready for the contest. That had always fascinated David, who was an avid biology student.
At any rate, David was careful to not speak to the new boy all through the day, preferring to let him notice David and speak first. But he didn't. He remained sullen or surly all through the day, speaking to no one, male or female, slouching through the crowded corridors cheetah-like from class to class, glancing at his program card or looking straight ahead or down at his boots. David somehow figured him to be a secret reader, or a painter, or a writer of lyric poetry; one who probably had a high I.Q. but who did poorly in class work-and David was right about the latter. Nails went all the way through school with a 154 I.Q., getting C's and D's. He knew that studying was for punks and faggots.
After his biology class, the last of the day, David went to his locker, which was two classrooms down the second-floor hall from Nails' (or Roger Kutek, as the teachers kept calling him). David was careful to keep his eye on him, so that he wouldn't lose the boy. David went to his locker to get his jacket and the rest of his books. Nails went to his locker (since he already wore his jacket) only to put away his biology book, then walked empty-handed down the hall and out of the building.
David trotted up behind him saying, "Hey, Roger-wait up a minute."
The boy whirled on his heavily-cleated heel to face the intruder. His face was still sullen and clouded over-but there was the underlying threat of rage there and he muttered in low but firm and easily discernable words, "Don't call me Roger. That's for teachers, cops and other creeps." Then he turned back in the direction in which he had been headed and continued his course down the street.
David was determined, and he caught up once more. "What should I call you then?"
The other boy glanced at David with sour speculation, then returned his thunderhead eyes toward his destination. After a long moment he said, "If you have to call me anything, my real name is Nails." David put out his hand. "Well then, hi, Nails." Nails took the proffered hand, shaking it perfunctorily, and David could see the thick, shiny-bright silver identification bracelet on his right wrist. In flowing script on its surface was the name "Nails." On his left wrist was a wide, thick, black leather watch band. On three of his fingers were rings: a tacky silver skull-and-crossbones ring with cheap red stones set into the eyehole sockets, where ostensibly silver eyes had once been; a black and silver wedding-type ring on his pinkie, with a legend around its circumference which David could not make out; and a third ring, on his right index finger, bearing the emblem of the Nazi Party, with the stylized SS lightning bolts on either side of it. It looked authentically old.
"Where did you get that gruesome beauty?" David asked him, pointing in an offhand way to the ring.
"This? My Father Brought It Home From The Great War," he told his travelling companion, with an elaborate, sarcastic sneer in his adolescent voice.
"Oh," David replied. Then he said, "It's sort of nice. What's the other one?"
"This one?" he said, holding out his pinkie and peering curiously at David's questioning face. "It's ... a wedding band."
"A wedding band? You're putting me on. You're not really married, are you?"
"Yes. Not the kind of married you mean, though. I'm married to a whole group of people."
"A group?"
"Yeah. A club like."
"Oh," David said, thinking, A club ring. But the way he said what he said is so ... so weird ... He decided to drop it for the time being. "What school did you transfer from, Nails?"
"St. Donatien's."
"Oh, yeah? Isn't that a coincidence. You happen to know Mary Carabotta?"
He smiled an odd smile and he nodded. Weird.
"I sometimes used to see her a little," David told him.
"Is that so...."
They walked and talked some more, about trivial things, but David was really intrigued by the new boy's club and his responses to things-things like Mary. Had he balled her? That cunt! That fucking slut! If the unreasonable truth were ever known, David would have wanted every single last girl he had ever laid to go straight into a convent when he had finished with them, where they would spend the balance of their lives brooding over the fact that they could not possess him and his magnificence, at the same time denying themselves other men; denying other men themselves. He suspected that every male felt the way he did about that secret irrationality.
When they parted at a street where Nails had to turn off, Nails, though still coolly reserved with David, seemed warmer than he had earlier. David decided that he would try to match that cool, but that eventually he would find out just what Roger "Nails" Kutek's scene was.
It didn't take him long to form a reasonable speculation on Nails' behavior patterns and his bag in general, though. Nails must have had a complete wardrobe filled with leather costumes and uniforms: tee-shirts, trousers, vests, boots, hats, belt, wrist traps, and sundry accessories. He was some kind of leather freak. When he wasn't wearing leather it was tight Levis, or tight, tight, tight something. Nails didn't appear to dress so much as he did to apply a massive network of leather tourniquets each day. David idly wondered from time to time how the boy's blood could possibly circulate.
After a few weeks of casual conversations, cursory nods and friendly waves, David opened the subject one sunny afternoon on the way home from school. "You're really into a leather trip, aren't you?"
Nails looked at him. "Yeah ... I am. How do you know about that? You interested in leather?"
"Sure...." David said coolly as he walked on, looking straight ahead.
"Yeah?" Nails said with great suspicion. "Then how come I never see you wearin' any?"
"I try to be cool about that. In fact I don't know how you can carry it off all the time, the way you do. I only wear mine for ... special occasions."
Nails' eyes fairly gleamed with the intensity of his private mental machinations. "Look-this club I belong to," he began, holding up his left pinkie to stimulate David's memory on the subject. David remembered. "We're sort of looking around for a few new members-just one or two-and I think you and the other people might sort of dig each other. We never take in many people-and only very special types. We're exclusive as hell, that way. But I think you might work out. Are you interested?"
"I might be...." David answered, with intentional vagueness. "What does it say on the ring?"
Nails smiled, holding the. ring aloft, and without looking at it, he said, " 'My Brothers/My Sisters/ My Love'. It's a good motto. Would you dig to come around after a meeting sometime and be introduced? See, you won't be allowed to come to an actual meeting until you're approved and everything. There's a meeting this Friday night and you can come around ten or so, if you want, and I'll introduce you. Okay?"
"Sure," David said, withholding the enthusiasm he, in fact, truly felt. "What do you call the group? Has it got any name or anything?"
"Yeah," Nails told him, winking mischievously. "We call ourselves 'The Chicago Symphony Orchestra'."
Nails gave him the address and he said he'd see him on Friday night.
David arrived early and parked down the road from the place. It was way, way out on a highway in the boondocks, with no other sign of human habitation nearby. A massive, squatting, empty garage, belonging, he found out later, to one of the member's fathers. David's only real leather consisted of shoes and two pair of boots, one pair of which were engineer's boots, like Nails', only not quite so high. He had a friend, though, who was into The Motorcycle Thing, and David had persuaded him to lend him his motorcycle jacket and leather breeches, which fit him snugly-snugly enough to reveal a long, man-sized bulge in the vicinity of his crotch. He had no leather shirt or anything remotely like it-so, even though it was very cold, he wisely decided to wear nothing over his chest but the open jacket and a stainless steel Maltese cross on a chain, which he had bought chiefly for the purpose of that meeting. He shivered in the car, glancing from time to time at his watch, smoking and listening heedlessly to the car radio. He was anxious to see what was inside the dark, mysterious garage-but not so anxious that he would be uncool enough to blow his whole game by arriving right at ten o'clock. That would be a loser's move-and David Cummings knew that he was no loser.
At ten after ten he turned the key in the ignition, put the car into gear and drove slowly up the road to the top of the hill, where the garage was situated, and parked among several other cars. The windows on the building had been painted a flat black, so he had no visible preview of what he might find inside. He did, however finally hear the faint throb of music and shuffling feet within, and he knocked on the glass door. In a moment it opened. It was Nails. He looked David up and down, examining him critically upon seeing his new friend for the first time in his beloved leather. The expression on his face was one of reserved approval.
"Hey, man. C'mon in," he said, opening the door wider so that he could pass through.
David entered, standing rather self-consciously near the entrance until Nails led the way. The place and the people constituted a professional punk's nightmare: chains and ring-plates bolted everywhere to the cinderblock construction; whips, straps, leather, leather, leather-and the people made an Heteronymous Bosch painting as they stood around, danced in wild abandon, hung from the walls and grease rack and writhed in erotic knots. They all seemed cool, though, and they bore the same authoritative air that Nails assumed. And their names! They all were called by nicknames, like "Godzilla," and "Kong," and "Spider," and "Lash," and "Spike."
David said hello and nodded when being introduced, the names at once assuming a part in the singular impression of a menagerie in his head; he remembered every last name, but could not connect them to the faces or bodies. Only one name he could connect to a face: a chick called "Cobra"-it was Mary Carabotta. Knowing her would be a plus factor in his getting into the club, he felt, because they all beamed when they discovered that the two knew one another. Mary was not in the club yet, though-but this was the second "after-meeting" gathering she had attended. One of the guys had, the week before, given her the nickname on seeing her for the first time. And, despite her tininess in height, she did rather resemble that reptilian creature: her mane of black hair encompassed her face in a hood-like arrangement, her eyes were coal-black and shiny, her mouth a natural red, and when she danced her feet seemed rooted to the ground while her body, from the knees up, swayed in an almost hypnotic manner-and to top it all off, she had the habit of frequently wetting her lips with her tongue, flicking it out and across them ... like a cobra does before it strikes.
After an hour or so, most of which time the two ex-lovers spent talking to one another, one of the guys in the club came over to where they were sitting on an old, rump-sprung sofa and said, "All right, folks-you've been okayed by everyone. Next week is initiation, so be here at eight o'clock sharp. You pass that and you're in."
Initiation? David thought. What kind of jive, corny, adolescent bullshit is this?
The following Friday night the two of them found out. David arrived at eight, dressed the same as the week before, except that in the meantime he had bought a leatherette tee-shirt, similar to Nails'. Mary was dressed in a brown chamois top and a brown leather miniskirt. Both costumes were rather unnecessary as they were both ordered to strip at once. As he was unzipping the tight breeches David's nostrils flared; he smelled that someone (everyone?) was smoking grass-and he wished he could have a taste, because he was beginning to suspect what kind of action was about to go down. The room was different from the previous week. All the lights in the place had been turned out except for one very bright, overhead pin spot, which beamed down near the center of the spacious room. The two initiates disrobed near the center of the sharply defined light area. David could only vaguely make out the members of the club seated around the walls in the murky gloom beyond. It was a truly creepy beginning and David could feel his skin crawl with tension. Mary stood near him, rubbing each upper arm with her hands. It was cold, but she did that more to shield her breasts with a carapace of limbs than for warmth.
Kong came forward into the lighted area carrying two heavy chains nearly eight feet in length. On either end of each was fastened a three-inch-wide leather strap with brass hardware and buckles. Kong chained their wrists together, spreading the eight-foot chains between them as he stood them apart, one on either side of the lowered grease rack, while one of the other members pressed the button which raised it. The silver, greased cylinder slid up out of the aperture in the floor, and their arms were slowly raised high up over their heads until they stretched and strained at the sockets and their feet left the cement and they each dangled, facing one another some five feet apart, nearly a foot from the floor.
Mary's tits stood erect, her nipples reaching, her generous muff twitching, her head raised back, eyes staring at her bonds. And across from her David's horn went through its spasms and grew to full erectness. It was sexy as Spanish fly in absinthe. But were they just going to let them hang there like that? In a moment he saw two girls walk behind Mary and reach their hands up to her snatch, fingering her clit, and David was, for a moment, shocked to feel a hand wrap itself around his pulsing cock. He couldn't see who the hand belonged to, but it was a male, and it softly and gently stroked from the base to the head. After a moment of that he felt his cheeks being spread and a tongue was thrust into his asshole. Then within a split instant following that charge, hands on his nates pushed him forward, as did the hands of the girls behind Mary. They were propelled in this manner until they bumped bellies in the middle; bumped huge, soft-but-firm breasts against sleek, hard-muscled chest; ramrod cock against fury mons; thigh to thigh....
Then a voice said, "Okay-start fucking."
"Wh...."
"How?"
"Figure out a way."
David thought quickly, as the pushers continued to push them both in a slow, swinging, steady rhythm. When they came together, David said, "Spread." And Mary came back to him the next time with her legs wide. David twisted in air and also spread, and when they met they locked their lower limbs, clamping them together. It took David amazingly little time for his cock to find Mary's already slippery cunt and, with her undulating help, work itself inside. They still swayed in mid-air as David set his hips into play, and he thought he might splat off at once, he was so fucking nasty with lust. The sensation of fucking in mid-air was fantastic to them both, and they were inordinately stimulated. One member of the group around them, however, was selected to listen carefully for signs of impending climax, and when they were detected, he leaped into the air, coming down across the bellies, crotches and locked thighs of the two aerialist fornicators, neatly pulling he out of she and setting them to dangle once more, unfulfilled, with no more pushers. They both frantically kicked their legs, trying to build enough momentum to become engaged once more.
But the voice, which by then had assumed for the two a sepulchral, almost God-like quality, intervened again, saying, "Now you each take one cut apiece from each member-and if you scream, you're out."
And the words had no sooner left the speaker's mouth than the first lash bit down diagonally across David's back, from his right shoulder to his left hip, and in his surprise and pain, he automatically began to yell out-but he stopped it off in a harsh grunt before it could disqualify him. The shock, he could feel, was making him lose his precious rod, and that tied his guts into a Gordian knot. But it would be regained. The second stroke came down in the opposite direction, surely completing a red chiasma on his back, and he gritted his teeth as he began to feel a strange sensation in his groin, similar to the one he felt when hanging from the backboard, making himself late on purpose. The third cut came directly around his waist, wrapping itself and therefore not hurting too badly-and he felt himself regaining his boner once more. The fourth came straight down, catching the back of his head in the bargain, and David's dangling body began twitching and convulsing as the punishers gradually moved around to the front of his body, criss-crossing his chest with fiery, knife-cut welts, The last person to approach was a tall, angular girl with high cheekbones who wore skin-tight leather breeches with high boots and a wide, chrome-studded motorcycle belt-and nothing else. Her tits were small but firm and well shaped, David noticed, even in his excruciating pain. Then a strange thing happened to David: the long girl coiled the whip behind her for a second, then smoothly brought her arm looping around in a fast semi-circle and lashed him straight across his still-hard cock, the rawhide whipping around and cutting his ass-and David jetted a spermy geyser of honeysuckle cream out into space. It splattered down on the girl's face, tits and arm, and she rushed forward, taking his mouth-high prick directly into her head, between greedy lips, to try and drain him, pressing his whip-striped ass toward her head, as David hung there, helplessly, weakly shooting load after load into the strange girl's hungry craw.
When he started to go limp she stepped back, smiling, scooping David's come from her body with crooked index fingers, then sucking them clean of the nectar.
"He's gonna be okay, this one," the girl pronounced, looking at him with sexy, satisfied, spice eyes. "Okay...." And she turned her torso, arching her back, her breasts thus emphasized for the people in the spooky gloom behind her, out of the ring of light where the two of them hung. She peered at Mary, who trembled and twitched, whether in eager anticipation or fear David could not tell. Since the tall girl had the last crack at David, she was to take the first go at Mary. She walked a step toward her and David heard someone behind him say:
"Hey! She's gonna...."
And the tall girl hauled off and bashed Mary flat across the cunt with the eight-foot whip, causing her to violently contract, before falling to dangle once more. She had gasped loudly from shock and pain-but she did not scream, as David was afraid she might.
Another girl rushed out and pulled the whipper away by the elbow, saying, "Come on, Cat! You know we've gotta work up to that!"
And the girl called Cat had her head cupped in the crescent between her thumb and forefinger, muttering, "Yeah ... I'm sorry ... It was so fucking beautiful trembling there like that, that I just couldn't help myself . .
Across from him David could see Mary's head thrown back and the crystal glisten of tears streaming down over her olive cheek; he could hear a heavy breathing-but still no cry left her lips. Just before the first of them could take the initial swipe at her back, David convulsed, because at least two tongues had begun licking at wounds on his thighs and ass. It put him into an exquisite swoon. But he forced the attention of his consciousness to the spectacle before him: as he opened his eyes (and the licking continued all over his lower portions) he saw the lash come down hard on Mary's back, the leather tip of the snake snapping around, flicking her left breast, raising an immediate welt on that tender mound. Mary jerked with a harsh snap, and David heard the first of a series of fluttering moans which she permitted to issue from her mouth. The third excoriating slash was delivered in a manner similar to David's third, and they beat and flayed their way around the poor, ecstatic girl's lacerated body, striping and tormenting it, splitting the flesh on one of her huge, succulent paps, and David hung there, growing erect once more from a combination of what he was seeing and the way the wet, warm mouths were flattering his body. The final cut was delivered unto Mary's spasm-wracked body by a large, hairy, ape-like young man. His arm sped downward and across his body at an acute angle, and the lash itself trailed fast a split second afterward, neatly creasing a crimson slash across her lower belly, from her left hip to her right thigh, directly cutting her sweet pussy, and the young man, like Cat before him, gave in to an interior fury and began smashing her wet gash back and forth, back and forth, as Mary's body actually began to turn with the blows and her moans began rising in intensity; ... oh ... oh ... Oh ... OH ... OH ... AHHHHHH!" And David, knowing the sound intimately, understood that the beast, in his frenzy, had made her come, and come gloriously, before they dragged him away from her pain-thrilled body.
They let her hang a bit longer, but they took David down and lay him on a broad bed in another room, the fresh, clean, white sheets at once picking up stripes from his wounds-and they continued licking him all over. Licking, sucking away the hurt and fleshy distresses, making him shudder with ecstasy, and he felt his cock rigid once more with desire, wishing for one of them to take it in his mouth or hand and give him his sweet rush-but that was not what they were preparing him for. He was so carried away that he almost did not feel them lay Mary down alongside him moments later, to begin the same treatment on her. They lay side by side, finally intertwining their wrists, hands and fingers. Soon their hands were gripping each other, not just holding. The dark voice somewhere in the room said, "Okay, fuck her-and no matter what happens, we want to see you both come." David opened his eyes. "You-yes, you-fuck her."
David hadn't been certain they meant him-but at that point he didn't need any further encouragement or really elaborate invitations, so bursting with love-lotion were his balls, so hurtfully stiff was his cock. And Mary was quivering with a need to be rammed and rammed hard.
David began to throw a leg over and in between her own, but she was so eager he didn't have a chance: she was straddling his groin in a flash, her immense, abused tits only inches away from his sweating face. He held one of the beauties in each hand and began tenderly kissing and licking them, suckling and biting at her nipples, while she, above him, straightened his cock in her trembling hand, pointing it directly at her yoni, hidden there in the blood-clotted, chrisom-dripping, black, shiny tendrils of hair. She sank back on her haunches, her cunt enveloping his thick shaft of a cock, wriggling slowly, rhythmically on it, rubbing it against the walls she wanted touched, relishing his sucking, licking mouth, her eyelids closed, her eyes rolled back, looking at the pleasure-nerve that was her mind. Then a rain of blows came down on them, not as sharp or severe as before (they were using three-foot-long, knotted-leather thongs), and she fell forward on her lover, sobbing, and he quickly rolled her under himself, shielding her from the whipping (which got her on the sides anyway), and he took the hurricane, which came at times down across the sensitive back of his scrotum and asshole as he spread his legs over her to protect her. When David could stand it no more (at the same time Mary began again wanting her share of the carnage) they rolled and reversed. Some of the floggers' arms grew tired and they were reduced, at times, to only two-but after brief respite the others joined back in. When David was on top, some seven or eight minutes after they had begun, he felt the stinging blows on his ass and thighs-and he shot off in a roaring, Niagara gush of jism, sobbing and weeping as he did. He sensed Mary's difficulty in having her orgasm and before all the semen was really even out of his pounding cock, he rolled them over again so that the whipping could rain down on her ass. David reached down and sunk his fingers and fingernails deep into the tender meat around her cunt and roughly spread her hunks of buttock as wide as they would go, his nails drawing considerable, immediate blood around them, and the whippers redoubled their beating, zeroing in on her exposed furry gash and the shank of his sword of muscle, which was still imbedded into her rich fullness. It took less than a minute before he could feel her joy of release mounting within and she climaxed with a loud groan of ecstatic pleasure pain, her whole body shuddering and shaking, convulsing with the unbearable, exquisite beauty which emerged through the brutal agony.
And the flagellation ceased. They rolled David off and onto his sore back. They lay side by side again, breathing heavily as people bustled around them with salves, ointments and balms while Spider prepared the final movement of the ceremony by plugging an electrical tool into a nearby socket. He went to David and took his semi-limp prick into his left hand, the tool in his right, and he set the tool to whirring, bringing it into contact with the hilt of David's weary phallus, where he carefully tattooed the words:
MY BROTHERS MY SISTERS MY LOVE in red, then encircled the words, top and bottom, with blue rings. When he finished his artwork on David he walked around the bed to Mary's side and proceeded to mark her similarly, around in a circle on her labia minors-so that when any male member of the club made love to any female member, the rings would clasp together and kiss.
The voice said, "It's over. You are both now members of this club. Your leather is here by the bed. You can come out whenever you want."
David and Mary could hear the heavy racket of boot-clad people shuffling out of the room. After many, many long minutes of lying there in their baptized exhaustion, reliving the experiences of the evening, they could finally open their eyes and look at one another.
"Wow...." Mary said, in a low, breathy voice. "Yeah ... wow ... David agreed. Then he rolled on his left side and whispered, "Tired?"
"Yes....You might say ... I 'hi beat..
David nodded. Then he asked, "Too tired to try out the new rings?"
Mary smiled at him and held out her arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The University rules wouldn't allow Corky to move out of her dormitory and in with her Charles, though that is what they both wanted-and since they had decided to wait until the following summer to get married, they had to content themselves with evening and weekend balling. Slowly Corky's snatch expanded to the point where she could accommodate her future husband without any noticeable pain at all which perversely bothered her: she wondered what would happen if they should ever separate or divorce. Or even if they didn't she felt that with anyone else, after Charles, she would be like a ballroom and a new partner would be like a lone, single dancer in it. On the other hand, if she and Charles were to ever have children, the act of giving birth would be, to Corky, the near equivalent of a good, one-way piece of ass.
For them, then, the balance of the first semester and the whole of the second, from November until late May, became a whirlwind of fucking and classes and loving and parties and screwing and homework and chooglin' and more fucking.
Then school ended and they went to Corky's parents' church for the Saturday-morning wedding.
Things seemed to be out of whack the minute Charles opened his merry eyes on the morning of the day of his wedding to Corky. It had something, he knew, to do with Corky's amazing mammaries. Was it the pill? He even suspected her of secretly getting silicone injections. The thing was that in less than a year's time her tits had expanded from a reasonable size 36 to somewhere around an astounding 40! A beautifully shaped, voluminous size 40! He didn't mind her being the center of attention wherever they went-but the way it affected him! Even he couldn't stop staring at them. He went, surreptitiously, to a sheet-metal shop and had the man who owned the place fabricate a zinc-coated, aluminum-ribbed, wire-webbed jock strap for himself. He had to somehow avoid that constant social embarrassment. And on that morning he had been unable to focus his eves for an hour after arising in the guest room at Neil Turner's house, several blocks away from the Cummings place. One shirred egg looked like two; one cup of coffee looked like two huge nipples, torturing him with abstracted visions of Corky's udder splendor. His eyes came around by ten o'clock-and so did Godzilla, one of his brother-in-law-to-be's strange young friends, who was to take him to another house, where they were to dress for the wedding. Charles had liked David from the weekend he had met him, when he and Corky drove back from State so that he could meet her family, and to announce their marriage plans. He liked David, except for the strange, enigmatic smile which he always seemed to wear, and which was not a little disconcerting to Charles.
Godzilla drove in a surly manner, sneering at Charles for being a "white-collar faggot" instead of a Pierto di Donato character, like him and his broth crs and his fathers and uncles and ancestors reaching back to pre-Christian times, when they sweated over esoteric projects such as The Coliseum (that beloved Yankee Stadium of Bible stories).
Godzilla was stridently angry and mean (as were the others in David's club) because, once having laid eyes on Corky, every single one of them had hungered openly to have the opportunity to beat the bloody bejesus out of her snatch and ass-and they somehow felt that Charles was the one who was personally responsible for taking that opportunity away from them. When Godzilla wasn't savagely blaring the horn for absolutely no fathomable reason, he was glowering at Charles with utter, ugly hatred, and muttering to himself.
Finally, when Charles could tolerate the smoking anger no longer, he said, "Hey, pal-this is supposed to be a happy day; what's the matter with you?"
"Yeah...." Godzilla began. "Well you jus' keep yer han's offa her, you cheap, faggoty little cock-sucker...." he advised him, causing poor Charles more confusion than he was prepared to handle gracefully that day-but only the minutest particle of what he would have to deal with in the not-too-distant future. A raving sub-Mongoloid's pique would be the least of his new worries.
The best man at the wedding was to be Tom Brady, an old college buddy and co-teacher at State. Then there had to be three ushers at the last minute, to match the maid of honor (Cynthia) and the three bridesmaids Corky suddenly had to have. So it came to pass that Charles' attendants were Tom Brady, David, Nails and Kong. Perversely, though he despised the whole wedding idea, Godzilla felt slighted at not being invited to participate in the ceremony, and that made him even angrier. Everything always made Godzilla mad.
At Nails' place there was more glowering all around-except for Tom, who had been waiting nervously for Charles to show up. (What's with all this porno graphic leather? he wondered upon arriving.) Tom was standing diffidently between the dining room and the living room holding a large glass of cheap whiskey in his trembling hand ("No-no ginger ale, thank you. I'll take it just like this...."). The others were already there, pumping booze into their harsh mouths, as they actually had been doing since before ten a.m.
"Hi," Tom said to Charles, relief displacing the recent jovial terror which had been staining his voice all that morning. "Hey, Charles-guess what."
"What?"
"The ties didn't come."
"Ties? What ties?"
"The tuxedo ties. The tuxedos and cummerbunds came, but no ties or anything."
"Oh, Christ! Well, what are we gonna do now? We have to be over at the church in ten minutes!" he said, and he thought, What magnificent tits that girl has!
"Don't worry," Kong told them, with a lift of his whiskey; and when Kong (who looked like a desperately ugly Lou Groza) told people to not worry, they didn't worry-or they were sorry. Charles' and Tom's faces brightened immediately, in sunshiny concert.
"What do you mean?" Charles asked, beaming with an idiotic grin.
"Ahhh....We got plennya fuckin' ties. C'mon," he said, taking Charles by one arm and Tom by the other and leading them first to Nails' room, and then Nails' parents' room, to pick and choose among the ties.
And so early that bright summer afternoon they stood at the altar of the Church of the Good Ditmus, a bridegroom, a best man, and three ushers, each one togged out in impeccable, penguin-perfect tuxedoes, cummerbunds, crisp, immaculate, white shirts-and two red ties, two brown leather ones and one green-and-white knit job with a huge, green shamrock on it, which Kong liked to wear to work every Saint Paddy's Day, which was always good for a couple of yokes and a few fistfights. He wore it that day, too, because it was a good gag, and at the same time it was a dig at Charles York, whom he believed to be Irish, because he didn't look like a Jew, or have a kike name-and he sure as hell wasn't no wop.
And then the procession of bridesmaids came trooping down the center aisle, in a saturnalia of pastels, moving, Charles thought, in that corny, stupid, slow-motion, one-way waltz which somebody at one time during the Middle Ages thought was befitting to the dignity of the occasion. Then, as he knew the main dish was about to appear, he tried to think of empty, green pastures; of seascapes with creamy-topped waves; of dead bodies floating face-down in-the Yangtze; of mountains (NO, NO, Not of mountains, you dumb schmuck!) of headless, truncated corpses in the fields of Dunkirk and Normandy; of how it would feel to be crucified ... All so he wouldn't spring a boner there and embarrass everyone-not to mention (since the new device) the maudlin and depressing possibility of killing or blinding a score or so with flying, jock-strap shrapnel. And down at the end of the long aisle, with the virgin white runner; The Goddess. He saw half her left tit (in profile) emerge from behind one of the doors, and she paused that corny pause. Her baby sister Debbie was directly in front of her, her head only crotch-high, scattering carnation petals. How obscene, Charles thought. People-babies! are starving in Biafra! Innocent women and children are being roasted alive by napalm in Vietnam-and I stand here, a part of this pagan spectacle, desperately trying to keep from getting an erection over just looking at someone I've slept with a hundred times! Then there she was, in the doorway, arm-in-arm with her father, who glared myopically the entire length of the church at Charles. Then Mr. Cummings looked at his daughter, and his body was wracked with horrible, tormented sobbing.
But Charles didn't see that. He didn't see anything but more of Corky's tremendous tits, in the sexiest goddamn gown ever made for any woman: it was a modified "see-through," and if one examined it closely enough (which everyone in the church was doing) one could just make out the definition of two pale, brown, half-dollar-sized nipples beneath the delicate lattice of lace.
Oh, God ... Charles thought. He commenced sweating all over, and he could feel his nice, pressed tuxedo wilting around him, he was losing his ability to breathe, suffering an utter respiratory breakdown. He felt his cock straining against the aluminum jock, he could feel the device bending out of shape, and throughout, though he was not a religious man (perhaps it was just being there, in a church again), Charles prayed: Oh, my God! Merciful Lord in Heaven ... please let this fucking jock strap hold!
As she stepped through the door and into the chapel proper, a full quarter of those in attendance rose as one and began grinding out miles and miles of eight-millimeter film, lusting to create a sort of semi-porn flick, destined to become masturbatory aids for jerking away the lonely hours, staining their tiny home screens with semen.
Two short, dark, spider-like photographers suddenly appeared in the doorway behind the father and daughter and proceeded to flutter around them, in front, behind, to either side, all the way down the aisle, taking pictures of Corky's tits. The LoPari Brothers:
Weddings-Confirmations-First Communions-Baby Pictures-Anniversaries-Bocce Tournaments-Funerals. Artistic Photos. High Quality Guaranteed.
By the time the inane procession concluded at the altar, and Corky was grudgingly remanded to Charles' custody, most of which time he spent staring brazenly at his bride's daring and fulsome decolletage, was the way the photographers kept popping up directly behind the assistant minister's shoulders with annoying regularity, and taking quick shots down at her. (They didn't bother taking a single picture of Charles-so years later, when their grandchildren pored over their grandparents' wedding album, it would appear as though their grandma got married all by herself.) One of the acrobatic LoPari Brothers climbed up high on the altar, encircling a huge crucifix with one arm and one leg, hanging high on the crossbar, suspended there along with the reproduction of his Savior, frantically snapping the shutter of his Leica at Corky. Near the conclusion of the ceremony, a voice was heard near the back of the church (it was Godzilla) loudly announcing, "This is a buncha shit! I'm gettin' outta here." And there was an insalubrious bustle as he departed.
When it was finally all over, years later, they started back up the aisle, Charles getting to walk on the virgin runner for the first time, which curiously pleased him in a childish way. Corky was blushing in a maidenly manner (lustily anticipating Charles' stupendous wang, and their three-week honeymoon,) and Charles was too entranced, gazing at her bulging, heaving bosom, to notice that everyone on the bride's side of the church who was not glaring at him was weeping hysterically-and everyone on the groom's side, like Charles, was preoccupied with staring at his bride's tits.
The reception was something of a bizarre circus, since all Charles' friends and all the bride's male friends, and all of David's gang (draped in their crude animal skins) spent the entire celebration drinking while waiting in line to dance with Corky-and all the females in attendance sat on the sidelines cursing their own insufficient endowments. Charles stood at the door trying to be polite to Mr. Cummings, who got himself shit-faced drunk early, and who was constantly talking to Charles ("Why when I was your age ... I was younger then ... well, Corky was just a little girl.... A little girl ... and you're a teacher....") and at the same time Charles had to greet new dancing partners for his wife, and their soon-to-be inferiority-consumed mates, while watching Corky being openly molested by drunken, red-faced, leering satyrs who just wanted to press up against her, just once ("C'mon honey ... lemme jus' touch one ... jus' one....He won't mind ... honest ... I know 'im-he wouldn' mind....").
Fortunately they got away that night without Corky getting herself gang-fucked right there in the middle of that nice church basketball court dance floor. It came close a number of times, though, notably when Corky was doing the polka with one of her father's business partners (who all looked like the C.I.A.), and the hem of her gown swirled higher and higher until on a final swoop her entire tushie was exposed, encased lusciously in red bikini briefs. Godzilla couldn't stand it and he whipped his black garrison belt out of the loops in his Levis and started marching toward the unaware bride, only to be wrestled out of the building by David, Kong and Nails.
And once, when she stopped for a rest and a drink with her new husband, a bodiless voice wafted from the slightly opened door of the nearby dank men's room, and tried, with hoarse desperation, to coax her to come in there with him.
She was driving men mad-utter, stark, raving mad. There was to be a lot of fucking that night-and not just by the bride and groom. The people in David's club kept slipping out in pairs and trios to eat, gobble, be eaten and blown, and fuck their husky lust away. Before dawn David had sucked Nails off twice and been blown by him once; he blew Kong because Kong forced him and then Kong blew him. He wouldn't go near Godzilla, though-even at the point of a weapon. He fucked Cat, whom he would treasure as the first person to ever get him off with a whip, and he found her to be one of the most sensitive, creative back-seat bailers he had ever had the acrobatic pleasure of knowing in his wide experience at young suburban America's truest National Pastime.
The one he wanted to get to though (and didn't) was Charles' 22-year-old sister, Tricia. She was taller than Charles (six-one) and her hair had a copper-red cast to it; it flowed in Grecian bowers, down nearly to her sumptuous ass. Her legs were long and perfect, like a Vargas drawing. Her face was no knockout, but it had its own rare kind of sensuality about it: her nose was pugged, her eyes a shade too small, and there was a cute space between her two front teeth which David found oddly attractive and sexy.
He approached her early on in the day, as she was one of Corky's bridesmaids, and because of the brother-sister thing, she became his partner. David got her to dance with him once at the reception, at which time he pitched, asking her to go for a drive with him-and she refused, frankly telling him that he seemed nice enough, but she definitely didn't care a rat's ass for his freaky friends, and because of that she felt she probably shouldn't trust her judgment about him. Based on that (though in his own way he dug her attitude and the way she presented herself out front), David figured that hers would be pretty tough thighs to spread, and he wouldn't have much time: she was returning late that evening to State, where she was in graduate school getting another degree in social work.
"Let's take her out in the parkin' lot an' rape 'er," Godzilla suggested, with urbane, sophisticated, Playboy technique, as he wiped spittle from the comer of his mouth with a blackened, calloused knuckle.
"Naw," David told him. "Not her. She's my brother-in-law's sister."
"So what? That don't mean she ain't got no cunt er nuthin', does it?"
"No, Godzilla-it means you ain't got no brains, you simple fuck. Why don't you go blow a donkey or something," David said as he walked away from him.
A donkey? Godzilla thought. Yeah ... but where the hell am I gonna find a fuckin' donkey around here?....
As the happy young couple winged their way southward, toward the romantic isle of Barbados, another kind of love was taking place back in their home state.
At the wedding reception, among the guests, were a tall, husky, belligerent, off-duty policeman and his tiny, timid wife (the kind that sort of man always seems to marry). The more drunk this cop became, the more he indulged himself in ragging the leather kids, calling them freaks and faggots, and saying, "If you guys think yer so tough, come outside with me one at a time an' I'll mop up the yard wit' yez...." The cop had just passed forty and he was a bit nervous about the suspicion that his masculinity was fading. His wife was only thirty-three and just didn't know what was happening. Her social aggressiveness consisted of a fey, nervous smile, or a lusty, resounding blush. Godzilla wanted to gang up on him. Cat wanted to gang up on her. David came up with the best idea.
"What's your name, mister?"
"Lou-ya punk."
"Okay, Lou-do you have a car?"
"Sure-I got a brand new Fury."
"Okay, let's do this sensibly-there's no need for any violent bullshit. I've got a five-year-old Buick, and I say my Buick can take your shit bird Fury. What about that?"
"Any time, punk....Any time ..
"Okay," David told him, smiling. "A two-mile race, the loser pays. Drinks all around. That okay with you?" The cop nodded with a vicious grin. "You know where 81 intersects with 7 out in the hills?" The cop kept on nodding and grinning.
"Good. The stretch is on 81 from 7 south to the park road sign-two miles. Let's see what kind of hotshot you really are. We'll meet you at the starting line in fifteen minutes."
"It'll only take me ten to get there, peace creep. I'll be waitin' fer yez...." He grabbed his wife by the wrist and dragged her out to the parking lot.
True to his word, he was there in ten minutes. True, also, to his word, David pulled up alongside the red Fury in fifteen. Kong, who sat on the passenger side, rolled down his window and David leaned across Mary and Kong to tell the grinning cop, "He'll count three-on three we take off. Okay?"
The cop gave David the finger in reply. Kong began counting and when he hit three the Fury shot across the intersection before David had barety begun moving. He moved almost lethargically through the gears and Kong said, "C'mon, man! What's the matter! Ain't this thing got any balls at all?"
And David replied, with a soft smile, "What's the big hurry?" and turned his smile on the red tail-lights ahead, which were receding to pinpoints in the darkness.
Oh, he went fast all right-over seventy-five-but he was beaten from the git-go, and he knew it; but that was not the point of the race. Moments later David once again pulled up alongside the Fury, which was parked near the side of the road. Once again Kong rolled down the window, and before David could call out his congratulatory salutation, the cop guffawed, "You lost. You lost! Now eat shit, you punks! Who's the best man now, huh? You punks eat shit! Now where do I get my drinks?"
"Follow me," David told him, and he drove the half-mile to their clubroom garage. Several of the others had gone on ahead to start the music and light the place up.
"Hey, what's this?" Lou-the-cop said suspiciously as he poked his thick, crew-cut head out of his car, pointing at the deserted-looking dwelling.
David was out of the car by then, as were the others, trooping in the door, which was leaking light and music. David walked over to the man alone, glancing at his watch. "It's too late for a bar now-they're all closed by this time. This is an after-hours joint," he said, clapping the man on his shoulder with great bonhomie. "Oh, by the way," David added, extending his open hand, "I forgot to congratulate you."
"Yeah...." the cop said, squeezing out of his car and peering around in the night. His wife still appeared apprehensive and the man had to snap at her to get her moving. They followed David to the building, Lou muttering something about " ... never heard of no after-hours joint around here...." and when David reached the door he stepped aside, holding it open for his guests, as only the vanquished can do-and then preceded them into the place.
They, of course, were descended upon at once by more than a dozen sex-greedy, screaming leather-freaks. Lou-the-cop got in maybe one halfway decent shot before they had him spread-eagled on the floor. Mrs. Lou-the-cop was hustled into a bedroom by the girls, while the guys chained her husband's hands to his feet in a short four-way bind, causing him to remain in a bent position. His face was orange with rage as he screamed, "I'll get you lousy little cock-suckers for this! I'll get you! And don't think I won't! I know how to find this place again! This is MY territory! You lousy, mother fuckin' cock-suckin' . .
"How do you know we're not going to kill you, Big Lou?" Nails said with soft, easy menace, as he stepped into the lighted area, wearing a leather skull mask which concealed his features from the nose up. They all wore them-and for some reason that frightened the captive cop more than anything they said or did.
But then he considered for the first time the "kill" business. It made some sense to him; nevertheless, he tried to maintain a false bravado. "You guys wouldn't dare....You're chicken. I-I mean ... they'd catch you! You guys are smart enough ta know that, ain't you? You know what they do ta cop-killers, don't-" But he stopped when Nails snapped open his switchblade with a loud, sharp CLICK!
"Now ... let's see what Big Lou really looks like, under that nice blue serge suit and necktie...." Nails placed the blade into the cloth at the top of the back vent of Lou's suit jacket and drew it upward, smiling at the attendant fart-like ripping sound. The jacket fell in two around the man's manacled wrists. With just a starter-notch, Nails ripped the shirt apart by hand, and it, too, fell to the wrists, covering the rended blue jacket-all but the collar and necktie, which remained around Lou's blazing, crimson throat.
"Hey! That looks cute! Let's leave it that way!" somebody called out of the hollow darkness-and the others quickly mumbled their assent.
"Now ... Nails began again, soft and sweet. "Let's see how Big Lou is hung...."
"Hey, c'mon...." the cop said, trembling then, for he was truly, truly afraid-as afraid of them seeing how he was hung as he was of Nails' blade.
His trousers were shredded off in no time, likewise his blue-and-white striped boxer shortsfl) They dragged him to a bloody mattress which lay on the floor in a far corner of the building. It was plain to see that once, not terribly long before, he had probably been an athlete; but the beer and the potato salad and the midnight hero-sandwich snacks had rendered him flaccid over and around his muscles. His body was shock-white and veined in deadly blue-what with his red face and neck, he was a sight to make a patriot come to rigid attention and salute. The bloodstains on the mattress scared the man almost senseless and he babbled his pleas incoherently.
"Bring the K-Y," Nails told anyone.
By the time Godzilla returned with the K-Y jelly they had ordered the cop up on his elbows and knees on the mattress, and Nails was stripped down to his boots and mask. He stood above the naked, quivering blob holding a long, knotted length of leather thong, with which he began whipping the older man, cutting him back and forth across his quaking buttocks, lashing him with a silent fury. The cop squealed, trying to abate a scream, succeeding in sounding like a wretched little puppy-dog-or a pig. Then Nails stopped in time to hear the man squeal once when he thought he was going to be hit again, and wasn't-and the man fell over onto his side, breathing heavily and twitching his red-streaked ass. They got him back on his knees again, while Nails was lubricating the tip of his long, thin cock with the K-Y. Then he took a great glob of the grease and slapped it against the cop's unwary asshole, jamming his long middle finger up inside the sensitive little aperture.
"Look at this mother fuckin' dude," Nails said, nodding his head toward his hand at the man's ass. "He clamped that hole down so goddam hard I can't move my fuckin' finger!"
There was a wave of laughter at that.
"Wh-what're you guys gonna do?" Lou said with outlandish apprehension.
"Why we're just gonna make a lil love to you, baby-that's all...."
"Uh-uh-no," Lou said. "Not on yer life you ain't! You'll hafta kill me first!"
"Why officer!" David said in merry mock-shock. "Are you calling us poor, abused faggots necrophiliacs?"
And everyone laughed again.
"I'll never get into this tight-assed motherfucker," Nails complained. "Get the goddam hammer-we'll have to knock the fuckin' pig out." And magically the nervous anus released the young man's greasy finger. "Ahhh ... that's better. That's a good boy." And Nails ran the finger in and out a few more times, lubricating what he could. "Now, just relax, Lou-Lou, and you may even find that you dig it after a little bit-and wouldn't that surprise you?" he teased as he spread the cop's cheeks as wide apart as he could, looking down at the quivering, little, defenseless hole. "It was puckered and tan and the tiny globs of jelly glistened around it as Nails pushed the head of his prick up against its tenderness-and the hole slammed shut again. "Now, now, Lou-Lou-do you want to open that little dupe and get fucked like a man? Or do you want to go sleepy-bye with the nice hammer?" The cop's eyes were squeezed shut as tightly as his ass, and his face color had gone from orange to scarlet, but the hole trembled open enough for Nails to jam in the whole head of his wand in a single thrust.
"Oh! Oh! Oh!" Lou said in smooth-toned gasps, just like an old maid.
"The more you relax the better it's going to feel for you," David told him.
And Nails began moving further up inside the man, feeling the jelly working, there on his knees, legs spread wide, pulling the man's ass back against him, further, further, until he had his whole tool imbedded into the cop's bulky butt.
Lou moaned in pain and humiliation, tears seeping from the comers of his twisted eyelids, until finally he just felt numb all over, for what seemed like hours-but wasn't. The next sensation he felt was that of his own growing erection, which was confusing and embarrassing to him, and he attempted to hide it.
"See?" Spider said, taking the man's cock into his hand. "It does feel good, doesn't it?" And he began gently pulling the cop's pud. But it was all too much for Lou to bear, and his mind began canceling the automatic erection order. Spider quickly thrust his head into the center of the pyramid the man's body formed and took the cock softly into his hot, undulating mouth, bringing Lou back on up.
Lou thought he would faint: he was being actually blown by a goddam fairy! That hadn't happened to him since those few, innocent times in Hawaii, when he was a Marine....But wait! What's this? A sensation beginning deep up in his gut; a pleasant, rapidly increasing stroking sensation! Almost what it must feel like to a woman to be screwed! And it was getting better! And he feared that he was going to come into this absolute fairy's mouth-and then they would all know that he enjoyed it-and then what? And he felt Nails moving rhythmically, deep inside him, and the soft, warm, wet, sucking lips and tongue in Spider's obscene mouth. Then everything began swirling in his mind and the only thing he knew, somehow, was that he was going to come, and that was all he wanted on earth then and everything he feared-and he moved himself back, reaching against Nails, opening his bowels wide as he could, pressing to him, then clutching the hole down on the boy's cock as tightly as possible, attempting to retain the pumping dick inside himself; but he was weakened, and Nails' cock did its work on him. Then he felt the boy explode up inside his body, sending shivers of liquid joy, hot, streaming into the older man's ass-and that did it for Lou: rockets exploded tiny showers of pinpoints of light in front of his staring eyes and he came and came, shooting warm gy-sers of pent-up fuck-juice into Spider's mouth, and he was amazed somewhere in his being that the boy just kept swallowing and sucking, swallowing and sucking. He was actually swallowing his come! Jesus Christ! The boys down at the station house would never believe that! The boys down at the station house would never have the chance, because the boys down at the station house would never fucking hear about it.
When Spider had moved off the man's cock, and Nails out of his guts, he fell over onto one side in a near-swoon. He didn't know what to think-but he refused to open his eyes and look at their knowing faces; he knew that they knew that he liked it.
But there was no time for such unseemly rumination; before he could gather whatever wits he possessed, Spider was naked and, with the application of a little more K-Y jelly, he was soon installed up inside the man, who was beginning to experience an almost comfortable ecstasy. Nails had switched places with Spider and was beginning to lay the second blowjob of that evening (that double-decade) on the man. And he felt a third one (he didn't know which-and by then he didn't really care, as long as they kept on doing to him what they were doing!) with his face pushed up against Spider's heaving, stroking dong, licking it and licking Lou's asshole (l) while he was being fucked in it! Christ! And from the pressed slits of his eyes, he saw, emerging from the darkness beyond the dream, Cat, also naked except for her mask and high boots, walking toward him! What next? She stood above his head for a short moment, one foot alongside each ear, and then she spread her feet wider and squatted low, and he thought, I'm going to eat it! Yes I am! For the first time in my life I'm finally going to know what it's like to have oral relations! 202, Section 6, article 4! And as he opened his eager lips to receive the blessing, Cat let go her bladder and pissed all over his anxious, purple face. He was so excited by the unexpected ablution that he pulled out of Nails' mouth for an instant and shot jism all over the boy's face. Lou began thrusting his hips frantically, trying to find the lost mouth, which he couldn't see, because then, after relieving herself all over his face, Cat did finally lower her cunt further, spreading her lips with her fingers, and she placed it over the man's mouth and nose like an ether cup, filling his head with the wild, erotic smell, and he could feel the salty droplets of piss on his cheeks and chin, as well as taste them, when he began gobbling the tall girl's sex as she wiggled down on his face. He completely forgot about his neglected cock, but Nails, having grabbed the K-Y and greased his own asshole with it, laid a grease-covered hand on Lou's still stiff cock and rammed it up inside his own ass-and there Lou-the-cop was: buggering and being buggered while being partially reamed by another tongue, while chomping his first pussy! Oh God! Will the Saints please preserve us!
In a very short time Cat had her orgasm, amid screams and moans and squeals, and soon she moved off of his face; but the depraved cop begged for more. So she shit on him. Right on his forehead and neck, squashing the steaming turd into his skin with her boot, then wiping the sole off on his clothing. She then disappeared and he saw that next to him, reclining alongside, with an immense erection only inches from his mouth, was David. David moved his hips closer and his purple glans touched Lou's trembling lips. Lou instinctively turned his head away-but he knew he wanted very much to suck that boy's bulging, twitching, oh-so-beautiful cock! And he thanked his God when David yanked his head by the hair back where it had been, and thrust his cock between the man's lips, just as Nails, impaled on Lou's cock, beating his meat, yelled for joy as he came, and Lou began eagerly sucking, sliding his head on and off the boy's cock, gobbling with great, eager pleasure as he felt lifelong pressures and fears and uptightness miraculously evaporating from his soul. Spider shot off up inside him, his sperm mingling there with Nails', and withdrew. Godzilla, who had been licking around the entrance, inserted his tongue up inside the man's asshole as far as it could go, trying for the come, at the same time giving Lou one helluva tickling ream-job. By the time David spurted his load into Lou's mouth, the man hung so loose that he just swallowed the nectar as a matter of course. Of course.
When the girls first took the mousy little woman into the bedroom they told her to undress. She was petrified by all the leather-masked people (particularly the girls, who seemed all the more representative of Evil for some reason), but more so, naturally, by the thought that the men were going to rape her; so she didn't want to remove her clothing (wanting them to rip it off?). So she cowered back into a corner, her arms clutched protectively together, her hands holding her dress together at the throat. Mary, who was slightly tinier than the woman, stepped up to her and slapped her hard across the face. The woman barked a harsh sob as her hands flew to the stinging spot. She began weeping. Mary reached out her right hand and grabbed the collar of the woman's dress and and ripped it straight down the front, confusing her about what to do with her hands. "Where's my husband?" she asked in her trembly little squeak of a voice.
"He's having a good time in the other room with the guys. Now do you want to remove your own underthings, or shall I do that for you, too?"
Mrs. Lou-the-cop was too frightened to do anything then but obey. She removed her bra, revealing full, mellowing, womanly breasts to the four hungry sisters. She hesitated with her panties until Mary stepped forward, then she quickly removed them, covering herself with the diaphanous cloth in her hands after she did.
Mary snatched the panties away and ordered her onto the bed. They chained her wrists to the headboard posts, and one girl held each ankle. She had a wide, high bush, dark black in color, and by looking at it they could tell that she cut it and shaved the edges (out of shame? tidiness? fear?). She was shaking all over, certain that the men would come in at any moment and violate her-and she was surprised when she opened her eyes wide and saw a naked Mary crawling alongside her on the bed, whispering salaciously, "Ever been made love to by a girl, lady?
A sweet, young girl, like me?" as she began rubbing her tits against the prisoner's. Mary's nipples were erect at once, but it took a bit of rubbing to get the lady's up. She had her head turned away and she was murmuring prayers when Mary took her jaw in her hand, flung herself up to straddle the woman's rib cage, and pressed her wet, sopping pussy down against her. The woman convulsed at its carnal touch, and Mary proceeded to slap the shit out of her, back and forth, left to right, right to left, until the woman was straining at her bonds and sobbing uncontrollably. Then Mary slid her body down on top of the other and kissed her mouth deeply, urgently, moving her tongue about the other's breathing cave, shoving it nearly down her throat. Mary reached her hand down and stimulated the woman's clit, feeling her shudder helplessly. In a moment the woman's breathing became longer, more regular, and Mary raised herself onto her elbows, feeling the woman's face come up with her movement. She didn't want to lose Mary's tongue-but Mary had no intention of depriving her of it; she merely wanted to make head-space so two of the others could get in there and begin sucking at her teats, which they did at once. Mary spread her legs out directly over their captive's, and Cat released the woman's ankles so that she might bury her face and lips into the double-cunt crotches, which were then pumping up and down against one another. Cat began slurping her tongue from one hole to the other, finding clits buried in the labial mass, reaching their pink way out, searching for the tongue, and she kissed and sucked at assholes, and soon Mary and the woman came together, screaming glee into one another's mouth. One of the tit-sucking chicks undid the woman's bonds and the now-willing odalisque immediately clasped Mary to her bosom with one arm; the other she attempted to sink into the cunt of the girl nearest her. They rolled her over onto her belly and there was Cat's tremendous gash. Without hesitation she pushed her hot face into it and began licking her out, while Mary, lying sixty-nine on top of her, spread her cheeks and reamed out her joyfully quivering asshole, and one of the other girls did the same to Mary. The fourth girl stood bent-kneed near the woman's munching head so that Cat could eat her out, having nothing else to do with her mouth except moan and sigh.
Eventually Lou's wife murmured to Mary, "I want a man. ... I need a man inside me...."
"Your husband?" Mary teased.
"Yes-No ... I don't care....As long as he's got a thing on him...."
"A cock," Mary corrected.
"Yes ... a cock ... as long as he's got a great, big, fucking cock on him...."
They carried the limp woman to the other room and laid her on the far end of the mattress, away from her husband, who was being buggered and stuffed by Godzilla. The youth appeared to be riding on the cop like some horrendous Caliban, whipping while he shoved cock up the man's ass, whipping him with the leather thong about the neck and back, laying open his flesh, and Lou, below him, was bucking like a goddamned bronco-and loving it.
The guys, seeing their other guest and wanting to be proper hosts, lined up and did a Hell's Angels Porn Concert on her, fucking her nearly to death, ravaging her right there, only feet from her husband's bleary, delirious eyes; and she kept throwing her legs out wide as each new, bucking cock entered into her finally-liberated cunt, squirting quarts of fuck dope into the waiting, writhing woman, sticky semen matting in the gnarled, curly hair of her snatch, running in rivulets and pools and streams of millions of unborn babies all over her face and in the hair on her head, her hair-do spoiled gloriously as she eagerly sucked the cocks of the ones who were too impatient to wait in line until the one buried in her gash was finished; she held the shaft surplus in her hand, or held their balls, as she sucked their brains out, swallowing as much of the new come as she could manage, the rest spilling down out of her mouth onto her chin and neck and tits, come, come, come; cocks and balls, swinging loose and limp, or stiff and red, all around her, in every hole and fissure, sucking and being fucked in a delirium blur of nightmare and dream/daydream in a swirl of unreality everywhere in the universe, the Pandora's box of her secret psyche, her libido, opened and emptied out into one bacchanalian evening.
Near dawn the pair had fainted from the heaped-on ecstasy, and their hosts bundled the depleted couple into what was left of their violated clothing, plus two old blankets which they had laying around, packed them into their shiny, red, new Fury and drove them back to the church's parking lot, arriving there just at dawn. They quietly left the couple's car, closing the door as softly as possible, then piled back into the Buick and sped off into the sunrise, leaving the sleeping pair to themselves.
The fact that he never bought the man the drink he owed him nagged at David's conscience.
And Lou-the-cop, though he knew where the old garage was, never went back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Corky and Charles, upon returning all sun-tanned from Barbados, sublet a small, three-room apartment from a teacher-couple who were going to Europe for the summer. Corky worked at the library again, while Charles did research and wrote his doctoral thesis. They would spend one evening a week at the Cummings home, having dinner and a few drinks with them. David was obviously (to Corky) dying to try out his sister's new bod with the re-fortified tits-and Corky, being a loving, understanding, generous sister, was anxious for him to do so. Charles, however, in this regard, proved to be a bit of a problem, for he was totally unaware of the true nature of Corky's relationship with her sibling-and, Corky knew, he would very likely object to it in the event that he found out. She was more than satisfied by her husband; that was not the point-the point was that Corky really did believe that variety was the spice of life. Not the meat, one must understand, but truly the spice. And Corky enjoyed giving pleasure to others as well as receiving it from them-especially to one so dear to her as her best brother, David. So on a day when Charles reluctantly but definitely decided that afternoon he would have to take an overnight trip to a distant city, to interview someone for his thesis, Corky called David from the library and asked him if he wouldn't like to come over and spend the evening with her.
Sure he would!
David was fascinated by her opulent sugar-loaves. It was like seeing a lover with a whole different body; like a woman seeing her man, all of a sudden, with six extra inches on his dong. He played with them, fondled and caressed them, while Corky lay back on the bed, smiling at her brother's wonder, twirling her fingers in his long, brown hair, feeling the thrill of his tongue on the pointing nipples, moving her legs in the beginnings of urgency, restlessly squeezing the muscles in her snatch, staring at David's familiar, old-timey erection, finally reaching down to grasp it in her hand and bend it toward her full lips to kiss it once. It had been nearly a year without him.
She released it long enough to take a drink of ice-water from the glass on the bedside table. She held a large cube of ice in her mouth for a few moments, let it drop back into the glass, then quickly plunged her mouth down around David's prick, the coldness shocking his joint. She sucked until her mouth began to warm, then she reached out and took a mouthful of hot tea, which was also on the table alongside the ice-water. She held it, too, in her mouth several moments before swallowing it, then thrust David's cock at once back into her mouth, the super-warmth of it sending shivers racing through his corporation. She repeated the routine several more times, polarizing the temperature of her mouth and his joint until, in a speed ball of passion, he spread his legs out wide and shoved up his hips, feeling the head of his tool flush against her palate at the very back of her mouth, and he shot down her throat and fell back to the bed.
"Have you read The Kama Sutra?" David breathed into the twilight room as she continued sucking him out. She shook her head, keeping his cock in her mouth. She was really on a suck-trip that day. "Well, I've got a few new things to show you later," he said, stroking his sister's long blonde hair, which tumbled in flowing waves across his finely-haired belly. "But first," he said, like a palsied radio announcer, " ... this word ... and he sank back, arching his body again and in a few more electric seconds of restrained thrashing he issued her her second sublime cocktail.
After resting a moment, David got to his knees between and slightly below his sister's knees, as she lay flat on her back. He put his hands behind her ass and pulled her up toward him, so that her feet were flat on the bed, her knees bent at a right angle, her warm, slimy crotch flush against his own, her head and hands on the mattress. With one hand David bent his lance down and pointed it directly at her cunt. Then he plunged himself forward, piercing her, and slipped both hands around to the top slope of her ass, drawing her to him, then pulling himself back, rocking there for moments, grinding their twanging sexes together. Then David moved her legs out from under her, so that her whole body sank down to the softness of the bed. He pulled her legs out and around with his arms in such a way that the backs of her thighs were against his well-muscled pectorals, and then he told her, "Wrap your arms around your legs at the knees and pull your legs back as far as you can. Try to get a knee on each side of your head."
She tried and did it easily, pinning her knees down to the mattress, one alongside each other, which automatically stretched her butt and thrust her crotch to a high, hairy plateau-a round-topped pyramid. Then David, still imbedded in her snatch, arched his back and held his arms and legs out, rather in the posture of a sky diver in free-fall, feeling his brick-hard prick deliciously deep in her sexual meat-and then he did the strangest, most exciting and thrilling thing Corky ever had dope to her: he began, using only his musculature, not his hands or feet, only musculature and balance, balance and weight distribution, to slowly, maddeningly move and rotate himself atop her. He moved inch by inch in a clockwise direction, like a slow propeller on the nose-cone tip of an airplane's engine, his prick moving, softly scraping inside her, touching every striated inch of every surface, every wall, until, after many minutes of their mutual ecstasy, his body was turned 90 degrees and his left arm pointed directly over her face. In a few more cunt-scooping minutes of miraculous movement, of delicate balance and strength, he had turned himself half-way around, holding back the jazz which constantly threatened to leave his loins; then instead of pointing up, womb-ward, his tool pointed down, prodding into the delicate membrane which separated her snatch from her anus, and his thighs were directly over her face. Corky stayed in firm control of her orgasm, which begged her, too, for release. But David kept his almost microscopic movement in play and his sister knew that it wasn't over yet; he moved and moved, doing nearly three-quarters of her entire snatch, and soon he was there, his right arm over her face, his hands or feet not once having touched the bed, his cock having scooped firmly and thickly against everything, a roto-rooter ream for sure-and he kept on grooving, moving until the passion storm threatened to break and engulf them both in torrents of juice, maddening, maddening, insane, and David moved until he was just ... about ... over ... her ... face, which he then bent and kissed. Her moist, quivering lips signaled the collapse of everything civil and they came together like a sudden parade up Broadway: the billions of flying fragments twittering in the air, the blaring horns and warm, human cheers, the Fourth, Christmas, New Year's Eve, The Stones, The Beatles, death/rebirth, Arabian drums. And during the incredible 360-degree ream they had fought to hold back for the last, fine moment, brother and sister fighting their own helplessness so that they might achieve an avatar together ... and they received God instead.
Minutes later they lay alongside one another, holding hands and smiling, and the front door slammed and they heard: "Honey? Cork?" And there was Charles, standing in the bedroom doorway. He had forgotten his tape recorder.
The brother and sister tried to sit him down and make him understand-but they knew by his chalky face and corpse-like demeanor that it was all in vain. His hands kept clenching and unclenching.
"Charlie...." David began, in anguish at how daggered his brother-in-law looked. "We love each other, Corky and I-it's as simple as that. Not to the exclusion of you, you understand. I know my sister loves you-I can tell beyond words-and I dig you, too, but this has nothing to do with all that. It only has to do with our love for each other; hers and mine. Some day I'll probably be married to someone, but that won't mean I'll stop loving Corky-and this is only one way of expressing that love. Do you realize how many people in this world are lying, fucked up, on doctors' couches because they can't do what we do? Please try to understand, Charlie ..."
Charles moved toward the shelf where the tape recorder was and unplugged it, wrapping the cord around the machine. He spoke slowly, evenly, his voice shaking a trace from the hurt and rage. "When I come back. From where I'm going. Tomorrow evening. I'll. Clear out my things. If you. Want to start proceedings. Go ahead. If you don't. Then I will. I had no idea. You were so sick. Both of you." And he turned from them, went to the door, and left the apartment without looking back.
Corky went into the bedroom and David could hear her weeping. He went in after a moment and sat on the bed, holding her in his arms, feeling her tears stinging on his chest. "Remember, Cork? We talked about this. We knew it might happen someday. Isn't there anyway you can reach him about this?" He felt her head move from side to side across the taut flesh of his bare chest and arm.
"I tried to feel him out about it-but he blocked out everything I was saying without really hearing it. I'm still trying, but it's got to be done some other way...."
"Let me think about it, sweet....Maybe I can come up with something. I mean we can't be having you separated from your old man like this." He squeezed her in a gesture of comfort, and he said, "Don't worry about it. I'll get you two back together somehow."
The following week-end found David, dressed to the tits, riding on a bus, traversing the two hundred miles to State, mulling a plan over in his mind. Charles, true to his announcement, had returned, cleared all his things out of their place while Corky was at work, and disappeared. David was so immersed in thought about the problem that the journey seemed over before it began. He was even oblivious to the surliness of the darkly attractive, AWOL sailor next to him, who kept desperately craning his neck as though he was searching for something-or someone; doing that and stalking up and down the aisle, examining the passengers closely, muttering curses.
David arrived in the city at 4:10 in the afternoon and went at once to a phone booth and looked up the number under York, finding it quickly. He dialed and it rang twenty times without an answer. He did it again with the same result, just in case he had dialed wrong the first time. Then he checked the address and, after asking directions, toted his little tote-bag onto a local bus. In another twenty minutes he approached the address, an ivy-covered building address, in the University area. He rang the bell next to the name York. No answer. He decided to go get him self something to eat, and then try a bit later. As he turned to leave the foyer, he stepped aside to let someone enter.
"Well," he said. "Hi...."
"David? What on earth are you doing here?"
"I have to talk to you, Tricia. Have you spoken to your brother recently?"
She looked down at her books and said, "Yes-he told me, but he was vague about why. Would you like to come upstairs for some coffee?"
"That's just what I came over here for: to see if you could make coffee."
He took her books and they went up to her apartment, which was a large, airy studio affair with dormer windows and good, hardwood floors parqued into endless herring-bone chevrons. It was sparsely furnished, but what furniture there was had quality. A pullman kitchen was situated at one end and David sat at the small, round table in front of it, near a window. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, making somehow-comforting blue shadows on the white tablecloth.
"Tricia...." David began. "I don't know why, exactly, but somehow I felt that I could talk to you about this. Maybe it was because you came on so straight with me at the wedding. Somehow I felt that you, of anyone I could think of, might understand ... At least I hope so," he said, fingering his striped necktie.
"Charles just told me that he had left Corky, and that it was because of her and you ... and then he said that he was too upset to talk about it, but that when he was a little less emotional he would explain it all to me. That was the day before yesterday. Now, I'm not exactly sure what he meant by all that, and maybe I'm jumping to conclusions, but if what it sounds like is true...."
"What does it sound like?"
She looked well into his eyes, which he did not attempt to avert, then she looked out the window, seeing nothing. "It sounded like maybe you and Corky had ... had committed incest, .or something ..."
"Well ... that's what the law books call it, I guess. 'To live outside the law you must be honest ... ."
"Dylan."
"Right," he said, smiling and glad that she knew. She turned her green eyes to him once again, studying him, not condemning, not moralizing with her orbs, but rather intrigued, interested. David met the challenge, the quiet challenge to his forensic abilities which lay deep in her eyes. "Corky and I have been making love to one another since I was eleven and she was thirteen. Haven't you and Charles ever made love?"
She shook her head slowly. "No. Never."
"Well-how does all this impress you? Are you shocked? What?"
"I don't know....I really don't. I had never considered it before."
"Oh, come on, girl-you told me you're getting your master's degree in social work, didn't you? You must have run into the existence of the practice somewhere or other."
"Of course I have--clinically. I just meant that I never thought about it happening to anybody I knew ..
"Hey, you ought to write titles for television documentaries."
"There's no need for you to be sarcastic, David."
"I'm sorry. I really am. I guess I'm just being defensive. After coming all the way over here I guess I'm beginning to be afraid that maybe you won't understand after all. Look: the thing is, I love my sister. I really mean that. And, as I tried to explain to Charles, having sex with someone you love is just one of the ways of expressing it. I believe, and so does Corky, if you know someone for a long time, and there is a real physical attraction, you must eventually make physical love with that person-or there will be a deadly or at least crippling barrier between you."
"And that includes brother and sister."
"Yes," David said, nodding vigorously.
"What about father and daughter? Mother and son?"
"Of course. Even father and son-or mother and daughter. If the true attraction is there. But, as you probably know, most people who are old enough today to have adolescent sons and daughters are too psychologically hung up to be in touch with that. That's why they're so insane, all those people."
"I see."
"Do you?" David said enthusiastically. "Do you really?"
"I didn't say I agree with what you're saying-just that I understand your position."
"Haven't you ever really even thought about what it would be like to make it with Charles?"
"Sure I have. I guess all little sisters think that about their older brothers at one time or another."
"And older sisters about younger brothers." David's eyes defined the long, sloping curves of her body and said, "I'd bet anything that Charles has had the exact same thoughts about you. And probably still does."
"Maybe," she said. "But to actually do it...."
"... is liberating as hell," he said, finishing the sentence for her in his own philosophy. "Not to mention a satisfying pleasure." He paused thoughtfully. "If I know what I'm talking about-and I do-I'd say that Charles has probably gone through hell about you. And maybe that's one of the reasons he was so upset about Corky and me: it brought his own incest-vectors to the surface again."
Tricia began to blush as something stirred in her. It was a memory of the time when she was eleven and Charles was twenty-two; he had just come home from a summer job he had, digging ditches for the city, and he was showering in the basement shower room, as he usually did, and Tricia had gone down into the cool, dark place and peeked through a crack in the door, seeing the water shine on her brother's naked, muscled back, ass and legs, and as he washed his face he turned toward her she saw his tremendous dong-which created violently exciting tickles in her twat-and she wished that he would catch her watching him and drag her under the needle-fine spray with him and shove that big cock up inside to relieve the tickly itch. She told David about it.
"See?" he said.
"But that was a long time ago. I haven't thought about that for ages. It's been completely off my mind."
"Has it? Are you absolutely certain?"
Just thinking about it then had made her queasy all over. Especially since her engagement had broken up nearly a year before, and she had been strictly off men since that brutal hurt.
"I don't know...." she said.
"If this were a truly liberated world, you'd have done it long ago-and probably be healthier for it. This is not promiscuity I'm talking about, now-you don't love everybody you look at."
"What you're saying makes sense...." she said with an edge of agitation in her voice and a perturbed expression on her pretty, fair face. "Yes ... all that's really true! I mean, I know there are genetic problems in the procreative areas-but the Pill has really liberated us from all that ... And really, there is no pill for the libido-and you're so right about the psychological fuck-ups that-" She glanced up at him to see if the "fuck" had shocked or embarrassed him. He smiled. "People do get messed up by just what you're talking about...."
"I think it's conceivable," David told her, "that if Corky and I had been separated when we were just young children, and we met for the first time at this age, we might very well have fallen in love and married. I dig her that much; but the point is-and I think that Charles won't allow himself to understand it-it really has nothing at all to do with him. I mean I don't resent him for marrying Corky. In fact I'm glad, because I really dig him-not like some of the creeps she used to run around with when she was my age."
"Charles really hated my fiance, and I have never been able to understand why."
"Because he probably figured the guy was getting something he always wanted and never got. Doesn't that make sense?"
"Yes. It does." She thought for a moment. "David--what do you want me to do?"
He considered that-in all its ramifications. She had a rich, creamy voice which, at times, intoxicated him; skin which glowed like fire reflected on a golden pear; lips born into half a kiss, half a suck; and her arms, he felt somehow, could not only excite, but give him peace as well. Ultimately he decided to tell her of only one thing he wanted her to do: "I would like you to try to talk to Charles and make him understand all this. My sister really loves him very much, and I believe they belong together. I think it's foolish to let Victorian hang-ups separate them. Will you do that for me? For them?"
She shrugged almost painfully. "I can try, David-but I can't promise anything. Charles can be a hard one to deal with concerning something like this. We were brought up by pretty straight-laced people."
"If you could try...."
"I'll do the best I can."
"Well...." David said, waiting for her to ask him to stay awhile.
She rose and walked to the coffee pot on the stove. "Uh-will you stay for dinner, David? It won't be much, I'm afraid-just a tuna fish casserole."
"I'd like that just fine," he said, nearly gagging. David Cummings was a notorious tuna fish-hater.
"Do you still see those friends of yours?" she asked idly.
"Actually I don't see much of them anymore. They're into some things that interested me for awhile, but they really have very little staying power for me."
"Things such as what?"
"Well ... maybe when I know you a little better I'll explain. Nothing illegal, though."
It was a warm, homey dinner, and afterwards they sat in the deep purple sofa at the other end of the studio, listening to Procol Harum and drinking espresso. David lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and exhaled it into the quietly lit room, enjoying the sounds and the repletion.
"Do you smoke?" she asked, glancing at his cigarette.
That brought him up short for a moment before he understood. "Whenever I'm invited," he told her.
She smiled, then bounced off the sofa and skipped to the closet, where she fished in a hatbox, coming up with a vial of grass. On her way back to the couch she took the "decorative" hookah from her mantelpiece and set it on the coffee table before them. It was a special, four-tube job, for small gatherings. She dumped the dope into the tiny brass bowl atop the bottle-like base and lit it. David took one of the tubes and inserted the mouthpiece between his teeth, taking a long toke, carbureting air through the corners of his mouth, watching the powder-fine, green shit turn a sunset red in the center, where she had lit it. Tricia drew in a great draught of it too, smiling at him with her eyes. It was powerful grass and it zapped into their frontal lobes in an exploding wash of unreal, not-present color and light as Procol sang "turned cartwheels 'cross the floor ... and in their heads they did. Each poke of the sacred smoke vaulted them higher onto other astral planes, where they could dance with cupids and unicorns, and before the first, single holy bowl was burned out they were in one another's arms, their mouths fastened together, chest pressed to thumping breasts.
What great, heavenly shit! Beloved Jesus-in-my-heart bless this motherfucking universe! And all the mind-expanding, mind-exploding elements in it!
Our Lover, Who art an artist!
Hallowed be Thy Soul!
Thou King of Come!
We'll all be done!
On Earth we will be in Heaven!
Give us this day our daily Love!
Forgive us our freak-outs!
As we forgive those who hassle against us!
Lead us straight into temptation!
And deliver us from hang-ups!
For Thou art Nirvana!
And the Eggman!
And the Walrus!
Forever.
Wow man....
The room was a medieval tapestry come to life: the textures of flesh, the buzz of meat; the weight of flame, candle flame, so slight, but of substance; the substance of frankincense, of myrrh, of oil; the thickness of hair-one isolated, copper-wire hair of hers, reaching out into the blackness of space, past the sun-corona of the candle flame-three feet long! Six! Million! Like a stop-motion shot of a tongue of flame leaping a million miles from the core of the sun ... suspended ... falling so silently and slowly back to his face, his flame-lit face, sunken into the sea-green ponds, liquid ponds of Tricia's eyes, which peered down at him from above his countenance. When his fascination with that image began to be sated, his eyes travelled past her ear, through the red jungle-rain forest of her tresses, down to the butter-colored slope of her shoulder and then her breast, pressed flat against his belly, the angle of her hip and the half-moons of her fundament in the flickering, glowing coruscation of the cosmic candle; her fulsome thighs, spread slightly near his own, which bristled with curly hair. The graceful geography of their twined limbs was like a Sutralogical terrain, beginning to slowly erupt in awakening sex-quake, the bodyscape undulating, changing, transmogrifying once more into two individual people, as his hands began reaching out to cup her thrilled, pebble-grained flesh, lambent, to his, to his reamer-muscle, to his thunder-filled nuts, and his to her trembling cunt, juggernaut passions roaring insanely through their nerve circuits, invisible Frankenstein-and-Bride currents zapping from positive (he) to negative (she) polar dynamic electrodes; he moved over her, she under him, her hand still fastened to his beautiful scepter, and her knees spread, legs, thighs, calves lofted, and they were volant in free-fall, in outer space as he floated toward her, she up to him, and they engaged to one another, she drawing his force into her, and he clove her sweet meats, beginning a fusion there, circling in the white night, amalgamating in wondrous ways, all either pierced by the beautiful harmonies of an endless, ululating, wailing love-moan, and they climbed into space, he driving their vehicle, she drawing the dynamo power from his loins in metastatic bliss as they writhed free, orbiting an unseen Sun, their own drawing pull controlling unseen Moons, those Moons moving the tides of their love within them, washing them over, soaking the beach edges of their continents, she driving toward a personal nova, he toward the end of a universe, and hers was achieved in a pulsating glow, brighter and brighter until its brilliant radiance filled that universe, and as it began to fade and pale, his rumbling, mounting, violent involutions shuddered and exploded in shooting stars, cosmic comet explosions, and all things in that universe came together, fusing into a mass-then BLAM! in a monumental effulgence of blinding light they flew off to the arcane edges of time.
When he could breathe again, David vaulted himself from the sofa and the propulsion was enough to carry him, floating, to the bathroom, where, in the cool water-cavern darkness, he sat on the toilet, feeling the chill tank send up its algid airs, refreshing and replenishing his cock and balls, as he studied the amazing strip of shimmering yellow light under the door, the only light he could see in all the vast blackness. He could hear Tricia expending the winds of long, grateful, contented sighs in the great room beyond-and then there was a slow, careful knocking on the hall door, which made David giggle for no reason he could comprehend; just an insane, muffled giggling, which was hard for him to control.
Tricia opened the door and saw Charles, frozen in the hallway, staring incredulously at her with uncomprehending eyes. His mouth opened tentatively and the words," Tricia, you're not-You're ... naked...." came out.
And Tricia took him by the hand into the candlelit room, saying, "Come now, Charles-it's bedtime ... It's finally bedtime...."
And as she removed his jacket, he said, "Tricia, don't you think you ought to ... put on a robe? Or something?" And Tricia, standing before him, finally, bewitchingly nude, graceful in gesture, a magnificence of movement, began on his shirt buttons.
"Tricia! What are you doing...?"
She sealed his frightened mouth with a long, moist, softly reaching kiss-and finally his glass manacles shattered, splintered, his Rubicon crossed, and he threw his arms around her as she continued, opening his belt, unzipping his fly, slipping her hands down inside his shorts and lowering them to his thighs. She clasped his tremendous ram in both her cool, gentle hands and they both convulsed as she drew it against her crotch and belly. Unable to bear any delay in having him somewhere within her body, she went down to her knees at once and stared lovingly at the immense prong, stroking her tender fingers down around its shaft-and then she began to kiss and lick it all up and down its length as Charles hurried out of his garments. She took the firm, round head into her mouth and her checks hollowed as she sucked at it, her face looking incredibly beautiful to Charles in the candle's glow. She sucked and kept sucking, there on her knees before the brother she had wanted to love like that for more than a decade-and there they finally were. It was the most incredibly erotic moment in Charles' life and he bathed in it. drank it in as all his bondage of fear ended in that wonderful time, and the tickle and tingle began at the epicenter root of his cock, spreading outward in electric waves through his entire body, and his knees gave six inches of stature to her aspirate, commanding mouth as he showered torrents of honey into her. surpluses of it squirting from the strained corners of her pulling, suddenly greedy mouth-and Tricia, though truly innocent to such love techniques, instinctively drank in her brother's essence, making up for those years of denial, swallowing down what seemed like pints of his sacred come.
She smiled up at him and he returned an almost grimly serious expression. She rose from her knees and walked to the bed, Charles following two steps behind. She raised one knee to the bed's edge and turned toward him. She's exquisite, he thought. What a beautiful, beautiful woman ... And he stepped up to her, their lips meeting again in a searching, thrill-shot, pure-love kiss, his arms moving around her, a hand coming up under each lovely tit, her hands moving again to his pendulous cock, touching the hilt, her fingers reaching through his pubic hair, nestling there as the staff jerked back to life under the spell of her touch and their kiss. In a moment it towered once again to its peak, and she sank back to the mattress and spread her legs, drawing up her knees, reaching down to her concupiscent pussy with confident fingers, drawing her oil-drenched lips apart and waiting as her brother knelt between her legs, incredibly far from her crotch as he guided the head of his rod to the soft opening, hesitating a moment there before pushing it in through the passage. She grunted silently as it passed, her head twisting quickly back against the pillow. He watched her face carefully for traces of pain, seeing none, and he began slowly to move more deeply inside her, his knees advancing inch by inch as her impatient ass humped toward his hilt in tiny, eager jumps. She frantically massaged her nipples with her right hand, finger and thumb of her left still holding the protective lips of her hole wide as possible to assist the accommodation of her brother's massive prod. Deeper and deeper he went, until he was only a few inches from being completely buried in her. He went past the firm passage of her uterus, prodding against the very end walls of her cave of flesh; then he withdrew a bit and found the uterus again and began slowly pushing his way into it. It opened as naturally in reflexing as would her mouth in a yawn, and her womb received the head of his cock with a shudder, and she moaned at the exquisite feeling. When it was securely in, and his mound was flush up against hers, her clit rubbing against the ridge of his pelvis, he set up a rocking, shoving thrust, his hands holding her behind her gorgeous, callipygian ass, firmly fastening them together. He pumped at her bucking meat, driving into her, feeling copious oils lubricating his tremendous shaft, running off it, trickling down to his dangling, swinging, ass-slapping balls; fantastic oils, more than he'd ever encountered before, and he worked easily, her tightness perfect, and he felt her uterus seem to clench at his head as it slipped in and out of her most private recesses. Now she was moaning and throwing her head this way and that, clutching the posts of the bed beyond her head, writhing with almost unbearable joy as she was carried up to the brink of unconsciousness; and she shot past the edge with a loud, sharp, shouting cry of release, jabbering unintelligible speech, speaking in tongues, meaningless words of the deepest truths, her body wracked with the motion and emotion; and in their love, their deep, finally rewarded physical love, in their passion, he had driven his sister to the very failsafe edge of her sanity, then freed her way for passage back.
In the confused, maelstrom mingle of passions and restrictions of Charles' mind, there seemed to be an eliminative, alembic process occurring as the restrictions were squeezed out forever by his intense need to possess his sister and imbed his cock into her body, as though he could in that wav finally reach her soul, and know it. And through some strange infusion, as his second apogee approached, he knew it would be even greater than his first, and it came in a thundering, shuddering chain of smoking shocks, electrifying his nuts, his inner organs, as though he were being electrocuted and that was the finest thing which could ever happen to any man, and his limbs shivered with the utter deliciousness of the release, sanctified warmth flowing in his every vein and artery as he spent himself into her. His arms slipped further around her body as his corporation emptied, and he lay atop her.
His mind was empty, a complete blank, as his body was; not with a bad, psychological numbness, but as though he had just finished vomiting up severe poisons. So when David, who had been watching the scene from the bathroom, knelt between his legs and smeared the vaseline on his asshole, Charles was not appalled, or surprised, or afraid--for there were no longer any rules in his universe; nothing was true or untrue any more; nothing wrong or right; nothing moral or immoral in those fine, free moments of unabashed love.
And when David moved his cock into Charles' hole, Charles did what he could to better receive it. And when David began pumping a full cornhole into him, Charles found his own hips giving with the motion in complement to his brother-in-law's thrust, and his own prick awakened once more inside his sister's furrow, and she began to move her crotch against his, throwing her legs up wide and grinding their loins together, reaching one arm around them both to clasp David's ass closer, so that they could move more in unison. Her other hand she slipped between her belly and her brother's, working it do in to where he pistoned into her sweet, wet hole, marvelling at his thickness, and that she was able to take it, feeling the head again in her womb, feeling her insides somehow being rearranged in a pleasant way, as though they were finally being moved to where they properly belonged. And her fingers, half encircling the hilt of her brother's cock, felt David's surround the other half, and they touched and partially twined, and they set a squeezing action into play, causing a raw current to convulse Charles. Then David's other hand crept between brother and sister and found her breast, which he then began squeezing. And in moments they came that way, first David, spurting warm gushes of jism up into his brother-in-law, delighting the man with the strange, new sensation: then Charles and Tricia together, Charles expending a supply of come he didn't know he had in reserve, squirting it out just as David shot into his virgin ass, the combination of the load and the sounds of David's ecstasy uniting to bring him off for the third time. And Tricia just came again as women can, but gloriously and free.
Later, as they sat in various stages of dress (Charles in trousers and open shirt, Tricia in a florid robe, David nude), David said, "Are we even now?"
They grinned and chuckled, but Charles said, "Actually, no. Tricia's not your wife."
"Do you really mean that?" David asked him with the stirring of some residual apprehension.
"I don't know what I mean any more," Charles told him, brushing his hair back away from his eyes.
"Tonight has been some kind of revelation to me ... yet I'm still not sure what's been revealed...."
"Nothing is revealed," Tricia told them. "But I now know what I always knew. Maybe I've had just a little longer to consider it than you have, Charles," she said, filling the hookah's tiny, brass cup with more grass. "And it's that all these phony, bullshit rules we've had shoved down our throats from the time we were babies maybe need a little re-examination. To look at life with eyes we've 'not used yet'-to paraphrase Donovan." She lit a match and touched it down to the green, green grass, extending a tube toward Charles and another to David. And Charles' sister turned him on for the first time-for the second time that evening.
CHAPTER NINE
By the time the three had travelled a hundred of the two hundred miles to Corky, Charles had to control himself to keep from driving like a maniac. He cursed the fact that there was no super highway connecting the two cities. The sky was a dull, Wedgwood blue and it was cool for that time of year, seeming almost on the verge of autumn. And David and Tricia fucking in the back seat, in broad, 4:00 P.M. daylight, didn't help his hard-on any. He wanted to watch them, but had to keep on driving. The slurping, the slapping of bellies, the squishing of ramrod cock into succulent cunt, the grunts, the sighs, and the moans all ultimately fulminated in the visceral, primordial sounds of his sister's bursting, mind-shattering orgasm, topped by David's grunting scream, then the verbal chain of Tricia's, "Oh ... oh, ... oh ... oh...."
Charles reached down under the dashboard after a while and yanked out several facial tissues, casually dropping them behind him onto the back seat, saying, "If you've juiced all over my nice plastic seat-covers. T wish you'd wipe it off. I may have to sell this car some day."
"Charles." David said, in a husky, reverberant voice, "your sweet little sister puts such an exquisite fucking on me that I'm really tempted to ask her to marry me-then we will be even."
"Such language for a young man," Tricia tsk-tsk'd. "And don't be so sure of yourself. Could you support me in the manner to which I've become accustomed?"
"Tuna fish casseroles? Yeah, I think I could manage that with my paper route."
And the three laughed, feeling happy with their various anticipations.
"It was shortly after six when they pulled up in front of the apartment house. Charles shot out of the car like a stone from a sling before the machine had settled itself, and flew through the foyer of the building and bounded up the three flights of stairs. The raging erection was about to completely demolish his custom made jock-strap as he fumbled to get his key into the door. The tumblers clicked and he shoved the door open-and there she was: his Corky, standing in the living room, sleekly naked as a jay, her long legs slightly bent at the knees, her full, lovely tits with the familiar nipples he loved so much, the flat, muscular tummy and sculpted thighs, the sacred bush hiding the divinity of her cunt. He stood for a long moment, drinking in her loveliness.
"Charles...."
He closed the door and walked to her in four strides, each one longer and more rapid than the one it followed, ripping off his shirt, tearing it, snapping the buttons from the fabric. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her down to the floor on top of himself, kissing her deeply, shoving his tongue past hers and back to her throat, feeling her huge tits splay themselves against his chest so deliciously that he wanted them never away from there. He ran the palms of his hands over the taut smoothness of her buns and hips and Corky began frantically clawing at the buckle of her husband's belt, working it open and pulling the fly apart so that the zipper shot down, and she seized his trousers, shorts and jock at the same time, yanking them to his thighs, while her ripe mouth sucked on her husband's thick, smoky tongue. Charles bent his knees and hips so that he could work himself out of his clothing, necessarily dislodging his wife from her nest atop his belly-but her arms clung to his neck, her tits pressed to his chest, and her sucking, grabbing mouth never left his for an instant.
Charles lay on his back on the carpet, his cock hard and ready, reaching past his navel, and, still kissing, Corky stood bent, legs wide apart over him. He clutched a breast in each of his hands and she, with both hands, as though operating some fantastically large lever, pulled his giant dick back, so that it was perpendicular to the floor. When she got it in that position, she let go with one hand, holding the shaft just beneath the tremendous, pulsing, lavender-colored head, and she reached down and spread her luscious labs as wide as she could. Then she slowly began squatting down until her cooze met the head of his cock, and with the finely developed muscles which ringed the entrance to her depths, she made it kiss the tip of his cock many times-almost giving him a blowjob with her cunt! Charles tried to thrust his hips up and pierce the crotch-mouth, to cause his member to be swallowed up in his wife's flesh-but, with impeccable timing, she kept pulling away, teasing him crazy with soft, liquid, sucky cunt-kisses.
After minutes of that heavenly torture, Corky reversed her musculature and accepted the top of the head into herself. Then she reached down and clasped the shaft between her two hands, shifting her weight for balance, then lifted her legs out wide, feet off the floor, and by intricate weight distribution allowed herself to slide slowly down her husband's long, beautiful horn. Inch by inch it slipped up inside her body, as he, below her on the floor, lifted his hips to hurry it in, groaning in the deep throes of a sublime ecstasy; but Corky retarded the progress with her hands, allowing him complete penetration only at her speed, until finally, after mind-blowing minutes, her soft, curvy ass and wet muff finally kissed his balls--and he was all the way home.
Then Corky put her feet back down to the floor and began modified deep knee-bends, going up and down on his massive tool, her labial lips curling in as she thrust herself downward, then reversing and dragging on his muscular, blue-veined shaft as she withdrew herself, stroking her fingernails on whatever shaft was exposed, driving him fuck-mad.
When Charles could stand it no longer, he slung her under himself with one arm and began running his most dynamic, sex-crazed shit to her, pumping and humping, the tip of his cock popping in and out of her womb like a piston, setting up a thrilling suction in her vitals. She was loving every minute, every hard, fast, pounding inch of it, her arms flung out wide in abandoned ecstasy, her legs up, knees bent and spread wide, and after taking his speed for a while without too much movement on her part, she caught up and began to match his tempo as she ground her tits into the hair on his chest, driving him again to madness with her rigid nipples, and they fucked, and they fucked, and they fucked, and Charles came a small ocean into her, soaking her womb, making her gurgle in her throat with pure rapture.
But then, uncharacteristically, Charles began going limp almost at once. And Corky needed almost a dozen more good strokes to bring her off. Charles was utterly depleted. So Corky, being the resourceful girl she was, grabbed his dong by the hilt like some massive bow-line, and, as his cock was still thick enough for her to rub it hard up against her clit, stuffing as much of it into herself with each jam as she could, she soon brought herself off with his limp dick.
They lay, exhausted, in one another's arms, there on the living room floor, eyes closed, bathing in the luxurious afterglow-and they heard two pairs of hands applauding. When they looked toward the sound they saw, there on the couch behind them, David and Tricia, who had been watching them, unnoticed, since about halfway through the fuck.
"If you could ever book that act on the Sullivan Show, you'd make millions," David said.
The two lovers sat up, somewhat self-consciously, smiling at their audience. They knew then that they were playing what Lenny Bruce used to refer to as "a good room".
Then Corky, remembering something, snapped her head around to face her husband's. He was always so shy, so uptight about exposing his body-and there he sat, utterly naked, in front of her brother and his own sister!
"Charles...." she began, then stopped and faced the other couple on the sofa. "We haven't spoken a word since he came in the door...." she offered.
"Well," David began, "I'd say we were maybe three minutes behind Charles, coming up the stairs, and-yes, I'd say you two didn't have time for any kind of lengthy debate...."
Corky turned back to Charles. "What's happening? I don't understand what's happened...."
"Honey-I've just had my eyes opened about a few things. Or had my mind opened, would be a better way of putting it, I guess ... And I owe you a serious, sincere apology. I'm sorry I behaved the way I did this week. Your very wise brother over there-and my very lovely, and sexy, and eminently fuckable sister alongside him-straightened me out about a few things. I hope you'll let me come back. Will you?"
In answer she threw herself upon him, kissing him a great, lubricious mash across his mouth. Then she scrambled to her knees and hobbled comically across the floor on them, where she flung herself upon her laughing brother, bestowing a huge kiss on him, giving a few playful tongue-jabs as she did. Then she moved to her new sister-in-law, who also got a loving buss and a tongue. But Tricia instinctively pulled away when she felt Corky's oral appendage invading her mouth.
"Hey-hey...." Corky said. "What's this?" And then she had a realization. "You're the only one here who hasn't been balled by everyone else ... namely me!" Corky said, reaching out to her sister-in-law.
"Not true! Not true!" David objected. "Your old man hasn't laid a dick on me! Not once! And I've been dying to get my young mouth around that fantastic Kung-ga of his." Which caused Charles to blush a bit through his shy smile.
But Tricia was shrinking from the idea, and Corky looked deep inside her with tender sympathy and said, "Come now, Trish-haven't you ever been loved by a woman's mouth? By her tongue? By her hands and arms?"
"No," Tricia said. "And I don't think that-"
"Then it's time you were. Don't you think?" she asked softly. "Besides, didn't I let you be a bridesmaid at my wedding?"
"Actually I-"
"Come on, Trishy," David said playfully, pulling her sweater up from the bottom.
"Oh, David-please...." the young woman said, struggling against his maneuvers, and while she was doing that, Corky's hand stole up under her skirt and came to rest near the top of her long thigh. When Tricia felt that, and Corky's softly stroking fingers, she fell back in frustrated resignation, saying, "Oh, damn! What the hell...."
David bent to the side of her face and whispered, "Don't worry, honey-my sister's really, really good.
You'll love it." And he moved away from the sofa, leaving his lover to his sister, to join Charles on the floor, where they rested their backs against an overstuffed chair and watched.
Corky undressed the nearly lifeless girl, unzipping and removing her skirt and half-slip. Then she unclipped her stockings from her garter belt and rolled her stockings down one at a time, her hands lovingly lingering over her thighs and calves, barely touching them as they brushed the sheer nylon away from the other girl's beautiful limbs.
Tricia, trembling with a combination of fear, excitement and out-and-out lust, reached around behind herself and unhooked her brassiere, allowing it to fall forward, away from her breasts, unveiling their loveliness to Corky for the first time-and in gratitude, Corky's green eyes devoured them. Tricia hesitated only the briefest shard of an instant before defining the contours of her hips with fingertips and the palms of her hands; then she had the elastic of her black panties stretched wide and she was stepping out of them. Completely stripped, she dropped her panties on top of the pile of her clothing at the foot of the sofa. She turned toward Corky, a confidence somehow finding its way into her former confusion and fear.
Corky, pleased, stepped up to the other woman, wondering if, because Tricia was taller and older, she would have a natural desire (her inexperience notwithstanding) to be the aggressor. But, no-Tricia wanted Corky to lead her; and, not having felt the silky pleasure of another woman's breast caressing her own for months, Corky stepped up to Tricia and put a palm to each side of her tits, palming them softly, then pressing her own against them. They both stared down at the sight of the four mounds of flesh pressed together, the voluptuous, straight line of contact stirring them both. Then Corky took Tricia's hands in hers and placed them on the breasts at their sides, putting her own hands then on either side of Tricia's face. They looked into each other's eyes-and Corky brought their milky lips together. Tricia's own hands then instinctively slid down to Corky's waist while Corky pressed them closer together, and Tricia's arms went around her in a full, mellow embrace. Corky's hands left the girl's face and found their way through Tricia's flowing copper to her shoulders, down over her most perfect back, down, down over the slope of her ripe, dimpled ass, cupping each cheek in speculative pleasure.
Tricia, emboldened by a mounting passion, then did what she'd consciously wanted to do since first seeing Corky that afternoon, on the floor in sexual congress with her pole-dicked brother (and had wanted unconsciously since the first time she had ever laid eyes on the physical wonders): she moved her breasts away from the other's and cupped her hands fully under Corky's beauteous tits, thumbing strokes across the nipples and feeling them rise under her touch, reaching Put to that stimulus-and it awakened a blaze of erotic emotions in Tricia. It was the first time she had touched a woman's breast, other than her own, and it sent electric shivers from her cunt down behind her knees, weakening them, and shooting up her softening spine to the base of her skull. She began to feel incredibly faint. She was barely aware that their kiss had ended and that Corky was leading her down to the sofa's softness.
Once her lovely bottom had met the sofa cushion, Tricia felt her legs being raised, and when they were lowered she felt them come to rest upon Corky's warm shoulders, the tender, sensitive backs of her knees thrilling at the touch. Through the narrow slits of her almost-closed eyes she saw Corky's face beyond the valley of her own breasts, smiling up at her as it lowered toward the cloudy red bush of her cunt, Corky's mouth wet and opening just before it disappeared into the sanguine, hirsute tangle, her eyes never closing, only staring sensually up and smiling when the first bite of ecstasy swam over Tricia's face as Corky's tongue slid powerfully into her snatch, her breath hot on the crotch, her tongue seeking and finding the lever-switch clit and diddling it expertly while Tricia's splendid hips began the involuntary grinding which has been natural to all women since the dawn of time.
Across the room her brother and her new lover watched, sitting side by side on the floor. They saw Tricia's legs sprung wide and Corky's blonde head buried into the ecstatic girl's crotch. Tricia was massaging one breast, her other hand firmly to the back of Corky's head, clutching it to her. Corky's hand was in her own needy cunt, the other spreading Tricia's labs. And David's eyes were momentarily averted when he saw Charles' prick begin to twitch to life. David smiled at his brother-in-law, who peered straight ahead, wonderfully fascinated and excited to see his beloved wife bringing such unspeakable joys to his dear sister. Anything, he thought, is possible now. And that was proven to him further when David's hand moved to Charles' long, ardent sex and touched it; just touched it in magnificent awe, as one might have touched the sword of St. George. Charles looked down at the hand and the cock-not at all toward David; the strange sight of a man's hand, hair curling on the back, resting on his jerking, twitching prick, was a major factor in Charles' increasing ardor. He was barely conscious, then, of his sister's moans, which were beginning to increase in volume.
Corky was gobbling in frenetic delight, running her tongue around the slimy, ridged insides of Tricia's cunt, plunging it deeply in a regular series of thrusts, licking, plunging, nibbling at her clit in a one-woman, three-way counterpoint of sexual splendor, feeling her sister-in-law's thighs, the tender, finely-downed insides of her thighs rubbing at her cheeks and ears as they pumped and pumped up and down in their passionate bicycling toward orgasm. Then they began moving together, Tricia's calves resting on Corky's long back, her crossed ankles clutched, her hips coming up to meet Corky's fucking mouth. Then she clenched herself into a straining knot, pulling Corky's wet, fuck-smeared face into her throbbing cunt as she was flung out into space, the earth disappearing from beneath her, the shuddering, quaking thrills of her orgasm plummeting to the depths of her being, rocketing through her core and visiting delight on delight upon the girl. Corky was enthralled at the utter bliss on the face of the loved girl. And when Tricia sank back to revel in the rapture of her lingering orgasm, Corky began licking all over her thighs and belly, drilling her pointed tongue into the other girl's puckered, pink asshole, thrilling her with divine delight just that much more.
And through her delirious joy, Tricia could see the boy who had loved her so magnificently, so fully the night before, and, indeed, that very afternoon on the back seat of her brother's moving automobile; could see him standing, raising himself from the floor to begin a slow, sensuous disrobing process, even in the final thrall of her last orgasm, she began to feel a desire for him kindling in her loins as he stripped away the fetters of clothing from his beautiful torso, his muscled back and shoulders gleaming in the lowly lit room, his thick haunches as his trousers fell away, his evenly-muscled thighs-and his naked, erect, lustrous prick. And she saw him go to his knees, his hands at once folding around the Gargantuan prick of her brother. He stroked it lovingly and her brother's head fell back, eyes closed, to the cushion of the chair he rested against. And David, kneeling as an acolyte, ceremoniously bowed his head toward the incredible icon, opening his mouth as wide as it could be opened, and the glans of Charles' protuberance went into the mouth.
It was hot, and, Christ-so fucking big! David thought. Almost as big as a--whaddayoucallit--a softball ... He almost smiled, in his passion, at the plaything-image from his past. His eyes strolled down the long, thick shaft as he slipped his mouth around the immense head, sliding the inner walls of his cheeks over the sensitive gland, then letting it slip back out, his lips ending the gesture in a kiss at the quivering slit at the top; and his eyes finally came to rest on the outsized scrotum. He reached down his left hand to touch it, and when his fingers first came slowly into contact with the skin of the sac, Charles' skin prickled with the tingle of unfamiliar touch. And David began kissing, sucking and licking around the tremendous shank, working his way down to his brother-in-law's hairy belly, then down further to his balls, putting first one, then the other, wholly into his warm-cave mouth, holding them there in protective harbor, at the same time offering the threat of castration, which had entered Charles' mind-and so it became a gesture of trust-counter trust. David's hands wandered lovingly over the older man's thighs and belly as he, once more, began mouthing his way back up Charles' mythical prick.
Corky, being the hip sister that she was, abandoned her charge for a moment, leaving her drowning in carnal suck-bliss, to skip to the bathroom, returning in a moment, kissing Charles long, deep and lovingly as she coolly laid the K-Y Jelly alongside his thigh, so that David could see it. By then David was jerking himself off as he sucked the throbbing prick. While Corky kissed Charles, David, sucking him, began greasing his own asshole. Then Corky went back to the sofa to join Tricia, and David, seeing Charles squirming in the initial stages of the climb to come, flung himself, belly downward, over the seat of the chair and said, "Fuck me, Charles."
Charles rose quickly to his knees and said, "Do you think you can handle it all, David?"
With one hand David smeared a huge glob of K-Y on his brother-in-law's cock and said, "We'll see, won't we? Shove, honey...."
And Charles, though usually more careful (he was high in heat for his orgasm), shoved the whole head in, slipping it in fast with the aid of the unfamiliar grease, and David said, "YOW!" bringing every eye in the room to his face.
"Did it hurt?" Charles asked tentatively.
"Shit yes-but don't take it out now!"
And Charles, losing his progress, began all over, working himself up slowly, imbedding his dong with careful thrusts, four inches into Charles, then five ... six ... seven...."Ohhhhhh God it-" David said, beatitude running through his words. Eight ... nine ... and at that stage Charles began a thrust-and-withdrawal movement, sending the rhythmic sixth sense of his lusty hips into play.
Christ, it's tight, Charles thought, beginning to relish the feeling for the first time of having his huge, ramrod prick imbedded into the ass of another male-and, most astoundingly of all, he didn't feel anything like faggoty! It just felt to him as though he was making love to another warm, loving, human being! And he was eleven inches in, almost had his hilt and belly up to the fantastically stretched opening. He looked down and saw amber beads of jelly glistening around the pink surface, which was beginning to redden. He wondered how David could stand it.
David could. Barely. But the extraordinary breadth of Charles' prod erased, in its uniqueness, the pain, causing thrills instead-and David thought, This is as close as I will ever come to knowing what it's like to be pregnant, having this great, living, moving thing inside me. And move inside him it did, like a massive, slimy pole, reaching up into his very guts, which felt like they were twined and twisted, steaming around Charles' staff. David's joy grew unbearable, as his own prick strained, stroking against the ridge of the cushion. Then Charles came, blasting off with a loud groan, his thumbs spreading David's thick hunks of buttock as he pushed himself all the way in, feeling his balls dangling, bumping against David's own, as his come jetted up inside the boy, unloading many, many ounces into the boy's entrails.
And David, at the same moment, or a moment thereafter, detonated by Charles' coming, began to spurt himself, catching a flying bud of semen on his lips, licking it off and swallowing, as the balance of his sperm oozed and squirted out onto the cushion. David, shrieking and heaving a great gust of a sigh, felt Charles begin to slip himself out slowly, and knew then that what was happening to him was as close as he would ever come to knowing what it was like to give birth. And David, ironically, felt a deep sorrow that Charles himself, the cause of that strange and wondrous sensation, would probably never meet another man well-enough endowed to allow him to know the feeling.
Corky and Tricia rested on the couch side by side. Corky, having taken Tricia that far into her mind and body, did not want to rush her or force things, but rather (even for her own ego reasons) preferred to let Tricia take the next initiative, if she so desired. Corky didn't need to have her cunt sucked then, but she thought that it would be nice to be Tricia's first.
Tricia was still confused by the vague longing to taste Corky's mysterious box, so near, so attainable-yet in many ways so far. Still she had come so much of the distance already, since the day before-and she loved the feel of Corky's beautiful tits against her own, and Corky's loving mouth buried in her own sex. And the mysterious expression on her lovely face as she ate and gobbled away at her, the inner peace flowing out across her fine features-that peace. And without much more inner urging, her long, slender hand wandered through space and came to rest on the gentle curve of Corky's supine belly. Corky closed her eyes and smiled. Then Tricia did the oddest (to her), most impulsive thing: she reached across with her right hand and touched the left side of Corky's face. When Corky's eyes opened and she turned her million-watt smile directly on Tricia's face. Tricia leaned forward and kissed her fully, firmly on the lips, and found Corky's sweet tongue immediately in her mouth. That time she relaxed and instinctively began sucking on it, then thrust her own into Cork's mouth, and they mingled there, exploring one another's oral recesses. Tricia's hand drifted downward until it found a gnarl of silky hair, and, thinking of what she would do to herself when alone and horny, she found the moist, open crotch-hole and her fingers entered it, flipping Corky into a spasm, and also thrilling Tricia herself. Then, the amenities over, Tricia set to work. She was the aggressor as she never could be with a man (other than with Charles the evening before-but that was a rare, special incident) and her aggression, tender though it was, released something inside her being, gave freedom to long-suppressed emotions; and though, in a sense, she was acting as a man, she was completely feminine as she slipped her arm around Corky, hugging her firmly, taking a breast in her hand, stroking the nipple, drawing her up closer as the kiss deepened. Her other hand stroked deeply into Corky's slew, causing Corky to throw one leg over Tricia's knees and the other over the arm of the sofa. And it caused Corky's hips to begin a circular movement, trying to grind into Tricia's hand. Tricia first put her middle finger into the other girl, then the middle two fingers, then three, then all five up to the last knuckles-and then Corky made an amazing muscular adjustment, and to Tricia's astonishment, her whole hand slipped up inside her sister-in-law. Charles' volume had made that possible. And, dazzled, Tricia began a soft punching motion up inside her as their hot mouths began licking at one another's bodies. Tricia could actually feel Corky's uterus between two knuckles, and she diddled with that, kissing her way down until she was licking Corky's sexual slime off her own wrist and the lips of Corky's deliciously pungent, musky cunt. The musky aroma set new hungers astir in Tricia's loins and speeded the thrust of her arm and the lapping licks of her tongue against Corky's stiff clitoris.
Corky began working her way down Tricia's body in the back, licking and sucking all over her ass and plunging into a tongue ream-job, thumb-fucking her at the same time, and the combination of Tricia's naturally talented tongue and the buff of her wrist bone against her sensitive clit shortly sent Corky into paroxysms of heavenly joy, as her twat was thrilled and thrilled again into a serial orgasm.
After Corky had made her mark so beautifully (and Tricia was extremely proud that she could make a woman come), Tricia slipped her hand out of the wet, satiated hole, then slowly lowered her face to that spot and began licking the juices from the warm area, gently soothing it with her tongue, finally entering between the lips with her oral member, finally tasting a woman's sex-and finding it to be rich and good. Good. And after the first, tentative gestures she opened it wider with her fingers and kissed all over the exposed walls, thrusting her tongue as far as she could up inside her reclining sister-in-law, feeling the soft, slimy wetness against her nose, and tried to push her whole face into it. And she really loved that cunt instinctively, intimately, as a man could never really do, just as a woman can never really love a man's cock with her mouth as another man can-not knowing quite what hurts and what doesn't, what feels good and what is a drag. And without really trying to, just exploring the new sensations, feelings, aromas, Tricia brought Corky around for the nth time that day.
When she finally sat back, her face streaked generously with the other girl's fuck-oils, the four of them found themselves smiling open, wonder-struck smiles at one another.
"Welcome home, everybody," David said, and they smiled with love sounds spilling happily from their mouths, with cosmic relief and well-being. They just sat, staring with fond wonder at one another, idly savoring the coming years together, the various possibilities they each might enjoy. They speculated on the poor ignorance of man, and the pleasures he was afraid to enjoy-they were somewhat sad about that-and then they were interrupted by a sleepy male voice from the bedroom, which said, "Corky? Corky?"
And they were all struck like ducks in thunder. A spasm-reaction left over from the old ways hung for an instant in the room between them until Corky said, "Oh shit! I forgot all about him...."
And they all looked to the doorway to see Neil Turner standing stark-o in the doorway, his sated little wand hanging sleepily between his thighs. When he came to enough to realize what was going down, he said, "Oh, jeez-I'm sorry ... Corky? ..."
And they all laughed when they realized what had gone down.
David said, "Neil, you little virgin sonofabitch-what the hell are you doing here?"
And Neil looked at all the naked people in the room, including himself, but mostly at Charles-and when he was sure that Charles wasn't angry at him, he excitedly said to David, "David-I finally lost it, man! And she didn't put me in any psycho ward, like you said, either! Isn't it great?"
"The teacher...." Charles said, gesturing a weary hand toward his smiling wife. "And she says she doesn't know what she wants to be when she grows up . .
"Maybe I'll be some kind of social director," she said slyly. "Cynthia's coming in tomorrow for the weekend!"
