BB-275  Lisa, The Gang Bang Girl
by Paula Tarrant


INTRODUCTION 

Casual promiscuity is rightly regarded as the outgrowth of an immature mind. 
The girl who sleeps around, who fails to establish a lasting emotional 
relationship with any one man, is frequently a rootless, insubstantial 
creature whose life is without any real meaning or stability. What seems 
like a joy ride to her at the age of twenty or less, of course, often 
becomes a dreary and unending nightmare by the time she has turned thirty. 

At the same time, most authorities agree that immaturity is not the only 
cause for female promiscuity. Sometimes a much deeper motivation is 
responsible-a neurotic compulsion, an inner drive toward sin that stems from 
some fundamental dislocation of the personality. Not surprisingly, it is the 
parents who are most at fault in many cases. 

As long ago as 1930, a sexological study by Phyllis Blanchard and Carolyn 
Manasses, published under the title of New Girls for Old, had this to say on 
the subject: "Studies of girls who have gotten into conflict with their 
parents or with society on account of their sex behavior could be multiplied 
indefinitely. Invariably we find the same point in common for all of 
them-that sexual promiscuity is utilized as a means of gaining other 
emotional satisfactions than just the physical relief from sex tension. It 
is next to impossible for the child who has felt insecure and emotionally 
deprived in early years to attain emotional stability in later life." 

In a much more recent study written for The Encyclopedia of Sexual Behavior, 
William R. Reevy has stated: "General theory has propounded that children's 
sex contact with adults must inevitably lead to dire consequences in adult 
or later life. The sexual trauma theory indicates that such contact is 
almost the only progenitor of mental disturbances and abnormality in the 
emotional life. Usually the psychological effects of adults seduction have 
always been presumed to be harmful. Nearly all the psychoanalysts have been 
in agreement with this-as for example Freud, Klein, Abraham. If theory is 
not presented in the sexual trauma form, at least a detrimental influence 
upon later personality development is usually hypothesized. On the other 
hand, Bender (1952), after follow-up studies, concludes that even incestuous 
encounters need not be as bad as they are usually presumed to be and that 
'modern psychiatric follow-up studies of a sizeable series of individuals 
who as children had known these types of sexual experiences have not 
disclosed any directly adverse effect of the early incidents upon later 
social adjustments.'" 

Finally, Rollo May in his important book The Meaning of Anxiety has made 
this observation: "It is understandable that anxious persons would have a 
good deal of hostility, which is a commonplace discovery in clinical 
experience. And it is understandable also that the hostility would be 
largely repressed for fear of counterattack. Now when the repression of 
hostility occurs, it is often accompanied by projection of hostile impulses 
on others, normally upon those toward whom one feels hostile. This can be 
illustrated clearly in the case of the child, who frequently projects his 
own hostile feelings on his parents and other powerful figures and thereby 
experiences an increase of the feeling that he lives in a hostile world." 

Lisa Koch, the heroine of The Unwilling Model by Paula Tarrant, is a child 
who is actually growing up in a hostile world; for her, the hostility is not 
imaginary. It is true that in her slum environment of squalor and poverty, 
most of the hostility is actually directed toward her father-but she feels 
it as strongly as if it were directed at her. And while both of her parents 
are uneducated and rather simple-minded in their approach to life, Lisa is a 
complex individual with many strong desires, some of them tending to 
conflict with each other. At the age of fifteen, Lisa finds herself driven 
in many directions, and she is far from mature enough to know which path to 
choose. 

For a girl of her tender years, Lisa knows a great deal about sex" She has 
observed the sexual activities of her slum neighbors at a very primitive 
level which is repugnant to her. She believes that sex should be beautiful, 
not cruel and savage. But the only sexual outlets available to her are 
exactly the kind she abhors. 

Lisa has high ambitions. She wants to be a model, believing that such a 
career would be a quick route to easy riches and that by taking such a 
course she will allow the world at large to appreciate her true beauty. Then 
too, having spent the first decade of her life in the deep South, Lisa has a 
peculiar hangup about Negroes. 

All of these things may seem like very disparate elements indeed, but in the 
hands of a skillful writer like Paula Tarrant they come together to form the 
tapestry of a richly intriguing plot. Young Lisa flees one unhappy 
environment after another in her quest for success and happiness. The story 
as a whole, while constantly entertaining, is as much a lesson in harsh 
facts and profound philosophy for the reader as it is for its heroine. 

The Publishers 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Lisa straddled the big, mushroom-like vent pipe that she used when she was 
sex-peeking from the roof. The windows that faced the courtyard of the 
apartment house were seldom a disappointment to her sex-craving eyes. And at 
the age of fifteen, she seemed to have nothing but sex on her mind. 

At the moment, the acne-faced boy on the second floor was standing in front 
of his mirror jacking off. It'll take him all day, Lisa thought as she 
watched the skinny boy romance his long and equally skinny cock. Unless his 
mother catches him again! 

She recalled the last time she had watched and he got caught in the act. His 
mother had entered the bedroom and was shocked to see what he was doing, 
smacked his bare ass and scolded him, then took him by the ear to the 
bathroom (which also had a window on the court). There the mother, who 
reminded Lisa of a stern schoolteacher, made him bend over the bathtub and 
hold that position while she prepared an enema. The tender treatment his 
mother gave his ass was Lisa's first clue that the old broad was getting her 
jollies from all this. Like the way she meticulously applied the Vaseline to 
his buttonhole: slow, delicate applications all around it, and a slow 
invasion with her finger that twisted and lingered there much too long, in 
Lisa's opinion. Then she separated his cheeks with the thumb and index 
finger of her left hand and delicately inserted the bulb-type syringe 
nozzle. As she squeezed, both faces seemed to glow. She repeated this four 
or five times, then didn't bother to fill the syringe any more, just knelt 
there looking up his ass and sliding the enema nozzle in and out of the 
tight opening. Bruce finally grabbed his cock and delivered his come into 
the tub, and his mother seemed to sigh with what Lisa was certain was an 
orgasm of her own. 

Just thinking about the bathroom scene created a dampness in Lisa's bikini 
panties. She slid a hand up the short miniskirt and checked. A small circle 
of moistness greeted her fingertips. Sweet dew, she thought, and oh so nice. 
Her finger moved inside the sheer panties to touch the burning lips of her 
virgin cunt. Mmmmmmm! She closed her eyes and drank in the pleasure the 
touch of her finger created. 

She went back to window-scanning, leaving the finger to work its own 
sensations. All channels seem to be showing the same dull family situation 
scenes, she decided. Apartment 24 was presenting a man taking a shower, and 
apartment 18 had a woman taking a bath. There was little interest in either 
situation. Then a light went on in her cousin's bedroom and she saw Gloria 
enter the room, taking off her clothes along the way and dropping them all 
over the floor. Now entering the picture was the good-looking fireman from 
the apartment next to Gloria's. They both seemed tense and nervous; he 
obviously wasn't going to undress. He just grabbed Gloria and pulled her 
naked body against himself and kissed her, with one hand roaming over her 
back and feeling her ass. 

A violent quickie, Lisa decided, responding to the scene with a fresh flow 
of juices on her playing finger. 

The fireman backed Gloria up to the bed while he feverishly sucked on her 
hard-nippled tits, first one, then the other, his hand still playing 
hide-and-seek with her asshole. Gloria fell back on the bed, her feet still 
touching the floor, and watched as the fireman unzippered his pants and 
whipped out what Lisa considered the most gorgeous cock she had ever seen 
... long, fat, and stiff as a board. She corrected that thought, remembering 
her father had the most gorgeous equipment she had ever seen. Right now I'd 
settle for this one, she admitted. Gloria, you lucky bitch, I wish I was in 
your place. Then she imagined how her cousin must feel right now: all 
excited and nervous inside, knowing she'd have that big meat driving into 
the depths of her body ... actually feeling the penetration of it ... 
stretching snugly over every inch of it ... 

Mmmmmmmmm-she was getting carried away with her own imagination-mmmmm. 
"Ooooowww," her moan broke the dark silence of the rooftop. "Ahhhhhhh," she 
sighed, rocking gently and working out her orgasm on a slender finger, while 
she imagined that the big cock spearing Gloria was rocketing up her own 
insides. "Mmmm ... good," she whispered, while the fireman and Gloria pumped 
away on the bed and reached their own climax. But Lisa was disappointed, as 
was Gloria, to see him withdraw so fast and quickly pocket his still 
dripping prick. Gloria sprang to a sitting position and tried to retain her 
lover, but he was too fast-obviously nervous- and left the scene. 

Stop bitching. At least you got the real thing. 

Momentarily contented now, Lisa decided to go downstairs and stand out in 
front of the building for a while. On the second floor landing she met 
pimple-faced Bruce, who was going out for the evening paper. His eyes 
avoided hers when he mumbled, "Hi." And when she returned the greeting in 
her sweetest voice, he blushed a crimson red, so she added, "dumb shit," 
under her breath. 

In the lobby she saw the fireman's wife returning with a shopping cart full 
of groceries and managed a sweet "hello" for her, understanding now why he 
wanted to get out so fast. Your husband is really hung nice, she filled in 
for the lack of conversation. 

"Oh, by the way, Linda ... " 

"Lisa," she snapped back, knowing the woman had waited until they were 
farther apart before saying anything just so she'd have an excuse to speak 
louder, for everyone with their doors open to hear. 

"Of course ... Lisa. Would you tell your father my bathroom drain is clogged 
again?" 

"Yeah," she snapped back and walked out of the lobby. My father will fix 
your plumbing, bitch. His snake is the best in town. 

* * * 

Lisa put her back to the stone wall of the Brooklyn apartment building and 
her breath caught in her throat somewhere. 

R-r-rack! Vroomm-m-m-m! The sound blasted into silence the entire hum of 
street noises. Neighbors, sitting squatly out on their camp chairs, wiping 
summer sweat from their foreheads and mouths, looked at the source of the 
ear-splitting roar from down the street. 

The motorcycle was bounding toward her, shadowed by the dim lights of the 
street lamps. The hairy biker, his eyes shining with that look of instant 
familiarity, rolled his big bike along in front of her. Lisa froze as his 
glittering eyes looked directly into her own, as if commanding her with a 
grim, tight-lipped smile. For some silly reason she felt exactly like she 
was some sort of quarry up against the wall as the hunter closed in. She 
wore ankle socks and a miniskirt, and that mini, or what was under it, 
seemed to have the cyclist's undivided attention. Her breasts were 
perspiration-filmed, dampening the thin see-through (or practically) blouse 
she wore. The neighbors had been mumbling about that blouse all evening, 
behind palmed hands: "And she's only fifteen, yet! Well what do you expect? 
The child knows no better, living with that filthy-minded family in that 
apartment house where everybody's screwing everybody! Why, just the other 
day I heard ... " 

The motorcycle shot past her, speed shifting down into low gear with a 
gunshot, ear splitting r-r-rapp. The biker cramped the big Harley into a 
U-turn, blipped a little wheelie that jumped the big machine up onto the 
sidewalk, and laid his iron at her feet. 

"Hi, chick!" he grinned coarsely. Lisa ran her eyes down over his black 
jeans and leathers, thinking he must be sweating like a pig in that get-up. 
"You live here?" 

"Split," Lisa said coolly. 

"Yeah, this is the right address," he said, trying to read a crumpled piece 
of paper that he held up to the street light. "You know a guy named Koch? 
Some name, eh?" 

"He's my ol' man. Who's askin'?" 

"No names, bitch, just lead me to him." 

"You a pig?" 

"Me? Shit, do I look like fuzz?" 

"Guess not. He's in the basement. It's okay if you wanta go down. Better 
pull your bike in the alleyway, though. No chance it'll still be here when 
you come up, if you don't." 

"The basement? Oh yeah, I dig it! They tol' me he was the janitor of this 
dump." 

"Super, not janitor. There's a difference." She tried to guess his age. 
Maybe twenty-three. "What're you after, a fix?" He could be older, but not 
much. 

"You talk too much and too loud, know that, bitch?" 

"Name's Lisa." 

"Lisa Koch. Shitty name. Watch my bike while I talk to your daddy." 

* * * 

Lisa had her own key, and an hour later she let herself into the ground 
floor apartment, looked briefly in on her parents who were in the kitchen 
counting a pile of ten-dollar bills, and went directly through the living 
room to her bedroom. 

Lying in bed in the semi-dark room, lit only by an alley light, her mind 
went back over the evening step by step. That dude on the bike had made her 
feel randier than she had ever felt before, with his bunched-up crotch in 
those tight jeans. What a cock he must have! She could almost feel it, here 
in bed beside her. She wondered how it would feel ... right ... here ... 
where her finger was stubbornly probing. As the picture flashed through her 
mind, she moaned quietly. She could hear her mother nagging in a high little 
whine that rasped against the edges of Lisa's excited nerves like a small 
electric saw. 

"Well, you better get that girl outa the basement first thing in the 
morning! She ain't no more than Lisa's age, if that. You fuck that kid and 
you'll blow everything else we got goin' here." 

"Who's fucking her? The kid ain't got no place to go. So I let her sleep in 
the big bin overnight until the stuff wears off. Big deal! Shut up and go to 
bed." After Lisa's father said it, there was a long silence. 

Lisa shivered a little and closed her eyes, picturing her handsome 
forty-year-old father jabbing his big wet prick into the girl in the 
basement. Her finger moved a little deeper against the lips of her 
still-virgin cunt. 

Other times she had trouble thinking about her parents at all without almost 
throwing up. But it wasn't them she was thinking about now. Not what they 
were, but what they did. Like Daddy fucking her cousin Beatrice all the 
time-everybody knew it, even joked about it. Some family! Did they all have 
to live in this lousy apartment house, just 'cause Daddy was the super and 
could get them in, which he'd done, one relative at a time, for the past 
five years. She pictured Daddy fucking fat Beatrice, who had just graduated 
from high school. And she pictured Daddy fucking Aunt Emma, Uncle Tony's 
wife and Beatrice's mother. No sweat, Momma was putting out for Uncle Tony, 
too. Didn't she watch her mother sucking Tony's cock last winter when they 
didn't know she had come home from school early and was in her bedroom? 

In bed, Lisa rested the warmth of her moist finger against her own cheek. 
The finger had an exciting odor to it. Hell, all of a sudden in her life, 
everything was starting to have an excitement about it! 

On his way to bed, Richard Koch heard the slight movement of sheets in his 
daughter's room. 

Koch, medium tall, athletically thin despite his do-practically-nothing 
occupation, was only slightly gray at the temples. He knocked at the peeling 
paint of the door, paused a moment, then went inside. 

"That guy on the motorcycle told me he had the hots for you. Better stay 
clear of my customers, chicken. They'll only get you in trouble." 

"I'm growing up, Daddy, haven't you noticed?" 

"You'll grow up when I tell you to grow up, not before." 

"Oh?" She smiled her best wicked smile at him. Then, as if performing for 
him, she touched herself gently with the tips of her fingers, as if she were 
some expensive gift; her hair, her eyes, her mouth. She stroked her arm 
deferentially, then moved her hand up to her breast. Softly she caressed the 
splendid fullness of one, then the other, and her father was bug-eyed. The 
hand dropped from the nipple and his stomach cramped. Then her hand 
returned. Dreamily she opened the buttons, then slowly pulled the pajamas 
wide open. He could see the faint pink of her young nipples. Slowly she let 
the pajama top slide down her arms and fall back against the pillow. With 
her shoulders pulled back, her titties sprang forward. Then, teasingly, Lisa 
turned them toward him; with her head bent looking down at the plump flesh 
of her breasts swelling out nakedly around her fingers. She dug her little 
fingers into the deep flesh. 

"What's wrong, Daddy? Don't you like them as much as Cousin Beatrice's? 
They're not as fat. You like 'em fatter?" 

He was looking at her young, sensual, full mouth. The soft, lascivious pink 
tip of her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips. 

His mouth seemed to be no longer under his control. It seemed operated by 
his desire. It darted avidly to the flesh, to the hard nipple. A sigh came 
out of Lisa, as though she had crossed over into another country after a 
long journey. 

His hand worked quickly, tracing the marvelous curve, pushing deep into the 
virgin cleavage, stroking the sweet round of the bottom of her girl-ass and 
up the swollen sides of her belly and returning to the nipple where his 
mouth was. Then he kissed her, full and hard on the mouth. 

He felt her hand run, ever so lightly, down over his stomach, then 
finger-tapping at the pulsing cock that strained against his pants. His eyes 
were open how, looking down over their joined mouths, catching glimpses of 
the fantastic silhouette of jutting strained breasts that were bouncy-full 
and yet tightly cupped, but all free, rigid and just waiting for his lips to 
lower onto them, the walnut-like nipples begging to be sucked again. 

The little bundle of torment who was working on him had him wrestling with 
the desire rising in his chest and he went a little dizzy for a second, 
unable to stop himself from nibbling on her babyish beckoning-pout lips, 
unable to stop inhaling the girl-fume of her, and he tried not to think of 
those lips brushing against the cream-oiled head of his cock. 

The shock of her little fist around his thick prick was like a bucket of 
water flung suddenly into his face. What was he doing! This was his own 
daughter! 

She lay back on the pillow, a little smile showing her small white teeth. 

"Lisa," he said, "Lisa-" 

"Wanta kiss it for me, daddikins? I know you kiss cousin Beatrice down 
there. She told me." 

"She-told you?" 

"I'm a big girl now, haven't you noticed?" 

"Not-till just now." 

He rose unsteadily to his feet, and her eyes caught on the great bulge in 
his pants. It looked alive by itself, apart from him, jumping, demanding its 
freedom. 

With amazement, she watched it die instantly at the sound of her mother's 
voice from the doorway. "What on earth is the matter? I'm waiting for you. 
Are you all right?" 

The room was dark enough. 

"Feel a little dizzy, dear. Must-be coming down with something. Just need a 
good night's rest. I'm coming, go to bed." 

Alone again, and still smiling, Lisa turned over on her side and licked her 
wet tongue at the dry pillow. 

"Soon," she said in a low whisper. "Real soon now." 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Dick Koch had that familiar aching feeling in his balls. They were tingling 
one minute and feeling like a hand was squeezing him the next. Can't wait to 
get at her, he thought, as he swept the sidewalk. He had his morning chores 
to do before he could get at that young pussy in the basement. The garbage 
cans had to be put out for collection and the sidewalk had to be swept 
before eight o'clock. 

What he had planned for this morning was just what he needed. The thrill of 
fucking his brother's daughter up in apartment 12, or having his cock sucked 
by his sister's kid up in 32, was beginning to ebb. What he needed was some 
fresh cunt, new cunt, never-before-discovered cunt, all oiled and ready, 
tight young cunt! 

It was waiting for him down in the basement, he knew. She was a junkie, but 
a sixteen-year-old junkie. And he had got himself a glimpse of that white 
meat under that mini when she had sat down on the basement floor the night 
before and crossed her legs. Sweet, cock-consuming, white meat! But she was 
high then, no telling what she may have done. He was glad now that he had 
waited until this morning. 

* * * 

Crystal Bentley cuddled in the corner of the dark, damp cubicle, chills 
running up her backbone as she tried to drag herself from the fabric of her 
nightmare. It was midsummer, but she was cold all over, and she curled up in 
a ball. Someone had taken all her clothes and left her in this storage bin 
with nothing but a musty old cot to lie on. She had no idea what time it 
was, or how long she had been cooped up in this basement cell, but she 
wasn't frightened. The acid she had dropped still dulled her nerves and her 
head hadn't completely come down yet. 

"I've got acid," she remembered her boyfriend saying as they sat in the back 
seat of a car someone had neglected to lock. "And the super of that 
apartment house around the corner will let us use a room in the basement for 
the trip. How's that, doll? All the comforts of home and no fuzz to worry 
about!" 

It started to fall in place now ... she must still be in the apartment house 
basement. But where did everyone go? Where were Dave and the super? She had 
the urge to cry for some reason, but it just wasn't in her. The 
superintendent stuck in her mind and she remembered Dave saying something 
about him and this house of nuts that had made them both laugh. But what was 
it? And she remembered the dark and penetrating eyes that seemed to be 
seducing her as the super talked to Dave. 

Lights went on outside the door and she could hear footsteps coming closer. 
She became a little tense and arranged her legs to hide her cunt in 
thigh-flesh. Someone fumbled with a lock on the wood door and finally it 
opened slowly and a man's figure was silhouetted against a small win-down 
light. 

It was the super. She'd know those eyes anywhere. 

"Where's Dave?" she asked, and put her hand over her dark bush, pretending 
that did something to cover her nudity. Then she drew her legs up tight 
under her chin, as if hiding behind something. 

"He went home last night, don't you remember?" Dick answered in a friendly 
voice. "You were having a bad trip, and besides, you said you got no home to 
go to." 

"Where's my clothes?" she snapped bitterly, trying to put him on the 
defensive. 

"In the other bin," he said, staring at her with eyes that were methodically 
fucking her. "C'mon, I brought you some coffee." 

"How about my clothes first?" 

"Listen, girlie, get off your ass and don't go giving me orders," Dick 
growled, taking her by the arm and jerking her to her feet. 

"I'm only sixteen. You touch me and they'll hang your balls ... " 

"You're in enough trouble already." 

That bastard Dave should have his cock cut off for leaving me here, she 
thought, but said no more. 

The super let her wrists go, but then moved his hands slowly over her firm 
young body, turning her so she faced away from him. She could feel his eyes 
devouring every inch of her. His hands moved up and slowly caressed her 
tits, just before he pulled her gently to him-her saucily protruding ass 
snuggling up to his slowly rising prick. She could feel it pulsing as he 
pressed it into the crack of her cheeks. One hand held her tit firmly, 
nipple-squeezing, while the other slid down her stomach. A flushed chill 
went through her body as his fingers laced in and out of her cunny hair, 
fingering for the tightly closed lips. 

Dick closed his eyes, breathing in the freshness of her long brown hair and 
finding excitement in the tender smoothness of her tight skin. Those long, 
well-turned legs added to his desire to eat her up, every last twisting, 
squirming, weeping mouthful of her. 

His fingers slid gently down the delicate slit, examining it with every 
light touch and wiggling carefully into the lips with just the bare tip of 
his thumb. The motion made her press more tightly back against his cock and 
coal-hot balls. 

"I gotta piss," she said. 

"Go ahead," Dick smiled into her ear. 

"Right here on the floor?" 

"Sure. It's cement. It'll dry. Go ahead." 

He waited, and soon a warm liquid began to trickle through his fingers, and 
he closed his eyes again, enjoying the slight heat of it slithering down 
into his palm. He used his other hand to unbutton his shirt and drop his 
pants. 

Naked now too, he rammed his hand up between her tightly clenched thighs, 
skewering mercilessly up with his finger, momentarily diddling the 
delightful thicket of her moistened crotch fur and expertly jabbing up and 
back, sinking the finger between the puffy lips, right into the hot mush of 
her shivering snatch, taking her easily, pushing up to find the smaller 
ruffled inner hole of her cream-lined cunt, in past the second knuckle, 
messaging smoothly the glassy channel. 

Crystal gasped. "Oh, let me suck that big prick!" 

"Later. First a little ride." He lowered her to the cot. 

He got it all the way into her, but she was tight, very tight. 

The tenement basement was dark, and they squirmed in a deep puddle of 
shadow, his tongue inside her mouth and working. He was going in and out of 
her like a knife in hot butter. 

"Don't push so hard," she whispered. "It hurts my ass." 

That made him laugh and he fucked her harder. He pounded it deep and she 
writhed and loved it. 

Now he had a nipple in his mouth, sucking and fondling it with familiar 
expertness. Her cunt-walls were as tight as a fist around his meat. He could 
hear the little sucking noises it made. The cot rocked. 

Then Dick began to stroke it faster. His breath came shorter. He began to 
thrust. The sucking noises increased. 

Crystal had a strangle hold on his head, massaging it and pulling it deeper 
into the meat of her breasts. The acrid smell of gism was soon strong in the 
little room, and Crystal was making slurping sounds at his ear. 

The real thrill of it was that she was even tighter than he expected, and he 
thought this in the moment before coming, with his eyes tight shut and his 
face grimacing. She was guiding it, moving her hips, and he continued to 
thrust, though he had already come once-plunging it in, all the way, in her 
to the hair, deep and warm and satisfying. 

By the time the fog cleared in his head, he had pulled limply out of her and 
she came back into focus there on her knees in front of him. She bent down 
and kissed the sleeping log, and it jerked suddenly. 

"Lay off it, kid, I've had it." 

"No, you ain't. Ah, look at it! That's my boy," she said thickly. "Dance for 
Crystal." 

"You're nuts, kid, know that?" 

But she still took no notice. She bent lower and licked him, all along the 
again hard shaft that tasted of maleness, salt sweat and her own thick 
juices. Suddenly she took the end of it, the whole of his tight-skinned 
swollen glands, into her mouth, rolling it against her tongue. He lifted his 
foot off the cement and straddled the cot. She never let go of him. 

She said indistinctly, with her mouth still full of Dick: "Hmmmm. Thish ish 
the way I like it!" 

Dick's eyes were closed, his fists clenched. Suddenly he began to arch his 
body, but Crystal just shifted one hand halfway up the shaft to hold it 
steady. The end she kept firmly in her mouth. His loins jerked; a small cry 
came from between his clenched teeth; and suddenly it was all over again. 
Dick's body collapsed onto the cot, and a trickle of semen escaped from 
between her lips and the glands. She had a mouthful and was savoring it 
dreamily. 

Crystal pushed her hair back. Her eyes were wide open but unfocused. She 
still held Dick's relaxing flesh in her mouth, rolling it about. Then she 
opened her lips and released it, running her tongue over her lips and wiping 
her mouth with the back of her hand. All her movements were slow, luxurious; 
as though she were adrift in a warm euphoric dream. Sucking it never failed 
to arouse her. Now she bent down again, and licked the rest of it from his 
hairy belly. 

"You got some cock there, mister. Now can I have my clothes?" 

"And you got some mouth there, girlie, some mouth. Sure." 

* * * 

"Okay, what now?" Crystal asked. She was dressed, just buttoning the last 
button of her blouse. 

"Why ask me?" Dick was stepping into his pants. 

"'Cause I got no place to go. Jeez, I thought maybe you could put me up for 
a couple weeks, till I get some bread. I just got in this shitty town three 
days ago, don't know a soul except Dave. He picked me up on Forty-second 
Street. Good thing he did, I only had fifteen cents left." 

"Run away from home?" 

"Yeah. Took a bus up from Washington." 

"Washington, eh? I got a brother there. Name is Max Koch, ever hear of him?" 

"Should I?" 

"I thought maybe. He's an artist, paints a lot of people in politics. Well, 
let's see. I can't leave you down here in this lousy cellar. Maybe I could 
talk my wife into putting you up with my daughter in her room for a week. 
Lisa's your age and ... but I wouldn't want you teachin' her anything." 

"Like what?" 

"Like how to suck a cock. That's some job you did." 

"Oh, that. Colored girl down in Washington taught me. Naw, I wouldn't poison 
your goody-goody daughter, don't worry." 

"Well, let me talk to my wife, she may not go for it." 

"You make a good buck pushing pills?" 

"I do all right. Why?" 

"I thought maybe I could work for ya." 

"We'll see." 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"Who do you think turned Daddy in?" Lisa asked her mother four days later. 

"We already know. It was that dude on the motorcycle the other night. He 
turned out to be vice squad. Christ, there was a day when a cop looked like 
a cop! Anyway, like I said, the judge refused to fix bail on your father, so 
it looks like he's gonna be out of business for a while, maybe even a year." 

"We'll survive. Maybe Crystal will get a job today and then she can start 
payin' us board." 

"That little slut ain't going to get no job! She's probably over to New York 
in a movie again. Borrowed a buck and a half from me again this morning. "I 
like her." 

"Glad to hear that, 'cause you and her are going to have to get along 
together for a while." 

"What do ya mean, Mom?" 

"Well, I didn't want to tell you until it was settled with your Uncle Max 
down in Washington, but your daddy wants I should send you down there to 
live, says he wants you outta this neighborhood until all the stink blows 
over. So's soon as I hear from your Uncle Max that it's okay by him, I'm 
supposed to ship you and Crystal off by bus to Washington. I think your 
father's flipped his cubicle, but he thinks Crystal might be good for you, 
show you the way around. Maybe he's right-she comes from there, ya' know." 

"Washington! What the hell I wanna go to Washington for? Forget it, I'll 
stay right here with you. I'll quit school and we'll work it out, don't 
worry." 

"Can't. Soon as the owner of the apartment house found out what happened he 
fired me and your father one, two, six. We gotta give up the apartment by 
Monday. I'm gonna move upstairs with your Uncle Tony and Aunt Emma. Maybe 
your father's right, you better get away, it's liable to become a little 
hairy around here, neighbors and all." 

There was a period of silence then while Lisa digested it all. Then she 
asked: "You ever met this Uncle Max, Mom? What's he like?" 

"The spittin' double of your father, honey. And he's an artist." 

Lisa smiled. Maybe Washington was a good idea at that! She had always 
dreamed of being a model. 

* * * 

Max Koch smiled from behind a big moustache. If it wasn't for the bush on 
his upper lip, he would indeed be the double of his brother Dick. The studio 
had looked innocent enough from the outside, and even after Lisa and Crystal 
had let themselves into the unlighted reception room they still had no idea 
what they were getting themselves into. Standing there, they had heard the 
rumble of voices coming from the back room. As they entered the back room-a 
massive, barnlike place, with cameras and tripods pushed back against the 
walls, lights hanging from the ceiling-Crystal had giggled. There in the 
center of the room, and a minute later turning out to be Lisa's Uncle Max, 
stood a moustached man-as naked as the day he was born. Drink in hand, he 
was leaning against a long metal table that was draped with some sort of 
animal skin. The darkened room had just enough illumination to reveal the 
outlines of some eight or ten other nude bodies, draped here and there and 
talking intimately. 

A metallic click, and then a sudden assault of brightness-and groans of 
anguish came from all corners of the room as each form exploded with unusual 
clarity against protectively slitted eyes. 

Over in the corner a young girl sat up quickly. Her nude body was finely 
structured, and her heavy firm breasts heaved and fell against her 
sculptured rib cage. A slight trembling of her body, the stiffness of her 
large coral nipples, the glittering surprise of her eyes, all betrayed her 
somewhat awkward position on the thickly carpeted floor. 

"Holy shit!" Crystal said, but only Lisa, standing beside her and smiling, 
heard. Now Lisa knew one more thing about her Uncle Max. He was endowed with 
one helluva love-organ! Even hanging in repose, as it was then, it was as 
thick as a baseball bat. He just stood there, looking the two young girls 
over with the eyes of a wolf, like a gray-jawed pursuer, ready to clamp a 
bitch wolfs loins and ... 

"You-you aren't little Lisa ... are you?" 

Lisa nodded. "We got an earlier bus and took a cab here." 

"But I thought ... ? When did you grow up? Shit, I thought you was still 
that high!" His hand came out to his hip, indicating. 

"And I thought you was some kind of artist." Lisa's head moved around the 
room. 

"This is my girlfriend Crystal. Mom told you about her." 

He was putting a pair of white jeans on. They had bell bottoms and fit his 
crotch like a jock. The walrus moustache grinned, sheepishly. 

"I didn't see any reason to tell the folks in New York that I was in a new 
and better business. Underground photography, as you can see." 

"Underground what?" 

"Never mind. Look, let me take your bags upstairs. I got a real swinging pad 
up there, you girls will love it! Even got your own bedroom." 

"Why?" Crystal asked, looking at the bulge of that prick again and half 
smiling. 

"Yes, well ... let's just say I was misinformed. Faulty intelligence 
communications. It happens here in Washington all the time. C'mon, let me 
get you outta here before one of these lezzies chews the flesh off your 
bones." 

Going out the side door, Crystal turned to look at the scene in the 
raunchy-smelling room again. "Cheez, it's a regular meat loaf, ain't it!" 

* * * 

"I can't get that whole thing in my mouth!" Crystal was saying. 

"Try, kid, try!" Max had the big tool fisted and an inch from her nose. 

Her tongue flicked about the swelling head of the member. Her head was down 
and her mouth sucked, tongue-lapping around it, until, to her surprise, the 
whole head of the hot tube was swallowed completely. 

The soft mouth was working on it, and Max centered all his thoughts on 
poking his meat juicily into that pumping tunnel of tongue and lips, pushing 
forward, yearning to be swallowed to the stump in the firm and inwardly 
muscular throat. 

He licked his lips and weaved above her head, jabbing at the wet, hot 
chamber, feeling it pulsing in there, a tongue from underneath licking to 
catch every bursting drop. He spurted his juices, and she licked them up, 
just as she had his brother's, hundreds of miles away, smiling that smile of 
hers again at the taste of it, all vanilla and tangy-thick. 

"You do a nice job, kid. Like I said, I can use you downstairs in my studio. 
You got good bones, should photograph well. Think we oughta wake Lisa up, 
she's been sleeping in that bedroom for five hours." 

"The kid's pooped from the trip. What do you take these pictures for, 
magazines?" 

"That and a lot of other markets. A real moneymaker. We better wake her up, 
I wanna take the two of you out to dinner, show you the town." 

"I know this town. I grew up here. But I ain't one to turn down a free 
meal." 

"What's she like? Lisa, I mean. The kid's got boobies that won't quit! What 
a model she'll make!" 

Crystal looked at him with one eyebrow raised. "She's your niece, for 
chrissakes! Better stick with me, unless you're sick or somethin'." 

"What's sick got to do with it? You get the urge, you do, that's what life's 
all about. Bet she can't suck a prick like you can, though, eh?" 

"She says she's virgin, and you know, I believe her! Square, real square." 

"Untapped pussy, eh? Hmmm. Interesting." 

"You're a horny old man! Jeez, thinkin' about your own niece!" 

"No law against thinking. Here, lay down on the couch on your stomach. I 
wanta cornhole that big white ass of yours." 

"Nothing doing! I hate that. Hurts like a bastard." 

"That's only because you must've had some guy try it that doesn't know how 
to do it. Lay down and watch the work of a master. It's one of the arts of 
our time." 

"I found out five hours ago that you ain't no artist." 

"Let's just try, and then I'll ask you." 

* * * 

They were not on the couch, but on the thick pile of carpet, Max on his 
knees behind her, fucking her dog-fashion. Crystal knew he couldn't do it; 
that big wong in her little button? Never. But she stayed quite still in the 
same position, on knees and elbows, eyes tightly shut, expecting the worse. 

Max sat back on his hunkers and took one last look at the girl before he 
boarded her. He watched her; her slow shallow breathing, prone, her ass 
slightly elevated from the heels of her small feet. He brought his knees up 
level with hers. She stayed quite still, her eyes still shut. Max began to 
fuck her with long, slow strokes, rocking back and forth on his knees, until 
she began twisting her ass in time to his rhythm, his cock sliding in and 
out of her cunt from behind, going almost all the way out on each stroke, 
slowly, lovingly, each cycle growing slower and slower on the outstroke and 
faster and faster on the instroke. Crystal's hips twisted frantically, out 
of phase with the muscular jerks that twitched her back and legs. 

"Hmmmm," Crystal moaned. 

"Easy now, easy, just getting you ready," Max whispered beside her ear. 

The moan Crystal moaned was one of sublime delight. It was a moan emitted 
from the very depth of the unconscious. It was low, almost a groan, but it 
was unmistakably a moan that comes from a young girl with the unparalleled 
thrill she experiences as a hard, throbbing cock is thrusting deep inside 
her. It was lovely, unequalled by any other human pleasure. 

He slid out of her and touched the head of it to her buttonhole. The touch 
took fire. Max sat back again. 

Spreading Crystal's cheeks with his hands, Max licked all around her 
asshole, starting at the top of the crack. He licked down over the little 
hole to the space between it and cunt. His tongue, accompanied by the walrus 
moustache, moved back up to the hole and began to work its way in and his 
licking assumed a rhythmic character. 

Two knuckles deep, he sank his finger into her pussy, creating a 
communication between finger and tongue through the thin stretched walls of 
colon and womb. 

All was ready. 

But it didn't really work. He barely got the end-most tip of the head of his 
jabber into her before she screamed in both agony and delight, coming in a 
series of multiple orgasms that were entirely a new experience in her 
sixteen-year-old life. 

This surprise left Uncle Max high and dry, his fisted cock almost talking to 
him. But the girl ... strangely enough ... was fast asleep on her belly, 
half snoring. 

Max looked at the bedroom door. Virgin eh? he thought. Meat in hand and 
pulsing, he stood up and made for the bedroom, where Lisa was dreaming her 
old dream of becoming a high-price fashion model. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Lisa pulled herself from the threads of her dream and experienced a salty 
taste in her mouth. Her lips were wet and creamy. 

Her Uncle Max had her head straddled! His big cock rested limply on her 
lips. Lisa tried to scream but his hand came over her mouth, brushing his 
spent prick aside. 

"Cool, cool, girl. Just stay calm. Now, are you going to scream?" 

Eyes bulging wide, Lisa shook her head. He slid his hand away from her 
mouth. 

"You pig!" she cried. 

"I'm a pig? Ha! Baby Lisa, you should have heard the words you were moaning 
in your dream. You must have been dreaming of sucking a big cock, I could 
tell by the things you were moaning ... and these little nipples were like 
rocks! Tell me, who is Sherm?"- He was lifting his body off her, and as he 
swung over her face she caught a glimpse of his asshole. 

She sat up and covered her tits, brushed his drying come from her mouth. She 
had to admit to herself that she liked the taste of it on her tongue. 

"Sherm! What do you mean?" 

"Talking in your sleep, dear girl. All about how good Sherm's cock tasted, 
how big and hard it was. 'Mmmmm, Sherm, it's delicious. Come in my mouth, 
Sherm.' Ha-ha. Now tell old Uncle Max who Sherm was. A boyfriend back on 
Claxton Street in Brooklyn?" 

Max was fingering her cunt, under the sheet, as he sat on the side of the 
bed, and Lisa couldn't stand it. 

"Stop ... please stop ... " 

His fingering grew more rapid and he was smiling ... laughing at her. 

"Oh, I'm afraid I'll have to write your mother about Sherm. She'd find it 
very interesting." 

"No ... no, don't do that, Max ... I-" The fingering was driving her warmly 
insane! 

"Tell me who Sherm is, then." 

"There is no Sherm. Please ... please ... " 

"Please what, Lisa? Please fuck you? No, not tonight, kiddo. You'll have to 
wait for that. But you are going to tell me all about Sherm." 

"He ... he ... " His finger was working in circles, and electric chills were 
climbing up and down her spine. She looked at his cock to see if was 
hardening. It wasn't. 

"Tell me, Lisa, tell me about Sherm. I love to hear cocksucking stories. 
Hmmm?" His wet, slippery finger worked faster. 

"He ... he worked sometimes for my father. He-" Her ass came up off the bed. 
"He cleaned the halls, put out the garbage cans and ... ohhhh, you're 
driving me nuts!" 

"Your father's helper! Sherm ... of course! I met the boy when I went 
through New York last year. Your father introduced me to him down in the 
basement! He was a black boy! Oh, Lisa, beautiful Lisa! You sucked a black 
prick, isn't that beautiful!" 

Indeed, the Negro boy Sherm had seduced Lisa once down in her father's 
basement, and he drove her crazy for cock, just as her uncle was doing now. 
But Sherm wouldn't fuck her after he had shot his load in her mouth. He just 
called her a white bitch and left her there on the bin floor. Just as her 
Uncle Max was leaving her hot and breathing heavy now, as he walked toward 
the door. "Don't worry, it'll be our secret, love. I can use you as a model 
for a while. And I think now you qualify to come to my party tomorrow night, 
meet some of my friends. They just love cocksuckers too. Oh, by the way, 
I've decided that Crystal won't be staying here. She'll be much more 
comfortable in one of my friend's apartment, and besides I promised him a 
shot at her. You see, he just loves cocksuckers, too. And I've had pretty 
good evidence that she's more experienced at it than you are, my little 
nigger sucker. Ha-ha-ha!" 

He went out the door laughing hysterically. 

Lisa lay there thinking about' how black Sherm's body had been, and 
remembering too how her family had moved to Brooklyn from the South when she 
was eleven. She remembered the black boys in the South, and realized now she 
had always, even as a child, been sexually attracted to their strong, dark 
bodies. She finally fell back to sleep. 

* * * 

The evening was just getting under way, and Lisa was drunk. At least, she 
thought she was drunk. It was hard to tell. She wasn't sure whether the 
spinning intoxication that filled her mind was brought on by the uncounted 
and varied cocktails she had consumed or by the laughter and sophistication 
that was all about her in Max's large and strangely furnished apartment. But 
she knew she was having one hell of a good time, a kind of fun she would 
never have known on Claxton Street in Brooklyn. 

She handed her empty glass to the older man sitting next to her on the 
couch, was surprised to see that he wasn't the same man who had been there a 
moment before, and smiled anyhow. 

"Would you mind?" She giggled as she realized that he had been feeling her 
leg, and that crossing the room to get the drink from Max's well-stocked bar 
was going to force him to give up this pleasure. 

"Anything at all for the loveliest girl in the room," he said, and he 
squeezed her thigh, then rose to get the drink. She watched him cross the 
crowded floor, trying to remember if Max had introduced her to him, decided 
he hadn't, then returned to what she had been doing. 

She had been studying the lovely contrasts Max relished so strongly. There 
were several racially mixed couples at the party, and it had surprised her 
that they were accepted so casually. When Max had introduced her to the 
first of them to arrive-an extremely handsome young white man, whose name 
she couldn't remember, and a tiny little Negress whose sensual body reminded 
her of Crystal-she had tried to hide her surprise, but knew she had failed. 
It was this couple that she had been watching. 

They were dancing in the center of the crowded floor, her arms around his 
neck, her lower body thrust forward, pressing her cunt tight against him, 
and his hands were gripping the delectably rounded cheeks of her 
firm-looking ass. As Lisa watched them sway together, not dancing, really, 
but simply using the soft music as an excuse to keep their bodies locked 
together, she found herself trying to visualize them as they fucked, and she 
felt her cunt growing hotter and hotter. 

"Your drink, Lisa," she heard. She took the glass and downed half the drink 
before she realized that it was Max who had handed it to her. He was 
smiling, obviously very amused. 

She was fully aware of the reason for his amusement, and she looked quickly 
away from the dancing couple. But that did no good, either. It simply 
focused her rather blurred vision on two girls, one black, the other white, 
obviously hot for each other's cunt, sitting on a sofa across the room. 

"A lovely party, isn't it, my dear?" Max was openly goading her now, and it 
angered her to know that he knew about her sucking Sherm's cock. "Don't you 
think some of my friends are just lovely?" 

She knew which friends he was talking about. 

"Yes, they are," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "If you don't mind the 
smell of niggers." 

She had expected that to wipe the look of amusement from his face, but it 
didn't; instead it only seemed to add to some private pleasure he was 
enjoying. He took her drink from her hand, placed it on the abstract coffee 
table before them, and patted the back of her wrist gently. 

"I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself, child," he said, and she saw that same 
strange look in his eyes that had been there when she thought he was going 
to try to fuck her. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to excuse yourself 
now. The party has reached the point where, shall we say, the activities 
which will take place are suitable only for adults." 

Lisa somehow knew that he really didn't want or expect her to go to bed. 
What he did want, she couldn't be sure of. But she had a pretty good idea. 
And the liquor, combined with her dislike of being called a child, combined 
with the burning itch in her cunt, gave her the courage to do something 
about it. 

"I've been engaging in adult activities for quite a while," she said, 
smiling and leaning over so he would be able to see down the scoop front of 
her green cocktail dress, down to the pink nipples of her titties. 
"Remember?" 

Then she reached out, very casually, and squeezed his prick. 

And there it was out in the open, blatantly out in the open. Not only had 
she made it clear that she was willing to fuck him, even willing to take the 
lead, but she had reminded him that she was a woman, a woman who had 
emotions and a woman who needed to be fucked, needed to belong somewhere, to 
be taken and owned, to be loved. She looked at him, studied the expression 
on his face. 

"Very well." Strangely enough, though, she could feel the hardness of his 
cock, and though she saw him lick his lips as he stared at her tits, he made 
no move that would show that he meant to accept her offer of a fuck. "But I 
would prefer that you never mention this party in your letters home." 

"I don't write letters home." She found herself, now that she had felt of 
his cock, desperate for a good fuck. 

He stood, and she was forced to release his crotch. "Fine. Then we'll get 
the real party under way." 

"Uncle Max." It was the first time in her life she had ever found herself 
asking for it. 

"Yes." 

"Maybe you and I could have a little party of our own later. A fuck party." 

"Perhaps," he said, then turned his back on her and began elbowing his way 
through the tightly packed couples in the center of the floor. She sat 
there, stunned. 

A murmur of approval arose as the music from the stereo was silenced 
abruptly, and Lisa could tell, by the feeling of electric anticipation that 
suddenly filled the room, that everyone had been waiting for just this 
moment, had known it was coming. Everyone but her. As the density of the 
crowd shifted toward the far side of the room, where Max was standing on the 
small platform that served as his place of work, Lisa rose and weaved her 
way through them, her pique at the manner in which she had been rejected 
overcome by her curiosity. 

"Now that I've made another killing in the marketplace, it's time for my 
contribution to real art," Max was saying, his arms held high above his 
head. Everyone laughed, and Lisa wondered just what in the hell was so 
funny. She was beginning to see that this was all some sort of ritual, but 
she had no idea where it was leading. 

"As you've all heard me say a million times, an artist is only as good as 
his materials. To portray true beauty, one must have beautiful materials. 
And, tonight, I hope to achieve true perfection. Peggy has agreed to serve 
as one half of my canvas." At these words from Max, there was a scattering 
of applause, and Lisa tried to remember if she had been introduced to anyone 
named Peggy. She couldn't recall. 

"So, if you'll please clear a path for her ... " Max made a sweeping motion 
with the flattened palm of one hand, and Lisa turned with the rest of the 
crowd to look at the exquisitely proportioned blonde who was making her way 
through the tight opening offered by the men and women. She was completely, 
pleasingly, naked. 

As she made her way slowly toward where Max waited, obviously taking her 
time, Lisa saw several hands take the opportunity to reach out and caress 
her suggestively swaying titties, the symmetrical cheeks of her slowly 
undulating ass, even the shimmering golden hair that surrounded her pussy. 
And the blonde loved it. 

As she passed the man Lisa had sent for her drink earlier, he wrapped his 
arm around her waist and began grinding his pelvis against her butt, and 
several of the people around them laughed. The blonde, clearly liking her 
place as the center of attention, turned in his arms, quickly unzipped his 
pants, and pulled out his cock. 

"I don't mind them old, lover," she said, holding his prick in her hand. 
"But I do like my men to have a little more cock on 'em." 

Then, leaving him red-faced and surrounded by laughter, she turned and 
walked the rest of the way to the platform, swinging her voluptuous ass 
saucily. 

"And the other half of my canvas," Max said as the blonde stood beside him 
on the platform, posing sexily, "will be Stan." 

There was another round of applause, and Lisa felt a flash of shame shoot 
through her body as a slender young Negro she had seen earlier in the 
company of another white girl emerged from the bedroom. He, too, was 
completely naked. 

The crowd, obviously eager to get on with what-ever it was that was due to 
happen, allowed the young Negro to pass much more quickly than had the 
blonde, though not without some fondling of his cock. As he took his place 
on the platform beside the blonde, a total silence fell over the room. Lisa 
felt a hand brush heavily across her buttocks but she ignored it. Her mind 
was full of the contrasts between the creamy white flesh of the 
delicate-looking blonde and the ebony wiriness of the Negro. 

"True beauty, is it not?" Max produced a paint-board and camel's-hair brush, 
dipped the tip of the brush into a blob of paint on the board, painted a 
swirl of bright red around the tip of each of the blonde's tits, tossed the 
brush on a workbench at the rear of the platform, and reached for another 
one. "But let us see if we cannot add to that beauty." 

He dropped to his kneels and began tracing intricate designs in white paint 
up the thighs of the Negro. When the brush had worked its way to the 
juncture of those dark thighs, he took the full length of the Negro's cock 
into his hand, cradling it in his palm, and covered it with a delicate 
scrollwork. Lisa could see the prick coming to a full hard-on under the 
touch of the brush, and she envied her uncle--envied him very much. 

"And now, we shall combine the two halves of my canvas into one whole," Max 
said, releasing the cock and rising to his feet once again. "Come, Peggy. 
Stan, there's no need to be shy." 

Max could have saved his breath, Lisa thought. For, though the Negro called 
Stan did show certain traces of embarrassment, the enthusiasm shown by Peggy 
was more than enough to offset this. No sooner than Max had released the 
black meat of the boy's prick, she had her arms around his body, her hands 
at the back of his head, drawing his lips down to hers; her temptingly 
beautiful titties were mashed flat against his chest, and she had one leg 
raised high against his thigh, her cunt grinding, trying to reach the head 
of his cock. 

As Lisa watched him grip the full underslope of her ass with one dark hand, 
raising her to her tiptoes, his other hand guiding the head of his prick 
toward the unreachable opening of her golden-haired cunt, she found herself 
recalling, vividly, each detail of the countless times she had watched the 
fucking that went on around her apartment house, always watching, never a 
part. She would have given anything she owned, at that moment, to be able to 
trade places with the girl named Peggy. 

"Stanley, I'm afraid you'll never be able to fuck her from that position," 
Max said, and used his hands to guide the two of them into a position that 
would allow easier access to the girl's cunt. While the two had squirmed 
together, his brush had never ceased to move over their bodies and now, as 
he gently guided the girl around until she was bent at the waist, ready to 
be fucked from behind, both their bodies were covered with intricate designs 
that enhanced the eroticism of their fucking. 

"I'm sure you'll find fucking much easier this way." Max grinned at the 
watchers, then moved aside to allow the boy entry to the lewdly displayed 
cunt. 

In the instant before her view was blocked by Stan's body, Lisa had one 
fleeting look at the opened and waiting lips of Peggy's pussy, the 
beautifully shaped globes of her ass, and the engaging spheres of her 
titties, hanging beneath her. Then Stan was behind her, his cock stabbing 
deep into her cunt, his hands beneath her body, holding tight to both her 
titties, his ass moving faster with each stroke he took. 

Max continued to daub paint on their bodies while they fucked. 

"Delicious, isn't it?" The voice startled Lisa, and she realized, suddenly, 
that there was a hand on her ass once more. She turned and stared into the 
eyes of one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen. "Max has a way of 
coming up with the most stimulating of parties, don't you agree?" 

The woman waved her hand expansively around the room, and Lisa was surprised 
to find that the act Max was encouraging was being imitated, or surpassed, 
in every corner of the room. Less than six couples were left standing before 
the platform. The others were paired off on the couches and the floor, some 
naked, some half clothed, some couples both males, others both women-and all 
of them engaged in some form of sexual act. 

She had simply been blinded by her desperate need of a fucking. The woman, a 
stunning brunette dressed in a red gown cut so low that her tits were bared 
almost down to the nipples, stepped closer, and her dark eyes seemed to 
catch Lisa in a magnetic grip. 

"Steve and I promised Max that we'd see to it that you received a proper 
introduction to our little group," she said, smiling as she placed her hands 
on Lisa's waist. "I'm Tammie, and we're just going to love each other." 

Lisa moaned deep in her throat as she was pulled into the soft encirclement 
of the older woman's arms. And then her lips were locked tightly with the 
soft lips of this strangely, fascinating woman; she could feel the soft 
cushions of titties yielding beneath the pressure of her own, smaller ones; 
and she was pressing her cunt hard against that of the other woman. 

And it was then, while they were locked in this hungry kiss, that she felt 
the man step close against her rear, pressing his cock hard against her 
buttocks, sandwiching her between the two of them. 

He was naked. She could tell that. She knew it even before her hand, moving 
of its own will, reached behind her to take a grip on the hard and heated 
dick that was thrusting at her ass, trying to force its way through the 
tight sheath of her gown; she knew it even before she felt of his hairy 
balls and before his naked arms moved around her body and pulled her gown 
down to her waist, tearing it and baring her throbbing tits. 

As they stood locked in hungry embrace, their bodies swaying, Lisa found her 
knees weakening, her mind almost unable to cope with the intoxicating 
pleasure of having one hand filled with the hard meat of a prick, the other 
overflowing with the soft flesh of Tammie's knockers. She began to sink to 
the floor, her trembling hands pulling the voluptuous body with her. To her 
surprise, Tammie resisted. 

"You'll find the bedroom is much more private, darling," she said, smiling 
as she pulled Lisa to her and indicated, with a nod of her dark head, the 
numerous couplings which surrounded them. The party had degenerated into a 
full-scale orgy. "Steve and I have our own specialties in fucking, and 
there's really no reason to reveal them to the peasants." 

Lisa couldn't have cared less about specialties in fucking; she only knew 
that she was going to start screaming if her cunt wasn't satisfied soon. As 
she turned to follow Tammie toward one of the bedrooms, watching her sinuous 
ass sway as she stepped carefully around a Negro couple who were doing the 
sixty-nine, she got her first good look at the man called Steve. He was 
rather soft and flabby-looking, with a face that was now almost beet-red in 
color, but there was nothing soft about the one thing she was interested in. 
He had a nice-sized, stiff prick. And that prick was all that mattered. 

Just before they stepped into the hallway that led to the bedrooms, she 
looked back over her shoulder toward the platform. Peggy and Stan were now a 
tangle of black and white flesh on the floor, a tangle which shifted and 
squirmed as they fucked. Max sat very close to them, his legs crossed 
Indian-fashion. He looked as if he was in a trance. And Lisa could make no 
sense of his actions, no sense at all. 

"You can take her clothes off, Steve, since you tore them," Tammie said when 
they were in the bedroom. She reached behind herself to undo the clasp of 
her own gown, causing her big knockers to jut out even farther, and smiled 
seductively at Lisa. "You'll find it's very enjoyable to have Steve remove 
your clothing, darling. I taught him how." 

And it was enjoyable. He knelt before her and went to work on her torn gown, 
pulling it down over the swell of her hips and letting her step out of it. 
Then, as she stood there clad only in her thin panties, black garter belt, 
and hose, she felt his mouth fasten over the mound of her cunt and suck at 
it through the thin covering. She felt more like a model than ever. 

As his hands gripped the cheeks of her ass and the wetness of his mouth 
reached her pussy, she felt her legs begin to shake violently, and she was 
forced to grip his shoulders, steadying herself. She closed her eyes, 
letting her hips pump against his face and then, slowly, ever so slowly, she 
felt her panties being pulled down, his tongue following them, licking at 
her. 

"Oh, Christ! Don't leave my cunt. Suck it for me!" she pleaded, and, opening 
her eyes, was surprised to see Tammie, naked, moving toward her rear as 
rapidly as possible. 

"We're going to give you a sucking, all right," said Steve, smiling up at 
her. Bringing his mouth very near her cunt, he let her feel his breath. 
"We're going to give you a double-barreled sucking. 

Then, at exactly the same moment that he gripped her thighs and dragged his 
tongue across the wet trench of her pussy, Lisa felt a pair of softer hands 
seize her buttocks, and spread them, and a pair of luxuriously soft lips 
fasten over the small circle of her asshole. She writhed and turned, trying 
to make it easier for both of them. 

"Oh, God, I can't stand it!" As she felt the fiery tip of Tammie's tongue 
probe into the entrance of her anus, she dropped to the floor, pulling Steve 
on top of her. Her hands were gripping his cock, her legs going about his 
body, and her cunt was straining toward him, "I've gotta have that dick, or 
I'll go nuts!" 

"Go ahead and fuck her, Steve," Tammie said, and Lisa realized, dimly, that 
he had been waiting for her approval. "I'll just change our plans a little. 
Roll her on her side and fuck her." 

As she felt his cock stab into her, driving away all her other senses, Lisa 
locked her legs around his waist and began to move her ass in a steady fuck 
motion. Blinded by the tremendous satisfaction of the first fucking she had 
known in life, it was a moment before she saw how Tammie meant to alter her 
plans. And it was damned well all right with her. 

Somehow, she had insinuated her dark head between their thrashing bodies, 
and, as Lisa strained her cunt against that driving prick, trying to capture 
the full length of it, she could feel the stiff nipples of Tammie's tits 
brushing her bare skin, those expert lips that had so recently sucked at her 
asshole moving across her stomach, trying to reach her cock-filled cunt. She 
moved her upper body away from Steve's, making it easier for Tammie to reach 
her goal. 

And that brought about another temptation. As she felt the exquisite delight 
of having an experienced tongue lap the rim of her pussy-a pussy that was 
wrapped around a steadily driving prick-she found a soft and shapely pair of 
thighs scissored open about her head, a black-haired and pink-lipped cunt 
above her face. 

It wasn't that close; it wasn't being forced upon her. The pussy was simply 
there. It was hers to eat if she so chose. She stared at it a moment, 
hesitant, recalling the way she used to feel about girls who ate cunt. 

Then, as she felt herself beginning to come beneath the combined pleasures 
of prick and tongue and bare flesh, she gripped the velvet smooth globes of 
Tammie's ass, pulled the hairy cunt closer, and let her tongue flicker 
across the spongy clitoris. She licked it faster as she felt Steve shoot his 
hot come up her gash. She licked it until a sudden slackness in the flesh of 
Tammie's cunt told her that she, too, was coming. 

The next hours were spent in a tangled welter of sexual confusion. How many 
times they fucked, switching into every sexual combination which can be 
achieved by three people, she was never able to recall afterward. She only 
remembered the feel of the carpet, rasping against her bare flesh, as she 
was fucked by Steve-fucked dog-fashion and fucked in ways which have no 
name. She remembered the taste of his prick and the sweet juices she sucked 
from the pretty slit of Tammie's cunt. And she remembered dropping off to 
sleep, there on the carpet, her naked body nestled between Steve's sweating 
body on one side and the erotic softness of Tammie's pulchritude on the 
other. 

And she would also always remember waking up, sometime in the early morning 
hours, and finding her cunt once more filled with cockmeat, her tits gripped 
tight in a pair of eager hands. 

"Steve," she had said, and kept her eyes closed, letting her bare ass 
revolve ever so slowly, moving in a lazy fuck motion on the tickling carpet. 
"You could wear a girl's pussy right off her." 

"Not Steve," a voice had said, causing her to open her eyes, "it's Stan. You 
wanted a private party, remember?" 

It was a moment before she realized that the voice came, not from the man 
who was fucking her, but from Max, standing across the room, naked, his cock 
swollen and hard. And, in her confusion, it was even longer before she 
realized that Steve and Tammie were both gone, and it was the young Negro 
who had put on the exhibition who was now fucking her with everything he 
had. 

"All right, Stan," she whispered as she raised her arms and wrapped them 
about his dark body, pulling him down until her tits were mashed flat by his 
chest. She began weaving slow figure-eights with her cunt. "We'll have a 
private party. Just you and Uncle Max and I. I thought you were wasting that 
cock on that whore, Peggy, anyhow." 

And, as they fucked, their bodies moving ever faster and faster, she 
couldn't help but think that it was the perfect joke on herself. For, when 
she chose to look, she could see her Uncle Max leaning against the wall, his 
eyes glowing as he watched them fuck. 

He held his cock in his hand, jacking himself off. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

In the two weeks that followed, Lisa found herself spending a good deal of 
her time in the apartment of Tammie Cornell. And a good deal of time in 
Tammie's bed, too. After the party that night, the fascinating woman had 
left a message for Lisa to phone her, which Lisa did the very next day, and 
the relationship had been blossoming ever since. 

Beside the bedtime games, when they would hungrily suck each other's cunts, 
they had many long talks. Lisa told her about her childhood years in the 
deep South, how her parents had always been prejudiced against Negroes, and 
even with all the trouble her father got into after moving to Brooklyn and 
taking over the super's job, how he would just die if he knew that his 
daughter coddled a secret desire for black cock. She confessed her desire to 
be a model-but not the kind Uncle Max needed now. 

"So, why don't you just explain to me what's so wrong with the way your 
uncle gets his nuts," Tammie Cornell said, and Lisa began to wish she had 
never broken down and told her how disgusted she was because she had fucked 
Stan Braden-and liked it. "You sit there telling me all this shit about 
being ashamed of yourself, and you know it's nothing but a crock of shit. 
The best thing you can do, honey, is forget all that crap you were raised 
on. If you want to fuck a man, fuck him. Let the people you left behind 
worry about their own hangups, kiddo. And, as for the way Max gets his nuts 
off, that's his business. Is it any worse than the thing I just did to you?" 

Lisa blushed slightly at the obvious reference to the sexual acrobatics they 
had performed in the bedroom, only a few minutes before, and pulled the 
terry cloth robe more adequately around her naked body. She quivered and 
squirmed on the couch, thrown completely off guard by Tammie's reaction to 
her disclosure. She had thought Tammie, out of all these strange people she 
had met since coming north, might be the one person who would understand. 

"It ain't that ... " she began, then stopped herself as she saw Tammie's 
lush red lips begin to curve into an amused smile. She had been trying hard, 
recently, to lose the drawl of her childhood, to correct her language. It 
was just another thing which separated her from these people, and it had 
been something she had constantly been kidded about in Brooklyn, too. Some 
people had said it was charming, but it irritated her. She knew she'd have 
to lose her inhibitions to become a top model, but that wasn't the important 
thing. Trying to select her words with care, she began again. "I'm not 
tryin' to say I didn't like it with Stan. That's just the trouble-I liked it 
too much. A white girl shouldn't think about fucking with a nig ... a black 
man ... as much as I think about it." 

"Why not?" As Tammie leaned back against the sofa and threw the loaded 
question at her so casually, Lisa found herself wondering if it was possible 
for anything to ruffle this sensual creature. Even after a wild session of 
cunt swapping such as the one they had just finished, and after all the 
other sessions of the past two weeks, Tammie always managed to look as if 
she had just left the hairdresser's. Even her lipstick was unsmeared. 

"Well," she began slowly, wondering if she would ever be able to explain why 
she was bothered by her own actions, by her own thoughts, wondering if she 
would ever be able to make any of them understand, "it just isn't right. 
That's why. If it was just a matter of doin' it once, I could live with 
that. But it's all I think about any more. I ... I keep seein' myself all 
wrapped up with some black man. I even think about it when ... " 

" ... When I'm eating your cunt?" As Lisa's voice trailed off into silence, 
Tammie finished the statement for her, smiling at her discomfort. "So what's 
wrong with that? I get horny over men with blue eyes ... and girls whose 
eyes are green." 

As if to punctuate this last statement, she leaned toward Lisa, obviously 
meaning to kiss her. Lisa moved away. 

"You still don't get what I'm tryin' to tell you," she said, struggling to 
find the words that would show why, bad as she liked and needed it, it was 
wrong for her to fuck a black man. "I mean, I can understand you people 
havin' them to your parties. I can understand a woman fuckin' one of 'em. 
But, God, I can't see why you and Steve and Uncle Max would go to so much 
trouble to make me fuck one of them. It's ... it's like puttin' a girl in 
bed with a dog." 

"A what?" 

Lisa wished she hadn't used the description. It was certain to anger Tammie, 
she knew, but it was too late to back away. "I mean they ... they shouldn't 
be with a white girl. They don't think like us. They ... they're dumb. And 
that's why I ain't never gonna let one other of them fuck me. Never! I ain't 
gonna be at no more of Max's parties. I'll leave when he has 'em." 

Tammie stood up, and Lisa, seeing the anger on her face, wished she had kept 
her mouth shut. There was no way of escaping another lecture, she knew, so 
she leaned back to listen to it in silence. And the expected lecture came. 

"Dumb? Dumb! Jeez, that bastard of a father of yours really schooled you, 
didn't he?" Tammie stood before her, her hands on her hips, her large tits 
rising and falling in time with her heavy breathing. "That really takes the 
fucking cake! Do you have any idea how Stan Braden earns his living?" 

Lisa simply shook her head. She had spoken to Stan Braden but once since the 
night he fucked her, and that had been over the telephone. He had called to 
invite her out-an invitation she had quickly rejected by hanging up the 
telephone. A quick fuck in a bedroom was one thing, in her mind, but being 
seen in public with a black man was another. 

"He's a research chemist, that's how," Tammie went on, pacing the floor. 
"And you don't get to be one of those by being dumb, honey. His monthly 
salary's about what your old man'd earn in a year." 

This second reference to her father brought Lisa out of her silence. "If 
he's such a fuckin' big shot, what was he doin' at that party? How come he 
was up there, bare-assed naked, puttin' on that big fuck show?" 

"Why was Max there? Why were Steve and I there? Why were you there? Because 
we're all swingers, and it was a swingers' party, that's why." 

"Is that why you and Max and Steve deliberately got me drunk, fucked me till 
I was half crazy, then sent Stan Braden in to cock me? Like hell it is!" 
Lisa was no longer on the defensive, and she flung the words up at Tammie. 

"I'll tell you why it was. Max is hung up on black-and-white fucking, but he 
can't do it himself. So he rushes out and finds white girls who will. 
Swingers, my ass!" 

Tammie shook her head very solemnly. "Oh, I didn't realize I was talking to 
a psychologist. While you're at it, would you mind analyzing Steve and 
myself?" 

"You're damned right I will!" The vague idea which had been at the back of 
Lisa's mind during the past two weeks was taking on clarity. "I can tell you 
about the whole bunch of Max's friends. You all mix with these colored 
people, and you say it's because you know they're as good as anyone else, 
but you don't mean that. You just like to point at people like me, the ones 
who say what they're really thinking, and talk about what dumb-assed racists 
we are. And you get some kind of kick out of seein' me on your level, out of 
seein' me fucked by a black nigger!" 

Tammie's voice was subdued. "You really think that's the truth? Haven't you 
ever thought you might be wrong? That a person's color might not make a 
difference? That maybe Max was trying to show you that?" 

Lisa felt like laughing and crying at the same time. "By letting me wake up 
with a black prick stuck up me? By getting me into almost exactly the same 
shit that got me fucked up in the first place? By getting me so I can't 
think of nothin' but fuckin' some black buck?" 

"No. I'd say he was trying to show you that you hadn't committed such an 
awful sin, after all." 

And Lisa began to cry. "He wanted to stand there and beat his cock, that's 
what he wanted to do. Watch me get fucked, and beat his cock. But he'll 
never do it again. Never. You won't be seein' me at any more of his swap 
parties. I ain't never lettin' myself do that again." 

She felt, rather than saw, Tammie sit back down beside her, and felt an 
almost motherly arm slip about her shoulders. "I wouldn't blame you one bit 
if you didn't go to those affairs," Tammie said, her voice low and soothing. 
"But that's not the real problem at all. Honey, you've got to face up to the 
fact that these are real people. No better and no worse than the rest of us. 
Until you do, you're going to go on punishing yourself because you think 
you've done something wrong. You haven't. You've fucked a man. That's all." 

She nestled herself into the warm cradle of Tammie's arms, and she was 
blinded by her tears. "I'm so miserable. Oh, I'm so goddamned miserable." 

"Oh, I want you to come here tonight." She felt a hand gently stroking her 
hair, and she wished she could remain here forever, cradled against this 
warm breast. "I'm having a few people in, and there's someone I want you to 
meet. You'll hate him, I think, but I think you'll learn something from him, 
too. I believe you'll learn that black people have every strength and 
weakness that we have ourselves." 

Lisa kept her face pressed against the warm breast. "I don't wanta ever see 
any more of ... of them," she sobbed. "I said I ain't never gonna let myself 
fuck with them anymore." 

"You'll come," Tammie whispered, her own eyes filling with tears as she 
stroked the copper hair of the sobbing young girl. "You'll come because you 
can't stay away until you learn that a black man is simply a man." 

Then, talking only to herself, she added, "And God help you, honey, if you 
don't learn it." 

* * * 

"Aaron, I'd like you to meet Lisa. She hates niggers," Tammie said, and Lisa 
knew she must have looked almost comical as she stood there, stunned at 
Tammie's use of the word, feeling the blood rush to her face as she found 
herself unable to meet the gaze of the tall, bearded Negro with the ebony 
skin. "Lisa, this is Aaron Kline. You two have a lot in common." 

Then, smiling, Tammie walked away and left them alone. 

"I ... I," Lisa stammered as she tried to find words that would smooth over 
the awkward situation, then found herself growing angry as she realized he 
was enjoying her embarrassment. The anger halted the stammer. "I guess maybe 
I do. So what?" 

His teeth flashed in the most brilliant smile she had ever seen, and his 
broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. "So, I guess it makes you one of my 
favorite white folks, baby. I ain't got no love for no honkies, either. 
Don't want nothin' from no white mother-fucker." 

"I suppose that doesn't include Tammie's whiskey, though, does it?" It 
angered her even further that he would use such language to her, and that he 
would use it so casually. She pointed to the cocktail glass in his hand, and 
her voice was suddenly filled with the same inflection she might have used 
in addressing Sherm in her father's basement. "You don't want nothing from 
white folks. That's what you say. But you take all you can get. You sop it 
up just like you're soppin' up that whiskey." 

"I earn my drinks, baby," he said, and the grin was on his face once more. 
"It's just that I don't earn them like Tammie's household niggers' over 
there. It keeps her happy tryin' to convert me into one of them Uncle Tom 
niggers who'll get down on his knees and crawl to keep ol' massa happy." 

He lifted his glass and pointed to the far side of the spacious room where 
several couples were discussing something in loud voices. Among them stood 
Stan Braden, his arm around the waist of a young, big-titted blonde, his 
date for the evening. Stan, as if sensing their eyes upon him, turned and 
looked toward them. His eyes locked with hers briefly, then she looked away. 

"Baby, you talkin' to one nigger ain't nevah gonna get down on his knees and 
crawl fo' no white pussy. If'n I wants it, I gonna take it. Gonna take it 
like we gotta take everything else." He was deliberately mocking the dialect 
of an uneducated Negro, which he all too clearly wasn't, and the way this 
seemed to accent her own leftover childhood drawl infuriated her. 

"A nigger like you'd have to take it," she said, and turned, ready to walk 
away. "That's the only way you'll ever fuck anything but a whore!" 

His hand gripped her bare upper arm like a steel vise, causing her to spill 
part of the martini she held in her hand, but she refused to look back 
toward him. 

"Is that right, Scarlet O'Hara? You tellin' me a gal raised down there in 
the cotton fields and then in the Brooklyn ghetto never craved a little 
black meat?" There was open laughter in his voice now, and his hand felt 
fiery hot on her arm. 

"I ain't believing that now, missy. Bet you used to screw all them young 
bucks." 

"No." Her knees felt weak, and her voice was barely audible. She was staring 
at two young couples who stood beside the portable bar in the corner, but 
she wasn't seeing them. She was seeing herself as she sucked Sherm's prick; 
she was picturing herself as she lay on the bedroom carpet, being fucked by 
Stan Braden. 

"No, hell!" There was a sharp jerk on her arm, and she found herself looking 
up into the dark savage face of Aaron. "Let me clue you on somethin', 
Scarlet baby. If I wanted to fuck you-and I really ain't got the time to 
waste-I could make you come beggin' for it. Now get away from me. I wanta 
watch Tammie's pet niggers tryin' to stay on the good side of the white 
folks." 

He released her arm and walked to the bar, where he began to mix a drink. 
Not once did he look back. 

"Are you beginning to understand why I wanted you to meet Aaron?" Lisa was 
startled to find Tammie standing close beside her, offering her a fresh 
drink. She took it and handed Tammie the empty. 

"All I can understand is that you sure know how to start a fight," she said, 
once more looking across the room at Aaron. The feline grace with which he 
moved, as he sauntered to a couch and sat down, still not looking at her, 
was surprising in such a tall man. "Why in hell'd you have to go and tell 
him what you did?" 

"It's true, isn't it?" Tammie gave her a rather curious look as she saw the 
way she was staring at Aaron, who was sprawled on the couch, his legs 
crossed, smiling at his own secret thoughts. 

"I ... yes. But not because they're black. I mean ... I don't know what I 
mean." 

"Well, honey, he hates you because you're white. That's what I wanted you to 
see. Not because of what you are or what you've done, but simply because 
you're white." She nodded toward the bar where three couples stood, one 
white, one Negro, one mixed. "You can see the hate pouring out of his eyes 
when he looks at people who don't think the same way he does. You've got the 
same kind of hate, Lisa, and you'd best get rid of it." 

"I hate to admit it, but Tammie's right," Stan said from behind them, and 
they turned to find that he had been standing close enough to overhear their 
conversation. Lisa wondered just how much he had heard. "At least she's 
right about Arrogant Aaron," he went on, paying no attention at all to the 
blonde who was clinging to his arm, "but I don't know about you, Lisa. Who 
do you hate? " 

"Arrogant Aaron, to name one," she said, trying to treat the thing as though 
it was a joke, yet realizing, at the same time, how well the name fit. "Is 
he always so lovable?" 

"He can be one of the cruelest rottenness son of a bitches I know, and I 
hate his guts," Stan said, sipping at his drink after the words were out, as 
though the whiskey would wash away their taste. Lisa saw that he truly meant 
what he said, and it surprised her to hear one black man so openly express 
his hatred of another; she had always thought of the race as a single 
entity, a group of people who looked the same, thought the same, and talked 
the same. But, looking at Stan as he absent-mindedly stroked the lower curve 
of the blonde's tit, Lisa thought she understood the reason for his hatred 
of Aaron Kline. 

For, standing there amidst the three white women, drinking their whiskey and 
holding a blonde who was very obviously an easy fuck and nothing more, he 
was, as Lisa saw him, a perfect caricature of Aaron Kline's "household 
nigger"-ready to get down on his knees and crawl for a piece of white pussy. 

Though he was extremely handsome, with smooth features that weren't Negroid 
at all, and though Lisa could still recall the sensuous delight she had 
experienced the night he fucked her, when she compared him to the 
brutal-looking figure of Aaron Kline, he came in a weak second. 

"I suppose I should admit, though, that the black bastard's got more guts 
than any man I've ever seen. It's just his way of doing things," said Stan. 
Lisa tore her eyes away from Aaron, who had suddenly turned in her 
direction, his eyes locking on hers with an almost magnetic stare. 

"His way of doing what?" she asked, and hoped her face didn't reveal what 
she had been thinking, hoped it didn't show the way she had been picturing 
her legs thrown high about that dark body, her cunt raised and moving. Not 
that her desire to be fucked by a black man would have created the least 
amount of interest among this group; she knew it wouldn't. But she was fast 
becoming aware that this strange, angry man was an outsider-perhaps to the 
same degree as herself-and that he was being used as some sort of sordid 
example for her consideration. 

"Aaron's a militant," Stan said, and Lisa could tell by the way he ran his 
eyes over her tits, covered to the least possible degree by her low-cut 
gown, that he was using the conversation as an excuse to stay close to her. 
She was fully aware that she could take him away from the blonde-take him 
away and have an exquisite fuck-but she decided to wait and see how the 
evening developed. 

"I suppose I should say the militant," Stan continued, and Lisa saw that the 
blonde was growing miffed. "You see, Aaron thinks the only way we'll ever 
have equality is for our people to take it by killing your people." 

"Don't you agree?" the blonde asked, and Lisa could have slapped her face. 
She was the exact counterpart of Aaron's "household nigger." 

"If I did, honey, you'd be the first I'd get. You're always convenient," he 
replied without even turning his head, then went on, "But one thing I can 
tell you for sure, Lisa. Stay away from Aaron. He's bad news for all of 
us-black and white." 

"If you people don't like him, how come you have him over here?" Lisa asked, 
hoping it wouldn't sound like she was defending him. As she spoke, she 
realized that he had caught her staring in his direction, and was now 
watching her intently, half smiling, his fingers stroking his small, neatly 
trimmed beard, a look of burning intensity in his eyes. She remembered his 
words, "You'll come begging me to fuck you," and she felt that burning 
transfer itself to her cunt. 

"I don't have him here. Not often, at least. He won't come. I just coaxed 
him here tonight to prove my point to you. Do you understand, now, what I 
was trying to tell you?" It was a moment before Tammie realized Lisa wasn't 
going to answer, and then she reached out to touch her arm. "Do you, honey?" 

"Yes." Lisa hadn't even heard the question. 

She broke away from the group by pretending she needed a drink, then never 
returned to it. Instead, she stood by herself, watching Aaron Kline, 
comparing him to the servile blacks she had known previously, reminding 
herself of the promise she had made to herself-the promise that she would 
never again be fucked by anything but a white man-but still feeling that 
delicious glow building in the depths of her cunt, filling her tits. And, 
finally, feeling Stan Braden's eyes on her back, she crossed the room and 
stood before him. 

"Will you take me home, Aaron?" she asked, her face burning as he looked up 
at her. 

"Won't take you home, Scarlet baby," he said, grinning up at her and rolling 
an empty crystal glass over and over in his hands. "Might take you somewhere 
and fuck you. If you beg for it." 

"All right, then." She wanted out of this room, away from-these watching 
eyes-and she desperately needed to be fucked. 

"Say it, baby." 

"I'm begging you, then. I'm begging you to fuck me." 

Tammie sighed as she watched Aaron Kline rise from the couch, straighten the 
crease in the trousers of his suit, drape one arm around her bare shoulder, 
and lead her from the room. She hadn't meant things to work out this way. 

Not at all. 

"Get outta the gown, baby, 'less you want it tore up," Aaron said, switching 
off the ignition of his car and turning toward her. He ran his hand up the 
fabulously smooth flesh of her bare arm, across the upper domes of her tits, 
used one finger to tilt her chin up. "You ain't getting ready to fuck no 
little-pricked white trash or no tamed-down Uncle Tom, you gonna be fucked 
by a man-an' you damn sure gonna know it." 

"I knew it soon as I saw you," she said, and letting her hand run up the 
inside of his leg, she found his zipper and tugged it down and gripped the 
hard staff of his cock. "Don't worry about the dress. Just fuck me the way a 
woman should be fucked-hard and often." 

Then she placed her other hand at the back of his neck, placing it so hard 
and firm that she could pull his face to hers, and she kissed him. It was a 
passionate embrace, more passionate than any she had ever known, with her 
tongue probing into his mouth and being met by his own, and her fingers 
gripping his hardened prick as if her very life depended on it. The feel of 
his beard, rasping against the delicate flesh of her face, was a fuel which 
stoked the fires of her cunt, and she strained her upper body against him, 
pressing her tits against his chest, her ass wriggling in the grasp of his 
knowing hands. 

"Ain't like fuckin' in one of them fancy uptown apartments," he said, when 
at last the kiss had ended. He looked down at the white glow of her hand, 
moving slowly on his prick, and he grinned at her. "Of course, when a girl's 
done got hungry for a chunk of black prick, a car's good as anyplace, ain't 
it, Scarlet?" 

"Black don't have nothin' to do with it. And I wish you'd stop callin' me 
that. Please?" She put her head on his shoulder, letting her titties flatten 
themselves against his arm, and she ran her hand down from the hard rod of 
his prick to the crotch of his pants, rubbing hard at his balls. "I'd be out 
here with you no matter what color you were. It's you. You and that big 
dick." 

In an effort to convince him of this, she bent low on the car seat and took 
the head of his prick in her mouth-and very slowly lowered her head until 
her mouth was packed with meat. 

"Don't say nobody warned you about the dress," she heard him say, dimly, as 
he remained almost immobile, his hips moving only the slightest bit beneath 
the stimulation of the blow job he was getting. 

Then she felt his hands twist themselves in the material at the back of her 
dress and heard the harsh sound of tearing as he ripped it down the center. 
She raised her head from his cock to look at him and had just one glimpse of 
his open palm coming toward her face before it struck, filling her eyes with 
blinding tears and her mind with Roman candles of color. 

"Ain't no way you stoppin' now, baby," he said, pushing Lisa back toward his 
prick. "You say the black don't make no difference, huh? Well, you can just 
suck it till I tell you to quit. You wanted a little black cock, whitey. You 
gonna get all you can stand. Now suck it!" 

With her face still stinging from his slap, she lowered her lips to his 
prick once again, forming them into a perfect circle and wrapping that 
circle around the swollen head of it. Though she was frightened and somewhat 
confused by his sudden and unexplained anger and by the remembrance of the 
warnings she had received at Tammie's, there was, too, a strange and unique 
enjoyment to be found in the fear-and even in the pain. She held his cock 
upright with one hand and swirled her tongue over the tip of it. 

"That's it, baby. You just go on an' take your fill of that cock. They's 
enough there to satisfy any white whore." As she bobbed her head slowly over 
his prick, taking the full length of his shaft into her throat, then 
retreating until her mouth held only the smooth knob of its head, she felt 
him undo the clasp of her bra, remove it, and cup her tits in his hands. 

He held her tits like that for a moment, fondling them, his hands kneading 
the smoothly textured flesh, and then she felt him rolling each aching 
nipple between a thumb and a forefinger. There was a moment of idyllic 
pleasure-a moment in which his hips pumped steadily upward, fucking her in 
the mouth-and then, suddenly, her tits were filled with a fiery pain that 
flowed away from them and touched every nerve in her body. 

"Get your mouth back on that prick, whore!" She had raised her head in 
reaction to the unexpected pain, but there had been no intent to end the 
delectable chore she was performing; rather, the pain, though it had been 
sharp and cruel, was merely another pleasant sensation to add to the 
masochistic pleasure she was deriving from being subjected to his will. 

She unhooked his belt and, urging his buttocks upward from the car seat, 
slid his shorts and trousers down onto his dark, muscular thighs. His hands 
were still upon her bared breasts, holding them more gently now, and, in 
spite of that gentleness, she found herself anticipating another hot shock 
of pain. When it failed to come, she was-for no reason she could 
understand-disappointed. 

"You the boss, boss," she said, grinning up at him as she imitated the 
servile tones she had heard Sherm use on her father in Brooklyn. "You says 
you wants yo cock sucked, you gonna get it sucked. Like no wench can suck it 
for you." 

And then, just as she had wanted, she felt that bittersweet, luxurious pain 
roll through the globes of her tits once more. 

Then, while her tits were still filled with that hot, exhilarating pain, and 
while her cunt was literally screaming in its need of relief, she went to 
work on his cock and balls. 

Holding the hot meat of his cock in one hand and slowly jacking it off, she 
moved her body around until she was kneeling on the floorboards of the car, 
her mouth straining to reach his hairy nuts. 

As she fastened her lips on the wrinkled flesh of his bag and nibbled 
delicately at it, drawing a few of his kinky cock-hairs into her mouth along 
with the skin, she felt his fingers lace themselves together at the back of 
her neck and urge her back toward his prick. But she took her time. It would 
be more satisfying that way, she knew. And, more than she had ever wanted 
anything, even to be a model, she wanted this to be a satisfying blow job. 
But she really couldn't have said why. 

"Tammie was right. We have a lot in common." she whispered, then licked 
slowly up the side of his prick, kissed the head of it, and smiled up at 
him. "We both like the same things." 

"Shut up." His voice was a harsh snap, but there was an underlying quiver 
which told her that his original intention, which she believed was simply to 
brutalize and degrade her, was being washed away by the avid caresses her 
hands and lips were bestowing upon his prick. As she went back to work on 
his cock, holding the heavy sack of his nuts in one hand while her other 
hand flitted up and down the length of his pulsing cock, jacking it off into 
her greedily sucking mouth, she felt his meat grow hotter, his hips begin to 
churn, and she knew he was getting ready to come. 

She raised herself higher, letting the coppery silk of her hair hang down 
over his exposed cock, and she sucked onto the head of his cock once more. 
As her lips slid down the hard yet yielding length of his prick, she 
deliberately moved her shoulders from side to side, letting her stiffened 
nipples play across the bare skin of his lower legs and causing him to 
respond with a series of quick, short thrusts that moved his prick in and 
out of her mouth as if he were fucking a cunt. 

And then he busted his nuts into her mouth. 

As she felt the first gob of his come gush forth, filling her mouth and her 
throat with the sweet-tasting syrup she had tasted but once before, she 
withdrew slightly, intending to jack his cock until he was finished, wanting 
to watch him as he bucked and heaved in the throes of coming. He forced her 
back onto his prick. 

"You ain't done yet, whitey," he said, holding the back of her head tight 
and driving his pumping cock at her. "You wanted a black stud. You got one. 
Now swallow that juice! All of it!" And she did. 

Even as she sucked at his slowly ebbing semen, draining the last of it from 
his pipes and savoring it as it slid down her throat, she found herself 
wondering which he was enjoying most-the blow job or the way he was 
dominating and degrading her, bending her to his will. But all that mattered 
was that he was enjoying it, and so was she. 

"All right, baby, get up here," he said, and she felt his hands grip her 
beneath the armpits, pulling her back to the seat. "That'll do for a start, 
unless you've decided the black does make a difference. In that case, you 
can get out an' walk ... just the way you're dressed." 

"It doesn't make a difference," she lied, not knowing how to tell him that 
the color of the prick she still held so lovingly in her hand only served to 
increase the urgent need in her cunt. She looked down at the creamy 
spheroids of her tits, clearly and starkly visible even in the dim moonlight 
which filtered through the pines surrounding the car, and she wondered if he 
would really carry out his threat to make her walk. Probably, she decided, 
and realized that the idea of walking frightened her less than the thought 
of being rejected by this man. 

"Was I good? Are you man enough for the rest?" 

He smiled at her, a sarcastic, white smile. He gripped her wrist and jerked 
her hand away from his testicles. "Don't you ever doubt that one fuckin' 
minute! But you'd fuck just like you suck a dick. All you white cunts do. 
Even when you down on your knees suckin' 'cause you was told to, you'll 
still want somethin' from a black man. 'Was I good?' Hell, no! And I'll tell 
you why. Because you just like every other honkie-you wasn't givin' me no 
blow job, you was just tryin' to take somethin' from me." 

She waited until she felt his fury had lessened. "This is what I want from 
you. This and nothing else." 

As she moved to kiss him, her hands once again found his prick. Dimly, she 
realized that this was the second time in her life she had found herself 
forced to ask a man, or boy, to fuck her-and with this man she had done it 
twice. 

His eyes were glazed, and she had her first real glimpse of his cold and 
unyielding hatred. "All right, honkie, you still wantin' more black cock, 
you gonna get it," he said, pushing her roughly against the door of the car. 
"They was a minute there you coulda went home. That minute's gone." 

He grabbed her torn dress at the belt line and ripped the remainder of it 
from her, baring her slender nylon-clad legs and the bikini-sized strip of 
sheer silk which barely concealed the red-haired mound of her cunt-the cunt 
which was literally quivering as it anticipated the first delicious stab of 
his rigid cock. 

He hesitated for just a moment, staring down at her open thighs, the dark 
shininess of her garter belt and the stray tendrils of red cunt-hair which 
crept from beneath her well-filled panties, and she thought, briefly, that 
he might be going to slow down, to fuck her in a gentler manner. Then he 
gripped the waistband of her panties and jerked them violently down over the 
round curve of her hips, shredding them even though she lifted her ass from 
the seat of the car. She lifted with pleasure; she hadn't wanted him to slow 
down. 

"Let's see that lily-white pussy, baby," he said, running his hand through 
the wet trench of her cunt, rubbing it, causing her to arch her back and 
wiggle her pelvis. "Well, I be damned. You a natural-born redhead. First 
white broad I ever seen got a cunt that matches her head." 

He tugged the remnants of her panties the rest of the way off, then, keeping 
one hand on her pussy, fingering it, he began to shed his own clothing. Only 
when the act of stripping forced him to do so did he take his hand from her 
cunt. 

She opened her legs wide and drew her knees up until they were almost 
touching the rigid nipples of her tits, using her hands as support by 
gripping the backs of her firm thighs, and she shifted her ass slightly on 
the seat, making a more convenient target of her widespread sopping pussy. 
As he braced his hands against the door above her shoulders and moved to 
cover her, she felt the end of his stiffened prick touch the smooth swells 
of her ass, probing, seeking an entrance to her cunt, and she reached down 
to grip the hot shaft of it, to guide it into her cunt. 

"Keep your fuckin' hands off me, honkie!" His hand was suddenly gripping her 
tit, and her body lurched upward with a tremor of the same sensuous pain she 
had felt earlier. At the same moment she felt his cock part the vibrating 
lips of her pussy and drive deep inside her. "I want your hands on me, I'll 
tell you, motherfucker!" 

As he began pumping his hips in long fierce strokes that buried his cock to 
the hilt and filled her cunt with the spicy heat which can only be found in 
fucking, she wrapped her legs high about his waist, crossing her ankles 
behind his back, and began lifting her cunt in slow, easy revolutions that 
were the perfect complement to the vehemence of his fucking. 

Lisa couldn't make herself think of anything but the wonderful feel of his 
thick and solid meat that was filling her, thrilling her, driving her cunt 
and brain on fire at once, pumping evenly but savagely into her, deep into 
her. 

Neither did she stop to think-as she wiggled her ass faster and ever faster, 
striving to gain more of the swift-moving prick which was setting her cunt 
on fire-that she was doing the exact thing which she had reminded herself 
that she had swore never to do again, the thing for which she had berated 
herself the night of Max's party and since then. He was fucking her fast, 
fucking her slow, fucking her brutally, fucking her tenderly, fucking her 
free of her senses, fucking her loose from reality. 

She was lying beneath a dark-skinned man, her cunt packed tight by his 
prick, her body moving to meet his every motion-fucking. 

And Aaron Kline fucked like no man she had known before. Never before in all 
her sexual experience-black or white. He somehow managed to change the 
delicate and beautiful act which is so often erroneously called love-making 
into a callous and greedy test of wills-fucking her first in the standard 
position, then, after he had unloaded his semen into her cunt and she had 
come so many times as to be numberless, rolling from between her tired and 
wet legs, forcing her onto her hands and knees, and fucking her again, 
dog-fashion this time. Only when he had come this time, she had collapsed, 
exhausted, and he spoke to her. 

"So, you've been fucked," he said sarcastically. "Now you can get out." 

He opened the car door. 

She realized, as she saw that strange coldness return to his pitch-black 
eyes, that this had been his intention from the very beginning-to bring her 
out here in the country, fuck her thoroughly, and throw her from the car, 
naked. Actually, she thought, reconsidering it, the fucking had probably 
been only secondary. The humiliation was what he had been seeking. 

"I'm sorry," she said, then climbed from the car into the chill night air. 
For the first time, as she stood there clad only in her hose and garter 
belt, waiting for him to drive away, she understood what Tammie had been 
trying to show her all along-that both her hatred and her desire for this 
black man in particular and all black men in general were as senseless as 
the hatred this strange man, this Aaron Kline, bore toward all the people of 
her own color-white. And, seeing this, she felt sorry for herself-and for 
him. 

"Don't be sorry, baby," he said, almost seeing through her eyes the words in 
her head. He started to pull the door shut. "You're the one who's gonna have 
to walk." 

"That ain't it. That ain't it at all. I'm just sorry you're black and I'm 
white, an' we gotta hate each other ... whether we like it or not." She 
turned to walk away from the car. 

She was so lost in the jungle of her confused thoughts and emotions that she 
didn't hear it open again behind her. 

And that night she went to live with Aaron Kline. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

She lay across his lap, her head and feet dangling, her house dress pulled 
up over her waist. She squirmed and clenched her buttocks, reveling in the 
position of exposure to his silent gaze. There was an air of febrile 
expectation in the room, a kind of sophisticated sniggering which spiced the 
simple structure of the act with intimations of the wicked. She arched her 
back and offered her ass for his use. 

I must not succumb, she thought. I must remember to stay conscious. 

He stroked the damp groove between her cheeks with a limp right hand, 
watching her tremble as his fingers trailed the entire length of the valley. 
No expression showed on his face. He operated her body with the bored ease 
of a locomotive engineer holding the throttle full open across a moonlit 
prairie. His hand moved insolently back and forth, and with each pass she 
grew more excited, like a child jumping up and down in anticipation of a 
treat. It was his greatest pleasure to rouse her to a frenzy of wild 
thrashing while he maintained his distance and control. 

Suddenly he lifted his arm and brought it down sharply, the palm of his hand 
striking across the center of her buttocks. She cried out once, a sound of 
relief, as though a splinter had been pulled out of her skin. The shock was 
like a slap delivered during an attack of hysteria. It underscored her 
sexual cycle by punctuating it. Again his hand flew up, and again slammed 
down, stinging the full firm globes of flesh. He began to hit her in 
earnest, until her skin grew pink and her legs kicked up and down, and the 
noises she made were tinged with desperation. He hurt her to the point where 
she had to scream. 

"Do you like that?" he said. He hit her with all his strength. "Do you like 
that?" he repeated. 

In reply she cocked her pelvis back and shook her head from side to side, 
acting out the ambivalence of her condition. She hated the pain, especially 
as each blow fell upon progressively more tender flesh and became 
excruciating to bear. But being spanked thrilled her; her cunt moistened at 
the very thought of being upended and handled so rudely. Also, there was a 
kind of liberation to be found in the intense stimulation of her rear, more 
so as she yelled loudly each time he hit her. It had been many days before 
they were confident enough with one another to attempt other forms of 
quasi-sexual contact; the first time he had slapped her buttocks with any 
force was when she was straddling his cock, pumping her pelvis into him with 
sustained fury, and he began to beat a tattoo on her cheeks. The step to 
spanking as an activity related but not integral to fucking was a short one; 
and at that it had taken several more days before he could wade into her 
unabashedly while she wailed in response. Now, each time they did it, she 
discovered emotions that she was not ordinarily in touch with, bubbling from 
her chest as each slap added heat, released energy in her body. It was one 
of the few times she was able to feel and express her anger. 

When she raised her rump toward him, he stopped and looked down at the form 
before him. The girl lay in an attitude of utter abandon. Her ass glowed a 
dull red. The proud deep-dark asshole held only the smallest pucker of 
tension. Her cunt gave off heavy odors of secretion. She never seemed so 
desirable to him as at moments like this. 

"Little white bitch," he said. He bent forward and kissed her on the base of 
the spine. "You know how wanton you are." 

She wiggled around and smiled to herself. He spread her cheeks apart with 
his fingers, the ones on his left hand, and with his right began to spank 
her vertically, slapping the whole length of the crack. A higher-pitched 
moan escaped her lips. Each whack produced a hollow sound until he had 
opened her buttocks fully and could hit her cunt and asshole cleanly. She 
parted her legs to expose herself even further, and again he increased the 
force of his blows, bruising the tender center between her thighs with his 
hard hands. 

She began to lose her breath, her self-consciousness, and dove into the 
waters of ecstatic surrender. She knew he might hurt her but would not 
damage her, so she could give herself up to the pleasure of their act, 
letting him control its degree. She struggled against swooning altogether, 
for in a mindless state she had a tendency to grovel, and afterwards she 
would have trouble realigning herself with her sense of dignity. She needed 
to remember that what they did was a mutually agreed upon involvement, and 
her role as object of punishment was purely arbitrary. She had a vision of 
his balling his hand into a fist and punching her cunt, and she melted as 
the image was reinforced by the increased tempo of his slapping. Her mouth 
fell open and saliva dripped from her tongue onto the floor. She grabbed his 
ankle and licked his foot. She hovered at the brink of total acceptance, 
filling up on the energy released by his power. 

This is what I want, she thought, this is what I really want. 

Abruptly, he stopped. A gasp of disappointment escaped her lips. She wanted 
it to go on forever. She had fallen out of time into the continuum of 
endless gratification. 

"Do you want more?" he said. 

The question was not a real one. It was part of their ritual, their tacit 
agreement to pander to one another's inner desires. If she wanted him to 
continue, she would have to beg. He spoke again, his voice low and 
insistent, suggestive of things that were vile and base, forcing her, 
through her own greed for sensation, to listen and assent to everything he 
said. 

"You don't care, do you?" he said. "You're just an open hole." 

"Only for you," she told him, which was not at all what he wanted to hear. 

He brought the middle finger of his right hand against her outer cunt lips, 
holding just enough pressure to suggest penetration. He knew that the desire 
to be entered, to be filled, grew voracious as it was teased, as a hungry 
animal grows frantic when food is held just beyond its reach. Over the years 
he had come to understand woman's brute capacity for fulfillment, and he 
toyed with that propensity as she inched upward, straining to touch the 
finger with her cunt. Again and again he allowed her to think she was going 
to have it, and then pulled back a quarter of an inch, listened to her moan 
in exasperation, and then watched her lift her ass once more to reach for 
him. She clenched and tightened the muscles in her vagina so that her cunt 
opened and contracted as it sought to capture its prize, like a goldfish 
mouthing the surface of the water for food. And when she had raised herself 
as high as was physically possible, he lifted his hand and with no warning 
slapped her quivering cunt. 

She shouted out in shock and sorrow, and then burst into deep sobbing, the 
immediate pain of the blow reviving in her all the suppressed pain of a 
lifetime, breaking through the muscular blocks of resistance, calling up 
memories whose engrams were covered over with the gray pall of repression. 
He held himself aloof from her tears, letting her enjoy the fullness of her 
experience without interference. And when her crying subsided, and she had 
had enough time to integrate her reactions, he slowly began to arouse her 
once again, touching lightly, holding out the promise of entering her cunt, 
and then drawing her out, seducing her into baring her shamelessness once 
more. He hit her again, and repeated this cycle half a dozen times until she 
lay limp from exhaustion. 

She was heavy across his thighs, cutting off circulation to his knees and 
calves. His cock was crushed against his belly and his back was sore from 
the strain of holding her. His pleasure was abstract, a blend of visual, 
tactile, and olfactory impressions which merged to shape an entity in his 
mind, a form he admired for its utter uniqueness. For him, woman was a 
perennial source of beauty, but in a way that would have astonished any 
woman he spoke to about it. The female body was a palette from which he 
derived the colors to create the intensely personal paintings in his soul. 

She wondered what he would do next. She was having a strangely enjoyable 
time. With each wave of abuse she discovered deeper layers of truth. Women 
paid therapists as much as fifty dollars an hour to help them delve into 
areas of self-perception and thoroughness through sexual encounter. And none 
of the psychologists could really help, she bet. They couldn't fuck like 
Aaron! 

She felt herself sliding off his knees and she twisted her body in order to 
land on her knees. She stared with twirling eyes at the picture before her: 
the insides of a man's thighs, black coarse hair, two wrinkled pouches of 
roughly textured flesh, and the sleek tender tube dominating the entire 
montage. For an instant the tableau went dark, and a bolt of terror shot 
through her. At the speed of thought she recalled an incident from when she 
was five, in the South, lying on a rug, her grandfather kneeling over her, 
dripping his flaccid penis toward her face, and she reaching for it as she 
would for a toy, and then holding it, putting it in her mouth, sucking the 
paradoxically dry succulent skin. The image blended with the reality in 
front of her. Part of her was still that infant, wanting the intimate kiss 
that bore such enormous connotations of guilt; and part of him was throbbing 
with the same indiscriminate sexuality that had possessed her grandfather. 

When she focused again, he had grabbed his cock and was gently milking it, 
prodding it to swell. She watched like a person being hypnotized, and when 
the shaft was three-quarters hard, the thick vein bulging from its belly, 
the head beginning to expand with purple majesty, she found herself swooning 
into it, her jaw opening in perfect time to be exactly the right size to 
take his cock inside as she touched it with her lips. He took his fingers 
away as she swept forward and looked down in awe as the stiff organ 
disappeared into her mouth. He felt her tongue and then the clutching of her 
throat as the pulsating base of the seven-inch cock was covered by her lips 
and she buried her face in his pubic hair. 

She's swallowed it, he thought, the idea exciting him more than the reality. 

She did not move for a long time, holding her breath, relaxing so she 
wouldn't gag. He bunched in the middle, slowly folding in half, covering her 
with his shadow. He looked like a man who had just been punched in the solar 
plexus, stunned and helpless. She had struck at the center of his sexual 
vulnerability: his need to subjugate. By voluntarily assuming the character 
he would have liked to force her into, she robbed him of his power to 
enslave her. As any woman in a struggle of wills with a man, her best weapon 
was agility, for she would almost surely lose in any open contest of 
strength. The cock lodged in her throat, she made sucking sounds with her 
lips, as though to pull him in even farther and in imitation of someone 
eating a particularly delicious food. 

With great delicacy she brought her teeth together until they at first 
rested on and then lightly bit into the rigid cock. She treated herself to a 
few moments of fantasizing what it would be like to bite it off. For that 
space of time she trembled with the actuality of her ability to destroy him 
at his core. She tasted the possibility of tearing the immense hunk of meat 
out by the root, bathing in the shower of blood spurting from the jagged 
hole, and the severed erection sliding down her gullet and into her stomach. 

Her chest began to ache and she pulled back, licking the bottom of his cock 
from base to tip as she disengaged. When he was completely outside her, he 
drew in a long sustained breath through his mouth, making a sound like 
escaping steam. And at that point she remembered to suck air into her lungs. 
They stayed frozen in their attitudes, breathing heavily, sorting out the 
wildly complex impressions they had just been immersed in. 

Snapping to like a man roused from a trance, he seized her by the hair and 
brought her lips to his cock again. This time he used her, rocking her head 
around to offer different angles from which he could fuck her in the mouth. 
He pressed in against her temples, covered her ears, rendering her deaf, 
reducing her to the single function of cocksucker. He pressed his fingers 
into her neck so that her jaw relaxed and she opened farther to accept his 
fierce thrusts. And once a momentum had been built, he released her, 
allowing her to go wild as she went down on him. She sank into a shaking 
oblivion, emerging as a slobbering animal, lapping and licking and nuzzling 
into his crotch, her hair wet from sweating, stringy over her shoulders and 
down her back. She growled as she gnawed at his cock. 

He was drawn into the spectacle and began to slide from the edge of the bed. 
He fell forward like a wounded bear, pushing her back. She moaned and flung 
her arms around his thighs, gluing her mouth to his cock, begging by sucking 
to continue to suck. He came to his knees and then toppled over until his 
chest lay on the floor; she wriggled under him, pinned by the cock which was 
rammed between her stretched lips. She kicked her heels into the floor as he 
pressed the full length of his cock deep into her throat, and when he pulled 
out she fought to keep the erection in her mouth, her tongue flickering 
vainly to lick it one last time before he removed it altogether. 

He rolled the bulk of his body down her stomach like lava inching downhill 
until he lay fully on top of her. Her warm thick breasts bulged against his 
chest, her still writhing lips found his mouth, and her hot cunt pressed 
against his groin. He reached down to slide one hand under her ass so that 
he could push his cock between her buttocks as he slid the base of it 
against her clitoris. Their bodies rocked like buildings in an earthquake as 
the imperative to fuck, the deep biological spasm of coupling, seized them 
spontaneously. With a single motion their hips rotated, their genitals swung 
back until the tip of his cock was at the opening to her cunt, and they 
joined together in a single movement. 

"Fuck ... me ... cock ... " she said as the heavy organ split the furrows of 
her cunt like the prow of a boat slicing through the water. 

"Oh my dear God yes," she said, and her arms and legs closed about him like 
the petals of a flesh-eating plant surrounding the insect which had landed 
to taste its honey. Her limbs grappled him in an embrace which did not allow 
him any freedom of movement. Blind and driven as a mole in dark earth, she 
forced her way forward until she was completely impaled by the thrusting 
pole between her legs. The impact of the penetration shocked her entire 
system, so that she forgot his presence as the bearer of the gift and spun 
off into grunting grasping convulsions in reaction to his cock bursting 
enormously inside her. Like a twelve-year-old being humped over a garbage 
can in an alley, she rejoiced in her condition. All the years she had been 
taught sex was filthy formed images which she now brought to life with her 
body. For a short searing space of time she was being the dirtiest little 
girl in the world. 

He could not match the assault of her unbridled fury of lust. He began to 
withdraw from the closeness of the contact, and placed himself at a 
distance, servicing her by holding himself against her, acting merely as the 
surface she rubbed herself against. He cursed inwardly as his cock began to 
wilt. But she took no notice of the shrinking penis flopping aimlessly in 
her cunt, for she had already begun to negotiate the upper reaches of her 
climb of orgasm. He gave himself up to her use and wished desperately that 
he could have maintained an erection in order to derive the fullest pleasure 
from the moment. The energy which was blocked from entering his cock went to 
his brain, and he became ensnared in his thoughts. And as he drifted off 
into an interior reality, she pumped against him like a dog in heat, her 
cunt seeming to want to pull his entire bone into itself. 

You hot-assed bitch, you murky whore, come on my cock, went the refrain 
through his head. But he could not say the words. His momentary impotence 
made him circumspect, as though only the sustenance of an erection gave him 
the right to assume attitudes of power. He feared appearing ridiculous. It 
was best when she lay under him, his buttocks crushing her mouth, his hands 
invading her cunt and pinching her nipples. Now he felt like the male in the 
embrace of a female black widow spider, paying for his ecstasy with his 
potency. The sensations on his cock were exquisite, more detailed and erotic 
than if it had been stiff, but he wondered whether she would climax on his 
limp penis. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

There were nights when his fucking was gentle and slow-when he held her in 
his arms and let his lips and tongue rove over her smooth flesh, the flat 
solidness of her stomach, down into the fiery brush of her cunt before he 
parted her legs and let her know the sensual hardness of his cock-and it was 
times like these that she was sure they could make it together. 

And then there were the other times. 

She knew the reason behind his behavior at these times, and, somehow, she 
really didn't hate him for it. It was, she knew, that he had been ashamed to 
have his friends know that he, Aaron Kline, the great exponent of equality 
by force, the leader who had preached separatism of the races, was living 
with a white girl. She didn't blame him for his feelings because she 
remembered how the black was treated in the South, remembered her first ten 
years of life growing up there. 

Had all this been happening back there-a thing she was incapable of 
picturing-their positions would have, she was sure, been completely 
reversed. She would have been the one who abused and degraded him whenever 
she chose, and he would have been the one who was forced to accept it. 

No, not forced to accept it. That wasn't the proper term, she realized. She 
was always free to leave. Painfully free. That was the worst part of the 
torture-that when Aaron went on one of his tangents, using her as a 
convenient outlet for all his hatred, he would repeatedly dare her to leave, 
taunting her, knowing she wouldn't. 

And it wasn't as if she had no place to go. She did. Her Uncle Max, smiling, 
had showed up at the tiny flat with the broken down furniture and the 
peeling wallpaper on the morning of the third day after she left home, 
asking her to return, paying no attention at all to Aaron's coldly watching 
eyes. When she refused, he had shrugged, nodded his head sadly, handed her 
some money, told her to come back when she chose, and left. Tammie, too, had 
been there in an attempt to take her away. She, too, had failed. So it 
wasn't that she had no place to go-to tear herself away from the periods of 
gentleness which made it all bearable. So she stayed and endured his abuse. 

Just as she was enduring it now. 

"Now, you take little Lisa here," he was saying, his hand at the back of her 
thighs and creeping slowly upward toward her ass. He was tilted back in his 
chair, his feet propped up on the kitchen table, and he wasn't even looking 
at her. He was looking at the two black men who sat on the far side of the 
table. "Lisa, she ain't never had to get out and hustle no pussy. You ever 
had to hustle any pussy, Lisa?" 

She wasn't sure if he expected an answer, so she gave a silent, negative 
shake of her head. And, though she closed her eyes at the same time, she 
could still feel the eyes of those seated at the table, watching her. 

"Lisa, she ain't never had to sell none of her pussy 'cause she's white. 
They's plenty of white whores, but they sellin' it of their free choice." 
She could feel his hand higher on her legs now, near the top of her hose, 
lifting her miniskirt even higher. "Lisa, she don't know what it is to have 
to fuck to keep your family from starvin'. How many brothers and sisters you 
got, Claudette?" 

Lisa opened her eyes and looked at the tall and exotic black girl who was 
seated off to herself, against the wall. For the first time, she began to 
understand where Aaron was leading this conversation, but she still couldn't 
understand why he insisted on using her as some sort of example. That 
simmering hatred was the only reason she could see. 

"Two of each," the girl named Claudette said, and dug a cigarette from the 
small jeweled purse on her lap. She placed it carefully between her heavily 
painted lips and lit it with an imitation gold lighter, then blew a thick 
cloud of smoke into the air. "But they ain't no tellin' when my old lady'll 
get herself knocked up again ... or who'll do it." She shrugged off the 
thought. 

"And how long you been hustling cunt to take care of them kids?" Lisa was 
not at all surprised to learn that the girl was a whore-in the tight-fitting 
dress that so tightly hugged the alluring mounds of her tits, and the white 
fishnet hose that so beautifully enhanced the appeal of her dark, shapely 
legs, it was very doubtful that she could have been anything else-but what 
did surprise her was the almost casual way Aaron asked the question. 

And the casual way she replied. "Six years. Since I was fifteen." 

"But don't you see, Aaron? That's what we're trying to stop, too. We-" One 
of the men at the table-his name was Joe Hartnet, Lisa remembered-leaned 
forward, one hand held out in supplication. 

"Shut up!" Aaron glared at him until he looked away, then turned back toward 
the girl. 

"And who buys that pussy from you?" 

"Men," she said, grinning, then gave the answer she knew he wanted to hear. 
"White men, mostly. They's the only one who can afford it. My pussy comes 
high." 

Looking at her, Lisa was willing to bet her pussy did sell for a high price. 
And she was willing to bet that the price didn't frighten the buyers away. 
She had the kind of body that would stiffen a man's prick on sight;-and keep 
it stiff. The sharp points of her tits could be seen through the tight 
material of her red dress, and she had a way of moving her legs, crossing 
and uncrossing them, that seemed to attract the eyes to the juncture of her 
thighs, to the delectable mound of her pussy. Added to this was a certain 
amount of wildness in the pretty features of her face, a wildness that made 
it easy to picture her sucking a dick, taking it in the ass, performing the 
bizarre sexual acts which would always insure her a high price for her pussy 
and guarantee the man an extremely pleasurable fuck. 

"I still don't see where all this is leading," Joe was saying, and Lisa tore 
her eyes away from the prostitute to look at him. He was much more difficult 
to understand than was the whore. In the few times that he had been to the 
apartment since she had lived there, she had learned that he was the leader 
of one of the major civil rights groups in the city. And it puzzled her 
that, even though he and Aaron were supposedly working in the same interest, 
they argued constantly. Just as she was sure they were getting ready to do 
now. And she was sure that, if they did, Aaron would take it out on her 
later. 

"You don't see where it's leadin', huh, baby?" Aaron let his chair tilt 
forward suddenly, dropped his feet to the floor, and slammed his fist down 
on the table. "I'll tell you where it's all leadin', man. Lisa ain't never 
had to sell no pussy 'cause she's white! White! She ain't never had to live 
in no dump that's crawlin' with roaches 'cause she's white! And them 
motherfuckers gonna keep us down just as long as they can. This here's the 
only thing gonna stop 'em. That's where it's leading to, man." 

He picked up a pistol from the table, turned it slowly over in his hands, 
letting them all have a good look at it. 

"You're wrong, Aaron," Joe said, and Lisa knew there would be no escaping a 
violent argument now. "We've come a long way from where we used to be. We'll 
go even further ... unless we destroy it all through violence." 

Aaron laughed, a laugh full of sarcasm, and waved his hand about the tiny 
kitchen. "Lose it all? Lose it all?! What the fuck is there to lose? You 
don't see no honkies livin' like this." 

The other man, who had remained silent until this point, leaned forward, 
resting his elbows on the table. He was older than either Aaron or Joe -she 
guessed his age to be about forty-and Lisa knew what was coming even before 
he said a word. 

"What about her, Aaron?" he asked, and Lisa could have killed him. "She's 
living here with you, ain't she? And this ain't exactly no palace." 

"Her? Lisa?" For a moment Aaron seemed to have forgotten she was in the 
room, but now he grabbed her wrist and pulled her to his side. "She's just 
like the rest of 'em. She wouldn't be here 'less she's gettin' somethin' she 
wants. And she's getting plenty of what she wants. Tell Joe why you're here, 
Lisa." 

"Because I love you, Aaron," she said, and knew it wasn't the answer he 
wanted to hear; at least, not while these people were present. She knew, 
too, that he wouldn't accept it. 

"Tell them the real reason, goddamn you!" His grip tightened on her wrist, 
and she knew what he was going to make her say. He had done it before. "Tell 
'em you just shack here 'cause I keep your cunt happy for you. Tell 'em how 
much you dig a good, black cock." 

"Leave her alone, Aaron. She didn't do one damned thing. You're just doing 
to her what you'd like to do to me." As she saw Joe stand up on the other 
side of the table, Lisa gave a shake of her head, begging him not to 
interfere. He was only going to make matters worse. 

"Tell 'em, honkie. Don't you dig that black-type fucking I give you?" He was 
still seated at the table, ignoring Joe, his voice more threatening now. She 
saw the whore grinning at her embarrassment, and she wished she could 
disappear into the peeling wallpaper. "Last time I'm tellin' you, whore!" 

She closed her eyes. "I stay here because I like the way Aaron fucks." 

"Not the way I fuck. The way any black man fucks." His hand, the one that 
wasn't holding her wrist, was once more moving beneath the hem of her skirt, 
lifting it. "Tell him!" 

"Please, Aaron." 

"Tell them, whore!" His hand was on her bare buttocks-he wouldn't allow her 
to wear panties-massaging the velvety orbs, caressing them, and she knew, 
though her eyes were closed, that her skirt was lifted almost high enough to 
allow those in the room a clear look at her pussy. 

"I ... I'd rather fuck Aaron because he's a black man," she said hesitantly, 
feeling the blood rush to her face as she uttered the words which were only 
half true. There were times when she felt that she enjoyed sex with him only 
because of some strange attraction his color held for her, and there were 
times she felt her desire was there in spite of his color. 

"You don't have to put up with this, miss," she heard Joe say softly, and 
she opened her eyes despite the shame she felt. He was looking at the smooth 
columns of her legs, her bared cunt, just as the other man was doing, but, 
mixed with the want on the smooth features of his darkly handsome face was a 
surprising amount of sympathy. "If you want, you can walk out of here with 
us." 

Aaron laughed, and she felt his hand move from her buttocks, between her 
legs, begin rubbing her cunt. "Didn't you hear the whore, Joe? She ain't 
leavin'. She likes that black dick too much. An' you standin' there, right 
now, wantin' some of this white cunt. You want some. Lisa'll fuck you if I 
tell her to. Won't you, Lisa?" 

Lisa said nothing. 

"Won't you?" His hand tightened on her pussy, and she closed her eyes, 
hating him for the humiliation he poured on her in moments like this, hating 
herself even worse for not being able to leave him. "You'll fuck him, or 
anything else I tell you to do, won't you? Suck his cock if I tell you to. 
You wanta try a blow job, Joe? She's a hell of a cock-sucker. Been thinking 
about puttin' her out on the streets, like Claudette here." 

"She won't do no good there ... too little in the knockers," she heard 
Claudette say, a chuckle in her throaty voice, and suddenly there was a 
place to direct all the anger she was unable to throw at Aaron. 

"Fuck you, you two-bit whore," she said, and stepped away from Aaron, too 
angry to be afraid of anything now. There were tears welling up in her eyes, 
and she was ready to claw the eyes from the elegant face of the prostitute. 
"You dirty, cheap-assed, nigger whore!" 

Too late, she realized what she had said. 

The four of them stared silently at her. 

Aaron was the one to break the silence. "See what I been trying to tell you, 
Joe? You can live with one of 'em, eat with her, fuck her, but to her you're 
still a nigger." 

He sat there a moment, looking at the gun on the table, then, very slowly, 
he stood up. Strangely, his face showed almost no anger. Then his hand moved 
in a blur and knocked her off her feet. 

His face, she saw when the burning tears had cleared from her eyes enough to 
allow her to focus them, was covered with a look of satisfaction, and she 
realized that she had said the very words he wanted her to say. He had been 
using her to prove a point, and she had played right into his hands. Still, 
his anger, as he bent and jerked her roughly to her feet, was real. 

"So you think you're better'n a nigger whore?" He shook her roughly, then 
turned and beamed a triumphant smile at Joe. "See what your white friends 
think of us, Joe? You like these white folks plenty, don't you? Well, you 
just stick around. You gonna get a chance to get closer to a white cunt than 
you ever been before. Little Miss O'Hara here gonna show Claudette how sorry 
she is, then she gonna give you all the white pussy you can stand." 

"You can still leave if you want, Lisa." There was, in spite of her words, 
still some sympathy in Joe's voice, on his face. "I'll take you out of here. 
I'll take you home." 

"You ain't takin' her no place." Aaron looked at him, then at the pistol, 
then into her eyes. She felt almost hypnotized by his burning gaze. "You 
Uncle Toms don't want no white cunt, get the fuck out! I know plenty black 
boys that do. Claudette! Run down to the pool room. Tell whoever's there we 
got a little white whore gonna put on a free show, and then fuck 'em all. 
Ain't that right, white whore?" 

Lisa said nothing. Vaguely, she stared into his eyes, feeling a growing 
numbness where his fingers dug into her upper arms. She heard Claudette 
cross the room, close the door behind her. 

"You don't have to do this," Joe repeated for what seemed like the hundredth 
time. "Aaron, if you try to make her, you're worse than any white man who 
ever did anything to our people." 

Aaron didn't even turn to look at him. "She don't wanna leave. Like I said, 
she can't get enough black cock. Tell him!" 

The room was absolutely still as they waited for her answer. 

"I do what Aaron tells me. I'll stay." 

Neither Joe or the other man looked at her as they silently left the 
apartment, leaving her staring into the expressionless, bearded face of 
Aaron Kline. 

Claudette brought four of them back with her-all of them very young, very 
loud and very drunk. She could smell the cheap wine and other cheap booze 
the minute they stepped into the bedroom, and she knew the whole thing was 
going to be horrible. And she wished, once again, that she had the strength 
to leave, wished she had taken the chance offered her. Yet, at the same 
time, she was glad for some reason that she had stayed. 

"Anything special you boys wanna see?" Aaron asked, grinning wickedly. 
"Don't worry about hurtin' no feelin's, either. Lisa, she believes in 
equality. She believes one cock just as good as another." 

"I'll just take me a quick piece of that ass, then leave," one of the boys 
said, stepping close to the bed where she sat, his crotch on a level with 
her eyes. As she looked up at his face, which was marred by a jagged scar 
running across his cheek, she realized that he was about her own age. Then 
she felt his fingers tangle in her hair, pulling her face against the 
swollen bulge of his hard on. She made no effort to resist. "How about it, 
baby, you want some of that dick?" 

He would, she thought, never know how bad she wanted it-and how bad she 
hated herself for wanting it. 

"Uh-uh, Morris, she owes me somethin' first. She owes me an apology." 
Claudette's voice pierced through the veil of passion that the feel of that 
hard prick had pulled over Lisa's senses, and suddenly the boy was no longer 
in front of her. Instead, she was confronted by the voluptuous figure of the 
prostitute, her hands on the sensual curve of her hips, her dress pulled 
tight against her thighs by the widespread stance of her alluring, 
mesh-covered legs. "How you gonna apologize to me, cunt?" 

"Let her go down on your pussy, Claudette," Aaron suggested, leaning against 
the door and saying the words as if this were no concern of his. "Ain't 
never seen the time havin' your cunt licked wouldn't make you happy. 
Besides, it'll put a good hard-on on the fellas here. Ever eat a black 
pussy, Lisa?" 

Without looking at him, Lisa shook her head. She seemed unable to take her 
eyes off the fascinating figure of Claudette, towering above her. And she 
could feel her cunt growing hot as she looked forward to eating the pussy of 
this beautiful and dark-skinned whore. 

"Well, you sure gonna eat one now." Aaron said, and she heard one of the 
boys giggle nervously. "Stand up and strip naked. While you're eating it, 
the boys'll want a good look at what they're gonna fuck." 

As if in a trance, she rose from the bed and stepped into the center of the 
room, her back toward Aaron. There was only one chair in the cramped 
bedroom, and three of the boys were squatting against the wall, watching her 
silently, trying to act older than their years. The other, the oldest of the 
four, straddled the chair, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his 
mouth. But, though she could feel their eyes crawling over her as she slowly 
unbuttoned her blouse and threw it on the floor, leaving her pink-tipped 
titties completely bare, she was looking at none of them. 

She was looking at Claudette, sprawled on the bed, her dress pulled to the 
tops of her fishnet hose, smiling as she waited to have her pussy ate. 

Someone let out a low whistle, and she felt one of the boys reach up to run 
a hand over the compact globes of her ass, but she paid no attention to it. 
She was entirely captivated by the seductively smiling whore, and was 
actually eager to have her face buried in the wiry brush of that cunt, to 
know the taste of it. 

She pulled the zipper at the side of her miniskirt down, let it drop down 
over the curves of her legs, and stepped out of it. 

"God, look at the ass on that broad," she heard one of the boys moan, and 
there was the feel of an eager hand on .the inside of her thigh, reaching 
for her pussy. It was brushed away by her leg as she took a step forward. 

"I got firsts on that pussy," someone declared behind her, but there was no 
more grabbing for her body. She was standing beside the bed, looking down 
into the laughing eyes of Claudette, and she could feel them watching her, 
waiting for the show they had been promised. 

"I'm sorry," she said, and sat down on the bed, the bare cheeks of her ass 
lightly touching the warmth of Claudette's leg. "I shouldn't have said it." 

"Ain't good enough, honey-chile." Claudette folded her arms behind her neck, 
exaggerating the fullness of her tits, and smiled at her. "Tell me how you 
gonna make it up." 

"I'm gonna eat your pussy." 

"Maybe I don't want you touchin' my pussy. Maybe you ain't good enough to 
eat my cunt." Claudette shifted slightly on the bed, her lips curving into a 
sensual smile, and Lisa knew she was going to be forced to humiliate herself 
further before the eyes she could feel watching her. "Maybe I want you to 
prove you're good enough at it to go down on me. Maybe I will think you 
ain't no good 'less I think you really want to eat it, really, I mean." 

"I do." Even as she spoke the words, Lisa realized they were true; for there 
was a new and strange excitement to be found in the thought of the sexual 
exhibition she was about to perform, and an even greater excitement in the 
knowledge of the fucking that was to follow, but neither of these matched 
the ferment she found growing in her pussy as she pictured herself kneeling 
before this dark-skinned prostitute, licking her cunt. "I really do." 

"Well, show me, baby." Claudette held her arms up, smiling seductively, 
looking for all the world like she was welcoming a man into her bed, a man 
who had just paid to fuck her. 

And Lisa showed her. Bending forward into the circle of those arms, she 
slipped one arm beneath Claudette's neck, raising her head from the pillow 
and fastening her mouth tight over those lush lips. As she shot her tongue 
deep into the open mouth, probing, feeling Claudette's own tongue rush forth 
to meet it, swirl around it, she slipped one hand underneath the bare apples 
of her titties, inside the front of the low-cut dress, and caressed a full 
and pliable breast. 

Without breaking off the kiss, she moved completely on top of her, wedging 
her naked body between the widespread legs and forcing the tight dress 
higher on those voluptuous legs, wiggling her ass until her stomach was at 
the juncture of those thighs, moving against the delightful mound of her 
pubis-which was as naked as her own. 

It was a moment before she realized that, though. The enchanting feel of the 
big titties, yielding beneath her own, and the fiery touch of the knowing 
hands which were crawling over every curve of her body-over the globes of 
her buttocks, pulling her tighter into the squeezing vise of those legs, 
over her titties, pinching her nipples deliciously, even probing at the 
tight circle of her anus-had sent her into such a sexual hysteria that the 
wiry cunt-hair rasping against her skin almost went unnoticed. Almost, but 
not quite. 

She reached down and tugged at Claudette's dress, tugging it above the full 
curves of her hips, bunching it beneath her ass, then put one hand over her 
pussy, rubbing it hard. 

"Please, baby? Please, Claudette?" Still rubbing at the coarse hair and 
supple flesh of the cunt, she raised her head and looked down into 
Claudette's face, watching the contortions her pretty features underwent as 
her pussy was stroked. "I really want to eat it for you." 

To prove she wasn't lying, though Claudette was clearly too horny to care, 
she slipped out of the encircling arms, moved slowly backward on the bed, 
then bent and kissed the exact center of that open and beckoning cunt. 

"Man, lookit her go after that pussy!" someone shouted behind her, but she 
paid no attention to the words or the laughter that followed them. She was 
too entranced by the dark-haired cunt before her. 

"Now, Claudette?" She whispered the question into the vee of Claudette's 
crotch, letting her breath play across the plentiful and tightly curled 
hairs which surrounded the claret lips of the slowly revolving cunt. It was 
the hairiest cunt she had ever seen-a dark red gash which was almost lost in 
the thick coils of pussy hair-but all the more appealing because of it. She 
planted another kiss at the upper edge of it and repeated her question, the 
slightest bit louder this time. "Now?" 

"You're damn right now!" As she slipped her hands under the sleek, 
dark-skinned globes of Claudette's ass, lifting her cunt to a more easily 
reached position, she felt the rough mesh of the girl's hose rasp against 
her shoulders as she raised her legs and draped them there. 

Then, her body trembling with passion, kneeling on the bed, her ass 
upraised, she went to work on the jelly-like meat of Claudette's pussy. 

She heard Claudette moan deep in her throat as she pasted her mouth over the 
petals of her cunt, sucking at it, stabbing her tongue in and out of the wet 
trench, letting it flicker across the sweet bud of the clitoris, and she 
wished she was able to moan, too-able to do anything that might lessen the 
electric need which she could feel in the depths of her own pussy. 

Then, as Claudette tangled her fingers in her hair and began to move her 
pelvis faster and faster, moving her pussy up and down beneath the sucking 
mouth and licking tongue, Lisa felt a movement on the bed behind her and 
realized her need was about to be filled. 

"Fuck this shit of watching," a voice said, and she recognized it as the 
same voice which had laid first claim to her fucking. "I need some of that 
red-haired pussy-and I need it now!" 

She felt the sag of the bed as it absorbed his weight, then his hands were 
on the incurve of her waist, the globes of her ass, lifting her higher, 
getting her ready to fuck. And she cooperated fully. 

"Let me do it. Let me put it in," she said, lifting her face from the dewy 
lips of Claudette's pussy, then reaching backward to grip the hard shaft of 
his tool. "Oh, God!" 

As she felt the lips of her pussy being spread apart by the head of the 
peter she had guided there, she thrust her ass backward in a swift movement, 
filling her cunt with his meat, then buried her face in Claudette's pussy 
once more, savoring the delicious taste of it. And knowing, too, by the 
frantic pumping of Claudette's hips, by the flexing of the muscles in her 
firm thighs, by the swelling in her clitoris and the growing slackness in 
her pussy, that she, too, was getting ready to come. 

Revolving her ass slowly, enjoying each gratifying stab of the prick she was 
taking from the rear, Lisa licked faster and faster at her cunt, wanting her 
to come, anxious for the taste of it. 

And come she did. 

At the very moment Lisa was reaching behind her to squeeze the swollen and 
hairy nuts she could feel swinging against the undercurve of her ass on each 
inward thrust of that driving prick, she felt Claudette's full thighs 
tighten about her head, felt a tautness in every muscle of that sensually 
dark body, and then she was sucking the bittersweet pussy juices into her 
hungry mouth. 

"Baby, you don't kid around, do you?" Claudette released her grip on the 
back of Lisa's head, threw her arms wide, apparently satiated, and slithered 
backward on the bed. She seemed surprised at the dark hands which were now 
gripping Lisa's tits, stroking them, the dark youth who knelt behind Lisa, 
fucking her. "Let me offa this bed, huh? I've had mine." 

Lisa made no effort to stop her. No effort at all. Her full attention was 
now focused on the nectarious sensation which centered around the driving 
cock that filled her cunt ... and filled her world. 

As Claudette rolled off the bed and tugged her dress back into place, 
chuckling as she looked down at the two of them, Lisa fell completely 
forward on her elbows, moaning. 

"Faster! Fuck me faster!" she pleaded, now right on the brink of coming. 
"Oh, God! I need that dick! I gotta have it!" 

Then, just as she came for the first time, she felt his hot come stream into 
her, squirting deep into her cunt. She brought her thighs together, 
clutching at his prick, holding it there until she had drained the last of 
his fluid. 

"Baby, you gonna get all the fuckin' you want, then some." As she felt the 
now-softened prick being withdrawn from her cunt, releasing a warm trickle 
of come that ran down the insides of both her thighs, one of the other boys, 
a thin youngster with coffee-colored skin, moved up onto the bed beside her, 
on his back, naked, smiling up at her. "You just try climbin' on this for a 
fuck or two." 

He took her hand and forced it down to the hard, erect staff of his cock. "I 
like my women to do the fucking. Get on top." 

Slowly, her eyes closed, smelling the stink of the cheap wine on his breath, 
keeping her fingers wrapped about the warm, pulsing rod of his dick, she 
raised one leg and threw it over his body, straddling him. Then, shifting 
her body so that she was on her knees, she slowly lowered her dripping pussy 
down onto the head of his rigid cock. 

"Better hurry up'n get yours. This girl gonna be all fucked out, Slim." As 
she lowered the full weight of her body onto the slim Negro beneath her, 
driving his prick to the rear walls of her cunt, she felt another body join 
them on the bed, and she opened her eyes. "Or maybe I should say all sucked 
out." 

It was the youngest of the boys, and he was kneeling next to the boy she was 
fucking, his prick in his hand, trying to find a position that would allow 
him to put it in her mouth. Past him, leaning against the wall, watching, 
she could see Claudette and the other boy, the one who had just fucked her. 

"You ain't never gonna stick that cock in that little redhead's mouth, boy," 
he said, grinning. "White girls too good to suck a cock. Don't you know 
that, boy?" And both he and Claudette laughed at his little joke. 

So, just to make a liar out of him, or maybe because she had gone so far 
that it no longer made a difference, or maybe because of the heat she was 
feeling as a result of the upward thrusting cock in her pussy and the hands 
on her tits, or maybe because she just didn't give a fuck, Lisa leaned 
forward, cupped the boy's hairy nuts in her hand, and began sucking his 
cock. And she kept it up, sliding her lips over the smooth, dark flesh of 
his prick and grinding her cunt over the prick of the boy beneath her until 
she felt both their bodies grow tense, and she was being shot full of come 
from both directions. 

Only later, much later, after lying silently on the bed with her eyes closed 
until she was sure Claudette and the boys were gone, did she realize she 
hadn't seen Aaron during the entire time she was being fucked; and, 
realizing that, she stirred from the bed and padded into the kitchen, 
looking for him. He wasn't there, either. 

That, to her, was the strangest thing of all- that he would order her to 
prostitute herself to satisfy whatever perverse anger it was that was 
constantly gnawing at his insides, then walk out without witnessing his 
triumph. That was, she thought, the most painful thing of all about what had 
happened. 

For she had believed, sincerely, that if she stood up under whatever 
humiliation he chose to subject her to, there would come a day, eventually, 
when he would come to see that she did it because she loved him. And, by 
now, she was sure that she did. But she was sure, too, that it would never 
matter to him. He had proved that by walking out. 

She had made up her mind, that evening, that she was going to leave. Just 
tell him so, then walk out. She would, she promised herself, go back to her 
own kind of people-to white people. And she meant it, and was ashamed of 
what she had become, and she kept her resolve until he came through the 
door, late that night, very drunk, and she saw that he had been crying. 

"I'm sorry, Lisa," he said. "I'm so goddamned sorry." 

And she knew, then, that she'd never be able to leave. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"So you'd like me to tell you how to handle Aaron?" Joe Hartnet seemed to 
ponder the question for a moment, smiled at her, took another sip of his 
coffee, shook his head sadly, then went on, his voice low. "I wish 
somebody'd tell me how to handle Aaron. The best thing I can tell you to do 
is to get away from him. Just as far away as you can. And stay away." 

"I can't." Lisa was beginning to wish she had never come to this man's 
apartment seeking a way out of the turmoil she was in. But she had known she 
had to turn to someone, and it had seemed only logical that someone of 
Aaron's own color would have a better understanding of his behavior. But it 
wasn't turning out that way. 

"Why not? If anyone else treated you the way he does, wouldn't you leave?" 
Joe set his coffee cup down on the breakfast bar and strolled to the window, 
turning his back on her. She looked around the sumptuous kitchen and 
dinette, comparing it to the one in the shoddy apartment she shared with 
Aaron, and wondered if Joe's obvious affluence might not be, at least in 
part, the reason behind Aaron's dislike for the man. "You wouldn't stay with 
a white man who treated you that way, so why can't you leave Aaron?" 

"Because I love him." She wished he would turn toward her, let her see his 
face. It was disconcerting, talking to his back this way. Besides, she 
wanted him to see her face, see how much she really meant it. If she could 
convince him of her love for Aaron, she thought, he might be willing to help 
her. How he could help her, she had no idea. But she was convinced that he 
could. 

He turned, and she saw that same look of sympathy on his face she had seen 
at Aaron's apartment-the remembered look that had brought her here. 

"No, you don't really love Aaron," he said, standing with his hands thrust 
deep in the pockets of his maroon dressing robe. "He's right about you, you 
know. You've just let yourself get hung up on this color bit, and you call 
it love. And it's the same thing with Aaron. The only difference between the 
two of you is that Aaron knows it's a kind of hate, not love ... and he 
treats you accordingly." 

"I do love Aaron. And he loves me." It surprised her that he had so closely 
pinpointed the very thoughts she had been having lately, the growing 
conviction that Aaron only kept her at hand to have a convenient outlet for 
his anger. Yet, in spite of this conviction, she truly believed the words 
she had just spoken. It was these conflicting beliefs that had brought her 
here, seeking help. 

"I've seen it a million times," he said, and he spoke the words as if they 
hurt him. She sat down on a stool at the breakfast bar, leaning on her 
elbows, and looked into his dark face as she waited for him to go on. He 
was, she thought, as he thought his words over carefully, completely 
different from Aaron and the noisy, boisterous youths who constantly flowed 
through their apartment, drinking, displaying their knives and pistols as if 
they were badges, and speaking of violence and revolution. Though he and 
Aaron were about the same age-twenty-five, she guessed-and though Joe 
actually looked younger in the face, he seemed, somehow, the older of the 
two. It was his way of speaking, she decided. He used none of the ghetto 
slang favored by Aaron and his friends. He spoke almost-almost like a white 
man. 

"More than a million times, I guess," he said finally, breaking into her 
thoughts. "It's all just a part of our society, I suppose. A little white 
girl, getting some sort of sordid thrill by breaking a set of rules that no 
longer exist. How old are you, Lisa?" 

"Seventeen," she lied, because she knew what reaction to expect, and 
because, in the past months, she had come to think of herself as older. 
Other than that, her age made no difference. Apparently her uncle Max didn't 
care what she did, and if her mother had made any inquiry about her, she 
knew nothing of it. 

Joe shook his head. "Seventeen, and you're in love. You have to be a lot 
older than that to handle love. Even without all the complications you're 
asking for. Would you like to know what I think you're confusing with love?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, I'm not a psychologist, but I've got a pretty good idea. I'd say 
you're just like all those other white girls I mentioned. You're punishing 
yourself for something, either real or imagined, and you're using Aaron as 
the whip. If it's not that, then you think you're punishing the entire 
Caucasian race." 

"So you're saying it's impossible for a white girl to love a black man?" It 
irritated her that he had steered the conversation so neatly away from her 
original request-which was a simple request to help her understand Aaron-and 
that he seemed so sure of his own knowledge of her feelings. "Is that what 
you're trying to say?" 

"Not at all." He dug a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his robe, lit 
one, offered the pack to her. She shook her head. "I'm just saying it's 
impossible for you to love Aaron, and for him to love you." 

"You know it all, don't you?" His confidence in his words seemed to border 
on the arrogant, and she was angered even more by what she considered his 
betrayal of his own race. For, in her mind, his denial of her ability to 
love Aaron was also a denial of the equality both he and Aaron claimed to be 
seeking. "You really know everything!" 

He was unperturbed by her anger. "No. But I know hatred when I see it. And 
Aaron doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. He hates you. He hates 
everything and everybody. I doubt if your color really makes that much 
difference. If he didn't have white people to take it out on, he'd just find 
something else." 

"Aaron doesn't hate me. I knew he doesn't. Not really." She was surprised to 
find herself defending Aaron too-of all people-another Negro, and she tried 
to convince herself of the truth in her own words even as she spoke them. 
"It's just that he ... he gets so mad, and he ... " 

"Makes you go to bed with his friends? Beats you? Is that a love mark on 
your cheek?" He pointed his cigarette at the bruise on her cheek, a result 
of the beating that had sent her searching for help, and he shook his head. 
"That isn't love, Lisa. Did you know Aaron started a riot last summer? A 
riot that killed three people? And one of them was black, but that doesn't 
stop him and his friends from planning for this summer. Did you know that?" 

She shook her head. 

"Well, he did. And he means to this summer unless someone talks him out of 
it." He turned to stare out the window again. "We've come a long way in this 
city, but he's willing to wreck it all, just to satisfy himself. A man like 
that's incapable of love. You either get away from him, Lisa, or he'll 
destroy you." 

And that, she thought, was exactly what was happening to her. She wanted to 
leave and she wanted to stay, and it was tearing her apart. She hated Aaron 
Kline and she loved him, and she was afraid she was losing her mind. 

"I can't leave," she said, and knew she was getting ready to cry. "I've 
tried to go, but I can't." 

"Then try asking yourself another question." He turned, stabbed his 
cigarette into an ashtray on the walnut dining table. "You're from the 
South, originally, aren't you?" 

"Yes, I grew up in a town called Flaxton. It's ... " 

"I know where it is." He interrupted her, his voice harsher now, his face 
emotionless. "Try asking yourself if you'd take Aaron, or any black man for 
that matter, back down South there with you. Ask yourself if you'd stand up 
in front of a crowd of those rednecks, holding hands with him, and say, 'I 
love him.' " 

"I would," she said, but she was picturing the scorn that would cover the 
faces of the people, and somehow, she saw her own face-wearing that same 
look of revulsion. 

"Sure," he said, "like hell you would." 

She didn't say anything. Nothing at all. For her mind was far away, and she 
was seeing the face of her father and the face of every other person she had 
known in the South, and she was recalling the revulsion she would have felt, 
just six years ago, there toward any white girl who had dared to say she 
loved a Negro. She thought of her father, of his hatred of Negroes. What if 
he were released from prison, came after her, saw her in her present life, 
saw her in love with what he'd call a "nigger"? But what right would he have 
to talk? Some of the things he was caught doing in that apartment house were 
worse! And they don't put you in jail for being in love with a "nigger." 

"That's why I said Aaron was right about you, Lisa," Joe went on, not 
looking at her, and not seeing the tears. "Because you don't really love 
him. Not as a human being. You love him because he's a black man. And he 
keeps you around because you're a handy while girl for him to lay. Does he 
ever take you out anyplace? Show you off to his friends?" 

Lisa glared at his back, hating him because he knew the answer to that 
question, knew that Aaron didn't. 

Without waiting for her answer, he went on. "That's because he'd be just as 
ashamed of that as you would to take him home. You two don't love each 
other. When you can forget about the color and accept each other for what 
you are, that's love. I ... " 

"Shut up!" 

"What?" He turned now, surprised. 

"I said shut your goddamn mouth, you uppity fuckin' nigger!" He was barely 
visible through the shield of her tears, but she could picture his face-it 
would be smug, complacent. After all, here he was, a black man, giving 
advice to her, a white girl. She went on, her voice shrill, the southern 
drawl she had worked so hard to lose returning, and with it all of her 
father's quotation. "You stand there playin' all high an' mighty, an' all 
the time, you thinkin' 'bout gettin' yourself a little white pussy. You 
oughta talk about color! You're just like any of your black brothers. You'd 
cut off one of your nuts for a piece of white tail." 

"You're wrong," he said quietly, and the words only maddened her further. 
"You're dead wrong." 

"And you're a black bastard of a liar!" She stepped around the breakfast 
bar, frenetic now, and stood before him, her hands on her hips, her legs 
wide apart. "Tell me you wouldn't like to fuck me, and I'll tell you you're 
a black-assed liar. Tell me!" 

"You're a young girl," he said very softly, "and you're a good-looking 
girl." 

"That's not what I asked you. Tell me you wouldn't like to fuck me. Tell me 
you wouldn't like a piece of this white pussy." 

"Not just because it's white." 

She smiled into his face, knowing she could prove him a liar, knowing it 
because she was convinced that was the way things were, then gripped the 
bottom of her cashmere sweater with both hands, pulling it slowly up to 
reveal the bare globes of her tits. 

"Look at these tits. Look at 'em, and tell me you ain't just cravin' to suck 
on 'em!" She stepped even closer. "Don't look away, damn you! Say it." 

He looked at her bared flesh, and she found herself sobbing even more wildly 
because he showed no trace of lust, because he made no effort to reach out 
and touch her. She grabbed his hand, placed it on the round globe of one 
tit. 

"Now tell me you don't want that, damn you!" she shouted. "I'm offering you 
a piece of ass. Tell me you don't want it!" 

His fingers flexed only slightly against her pliant flesh, and he nodded his 
head toward the hand she held clutched against her tits. It looked very, 
very black against the whiteness of her skin. 

"Only when you can look at that without noticing the colors," he said. "I 
don't want it any other way." 

She broke down completely then, her body shaking and her legs giving way 
beneath her. And she wasn't even aware that she was crying against his 
shoulder, that his arms were around her, holding her gently. She was only 
aware of what had happened, and it was a thing that she had never believed 
possible. She couldn't believe that a black man-any black man-would have 
passed up an opportunity to fuck her. 

* * * 

She left Aaron the next morning, and it was only partially because of the 
things Joe had told her-things that had kept her awake late into the night, 
staring at the naked, slumbering body in the bed beside her, wondering if 
things would ever improve. Yes, that was part of the reason, but only a 
part. Her final decision was brought about by, of all people, a cab driver. 

They were on their way to a meeting-some sort of rally Aaron had called-and 
for reasons he didn't explain to her, he wanted to leave his car and take a 
cab. And she knew, a second after they climbed into the taxi Aaron had 
flagged down, that it was going to be another of the bad times. Very bad. 

"Y'all got the address where you goin', or ... ?" The cab driver, a short, 
pudgy man with a red face and bloodshot eyes, smiled as she climbed into the 
cab, then, as if seeing for the first time that she was with a Negro, 
stopped in mid-sentence, his smile fading away. 

"Hell, no, man," Aaron said, climbing into the rear seat close beside her, 
and Lisa knew that he, too, had caught the driver's deep-South accent and 
the look of disgust that had washed over his round face. "Us niggers can't 
remember no addresses. We too dumb. You just take us any old place." 

"Look, I ... " The cab driver's face turned even redder as he sought a way 
out of the situation, but Aaron was turned on now. 

"Course, I got me a little ol' white girl here. Keeps her aroun' just to 
remember, I does. That, an' she a purty good piece of ass. Tell the man that 
address, Lisa." 

With her face burning, she leaned forward and gave the driver the address of 
the rented storefront where Aaron held his meeting, then leaned back against 
the seat, hoping silence on her part would cool Aaron down. But it didn't 
work. 

As the driver eased the car into the thick stream of traffic, she felt 
Aaron's hand on her upper thigh, rubbing very near her cunt. She was wearing 
an extremely short white leather miniskirt with a contrasting black blouse, 
and as Aaron deliberately forced her skirt higher he kept up a constant 
stream of talk about fucking, his voice raised so the driver could hear, 
taunting him. 

And, though the driver kept his head turned forward, she could see his 
bloodshot eyes in the rear-view mirror, watching her. No, not just watching 
her-hating her. And it was easy for her to see herself through those 
eyes-and easy for her to hate herself. She saw, suddenly, the way her 
father's eyes would have looked had she seen, only years before, a white 
girl in the arms of a Negro. And she remembered the question Joe had asked 
her. 

"Could you take him home to your parents and say you love him?" 

And she knew she couldn't. 

Her mind was made up by the time they reached their destination. 

"I'll be in in just a minute," she told him after he paid the driver and 
slammed the door. "I need some fresh air." 

"Sure you do, baby. Sure you do." He shrugged his shoulders, gave her that 
crazy grin of his, then turned his back on her and walked away. 

She knew, then, that he understood she was leaving him. 

She walked the streets of the city for two hours, trying to decide where she 
could go. Max's was out of the question, and so was Tammie's. She was 
beginning to understand what Aaron had meant, the countless times she had 
heard him say that those people were just as racist as any Klansman who ever 
lived. The only difference was that they recognized their prejudices and 
chose to punish themselves for them by catering to the sexual whims of a few 
willing and carefully chosen Blacks. And the last thing she needed at this 
point was to become involved with another Negro. Which she was sure would 
happen if she was exposed to their company for any length of time. 

No, she decided, that was the last thing she needed. What she did need was 
much easier to see. She needed a place to stay, and she knew the two dollars 
in her purse wasn't enough to pay for that -and she needed to be fucked by a 
white man. She needed a man of her own color who would fuck her and fuck her 
and fuck her until every memory of Sherm and Aaron Kline, Claudette and the 
others was chased away along with any lingering desire for more of the same. 
The man and the place to stay would be easy enough to find, she decided. She 
selected a seedy-looking bar, went in, and seated herself on a stool. 

"Just a Coke," she told the bartender, because she was sure that the 
strongest drink he would serve her would be a carbonated soda of some kind. 
She half turned on the stool and looked around the bar. Making a pickup, she 
saw, was going to be no trouble, no trouble at all. 

There were four of them, sitting in a booth, young, boisterous, apparently 
continuing a drunk that had started the night before. As she looked at them, 
one, a tall blond whose hair was combed back in a ducktail, winked at her. 
She pretended to ignore him, turning away, but then she crossed her legs, 
causing the leather skirt to ride high. If that didn't bring him running, 
she thought, nothing would. 

But it did. 

"How's about letting me buy you something stronger, Red?" he asked, taking 
the stool next to her, leaning one elbow on the bar, the way he was leering 
at her tits letting her know he was interested in more than buying her a 
drink. "Hot-looking little number like you needs more of a kick in what she 
drinks." 

"Too young," the bartender said. He was standing at least six feet away, 
polishing a glass, and it surprised her that he had even heard the words. 

"Too young for some things," she said, winking at the youth, looking him 
over. He was, she estimated, about twenty-three years old. He was wearing a 
Levi jacket and dungarees which meant he wouldn't be exactly wealthy, but he 
was old enough to have a place of his own. That was what she needed. "But 
you can bet I'm damned well old enough for others." . 

He laughed, and she felt his hand slide down across the tightly covered 
roundness of her ass. "I'll just bet you are, redhead. Such as?" 

She looked at the bartender, saw that his back was turned, and dropped her 
hand beneath the bar. "Such as this," she said. 

And she put her hand on the front of his pants, squeezing the hard swell of 
his cock, letting her fingers move lower to caress the spongier mass of his 
balls. "And a lot of other things," she added. 

He nodded toward the booth. "Come on over and join us, Red. A hot little 
swinger like you's just what we needed to start the morning right." 

She shook her head, trying to put a look on her face that would tell him she 
had picked him because of his attractiveness-an attractiveness which wasn't 
there. 

"Uh-uh, baby, I don't gang-bang," she said, shifting her body so the tip of 
one tit lightly brushed his arm. "I usually won't even go the pickup route. 
You'll have to lose them." 

"Just a minute." He patted her thigh, then headed toward the booth. She 
turned her back, sipping her Coke and listening to the low drone of voices 
coming from that direction, congratulating herself. Then he was back. As she 
left the bar, her arm hooked through his, she could feel the eyes of the 
other three, watching her legs and the slow undulations of her ass. 

* * * 

His name was Ron, and his apartment turned out to be a dump. It was even 
worse than the one she had shared with Aaron. She pushed that thought 
quickly from her mind. She was determined not to think of him. And Ron 
seemed determined to help her. 

"Get ready, baby," he said, fitting both hands in the soft underslope of her 
buttocks, swinging her pelvis forward until the mound of her cunt was 
pressed tight against the front of his pants. "You may not gang-fuck, but 
you'll think that's what happened after I'm done." 

Grinning, showing a broken tooth at the front of his mouth, he bent to kiss 
her. As she laced her fingers behind his neck and opened her mouth to 
receive the slippery snake of his tongue, keeping her tits pressed tight 
against his chest and moving her cunt in time to the pumping of his hips, 
she felt his hands leave her buttocks and tug her blouse free from the waist 
of her leather skirt. Then his hands were inside her blouse, cupping her 
tits. 

"Oh, baby, you'll never know how bad I need this prick." She freed her mouth 
from his and, reminding herself how badly she needed a place to stay, forced 
herself to forget the sour smell of his breath, the taste of his mouth. She 
unzipped his pants, pulled his hard cock out, and clutched it tight in her 
hand. "I knew I had to have some of this, soon as I saw you." 

He backed her toward the bed, both hands still on her tits. "You're damn 
sure gonna get it, baby. All the cock you want. Get out of that skirt and 
your panties." 

As he bent to kiss her once more, a thought flashed through her mind, an 
idea she thought might just stimulate the hell out of him and improve her 
chances of spending a few days here. She sat down on the bed quickly, 
laughed impishly up at him, then lay back and kicked her legs high. 

"Take care of your own business, lover," she said, keeping her legs raised 
only long enough to give him a fleeting look at the red hairs of her pussy, 
the bare cheeks of her ass. "I threw my panties away the minute I saw you. 
So what's holdin' you up?" 

"Not one fucking thing," he said, and moved to show her he meant it. He 
stepped between her legs and hooked both arms under her knees, lifting them 
high about his waist, moving closer, his body forcing her skirt far up on 
her thighs. It was evident that he intended to fuck her without even 
bothering to take off his pants. 

"Get naked, Ron," she pleaded, wiggling her body backward on the rumpled 
bed, feeling the hard rod of his cock brush the inside of her thighs just 
above the top of her hose. "I want to be the best fuck of your life-the best 
piece of ass you've ever had. I need to be!" 

And that was the truth. As she watched him stop, think it over, then step 
from between her legs, she realized that she was fucking for much more than 
just a place to stay, and that she needed this piece much more than the man 
who was about to fuck her. It had to be a satisfying fuck if she was ever in 
her life to be satisfied by another white man's prick. She began to unbutton 
her blouse, meaning to strip herself. 

"Leave it on," he said, stopping her. "I dig hell outa that leather skirt. 
I'll take your cunt just the way you've got it decorated." 

Naked, he lay down on his back, his cock standing hard and erect. "Try 
sittin' down on that chunk of cock, baby," he said. "See if that don't fill 
your gap." 

She saw, then, that he meant to take the passive role in their fucking, and 
she saw, too, that it would indeed be a provocative and stimulating position 
in which to fuck. As she moved to straddle his body, placing one knee on 
each side of his hips, she moved one hand to the base of his prick, pushing 
his own hand aside, feeling the swollen nuts and the downy blond hair that 
covered them. She let her hand linger there for a moment, feeling a growing 
excitement in her pussy as she stroked his bag, then she gripped the hem of 
her skirt with both hands, intending to raise it about her waist, to bare 
her ass completely and make it easier for them to fuck. He stopped her with 
both his voice and his hands. 

"Don't pull it up. Leave it here," he said, his voice thick with passion as 
he looked up at her. "I dig hell outa that outfit, and I wanna see you 
strain for that prick." 

As she ran her eyes from the lust-twisted features of his face down across 
the sparse hair of his chest and to the point where her brief skirt was 
pulled up above the dark tops of her hose, she saw that the picture would 
indeed be appealing to a man. Her short skirt was so tight that the hem 
seemed to cut into her full thighs, adding to the allure of them, and, just 
as he had said, forcing her to strain to reach his prick. She tugged the 
back of her skirt up an inch or so-making it possible for her to steer his 
meat where it belonged-then she slowly lowered herself onto his cock. 

"It's your show, baby," she said, watching him close his eyes in delight as 
he felt the head of his prick being enveloped by the wet silk of her cunt. 
"We'll fuck any way you want." 

His eyes blinked open. "Slow and easy, Red. That's the way I like my 
fucking. Just wiggle that little cunt slow and easy." 

As she lowered herself farther onto his prick, feeling the first delectable 
pressure of his cock against her clitoris, his hands went beneath the bottom 
of her blouse, finding the top curve of her hips, guiding the speed of her 
fucking, and she felt his hips begin to move beneath her, first rotating 
slowly, then thrusting upward to allow her more of that delicious prick, 
then dropping back to the bed and taking it away from her. 

"My tits, Ron! Get my titties!" She leaned forward and gripped his hands so 
fast that it seemed only one movement, forcing them up under her blouse 
until she felt his hot fingers cover the peaks of her breasts. "Oh, I swear 
to God, they're on fire!" 

As she felt his fingers tighten about her aching tits, squeezing them, her 
rigid nipples caught against his palms, she brushed aside all memory of his 
foul-smelling breath, the broken tooth, and she glued her lips over his, 
kissing him hungrily. Then the churning of her ass raising her skirt high 
enough to allow her more freedom of movement with each downward stroke she 
took, she began to fuck. 

And it was going to be a delightful fuck, too. She knew that the moment she 
had captured the full length of his prick, pushing her cunt down on it until 
the head was lost in the depths of her body; she knew it by the way he was 
matching every fuck movement of her body, one of his hands now clutching the 
firm meat of her ass. 

And the fucking was all the more delightful because each inward stroke of 
that prick, each movement of his tongue in her mouth, each caress his hands 
placed on her burning flesh was convincing her that the shadows were 
gone-that never again would she be plagued by dreams of fucking a black man. 
Never again would she pass a Negro on the streets and find herself wondering 
if he was hung like the cock on Sherm ... Never again would she dream of 
herself sucking that black cock down in the basement. She was back with her 
own race, back where she knew she belonged. 

Then, just as she was getting ready to come, the door opened. 

"Hot damn! Lookit ol' Ron pack the meat to 'er!" 

And she knew, even as she struggled to pull her short skirt down and conceal 
the junction of their bodies, even as she tried to lift herself off the 
moving cock and free herself from Ron's clutching hands, who the voice 
belonged to. 

"Let me up, Ron," she pleaded, pushing against his chest, trying to escape 
his tightly encircling arms. He kept his eyes closed, and the upward thrusts 
of his prick were faster now. "I told you I don't go the gang-bang route." 

There was a whoop of laughter from behind her, and she felt a hand-a hand 
she was sure didn't belong to Ron-begin rubbing across her buttocks. 

"Hear that, guys? She don't gang-bang." 

"Way ol' Ron's puttin' the cock to her, she ain't gonna be able to. Her 
cunt's gonna be too sore." 

There was more laughter, then she felt Ron give one final lurch of his hips, 
driving his cock to its limits, his body shaking as he held it there, and 
her pussy was flooded with come. He threw his arms out to his sides, 
fatigued, and she rolled from atop his body, then off the bed. 

"I'll be leaving now," she said, trying to bluff her way through, but almost 
certain it wasn't going to work. It was the same three youths they had left 
sitting in the bar, and she knew, now, that this was the way they had 
planned it from the beginning. "That is, unless you're thinking about rapin' 
me ... and making me call the cops." 

"Hell, ain't nobody gonna rape you," one of them, a short stocky boy with 
curly black hair, said. He was leaning against the wall, a half-filled 
bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand. He waved the bottle at her, then 
staggered drunkenly away from the wall, coming toward her. "We ain't gonna 
rape you. We just gonna fuck you. Have a drink and join the party." 

She stepped toward the door, but the other two, both drunk, both grinning at 
her, were there to block it. She turned to look back at Ron, the one she had 
fucked, hoping that the pleasure she had just given him might have earned 
her some help. 

"Ron?" 

"What the hell, Red?" He was still sprawled on the bed, his soft, flaccid 
prick lying across his inner thigh, and he gave her a look that said he was 
helpless. "They ain't gonna hurt you. You might even like it. Clay there, 
he's got a cock like an Alabama nigger." 

He pointed to one of the boys blocking the door, a wiry youngster with a 
pockmarked face, and the rest of them laughed. 

"Bigger," said the boy, grinning, and he clutched his crotch, pretending to 
shake his cock at her. "Wanna see it, baby?" 

Instead of answering, she shook her head and looked at each of them in turn, 
wondering just why they had chosen that particular comparison. For it had 
only served as a reminder of the abuse that had caused her to leave Aaron, 
and pointed out the fact that she was about to be subjected to an almost 
identical abuse here, among the people she had thought of as her own. She 
stood there a moment, weighing these thoughts, decided that they weren't 
going to let her leave, that they couldn't have cared less about her threat 
of a rape charge, and then she turned toward the boy who held the bottle. 

"I think I'll take that drink first," she said. 

She fucked him first-the stockily built one who had held the bottle-and the 
others stood near the bed, watching them fuck, making coarse jokes and 
offering suggestions. She was on her back, fucking in the standard position, 
her skirt and blouse off now, her legs raised high and wrapped about his 
waist, and her pelvis moving in slow figure-eights as she accented and 
returned the driving movements of his prick. 

And it was while they were fucking-as he was breathing harder and getting 
ready to pour his come into her-that one of the others pulled her head to 
the side of the bed and put his cock against her mouth, rubbing the head of 
it against her lips. 

"Try blowing that horn, baby," he told her, moving her around so that her 
head was completely off the side of the bed, her red hair cascading down 
toward the floor. Then, putting one leg on each side of her head, his rear 
toward the bed, the backs of his thighs touching her shoulders and his hairy 
nuts hanging down over her chin, he put his hands under the back of her head 
and raised her face toward the shaft of his dick. "See how you like gettin' 
fucked both ways at the same time." 

Without even looking up to see which one he was, because she knew she wasn't 
leaving this room until she had either fucked or sucked him, she worked her 
arms around his hairy thighs, gripping his cock with the fingers of one 
hand, slanted the stiffened shaft downward until she was able to reach it, 
then wrapped her lips around the purplish head of it. 

As she gave him his blow job, sliding her lips over his prick as fast as her 
uncomfortable position would allow, feeling his cock reach even to her 
throat when he pumped his hips down at her, she could feel the other boy 
moving between her legs, feel his mouth and tongue moving on her tits, feel 
the lunges of his stiffened cock. 

And she weaved her hips faster, letting her cunt grip and relax upon his 
cock, while at the same time she used her fingers to jack the other prick 
into her mouth, desperately wanting them to come -not because of any passion 
she was feeling, but simply because she knew they had to before she could 
leave. 

The boy whose cock she was sucking was the first to unload his semen. She 
felt his body stiffen and his legs shake with a muscular spasm, and withdrew 
her lips to the head of his cock, trying to avoid the flow of sticky white 
come she knew was on its way. But his grip tightened on the back of her 
head, holding her mouth against his cock, trying to force it back to its 
previous depths. 

"No you don't, baby," he said, using one hand to guide his tool, moving it 
over her lips. "Swallow it! Swallow every damned drop of it!" 

Even as she opened her lips and moved to recover the hard of his cock, she 
saw the white stream of come erupt from the tiny hole at the center of the 
purple knob, felt its warmth spatter across her face, into her hair. Then 
she had his cock in her mouth, feeling him shudder as he pumped his slime 
down her throat. The same slime she could feel being shot into her pussy as 
the other boy groaned, gave one last, tremendous shove of his dick, then 
collapsed between her thighs, coming. 

"One helluva cocksucker, Clay," said the one who had just pulled his dick 
from her mouth, stepping from over her. She felt, rather than saw, the other 
boy move from between her legs. She could feel, too, a warm trickle of come 
making its way from her cunt, down into the deep cleft between her buttocks. 
"You're passing up a good thing if you don't make her blow you." 

"She couldn't handle it," the one named Clay bragged, moving into a kneeling 
position between her open legs, holding his cock in his hand. "She'll be 
lucky if I don't split her clear down to her asshole." 

And as she felt his hands slide beneath her rear and lift her, making it 
easier for him to fit his prick to the sopping cavity of her cunt, she 
remembered the comparison they had made, and she made a mental comparison of 
her own. She compared the size of the cock she was being fucked by to that 
of the boy, Sherm and Sherm came out well ahead. 

And that knowledge seemed crazily, hysterically funny. So funny that, even 
while he was fucking her, even as he was coming, she laughed and laughed and 
laughed. 

And cried. 

Later, standing at the door, when at last it was over, she looked them over 
one by one, picked out the boy named Clay. 

"You know that cock you're so proud of?" she asked, tilting her head to one 
side and smiling sweetly at him. 

"Yeah?" 

"You'd better learn to use it," she said. 

Then she walked out. 

She hadn't come one single time. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

"How much?" The balding man in the gray suit talked around the unlit stub of 
his cigar, trying to look her over while still faking an interest in the 
girlie magazine he held in his hands. She looked over her shoulder, checking 
to be sure the owner of the newsstand wasn't watching, then moved closer, 
letting her hip press against his. 

"Twenty bucks," she said, because she had been quick to learn that this was 
the going price in this area. "Best stuff you're gonna find around here, 
sweetie, and any way you want it. Any way." 

"All night?" He was still pretending to look at the nude pictures, but she 
knew they weren't the cause of the hard-on she could see at the front of his 
pants. She was. 

"Sweetie, you've gotta be kiddin'." She moved her hip slightly against his, 
letting him feel its roundness, and turned a page in the magazine she was 
holding. The owner of this shop, she had learned over the past three days, 
was willing to overlook a little hustling so long as it wasn't done too 
openly. The men who frequented his place were looking for something to get 
them horny, and the whores who could frequently be found here only served to 
increase his business. So he was willing to leave them alone-up to a point. 

She held her magazine in front of the one the man was reading, showing him a 
picture of a statuesque blonde, completely nude, her hands cupped beneath a 
pair of unbelievably large tits, her tawny legs spread wide to reveal the 
golden hair and pink lips of her cunt. 

"You wouldn't expect to get something like that all night for only twenty 
bucks, would you?" she asked, watching the sweat bead on his upper lip as he 
stared at the lewdly displayed cunt of the blonde. "And, hell, I can give 
you a better fuck than she ever dreamed of. Not that I wouldn't like to 
spend all night with you, lover. It's just that a girl's gotta make a 
living." 

She looked over her shoulder once more at the owner of the place, saw that 
he was very carefully keeping himself occupied with other things, then, to 
convince the man next to her that she truly regretted not being able to 
spend the entire night with him, she reached down and felt his prick. 

"Mmmmm. But with something like that hanging between your legs, I may end up 
spending the night in the sack with you anyhow." The most important lesson 
she had learned, in three days of supporting herself on the money she could 
earn as a whore, was that every man wanted to think he was the best fuck 
yet-that she was enjoying the fuck even more than he. 

Making them believe that was the hardest part of all. 

This one seemed to be falling for the act. He squirmed uncomfortably beneath 
the caresses of her hands, glancing nervously past the racks of books which 
separated them from the counter where the owner was busily sorting books, 
preparing them for the racks, and he ran his deep-set eyes over her figure 
as if to let her know he had decided her pussy would be worth the fee. 

"Have you got a place?" he asked, and started to put the magazine back on 
the rack. She put a hand on his wrist, stopping him. 

"The Falmouth Hotel," she said, and saw him smile knowingly as he recognized 
the name of the rundown hotel which was, it seemed, rather famous for the 
laxity with which it checked the activities of its guests and for its 
willingness to let a room by the hour rather than insisting on a full 
night's rental. "Buy one of the books, huh? Doesn't look like a pickup that 
way." 

And, she thought, it keeps him off my ass the next time I hustle this joint. 

He nodded, and she smiled to herself as she watched him make his way to the 
back of the shot, slapping the folded magazine against his leg. He would be 
her third fuck of the day, which satisfied her that she was going to do all 
right as a whore. Only the first time had been difficult. After that, it was 
a very easy thing to do. 

"Got something on that pretty little mind?" He slapped her lightly on the 
rear, startling her out of her reverie, then slipped one arm around her tiny 
waist, and smiled down at her. "You looked like you were a million miles 
away." 

"Just wondering if you were gonna spend all night back there," she lied, not 
about to tell him that she had been thinking about the Negro whore, 
Claudette, and her remark that there were plenty of white whores, but that 
they were selling it of their own free choice-which was certainly true in 
her case. She had had several alternatives, a return to Aaron and the ordeal 
of being torn apart by the ecstasy of his quiet moments and the agony of his 
angry ones; a return to the home of her uncle, and the possibility of 
finding herself involved in the same situation with another black man; even 
the thought of calling her mother had occurred to her. She had chosen, 
instead, to become a whore. 

She swayed her hips sensually beneath the guiding arm of her next customer 
and started for the door. "Don't you trouble yourself none about my 
thoughts, baby," she said. "You just think about how good it's gonna be. I 
want that thing nice and hard when we get there." 

He laughed and opened the door for her, followed her through, patted her on 
the ass, then slipped his arm around her waist again. 

"Don't worry none about that, baby," he said, laughing, letting his hand 
drop to her undulating hips, "This cock gets any harder, I won't even be 
able to make it to the Falmouth. I'll just have to take my pussy in one of 
these alleys." 

She laughed as if she hadn't heard similar jokes from every man she had 
fucked in the past three days. 

They walked the two blocks to the Falmouth Hotel, staying on the outer edge 
of the sidewalk in order to pass more easily through the early evening 
crowds who swarmed in and out of the strip joints, the pawnshops, and the 
grimy bars. The crowd was, she thought as she looked at those they passed, 
made up entirely of people like themselves; men who were looking for pussy 
and girls who were willing to sell it. There are sections like it in every 
city-the three or four or five blocks where anything goes-and this one, 
after she had reached her decision, had reached out and drawn her to it as 
if it were a magnet. 

"Third floor. You'll have to operate the elevator yourself," she told him as 
they crossed the small lobby of the hotel. She could feel the desk clerk's 
eyes on her back, but she knew he wouldn't say anything. She had made sure 
of that her first night in the hotel-the same evening of the day she had 
been fucked by Ron and his friends, and the same evening she had picked up 
her first customer-and she had earned his silence by the same method she was 
earning her meals. 

After her customer had paid her and left her in the grubby room they had 
rented, she simply returned to the desk, told the clerk she wanted to keep 
the room, gave him a smile that said she was willing to pay for it with more 
than money, paid him, and wiggled her ass invitingly as she left the desk. 
Fifteen minutes later he had been in her room, fucking her. 

He had yet to question her about her age. 

"There's a bottle on the table. Or maybe you're not one of those who likes a 
drink first?" She held the door open with one hand and waved toward the 
bottle of whiskey on the scarred table with the other. The whiskey, which 
she had sent the room clerk after, was there for two reasons. First, because 
she had some vague notion that a whore was always supposed to have whiskey 
on hand; and, far more importantly, because she found that it was much 
easier to sleep after a few drinks of the burning liquid. It kept her from 
thinking too much. 

"I like it all, baby. I like it all." He picked the bottle up, gulped at the 
whiskey, his Adam's apple moving, then sat it back down on the table and 
looked around the room. "Christ, you'd think a hot looking piece like you 
could do better'n a dump like this. You want the money now or later?" 

She shrugged, then reached behind herself to tug at the zipper of the cheap 
but appealing dress she had bought to replace the leather mini outfit-the 
outfit she had been almost desperately anxious to be rid of. It reminded her 
of the mass fucking She had undergone the last day she wore it, and that, 
somehow, seemed worse than anything Aaron had done to her. 

"It's your money, sweetheart, pay whenever you like," she said, shrugging 
the dress down off her shoulders, then reaching behind herself to pull the 
zipper the rest of the way down before letting the dress fall to the floor. 
"I don't think you'd cheat me. Not after the fuckin' you're gonna get." 

She had found that-though there was always the possibility of not being paid 
at all-a satisfied customer was often likely to pay her extra. And, since 
she found it easy to satisfy them, she was more than willing to take her 
payment after she had delivered. 

"Man! What a set of tits!" She had slipped out of her lacy bra while he had 
his back turned to her, hanging his coat over the room's single chair, and 
his lips pursed in a wolf whistle as he turned and saw her smiling at him, 
dressed only in her hose, garter belt, and the brief red panties she had 
bought. He stared hungrily at her as he began tugging his necktie off. "You 
ain't been hustling these streets long or I'd know you. I don't miss a set 
of jugs like that. You gotta name, kid?" 

"Oh, just Lisa," she said. 

That, she thought, watching him as he undressed, was one of the oddest 
things about these men who bought pussy. They insisted on knowing your name, 
then they wanted to tell you their troubles, then they wanted to know why 
you were selling it. She couldn't understand why they refused to think of it 
as she did-as a simple business transaction between two strangers. Nothing 
more. 

"You can call me Mac," he said, tugging his shorts down and kicking them 
away. He grinned as he saw her looking at his cock. "And I'm gonna show you 
what a man's supposed to do with a set of tits like that. You got anything 
against sucking one?" 

That was a laugh, she thought. She preferred the blow-job bit. It was 
usually worth a few extra bucks and it was always quicker and a lot less 
messy. She shook her head and stepped out to meet him as he came toward her. 

"I told you, baby, I go the whole route," she said, putting one arm around 
his neck and flattening her tits against the thick mat of black hair on his 
chest. She reached down with her other hand and gripped his cock, rubbing 
the head of it against her thinly covered pussy, squirming as if she really 
wanted it. "You're paying the money, sweetheart. If you want your dick 
sucked, you'll get it sucked." 

"Not just a blow job, kid. A special kind of blow job." As she felt his hand 
move between their bodies, cupping the orb of her tits, she gave way to the 
slight pressure he was exerting with his body, letting him back her toward 
the bed. There was a look of pure avarice on the flat features of his face 
-the face she knew she would forget by morning, letting it blend into the 
faceless group of the others who had bought her pussy. "I go for those tits, 
remember?" 

As her knees touched the back of the bed, she released his cock and swirled 
out of his grip, sitting down with her back against the pillows, her legs 
spread, smiling seductively up at him. 

"It's your money, sweetheart," she said, letting her fingers move over her 
bare nipples. "If you want these tits, come and get 'em. They're bought and 
paid for." 

He didn't move. "Slide down on the bed. I want you flat on your back." 

"Like this?" She slid lower, not quite sure now what he wanted. First it had 
been the talk about the tits, then the blow job, now this. 

"Just like that, baby. Just like that." He sat down next to her on the bed, 
his cock stiff and upright, his bare leg touching her thighs, his hand 
stroking the inside of her leg for just a moment, then moving higher, 
covering the cushion at the front of her red panties, squeezing at her cunt. 
"I'm gonna give you something you've never had before, baby." 

She wiggled her pussy beneath his hand, pretending an excitement she didn't 
feel, then reached down to curl her fingers around the hard shaft of his 
prick, moving them up and down. She wanted to get this finished as soon as 
possible; to have him burst his nuts, then pay her and leave. 

"You can give me that cock, sweetheart," she said, arching her back as 
though she was truly aroused. "You can give it to me any way you want. God, 
what a prick!" 

She knew, even before he bent over her tits and sucked at each of them in 
turn, even before his hand tightened on her pussy and his hips began to pump 
slowly, sliding his cock through the circle of her fingers, that he had 
believed her. He had really believed that she was anxious for the thrust of 
his cock-just as all of them seemed to believe it. She ran her fingers 
through the thinning hair on his scalp, smiling as he sucked her nipples, 
and purposely made her voice low, guttural. 

"Oh, sweetheart, you're gonna have me givin' it away. I can't stand much 
more of that." 

There was one last flicker of his tongue, then he raised his head from her 
breast. "You like that, huh? I'm gonna show you something you'll like 
better. I'm gonna show you some real tit action." 

As he threw one leg over her body, straddling her just above the waist, his 
hairy balls rasping against the soft mound of her stomach, she shifted her 
body slightly to accommodate him more readily, then reached over his thighs 
to regain her grip on his cock, glad to be getting the blow-job underway. 

"Let go my cock, baby. I told you I've gotta special way." As he moved 
forward over her body, he reached down to force her hands away from his 
prick, and she saw that he looked almost ready to come. "You're gonna need 
your hands for other things. Here, hold your tits together. Press 'em right 
up against the sides of my cock." 

Taking her hands, he guided them to the pink-tipped hillocks of her breasts, 
then, laying his prick in the deep valley between them, he brought them 
together, forming a tunnel of soft flesh around the hard core he had 
provided. 

"Think you can reach that cock, baby?" he asked. 

"That depends on you. I'll do my share." She held her tits pressed together, 
feeling the smooth skin of the hard cock which lay there, its head pointed 
at her face. As she stared at it, she felt him move backward, saw the hard 
of his cock disappear, then saw it coming toward her face. She craned her 
neck forward, straining, the tip of her tongue darting forth, and she licked 
the head of it until it vanished in the creaminess of her tits. 

"Suck it off this time, baby." His hips moved forward, slower this time, and 
he paused at the top of his thrust, letting her wrap her lips around the 
head of his prick and suck it a moment before he withdrew. Then he stabbed 
it at her again. 

As she held her tits pressed together, letting him fuck her between them, 
she could hear his breath coming faster, feel the muscles in his legs 
tightening, and feel the heat building in his balls. Then, with a low cry 
escaping his lips, he pushed her hands aside and lurched forward, stabbing 
his cock toward her mouth. A great gush of come spattered against her lips 
and her chin. A second spurt, and then he was done. She wiped her face with 
the sheet, then lay back, tired, sweaty, listening to the sounds he made as 
he dressed, wondering if it would be worth the effort to go back on the 
street and try to pick up another fuck. She decided it wouldn't. 

"Just lay the money on the table, sweetheart," she said, smiling as he 
pulled out his billfold. He was completely dressed, ready to go, and she was 
going to be glad to be rid of this one. She always was. 

He flipped open the billfold, but he didn't take any money from it; instead, 
he held it down where she could see it. There was a badge pinned to one 
side. 

"There won't be any money, honey," he said, closing the wallet and grinning 
maliciously down at her. "Hate to tell it to a hot little cunt like you, but 
you're under arrest." 

She couldn't believe it. "You've gotta be shittin' me, mister. You pick me 
up, come here and get your nuts off, then tell me I'm under arrest!" 

"That's just what I just told you, kid. Get your clothes on and let's go!" 
He grabbed her arm, pulled her to her feet, then gave her that cruel grin 
once more. "Hell, don't blame me. Just 'cause a man's a cop don't mean he 
ain't gotta get his once in a while." 

"I could tell 'em that, too." She saw her last chance and she was taking it. 
"You might not be a cop if I told 'em how you get your evidence. And you can 
damned well believe I will." 

"You'd be surprised how many've tried." The grin vanished and he pointed to 
her clothes. "Just makes it worse. Now get dressed." 

She saw that he meant it, saw no other way out, and began to dress. She had 
been one helluva success as a whore, she thought wryly. 

* * * 

She had lasted just three days. 

"Why'n hell'd you have to come stickin' your nose in my business?" She 
stared sullenly out the window of Joe Hartnet's car, not wanting to look at 
him, not wanting to look at anyone she knew. It was the most ludicrous thing 
that had ever happened to her, her being released into his custody. She had 
been selling herself to avoid any possible contact with a black man, to 
avoid giving in to the temptations, and now she found herself in the custody 
of one. She would have laughed-if she hadn't felt so miserable. 

He swung the car around a corner, and she saw that they were nearing the 
neighborhood where he lived. "Maybe you'd have preferred to stay locked up 
in the juvenile cell at the jail until your mother came after you. That's 
what would have happened, you know. That judge wasn't about to release you 
to your uncle, and I don't blame him. Christ, letting a fifteen-year-old kid 
run the streets, no school, no nothing. It's a shame they couldn't lock that 
son of a bitch up! And another thing-you lied to me about your age." 

The phrase he used to describe Uncle Max was the strongest language she had 
ever heard him use, and she turned to look at him. He was staring straight 
ahead, his hands clenched tight on the wheel. 

"I'm a hell of a lot older than my birth certificate says," she told him, 
wondering why he had showed up at the hearing, why he had gone to the 
trouble of getting her released. For it was true that the judge-when it 
became obvious that her uncle had had no knowledge of or interest in her 
activities for quite some time-had made it clear that he had no intention of 
returning her to his custody. Only when Joe, who was clearly acquainted with 
both the judge and the procedures of his court, had stood and pleaded that 
she be released in his custody until her mother could come for her, had she 
seen any hope of escaping the cramped little room that had held her for two 
long weeks. 

But she had never really believed the judge would release her into his 
custody. Even now it was hard to believe. Perhaps, she thought, it was 
because the judge was unaware of the reason she had taken to the streets in 
the first place. 

"Why didn't you tell me you'd left Aaron?" he asked, interrupting her 
thoughts. He eased the car to the curb in front of the building where he had 
his apartment. "If you needed help, I'd have given it to you. That was a 
stupid thing to do-going out and trying to sell yourself like that." 

"I didn't just try. I did." She hadn't said one word in court about the 
detective-who had really started to sweat when he learned she was a 
juvenile-so she decided to drop it on him like a bombshell, just to see how 
he'd react. "Even that cop. Except I didn't fuck him, I ... " 

"Look, you can spare me the dirty stories. I've heard them all. I just asked 
why you didn't come to me for help." He paused, looking at her, his hand on 
the handle of the car door. "You came to me once. Remember?" 

She remembered very well, and she had been wondering, too, if that might not 
be the reason for his interference. "You mean why didn't I rush on over here 
and shack up with you? I didn't know you'd changed your mind about that 
offer I made you, that's why. Last I remember, you didn't want it. But I 
guess you got to thinkin' it over and decided to rush right down to that 
judge and get yourself a piece of ass delivered right into your hands, huh?" 

He opened the door, swung his legs out, and looked at her, shaking his head 
slowly. "You just never learn, do you? You stay here until your mother gets 
here, and that's it. You won't find me sneaking into your room to collect 
the rent, either." 

"If that wasn't it, then give me a better reason, Joe!" 

"Because you're a human being. Because you needed help." He stepped out of 
the car, slammed the door, then leaned back in through the open window. "But 
nobody'll be able to help you until you understand that. You can come in 
whenever you like." 

She sat there in his car until after he had silently disappeared through the 
door of the apartment building, thinking about his words. Then, slowly, she 
climbed from the car and followed. 

She was wondering what her father would say if he had heard those words. And 
she wondered what he would say when her mom told him who was keeping her. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

"Aaron," she whispered, and it surprised her that she was still able to cry 
for him. She stared at the television, hoping she had heard wrong, but 
knowing she hadn't. She could hear the hum of Joe's razor, coming from the 
bathroom, and she rose to her feet to tell him what she had heard. 

She stopped in the doorway, watching him move the razor over the shadow of 
his morning whiskers, and she tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke. 

"You won't have to worry about any trouble this summer," she said, dragging 
the words out, liking the feel of them. "At least not from Aaron. He's 
dead." 

A look of disbelief on his face, he turned to stare at her, and she saw that 
his hand was shaking. "Aaron? Dead?" 

"Ain't you, happy? He's shot. Shot in his apartment." She was thinking that, 
somehow, her leaving had caused his death. "You won't have to explain him 
now. I know how I feel. You don't cry for someone you hate." 

He moved toward her, and she thought he was going to reach for her. She 
backed away. "And you don't cry for someone who hated you." 

As she turned her back on him and walked away, she heard his voice, very 
low, very gentle, and filled with compassion. "You can always cry when a 
person dies," he said. "It's the only way you'll ever learn to live." 

* * * 

It was much later that evening, when she heard the full details on the news, 
that she realized that her tears had been shed, not for Aaron, but for 
another human being who had passed through her life. And the circumstances 
surrounding his death clearly illustrated what Joe had meant when he said 
that Aaron would always have to have an outlet for his hatred. 

For Aaron had been killed not by a white man, not by an accidental discharge 
of one of the numerous guns in his apartment, but by a girl, who, according 
to the police, he had beaten, then forced into acts of perversion. She was a 
young black girl. 

Still, knowing this, she was saddened by his death, a death that had been 
brought on by his own hatred. And she could see all too clearly how that 
hatred had existed-she had dwelt with it for too long not to see. It was, 
she thought, an accumulation of bits and pieces bestowed upon you by others, 
a burden not of your own making. 

As she thought of Aaron, recalling the indignities he had subjected her to, 
she realized that they were no worse than those she had suffered at the 
hands of her own race, comparable to the torture she had heaped upon Sherm 
in the basement and a symbol of the same ignorance. And she remembered the 
night she had stood by the car and told him, "I'm sorry. Sorry because we 
have to hate each other ... whether we like it or not." 

She saw that the two of them had been playing a perverted game of emotions; 
she had been deriving some form of sexual pleasure by violating some social 
code that no longer existed; he had been doing the same by brutalizing her 
before her friends. It had been the exact opposite of love. 

"When you can look at that hand without noticing the color, that's love," 
Joe had said. As she looked toward the bedroom, recalling his words, 
recalling the feel of his hand on her tit, she realized that he was the only 
man in this city who had been kind to her without asking anything in return. 

That kindness seemed greater, too, because she knew the past few days hadn't 
been easy for him. There had been the occasions when, looking from the 
corner of her eye, she had caught him watching her-looking at her body. She 
had been sure, at moments such as those, that he was remembering the day she 
had offered to fuck him. Recalling, perhaps, the look of his hand on her 
bared breasts. And wanting her. 

The fact that he had made no attempt to take what was so readily available 
completed the puzzle she had been slowly piecing together in her mind. For 
she realized, as she sat there in his living room, staring at the television 
without actually seeing the picture, that kindness, just like hatred, has no 
color. Seeing this, she wondered if the same might not be true of love. 

Without taking her eyes from the closed door of his bedroom, she stood and 
slowly began to undress. 

He said nothing when she opened the door of his bedroom, standing with her 
body framed in the light of the room behind her, but she could tell by the 
sound of his breathing that he was awake. She pushed the door half shut 
behind her, then stepped into the room. She was almost to his bed when she 
saw him sit up. 

"Don't, Lisa," he said, his voice very low. "Just go on back to your room. 
Try to forget you ever came in here. You're looking for more of what Aaron 
gave you, and I'm just not capable of that." 

She felt the softness of the carpet beneath her bare feet as she moved to 
the side of his bed. "I don't want that at all. I've had enough of that to 
last me a lifetime." 

She sat down on the edge of his bed, her bare hip very near to his thigh, 
feeling the warmth of his body through the white sheet that covered him from 
the waist down. As she reached down and found his hand, she kept her eyes on 
his face, trying to see his reaction in the dimness of the room. 

She felt his hand tremble as she raised it from the bed and placed it over 
the firm dome of one tit, covering it with her own hand, holding it-there. 

"Remember what you told me about the color?" she asked, feeling her nipple 
harden beneath his hand. He was sweating now, and she knew he wanted to pull 
his hand away, but he didn't. "You said when I could forget about the colors 
that was love. Joe, I guess I know what you meant." 

Now he did pull his hand away. "You're forgets ting the rest of what I told 
you. I told you that there were enough complications to love without the 
ones you and Aaron were adding. I told you you couldn't handle those 
complications. I doubt if I can handle them, either. Besides, you're still 
under age. Go back to bed." 

She moved her thigh closer against him and trailed her hand down across the 
flat muscles of his chest. He leaned backward quickly, as if her touch had 
burnt him, and she saw that he was actually frightened by what was happening 
to him. 

"I'm not sure I can handle those complications myself, Joe," she said. "I'm 
not even sure I understand them all. But I do know this-I'll have to try or 
spend the rest of my life thinking that it might have been different with 
you. And you'll think that, too. You know you will. So I'm not goin' home 
until I find out." 

Then, leaning forward until both her breasts were flattened against his 
chest, she hooked her arm about his neck and kissed him. As the weight of 
her naked body forced him back against the headboard, she felt his body 
tense, his hands move to beneath her armpits, and she thought he was going 
to push her away; but then, as her tongue curled deep into his mouth and her 
body moved completely atop his, writhing, she felt his hands move on until 
one was between their bodies, cupping her tit, the other firmly on the sleek 
hillock of her rump. He held her like that for a moment, then, as if 
suddenly realizing what he was doing, he turned his face to one side, away 
from her hungry mouth. 

"Lisa, don't," he whispered against the sheet, his voice agonized and full 
of pleading. "I'm only a man. God help me, I'm only a man." 

She kissed his cheek softly. "And I'm a woman, Joe." 

"I didn't bring you here for that. I swear to God, I didn't. You're only a 
kid." 

She could feel the hardness of his prick through the sheet that separated 
their bodies, and she knew that he was being torn between his desire and his 
conscience. His conscience she wanted to ease, but not his desire.. 

"We'll talk about it," she promised, taking his face between her hands and 
kissing him softly on the lips. "We'll talk it all over-later." 

Then, pressing her mouth more firmly against his, letting her lips move, she 
slid one hand beneath the sheet, inside his shorts, and gripped the hard, 
pulsing shaft of his cock. And the touch of her fingers on his prick 
destroyed the last barriers that were in his mind. 

Digging his fingers into the cheeks of her ass and sending his tongue out to 
meet her own, he rolled her over, tangling the sheet between them, and held 
her beneath him, moaning deep in his throat as they kissed. She twisted one 
leg around his body, letting her cunt move against his bare flesh, and 
tugged at the waistband of his shorts, trying to pull them down. He broke 
off the kiss and pulled them down himself. 

"God, you don't know how long I've wanted to fuck you, Lisa," he said, 
kicking his shorts away, then throwing the sheet from the bed. "Since that 
day you ... " 

"I wanted you to fuck me then," she said, moving back on the bed, her legs 
open, waiting for him. "I don't want you to fuck me now ... I want you to 
love me." 

As he moved between her outspread legs, using his hands to lift them and 
drape them over his elbows, raising them higher, the gentleness of his touch 
told her, better than any words could have done, that this was exactly what 
he intended to do. 

As he lifted her buttocks from the bed, throwing her full weight back on her 
shoulders, she squeezed her legs tight against his sides, her pussy wet and 
tingling as she anticipated the first delightful stab of his prick. But it 
wasn't a stab, it was more of a caress. 

Kneeling there between her legs with his elbows hooked beneath her knees, he 
slowly and pleasingly let his hips swing forward until the head of his cock 
was teasing the outer edges of her cunt-the head of it and no more. She 
squirmed on her back, trying to wiggle her cunt toward him, trying to claim 
all of his prick, but he had perfect control over their lower bodies, and he 
was using that control to increase her arousal of his own. 

"Slow and easy, that's the way, Lisa," he said, swinging his hips into the 
warm vee of her thighs once more, giving her a little more cock this time. 
"We love first, then we fuck ... just the way you wanted it." 

The delicious agony caused by being so near to his cock yet so far from it 
was becoming unendurable. She gripped his wrists and used the leverage to 
pull herself toward him, filling her cunt with the meat of his prick. 

"Don't ever take that away from me," she moaned, opening her arms to receive 
him as he fell forward over her, his hips pumping now, his cock plunging in 
and out of her. "I want that cock in me for the rest of my life." 

He ended her cries of ecstasy by covering her mouth with his own, kissing 
her softly but letting his tongue dart in and out of her mouth, moving it in 
time to the cock that was sliding in and out of her upraised pussy. His 
fucking was slow and gentle, a stark contrast to the thrashing of her hips, 
the searching of her fingers. 

As she felt his hands cover the aching buds of her tits, caressing them, 
stroking them, she ran her hands down his back, over his buttocks, beneath 
them-until she felt her fingers touch the wiry hair that covered his balls; 
the same balls that were swinging to touch the velvet flesh of her bottom 
with each stroke of his cock. She rubbed them. 

"Oh, God, what a fuck!" As he felt her fingers probe at his testicles, Joe 
arched his back sharply, braced one hand on each side of her naked body, and 
drove his hips forward in a powerful lunge that tangled his coarse pubic 
hairs with the soft red silk around her cunt and buried his prick to its 
base. 

Lisa dug her nails into his buttocks, trying to hold him there, her body 
shaking from the voluptuous waves rolling outward from her cunt, her back 
arching as she strained to match the strength of his thrust. He paused there 
for what seemed to be an eternity of sensuous delight, and then she felt his 
prick withdraw and begin fucking her with shorter, faster strokes that were 
every bit as delectable as his last fervid thrust. Better, because there 
were more of them. 

Throwing her head back against the pillow, she began to let her hips roll 
slowly, savoring each thrust of his prick as it moved against her clitoris, 
flexing the inner muscles of her cunt, tightening it an imperceptible amount 
around the circumference of his hardened prick. Then she was 
coming-exquisitely, joyously, coming. 

And he was ready to go, too. 

When the first hot burst of his come exploded inside her cunt, she reached 
up to wrap her arms around his neck, holding him to her while the vigor of 
his fucking died, the churning of his hips ceased, and the fountain of his 
come went dry. Then she opened her eyes and kissed him. 

"Leave it right there," she said. "I want it inside me while I sleep." 

He looked down at her, blinked his eyes, and rolled from between her legs. 
"I'm a no-good bastard, that's what I am," he said, sitting up on the edge 
of the bed and covering her nakedness with the sheet. "Hell, I didn't even 
do what I said. I didn't make love to you-I fucked you." 

"Maybe," she said, knowing he was bothered because he felt he had violated 
his trust, knowing he was bothered because of her age. She reached for his 
hand, put it to her lips, and kissed the back of it. "But there's nothin' 
says I can't take my loving afterward." 

He looked at his hand in hers, looked at her face, then very slowly bent to 
take her in his arms. She didn't realize until much later that night, as she 
looked at his face, nestled against her breasts, that he was the first man 
who had ever fucked her and then thought of love. 

And it was also the first time in an eternity that she had been able to 
enjoy the delights of being fucked without finding her mind wandering to 
other places. 

"Oh, my darling," Lisa purred. "Your cock is so thick. It's so hard. It's so 
long. Yummy. And your balls are all swollen. Wait till my pussy gets its 
lips on your prick, darling. It's going to suck on your prick so hard that 
it'll hurt. It's going to suck so hard your prick will get all red and raw. 
And then it's going to squeeze every drop of come juice out. Your big, 
swollen balls'll empty in my hot pussy, empty every drop. Your boner'll be 
bone-dry when my pussy gets through with it," she laughed, pleased with 
herself. 

"Come on, Lisa. Please stick it in you," he panted, wanting her to take him, 
lay him, use him. 

"Be patient, darling, I want to savor every moment," she grinned. "My, look. 
You have a big drop of cream on the tip of your hard cock," she laughed. 

"The way you look at it-it gets me ail excited. I could come just looking at 
it," he admitted helplessly. 

"Well, we wouldn't want that, darling. That'd be a waste. Don't worry, now. 
Little Lisa'll take good care of you." 

"Take me ... please ... " he begged. 

She lifted herself up, spreading her thighs, revealing her rosy cunt lips. 
She straddled over him, but kept her slit inches above his yearning cock, 
swaying and hard. 

"Joe, darling," she said. "I'm going to fuck you. When I get done fucking 
you you'll feel like you've been raped of your manhood. But you'll love it," 
she smiled, her eyes glittering with lust and power. 

Joe lay on his back, naked. He felt strangely like an innocent girl about to 
be robbed of her virginity. He wanted to tear himself away from her, he 
wanted to assert his manhood-but he couldn't. He was under her spell. 

He stared at the shimmering white globes of her firm buttocks, swaying and 
rotating above his rigid prick. He ached to plunge his hips up so that he 
could drive his hard cock into the creamy center of her cunt. But he didn't. 
He just lay there, whimpering piteously, waiting for her to use him as only 
she could. 

"Please ... please ... Lisa ... take me," he groaned. 

She smiled down at him lewdly. "Joe, baby, I've got the meanest, tightest 
pussy in town. Wait'll it gets ahold of that thick, stud's cock of yours!" 

"Take me," he whispered. 

Her slender hands moved. He trembled. Her hands teasingly slid around his 
hairy thighs. Her fingers moved between his thighs and began to toy with his 
swollen balls. 

"My. How full your poor balls are, Joe," she whispered. "Oh, darling 
boy-what my tight little pussy's gonna do to that fat hard cock of yours! 
It's going to fuck it crazy. You're going to come like you've never come 
before!" 

She slowly began to lower herself down over him, her legs straddling him, 
her wet pussy brushing over the hard knob of his prick, teasing them both. 
Joe shuddered and moaned. She laughed and sighed. She squeezed his balls 
with her fingers, making him groan. Her wet cunt brushed to and fro over the 
knobby head of his swollen prick. Joe breathed heavily, gasped at the 
sensuous contact of cunt and cock. The hard head of his cock was being 
rubbed by the open, dripping lips of her heated cunt. He felt the maddening 
brush of her moistened slit and begged her to pull his cock in. 

"Do you like the tickle of my pussy hair on your prick?" she asked 
teasingly. 

"Yes, yes ... " 

"Feel how nice and warm and ready I am?" 

"Yes ... " he groaned. 

"I'm going to give you a mighty ride, Joe, baby!" 

"Yes, please!" 

She pressed down slightly. His fat, long, hard prick touched against the 
lips of her wet, warm vagina. She rubbed her slit more and more roughly and 
rapidly over the hard, blunt head of his cock, teasing him unmercifully. 

"Ohhhh," he moaned. "Take me, please ... " 

Her dark eyes gleamed with lust and pleasure and cruelty. Slowly, slowly, 
she pushed her mound down on his straining prick. Slowly, slowly, the very 
tip of his cock began to disappear into the soft dark puff of hair between 
her thighs. 

"Like the feel of my pussy, darling?" she whispered. 

"Yes! I love it! More!" he panted. 

"You love it? Good," she laughed delightedly, enjoying the agony of his 
humiliation. "Your cock's begging for my pussy, isn't it?" 

"Ohhhh, yes!" 

"That's good," she grinned, leering down at him, her lovely, cherry-tipped 
tits swaying. 

She hovered over him, leering, a triumphant smile on her face. Then she 
began to slowly sink down on his hard pole. Slowly, slowly. The full, fleshy 
lips of her pussy parted as it sank down on the huge cock. Slowly, slowly, 
her parting, wet pussy lips sank down on the thick, long shaft of his 
swollen cock. Slowly his cock began to disappear into the clinging, tight 
lips of her cunt. Her cunt sucked tightly on his pole as it sank in, 
gripping his fleshy instrument in a hot caress. 

She hissed as she sank down over him. She felt his huge cock slowly sliding 
into her. He grunted. The lips and inner walls of her vagina stretched to 
give entrance to his huge battering ram. She had now begun the complete 
impalement of her twat on his cock. She suddenly rammed her hips down 
viciously, plunging her cock-hungry cunt down hard. She twisted and turned 
as the cock sank into her wide-stretched pussy. It felt like a telephone 
pole inside her. He lay there beneath her, groaning, sighing, waiting for 
her to lead the way toward their ultimate climax. She was in control. He was 
merely a vessel of pleasure for her, to be used in her own way, in her own 
time. 

She began to move slowly over him, undulating. His sore, welted buttocks 
scraped against the rough carpet, making him cry out in pain. His huge, 
throbbing cock was now a total captive in the wet, quivering lips of her 
cunt. 

"Aggg!" he coughed. 

"This is going to be fun," she sighed. 

"Oh, God! Fuck me! Oh, please fuck me, please!" His arms flailed uselessly 
as he thrashed beneath her, the torture of her teasing cunt driving him wild 
with need. His eyes were tightly closed and he was panting, sobbing. He 
could feel the strong grip of her cunt on his huge prick as it throbbed deep 
inside of her, buried inside to the hilt. Her buttocks rested on his thighs. 
She just sat there, enjoying the invasion of his cock deep in her tight 
pussy. 

Then she began to slowly roll her buttocks over him, making him gasp with 
pleasure. 

"Ohhh, yes! "he sobbed. 

"I'm going to fuck you silly," she laughed. 

She hissed and began to slowly rotate her hips over him. The tight, wet 
walls of her pussy contracted around the hardness of his cock. Joe sobbed as 
he felt her inner muscles pulsating around his prick. Slowly and teasingly, 
she began to grind her cunt around and around over him. Her tight cunt 
clasped his arching prick like a hot glove. Up and down she began to move 
her hips over his, plunging down, lifting up, pivoting. She began to move 
faster and faster, controlling the pace of the screwing. She began to mew 
with pleasure as she took him. 

She twisted and rocked over him, thrusting her body and her loins with 
greater and greater abandon. She took his huge cock inside the warm sheath 
of her pussy tunnel. Greedily her cunt lips sucked on his swollen flesh. The 
quivering cheeks of her firm buttocks slapped up and down on his thighs as 
she rode him. She began fucking him with greater and greater intensity. 

"Oh, good. Oh God, so good," Joe moaned. 

"Harder. I'm going to fuck you harder!" she cried. 

She rocked over him now in a world of uncontrolled lust, pounding her body 
over his without mercy. She loved the feel of his huge hardness driving in 
and out. The cheeks of her buttocks were tightly clenched as her cunt tore 
at his cock. She tightened her cunt's grip on his cock and sucked it in 
deeper and deeper. His massive cock drove in and out with long strokes as 
she rotated over him, her hair flying, her eyes closed with pleasure. 

She churned over him, questing for more and still more thrills as she used 
him to her will. Her inner muscles contracted tightly around his plunging 
prick. She cried out, cursed him, and drove her lovely body over him with 
quick, rhythmic strokes. Her buttocks rotated and slapped against his 
thighs. She arched her back and her breasts danced as she buffeted him as he 
lay there beneath her. She quickened the pace with mounting urgency. She 
could feel the throb of his cock as it sank so deeply inside of her raping, 
hungry vagina. 

"Good," she cried. 

"Fuck me!" 

She ground her hips over him. His huge, glistening penis disappeared and 
reappeared in the clinging lips of her cunt. She squirmed heatedly over him, 
her eyes now wide and staring off into space, unseeing in her rapture. Her 
cunt seemed like a hot, living thing as it raced up and down and around and 
around on his straining cock. She groaned as she hunched over him. She moved 
her pussy around in small circles as she drove it up and down. She felt the 
push of his hard cock deep inside of her. Hungrily her pussy sank down on 
the wet throbbing cock. A low, animal-like groan came from her moist parted 
lips. 

Madly she rotated her loins over him, wiggling, squirming with utter 
abandon. Joe thrashed beneath her, crying out. The room was filled with the 
wet, sucking sounds as her cunt ate his cock avidly. Her crotch ground 
around and around on his dipping prick. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" she cried. 

"Yes, fuck, fuck!" he answered. 

She bucked and twisted, increasing the speed of the screwing. Joe was 
writhing and jerking with excitement as she continued to take him with wild 
lust. She was slewing around over him, her pelvis swiveling in rapid 
circles. He shoved heatedly up, driving his cock into her down-driving core 
of love. With rapid thrusts she took him, deep, deep into her enveloping 
hollow. Her body wormed and lashed furiously over him. Her legs scissored 
around him as she grafted her cunt to his cock as she pivoted her hips, at 
the same time making miraculous friction with a frantic inner contraction, 
fantastic inner muscular control. 

She rode him wildly, squirming her dripping cunt as her crotch thrilled to 
the intimate contact of their flesh. They were both crying out. She bucked 
and arched, rotating her hips. Joe's brain was as if on fire. The sensations 
were voluptuous. He felt overwhelmed. The scorching delirium they were both 
experiencing was nearly unbearable. 

She was wriggling over him, taking him in and out of her whirlpool of hot 
flesh. She lifted and tossed her hips with rapid jerking motions. He could 
feel the way she choked his cock with strong internal contractions, seizing 
and squeezing his plunging cock. She had him locked in a tumultuous embrace. 
She was staring down at him with wild eyes as she squirmed and bucked and 
slammed her voracious thighs. She arched her back and lifted him up with 
her, gripping him with the fantastic muscular tension of her loins. 

She rammed and withdrew and rammed at him again. Joe struggled desperately 
to stay with her. She was screaming at him, cursing him, urging him on with 
demented lust; she arched her back, lifting him again between her taut, 
squeezing legs. Joe could feel the slick, wet flesh of her belly sliding 
against his gut as she fucked him. She was now covering him as a man usually 
covers a woman. She was fucking him, lying on him, and he was under her, 
being screwed. 

She rammed him hard against the carpet and he cried out at the rip of the 
carpet against his ass. He shrieked in his delirium and clawed at her back 
with his hands. Her feverish eyes glared at him as she fucked him wildly. 
She lashed her body over his wildly. She was attacking him like a starved 
she-wolf. She was now the totally frenzied female raping the male. He felt 
as if she were taking all the strength from him-he was like Samson, made 
powerless by Delilah. 

He was helpless under the raging, lusting girl. She raged over him like an 
animal driven wild by unfulfilled lust. She jabbered at him but he could not 
understand what she was saying. Her arms and legs were wrapped tightly 
around him as she took him savagely. He felt her weight as she smeared her 
flesh over his. His breathing was frenzied. He closed his eyes and gave up 
to the delicious torture as she covered him, engulfed him, sending wild 
chills racing up his spine. 

The devouring heat of her pussy clung to his cock greedily. His sensitive 
cock throbbed and twitched as she plunged the sheath of her vagina up and 
down and around. She churned and revolved her hips in what seemed to be a 
dozen maddening directions at once. She lay on him, screwing him, clinging 
to him, using him, the firm clutch of her warm pussy giving thrilling 
friction to both of them. She swarmed over him with hot, pressing flesh as 
she took him. He was being mauled by her wantonly. 

And then her shrill cry split the air. 

He cried out hoarsely. 

They were both beginning to come at the same time. 

With tremendous power she leaped over him, her hands gripping him, her pussy 
driving on his cock. Shudders hit them both as they erupted and began to 
blaze through the fiery convulsions, thrashing and clinging to each other. 
She rode him with demented fury. 

Joe was numbed by the power of his release as she slammed down again and 
again on him, still seeking more, her hot female flesh surrounding him. 

Hot white jets of his sperm erupted and flooded into her. Her floodgates 
opened and bathed his erupting cock with hot cream as she ground her hips 
spasmodically over him. 

"Coming, I'm coming!" 

"I'm coming, too! Aggggg!" 

"Ohhhh!" 

Her inner muscles contracted, expanded, pulsed as rolling waves of climax 
hit her, and the hot, squeezing walls of her sucking pussy sucked every drop 
in from his pouring cock. 

It was over. He lay under her, nearly unconscious, panting, weak, and 
gasping. The pungent odor of their orgasm filled their senses. She lay on 
him, still holding his slowly dilating cock tightly in the creaming lips of 
her pussy. 

"That ... was a good ... fuck ... " she panted. 

"Yes ... " he managed, feeling weak and drained and used up. 

"Have ... you ever been fucked better?" 

"No," he gasped with honesty. 

She could fuck a man from the top better than any man could fuck a woman 
from the top. That was something of which Joe was convinced. He was spent. 

"I fucked you good, didn't I, Joe, baby?" 

"You fucked the shit out of me," he whispered. 

"You bet I did. No man ever fucked a woman as well as I've just fucked you. 
Right?" 

"Right ... " 

"How good am I, Joe?" 

"You're the best." 

"Ever raped a girl as good as I just raped you?" 

"No ... You're the best there is ... " 

"Good!" she laughed with triumph. She knew she had completely conquered him. 
"We'll get up in a minute, Joe." 

She searched his lips with hers, his tongue with hers. She moved her body 
and their bellies and thighs rubbed together hotly. 

"You're so beautiful," he breathed as the kiss finally broke. 

"And you've got the greatest cock in the world, darling," she purred, 
pressing her lovely little body down over his. 

She began to kiss him, tonguing his ear, laving her tongue over his neck. 
She sucked and bit on his flat tongue. And then she dragged her tongue 
teasingly under his armpit, licking away the salty moisture, making him 
shiver. She rubbed her tits over his hairy chest, her nipples going hard 
instantly. 

And then she moved away. 

"That's enough," she said in a husky, teasing voice. "No more for now." 

She crawled off him, his limp cock sliding with a pop out of the clinging 
lips of her pussy. She got to her feet and stood over him as he lay there, 
her legs wide apart. She stared avidly up at the puckered pink and 
glistening lips of her pussy, the dark hair around it wet and matted. 

"Poor Joe," she whispered. 

She got down on her hands and knees next to him and bowed her lovely face 
over his limp, sticky cock. She pressed a kiss on the knob of his prick. She 
felt the warm, stickiness of it and she opened her lips and sucked it in, 
licking away the mixed cream of their comings. 

* * * 

It was later that Joe told her that her father had been released from prison 
on parole, that he was coming to get her. 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

"Tomorrow morning," Joe said, staring thoughtfully up at the ceiling, paying 
no attention to Lisa's hand as it stroked his bare chest. He shifted his 
body slightly on the bed, and Lisa felt him lay his hand on her thigh. She 
covered his hand with her own, knowing what was on his mind, waiting for him 
to go on. "I wonder if time really moves fastest when you want it to stand 
still, or if it's just a trick of the imagination. Which do you think?" 

She rolled onto her side, pressing her tits against his upper arm, and threw 
her leg over his. "I think it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because I 
ain't leavin' with him. And stop tellin' me to say 'I'm not' instead of 
ain't." She had recognized his frown and acted in time to stop the rebuke. 
"Besides, you promised not to talk about that tonight." 

She felt his hand on her ass, feather-light. "I can stop talking about it; I 
can't stop thinking about it." 

"You can too forget about it. You might as well." She moved her body 
sensually, letting her nipples rasp against his arm, trying to take his mind 
off her planned leaving, but knowing she couldn't. "I ain't leaving with 
him. If you and him make me, I'll just come back. I'll run away and come 
back." 

He turned on his side then, moving his leg from beneath hers, taking his 
hand off the satin curves of her buttocks, and his face was very solemn, his 
eyes very serious. 

"You've got to leave, Lisa," he said, and she could tell the words hurt him. 
"Don't you understand that? He's your father. Aside from the fact that I'm 
probably wrong in what I'm doing, I couldn't possibly stop him. You're a 
minor. He could have me arrested and have you put in an institution for 
girls. You think he'd hesitate to do that?" 

She shook her head. She knew he wouldn't. 

"So, that's settled. In the long run, it may be the best thing for you, 
Lisa." 

"Would you keep me if you could? I mean, if it was just the two of us, with 
nobody to bother us?" She knew what his answer would be-since the first 
night he had fucked her, he had demonstrated in every possible way just how 
much he did want to keep her-but, as she thought of being taken away, she 
desperately needed to hear him confirm it one more time. 

"Yes," he whispered painfully. "Oh, God, yes." 

"Then don't talk anymore," she said, rolling flat on her back, her legs 
spread into a welcoming vee. "Just show me what you'd do if you could keep 
me. Show me good so I'll never forget it." 

He knew very well how she wanted him to demonstrate this desire, for, during 
their fleeting nights of sexual experimentation-nights when he had shown 
that he possessed an inventiveness to match her own-their attempts to 
satisfy each other had singled out the technique which was most gratifying 
for both of them, the one that was a perfect prelude to their fucking. 
Letting his hands caress the ivory smoothness of her throat, brushing them 
over the rigid peaks of her tits, feeling the contact with her voluptuous 
young body bring a hardness to his cock, he turned on the bed, letting his 
eyes follow the path taken by his hands, getting into position to eat her 
cunt. 

"Slow and easy," she pleaded, writhing as she felt his tongue flicker in and 
out of the crease of her navel. Lying half on his side, he moved lower, his 
tongue and lips doing things across the upper reaches of her red cunt-hair. 
His prick was moving nearer to her face, and she reached out to grip the 
rock-hard shaft of it, to masturbate it slowly. "Eat it slow and easy. I 
want this to last a long time." 

"And I want it to last forever. I know I'll be able to taste this pussy for 
the rest of my life." As he threw one leg over her body, putting his 
stiffened cock and heavy nuts squarely over her face, Lisa felt his breath 
caress her pussy and knew he was very, very close to it. She raised her ass 
slightly. 

"Love it! Show me how you love that pussy!" 

"I love it like this." She felt his lips touch her pussy ever so lightly, 
kissing it delicately, lovingly, not yet ready to send his tongue out to do 
its ambrosial task. He was making her wait for that moment. And the waiting 
only increased the fever that was building in her cunt. But in spite of that 
fever she wanted to wait, to savor the wonderful agony his lips inflicted on 
her as he moved his head lower between her legs, kissing his way across the 
slit of her pussy, down to the sinuosity of her buttocks. 

"Please! I can't stand ... don't stop!" As she felt his rough tongue dip 
into the cleft between her buttocks, probing at the entrance to her anus, 
she closed her eyes tight and sank her teeth into her lower lip, completely 
unaware of anything but the flickering of his tongue, the pressure of his 
chin against her cunt, the flinty prick she held in her hand. 

Throwing the calf of one leg over the back of his head, trapping his face in 
the white flesh and red hair of her cunt. She opened her eyes and looked at 
the sooty prick above her with its almost burgundy head and wrinkled scrotum 
which was more of a chocolate in color. She lifted her head until she felt 
his hairy balls touch her just above the eyes, then using the leg she had 
hooked over Joe's neck as a lever to guide the movements of his caresses, 
she extended the tip of her tongue and licked a slow, wet circle around the 
head of his prick. 

His head began to move faster between her thighs, and she raised her head 
higher, sucking onto the head of his prick while sliding its skin back and 
forth with the fingers of one hand, teasing his nuts With the other. She 
could feel him sucking her clitoris into his mouth now, flipping it with his 
tongue, releasing it gently, drawing it in again, and she began to move her 
hips in a slow, rocking fashion, weaving her pussy beneath his mouth. At the 
same time, as if to share in the pleasure he was giving her, he lowered his 
hips slowly, inching his prick into her mouth. She accepted it gladly. 

Bobbing her head upward between his thighs as though to match the increasing 
speed with which he was lapping her cunt, she filled her mouth with his 
cock, letting it slide into her throat until she felt sure she would 
strangle, then taking even more. And when almost the full shaft of his prick 
was in her mouth, she slowly lowered her head, keeping her lips in a 
feathery circle around his meat, sucking at it, until only the head remained 
captured between her lips. 

Then, as she felt herself begin to come against his face, she held the head 
of his cock there, sucking it hungrily, while her fingers jacked him off, 
using frantic strokes that matched each pump of her wildly moving hips. 

When she felt the first abrupt downward thrust of his hips-a thrust that 
drove his cock to the back of her greedy mouth once more-and felt the 
quivering in his thighs, she knew that she had brought him to the point of 
coming, and she knew how it felt and how he liked it best. 

She relaxed her legs, letting the one fall from behind his neck, spreading 
them wide, enjoying the wonderful afterglow that always followed a good 
come, but not forgetting that he needed the same pleasure-that she needed to 
provide it. Slipping her arms around his churning hips, loving the smooth 
flesh of the cock that was gliding in and out of her throat, she dug her 
nails into the taut muscles of his buttocks, encouraging their movement, 
encouraging him to continue fucking her in the mouth. 

And he did. 

With ever faster strokes of his prick he rammed his cock in and out of her 
willing mouth, using it as though it was a cunt, until a final, straining 
drive of his body warned of his coming. 

At the very moment that his come erupted into her mouth, filling it, hanging 
there, then sliding thickly down her throat, she could feel him planting 
soft, warm kisses on the insides of her thighs, over the hairy lips of her 
cunt. But these kisses weren't meant to arouse, she knew. They were more 
like a way of expressing his enjoyment. 

As she drained the last of his semen-even following his cock when he rolled 
lazily to his side-she wondered if he knew that her pleasure matched his 
own. 

"I'll never get it hard again," he said, smiling up at her, when she had 
reversed her position and lay half on top of him, her tits pressed against 
his chest. "Never." 

She kissed him, then grinned. "Don't bet on it." 

And she proceeded to show him, just as he had known she would. 

Kissing him slowly and passionately-knowing that this could be their last 
time together. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

"Oh, please fuck me," she said, "just fuck me." 

For her there was nothing but waves of heat, particles of cold, currents of 
air, vibrations of earth. Sensations as fragile as hummingbird wings blended 
into a single sense of ultimate yearning. She was at the outermost limits of 
her ability to maintain her awareness of herself as an entity. She 
evaporated into the consciousness of the enormity of existence and in her 
careening amorphousness felt the chill breath of death upon her forehead. 

"Oh, please hold me," she said. 

Her breathing was a ragged sighing as he lifted and lowered himself onto 
her, his cock bathing in the churning froth of her gaping cunt. He fucked 
her gently, not letting his feelings flood his awareness of the person who 
provided him with such unspeakable sensations. They fucked together, each in 
touch with the other, both in touch with themselves. Where there had been 
only a him and a her, there was now an us, and in the security of that 
knowledge they began to fly more freely, like acrobats who have finished 
their preliminary testing of one another's reliability. He searched 
instinctively for some deep crevice inside her by following the arc of his 
own excitation. His cock homed in through its own intelligence. His 
conscious mind was relegated to the background, to act either as cheering 
crowd or critical audience. Her legs spread wider, her toes flexed, her 
heels pushed toward the ceiling. She gave him all the cunt she could. 

His pelvis dropped and he brought his cock in from a lower angle. She made a 
cry like tearing silk and clutched his shoulders, digging her nails into his 
skin. He pushed his cock harder into her and held it against the spot where 
she had been transfixed. A long moment passed in which there was no 
movement, and then a long low groan began deep in her throat and erupted as 
a cry of primeval pain. She felt as though she were giving birth and being 
born all at the same time. An electric current zipped through her and she 
bunched herself around him. He slid his hands under her buttocks and shook 
her ass until the rocking motion spread from her crotch to her belly, 
loosening her spine and setting her head to rolling from side to side. She 
wept without tears and spilled herself out in a hot splashing orgasm which 
fell upon them like a thundering waterfall. 

Inside the vital passage through the center of his cock, the sperm trigger 
trembled for the full duration of her climax, threatened to fire, and then 
subsided into a state of quiescence. He did not come. He could continue to 
fuck. And he wilted at the thought of repeating the same delirious cycle 
again. 

As he collapsed on top of her, she once again wrapped herself around him and 
started the low shoveling movement which signaled the beginning of another 
ride. He became soft in her arms, his mind as throbbingly vacant as a 
nodding junkie's. In the same way that it had taken spanking and forceful 
fucking to bring her to the point where she could contact the feelings which 
flowed beneath the tensions of daily living, so it required her orgasm to 
relieve him of all sense of duty and allow him to relax into an unstructured 
exchange, one in which he did not have to dominate. She rolled him to his 
side and then to his back. She sat on top of him, her legs bracketing his 
hips, her cunt mouthing his protruding cock. She lowered her weight onto his 
body and kissed him, her tongue greedy for the inside of his mouth and the 
responses in his lips that her pressure would give rise to. His lips were 
slack, and she took advantage of the relatively rare moment when he was no 
longer doing, but was content simply to be. His passivity translated into 
defenselessness for her, and all her tenderness was aroused. She slid her 
legs down outside his, and then on top of his, and moved between his thighs, 
forcing them to open wider. Her hands cupped his ass and pulled him into 
her. He traced the outline of her face with his fingers, his eyes closed, 
gently caressing her nose and cheeks and ears. Like a languorous woman under 
an energetic man he yielded his body up to her promptings, letting her take 
him with her rhythms, her methods, her insights. 

"Yes," he whispered. 

The simple word was like a lash across her legs. She began to fuck him. Her 
knees dug into the bed and she rocked her cunt into him with a heavy beat. 
His knees came up to balance and grip her, and he put his arms loosely 
around her back. With each thrust he moaned, the sounds bubbling up 
involuntarily. Her own sounds began as excitement flushed her entire body 
and she started to flop around, her breasts slapping against each other, her 
head thrown back, her ass churning in all directions. 

She's going wild, he thought. 

The image, titillating and distracting, had the effect of a grain of sand 
dropped into the delicate works of a fine watch. At the high velocity at 
which they were operating, the thought upset the timing of their act. He was 
ripped away from the immediacy of his involvement like a child being torn 
from its mother, and the extraordinary fucking which had seemed so intensely 
real became at once an obscure activity indulged in by people with whom he 
had only a faint acquaintance. Like a careless participant at a peyote 
ceremony glancing up the sky to the stars and introducing some cosmic 
insignificance into the drama, he tasted, at the peak of his sexual 
pleasure, the fear of his own nothingness. Immediately his cock softened and 
shriveled into itself. As she felt it leave her she panicked and tried to 
grab it by contracting her cunt. But the sudden movement startled him and he 
turned his face to one side as he lost his power once more. 

The disgust he felt at himself was mirrored by the expression on her face. 
Before her humanitarian instinct made her understanding, she gnashed her 
teeth in frustration. Then she lay down on top of him and held him tightly. 
They moved into an embrace with the loving knowledge only possible between 
those who have fought many sexual wars together and have learned compassion 
through necessity. Without ever having articulated it as such, they shared a 
deep respect for the difficulties that man and woman share in any attempt at 
joining together. 

"I can't do any more of these tonight," she said at last. "You'd better come 
now." 

She edged off him and lay on her stomach next to him. She was offering her 
body to be used for his climax, knowing that when he became totally selfish 
in his fucking he was like a stoker pouring coal into the flames and she was 
more than happy at having her cunt be the oven he built his fire in. They 
looked into each other's face with the knowingness of ghouls. They grew 
serious. His eyes smiled. Her mouth pursed. He slithered on top of her, 
adjusting his position until her buttocks slipped perfectly into the hollow 
of his groin. She continued to hold his gaze, turning to peer at him from 
over her shoulder. She did not exhibit the least change of expression as he 
dangled his cock between her cheeks and trailed it over the entire curve. It 
hardened as he moved and when it was stiff he slid it between her thighs. 
She was watching him, and she tilted her ass up and altered the cant of her 
cunt to meet his desire. He pushed forward and the thick organ entered the 
pink hole. As he penetrated, her lids began to fall. He looked deeply into 
her, and she let him watch as the overwhelming power of the sensations in 
her cunt flooded the lighthouse of her associative intelligence. She went 
under, and until the very end watched him watching her succumb. 

Her head dropped forward and he gently bit the tendons along her neck. She 
raised her haunches until she was on her knees, her thighs pressed along the 
tops of her calves, her back a long ski slope, her arms along her sides and 
going inward to her fingers which fondled her cunt lips and rubbed her 
clitoris. She gave up all thought of everything, including the man who was 
fucking her, and stepped bravely into the most frightening solitude, the 
loneliness of bliss. 

She was wracked by four orgasms, each a jagged peak of tension which brought 
her to a pitch of paralysis followed by a long fluttering release. Like a 
man tipping his hat in the presence of a funeral procession, he toned down 
the raucousness of his thrusts into her bottom after each of her climaxes, 
but did not drop his rhythm. When she had spent the fourth time, he knew he 
would come soon, and pulled out all the stops. Each breath exploded in a 
harsh bark, his hands formed fists and flew apart into planes again and 
again, like a man grasping and letting go, grasping and letting go. He fixed 
his stare on the sight of his cock sloshing in and out with such vigor and 
her cunt completely relaxed, taking his fiercest plunges crazily. 

The trembling began in his thighs and swept up to his pelvis and then his 
spine, until he shivered from his knees to his head, the whole sinuous 
movement transmitted to her through the single energy focal point of his 
cock, which fucked her until she was white with screaming. He reared back 
like a man attacked by the flailing hooves of a maddened horse and let the 
sperm shoot from his cock in a series of bursts, spill out, and subside to a 
dribble, and finally he squeezed out as his pumping reflex continued and she 
gripped the shaft with her cunt, sucking out the last drops of fluid. He 
felt the exquisite pleasure that comes to the vampire's victim, the 
thrilling transfer of energy from one body to the next. 

Before he closed his eyes and collapsed beside her, he looked at her round 
mysterious ass and realized that if there were a dozen men in the room she 
could kneel like that for the entire night, taking one after the other, 
letting each fuck her until he came, allowing each of them four and five 
orgasms, until they were exhausted, and could then just rise, stretched her 
cramped legs, and feel as though, for once in her life, she had been 
properly satisfied. 


End
