BB-6492
The Babysitter And The Stud
by Stanley Baker


INTRODUCTION

What are the innate, natural, and unchangeable differences between men 
and women?

People will answer that question in various ways-but most of them will 
assume that there is a real answer. Very few will perceive that a 
scientifically accurate answer is totally impossible. A few profound 
philosophers in the past, however, have pointed out the flaw in the 
reasoning. The first of these, probably, was Plato; another was a great 
English thinker of about one hundred years ago, John Stuart Mill. Mill 
pointed out that we can know nothing about innate sexual differences 
because we have never encountered and been able to study a society in which
either men or women lived completely separately. From this obvious but 
rarely mentioned fact Mill deduced that we can't "know" what the pure 
"nature" of either sex might be. What we think of as female behavior, Mill 
stated, is the result of what he called the education of "willing slaves."

This reasoning has recently been followed up by Florence Howe, professor 
of humanities at SUNY College in Old Westbury, New York, and second vice 
president of the Modern Language Association. Professor Howe made some very
cogent points in an article in Saturday Review, adapted from an address she
gave to the Superintendents Work Conference, Teachers College, Columbia 
University, at the invitation of Columbia Women's Liberation.

"Children learn about sex roles very early in their lives, probably 
before they are eighteen months old, certainly long before they enter 
school," Professor Howe said. "They learn these roles through relatively 
simple patterns that most of us take for granted. We throw boy-babies up in
the air and roughhouse with them. We coo over girl-babies and handle them 
delicately. We choose sex-related colors and toys for our children from 
their earliest days. We encourage the energy and physical activity of our 
sons, just as we expect girls to be quieter and more docile. We love both 
our sons and daughters with equal fervor, we protest, and yet we are 
disappointed when there is no male child to carry on the family name."

Obviously there is a double standard. Equality of the sexes has been 
talked about, but it has never actually existed and it does not exist now. 
And who is to blame for this? We all are, but the blame can be assigned 
largely to certain institutions.

Professor Howe says: "How much blame should be placed on public 
education? A substantial portion, although it is true that schools reflect 
the society they serve. Indeed, schools function to reinforce the sexual 
stereotypes that children have been taught by their parents, friends, and 
the mass culture we live in. It is also perfectly understandable that 
sexual stereotypes demeaning to women are also perpetuated by women —
mothers in the first place, and teachers in the second-as well as by 
men-fathers, the few male teachers in elementary schools, high school 
teachers, and many male administrators and educators at the top of the 
school's hierarchy."

It is only when we consider such problems as this very seriously that we 
realize how big a battle the Women's Liberationists have on their hands. 
There is no evidence of any kind that men are naturally "superior" to 
women, but all the evidence indicates that society has placed them in a 
superior position, and the way that society is set up naturally operates to
keep them there.

Cynthia Hall, the heroine of At His Command, is by no means a Women's 
Liberationism Indeed, in her short life she could have had very little 
opportunity to be. As the story opens, Cynthia is only sixteen, and is 
working as a babysitter for the rich banker, Josh Gorman. Josh's brother 
Paul seizes the opportunity to take advantage of Cynthia and seduce her, 
and the pattern is set for Cynthia's unhappy future life.

Cynthia is obviously unsophisticated and naive, and her reaction is to 
feel that in some strange way she "belongs" to Paul. She will do anything 
he tells her to do, and some of his commands are humiliating in the 
extreme. Thus she becomes a classic example of the female victim-a victim 
of one cruel man, but also a victim of the society the advocates of Women's
Liberation are struggling so valiantly to change.

Whether or not Cynthia ultimately accepts her fate makes for an exciting,
suspenseful story. Integral to that story is a closely woven, minutely 
detailed picture of contemporary America-a picture which lifts the book 
above the level of just another entertaining novel. It may be superfluous 
to point out that the author, Stanley Baker, is a man. We find it 
interesting to note, however, that he is a man in his sixties who has had 
exciting adventures of his own in almost every corner of the globe and who 
has arrived at his own very positive philosophy of life. That philosophy 
enlivens and enlightens 'The Babysitter and the Stud'.

—The Publishers


CHAPTER ONE

"Suck it, damn you!" His hand slapped her swollen face for the third 
time. Dazed, unsure of what she was doing, she groped for his jutting prick
and ringed the big head with her lips. The hand slid around to the back of 
her neck and he drove his horn into her mouth until she felt the bushy 
crotch hair tickle her nose. "There, bitch! Eat it all!"

* * *

The seduction of Cynthia Hall took place when she was sixteen. It was not
exactly rape, because she consented to the first part of the act and helped
carry it out For her age, she was well-developed, with good legs and tight,
proud breasts which cried out to be eaten; a pretty girl, attractive enough
to make men look back when they passed her on the street. She had managed 
to remain a virgin until this night when the strange man who said he was 
her employer's brother let himself into the beach house where she was 
babysitting. Apparently, he had not expected to find her there but he 
merely nodded before going to the liquor cabinet under the bar and helping 
himself generously "to Scotch.

"I don't remember you," he said then, leaning on the bar and rattling the
ice in his glass. "You're not family, are you?"

After she had explained that she was watching the children and that his 
brother and sister-in-law had gone to a concert in town, he nodded again. 
This time his eyes lingered awhile before-he looked down at his drink.

"Are the kids asleep?"

"Yes. They're upstairs. I have a phone number you can call to contact Mr.
Gorman if you like."

"No. Let it go. Josh and I haven't been such good friends lately. I'll 
wait and talk to you. You're pretty."

Afterward, when it was top late, she realized that she should have left 
immediately. But he seemed so polite and the way he was looking at her made
her feel grown up and important. When he asked when the children's parents 
would be home, she told him between midnight and one.

"They told me not to let anyone into the house before they left," she 
added, "but I didn't really, did I? You have a key, so I guess it's okay."

He must be over six feet, she figured while she was talking; somewhere 
around thirty and good-looking in a careless sort of way. Now that she had 
rationalized the situation and lost her first feeling of guilt, she was 
becoming interested. After all, he would not have a key to the place if he 
were a thief or a burglar and as Mr. Gorman's brother, although he was 
younger and bigger, he must be a gentleman. Mr. Gorman was president of a 
bank and highly respected. Besides, he was very attractive and it was a 
drag, even at a dollar an hour, sitting there all by herself. There was 
nothing good on television and the records were all old. She had been 
trying to get interested in Doctor Zhivago when he came in. For a minute, 
it occurred to her to wonder how he got to the bungalow. The place stood by
itself, away from any neighbor. His well-shined shoes did not look as 
though he had walked. There was no sand on them, so he must have a car, 
although she had not heard a motor.

"My name's Paul," her interesting visitor announced. "You can call me 
that if you like." He glanced at his wristwatch and Cynthia noticed the 
diamonds marking the hours. Maybe he was a banker like his brother. "It's 
only a little after nine." He smothered a yawn and went back behind the bar
to the liquor cabinet and refilled his glass. Carrying the fresh drink in a
well-manicured hand, he came across and sat down beside her on the couch. 
He did it so easily that she did not move to make more room. He drank, then
looked up at her. "Want one?" The question was just as casual as the way he
had sat down. He rattled the ice again and took another swallow.

"Oh, no." Her refusal was automatic. Her parents were very down on 
liquor. Her father would kill her if he merely suspected that she had drunk
anything stronger than a Coke. She had sneaked a few glasses of beer at 
parties, mostly in bedrooms with the door locked, but she had never tried 
what some of her school friends called "hard stuff." All the same, quick 
curiosity made her answer sound a trifle unconvincing.

"Why not?" This time he undressed her with his eyes. "You look old enough
to take a drink and I won't tell a soul, cross my heart."

When she hesitated because she did not know what to say, he set his drink
down on the coffee table and got up to mix another.

"I made it weak," he said when he came back. "It's mostly ice and soda. 
Try it."

He handed her the glass and sat down a bit closer, so that his knee 
brushed against her thigh and sent an involuntary thrill through her as she
obediently sipped the Scotch. It tasted like smoke and she did not 
particularly like it but she couldn't back out now. If Dad could see me, 
she thought mischievously, he'd slap me silly. Now she felt even more 
important, drinking with a handsome stranger who had just let his hand fall
on her knee while he looked her over appraisingly and asked, "You're not 
afraid of me, are you?"

"No." If anything, she liked him even more for asking. He was a 
gentleman, after all, just like Mr. Gorman. His face was a little bit hazy 
and she wondered if it was the-liquor taking effect. She was not nervous 
anymore. Instead, she had an exciting feeling of being alive all over. 
Everything was beautiful.

She finished her drink quickly, then surprised herself by holding out her
empty glass. Her voice in her ears sounded very grownup. "Make it a little 
stronger this time, please, Paul."

* * *

She awoke without realizing that she had been asleep. She knew she must 
have dropped off, though, by the way things had changed. The two glasses, 
empty, stood side by side on the coffee table. She was lying on her back 
with her head on a cushion and Paul, Mr. Gorman's brother, had his hand up 
her short dress and was tugging to get her pantyhose down.

She had barely understood what was going on when the tight nylon slipped 
over her buttocks and Paul put an ungentle finger in her cunt She'd had her
pussy felt before but never this way. Instead of trying to push his finger 
all the way in, he worked it quickly over her clitoris with a stroking 
motion which sent waves of excitement chasing each other through her crotch
and up her back until she wanted to cry out to him to work faster. In spite
of herself, she raised her buttocks, pushing against that wonderful finger 
and feeling the nipples of her tits harden at the increasing pleasure. 
Then, before she knew it he pulled her away from the back of the couch so 
that he could get a knee there and was on top of her, giving her plenty of 
weight and arching up to get his hard prick where his finger had been. He 
held his horn in his hand, moving it up and down and sideways, parting the 
blonde hair and the lips of her young cunt until the flaring head entered 
her slick vagina. Then he took his hand away and thrust into her like a 
bull into a heifer and for a moment she thought she would faint with the 
pain.

It only lasted for a moment and when it stopped, she lay back, feeling 
his hardness inside her and loving it. She wanted to move up and down and 
feel his prick going in and out but she was afraid she might annoy him and 
spoil everything. Patiently, she waited until the throbbing in the head 
stopped and controlled herself enough to lie still as he began to fuck her 
slowly and deeply.

She often wondered what a man's prick felt like and listened to her girl 
friends as they described the sensation. Most of them had agreed that a lot
depended on the size of the cock and how the guy handled it. A few decided 
that the size did not matter, emphasizing the buildup as the important 
thing. "If you get your tits well sucked and his tongue on your clitoris 
before he does it, the rest is pure pleasure," one of them had insisted. 
But words were useless to describe how Paul's horn felt ploughing in and 
out of her stretched pussy, coming right out a couple of times but plunging
back again without losing a stroke.

She kept perfectly still until she could stand it no longer, then began 
to work with him, holding her breath, afraid that she would make a mistake 
and spoil the terrific thing that was happening to her. "I don't need any 
buildup," she kept thinking as she raised up to meet his deep stroking, 
then let her buttocks sink back into the couch as he withdrew for another 
thrust. "Buildup... buildup"... the words fell into rhythm as he humped his
cock up her so hard that the couch creaked protestingly, then pulled back 
to plow her young tightness afresh. "All I need is his weight on me and his
prick filling me."

Unlike the majority of her schoolmates, who overtly confessed to 
masturbating, Cynthia had never played with herself to the point of orgasm.
Now and then, after a party or a dance, she had fingered her cunt 
tentatively, always stopping short of climax. This was not because she was 
cold or dispassionate. It was just that she was waiting for something 
better than her finger or the awkward advances of dates who tried to make 
her in some lovers' lane and were surprised and outraged when she slapped 
their faces. Now it was happening to her, as she had dreamed it would. And 
it was wonderful. She took a split second to be thankful that she had 
waited, instead of giving herself to some clumsy lout who probably would 
have jumped off as soon as he finished and suggested they go get a 
hamburger.

The thought of finishing excited her. What did it feel like to come, she 
wondered? Did the man quit then or did he keep on? All the time these 
thoughts were running through her mind, she kept moving in time to Paul's 
regular pumping. Tentatively, she put a hand on his buttock and tried to 
pull him further into her but he slapped her wrist, a bit angrily, she 
thought, and so she took the hand away. Did the girl feel it when the come 
squirted into her vagina? Was the stuff hot, as some of the others had 
hinted? She knew that semen was sticky, because one of the girls who liked 
having her tits sucked before being screwed had said so. "It's just like 
mucilage." Cynthia could hear her now above Paul's hard breathing.

She forgot to wonder anymore as a tremendous feeling grew inside her. It 
was a little like having to go to the bathroom at first; as though she must
get rid of something before it became too terrific to bear. The feeling 
grew and she knew now that she was going to come completely and, she hoped,
endlessly. She closed her eyes and her fingernails dug into her palms and 
there was nothing but their quickened breathing and the glorious feeling 
centering around that hard prick ploughing in and out of her pussy, faster 
and still faster, until she thought that she would faint with the pure 
ecstasy of it This was it a corner of her consciousness told her; the end 
of the coupling when the man shot his come as deep as he could plant it and
the girl lay back and received it This was why people fucked, to build up 
to a climax which was like nothing she had ever imagined.

When she first felt his thick hardness opening her cunt, even the 
momentary pain of losing her cherry had been good and as the big head went 
on deep inside her stretching passage, she had thought that nothing could 
be more wonderful. But this awakening, as though she had been sexually 
asleep until this moment, Was so terrific and its impact so powerful as to 
be even a little frightening, that she found herself sobbing and biting her
lips until she could taste the blood.

Because she felt that she must, she raised her legs and tried to cross 
them over his back. One of her shoes came off as he reached back and hit 
her knee almost savagely and she dropped her legs because he seemed to want
it that way. For a second, she lay quite still, feeling the desire mounting
through her as he shortened his strokes and the feeling grew and grew as 
the big head of his horn punched harder and deeper in quick jerks. When she
could not stand it a moment longer, she moved her buttocks, keeping time, 
meeting him and subsiding and meeting him again. She came, as the whole 
room seemed to explode around them, and she could hear her heart beating 
like a loud hammer. The couch creaked again as he thrust deeper into her 
than ever. Then, before she realized it in the ecstasy which possessed her,
he pulled back and took his wet prick out of her twitching cunt, squirting 
his semen on the uncovered patch of her stomach above the damp hairline.

For a second, she kept on coming, then stopped suddenly as though someone
had turned off a faucet Uncertainly, she opened her eyes, with a horrible 
sense of letdown, and watched his hand moving as he stroked the last drops 
of come into her pussy hair and deliberately wiped his stiff cock on her 
pantyhose.

It was then, while she stared in disbelief, that he slapped her the first
time. It was not a very hard slap, but a ring on his finger bruised her 
cheekbone and stung enough to bring tears into her eyes.

"Here!" he growled, frightening her still further. "You goddamn slut, 
this is all your fault getting stoned and showing me your fucking prissy 
ass. So take a suck at my cock and if you bite, I'll choke you!"

That part of it being slapped around and abused and made to obey him, 
remained with Cynthia for a long time. She had loved it when he fucked her 
and might even have forgiven him for cutting her off when she was in the 
middle of coming. Now, as he slapped her again, she knew that she hated 
him. Or did she, really? She was too scared to protest or try to get away. 
The door was locked and he'd be on top of her before she could get it open.
That would mean another beating. He might even kill her.

The wet head of his prick looked enormous as she opened her mouth and she
hesitated, thinking that she would not be able to take it between her lips.
That was when he slapped her for the third time. Dimly, through the quick 
tears, she noticed a big pearl of come in the eye. In spite of herself, she
wondered what a man's semen tasted like. Some of the girls had mentioned 
that it was salty. She shut her streaming eyes and felt the softness of the
head slip between her gaping lips. She was surprised at the velvet 
smoothness. The shaft of his standing horn was as hard as a stick, but the 
head, the wonderful thing which had played with her clitoris before he 
drove it into her, was like satin.

She tasted the come as soon as she began to suck him. It was salty, slick
on her tongue like thick oil. All of a sudden, her resentment retreated and
she felt new excitement as he pushed his cock so far into her mouth that 
she almost gagged. She swallowed twice convulsively, finding that she could
breathe through her mouth if she timed it properly and the nausea went 
away. As though he had told her, she began to explore the head with her 
tonguetip and this seemed to please him. He put a hand on either side of 
her face and fucked her mouth for a few long strokes before stopping to 
enjoy her instinctive tongue work.

My God, she thought, what would my folks say if they could see me sucking
a big prick and playing with a pair of balls which felt like slippery hen 
eggs? And worse, she was liking it more and more. Her-face still stung a 
little where he had slapped her but now it was a pleasant pain, part of the
choking sensation when she took him too far back in her throat, an exciting
accompaniment to the smarting in her distended mouth corners. Without 
realizing what she was doing, she put a hand down between her thighs, 
feeling the wetness of his squirting as she found her clitoris with a 
finger. It was hard, standing like his horn, a little cock in its own 
right. She had just begun to rub it gently when he pulled her hand away and
made as though to slap her for the fourth time, then apparently changed his
mind and cursed her instead.

"Dirty little bitch!" he called her harshly. "Stop fucking yourself and 
get on with it I'm going to splash come all over your face for that."

Why was he being so hateful, she wondered? What had she done wrong to 
make him treat her like some sort of an animal? True, she had let him take 
her and loved it but wasn't that what he wanted, even if he did spoil it 
all by coming on her thighs and stomach instead of inside, where she wanted
so much to take his spending? Maybe, she decided in a dim sort of way, men 
got that way when they were hot to screw.

Once, at her uncle's farm, she had peeked through her bedroom window and 
watched a horse jump on a mare. The horse had a huge prick and balls, she 
remembered, and while he was trying to find the mare's cunt he kept biting 
her neck as though he was in a terrible rage. Then he found the mare's 
pussy and drove his long cock into her and the come was still spurting when
he pulled it out Perhaps men and horses got mad when they fucked.

There was no answer to that and she stopped wondering about it as her 
tongue slid under his cock head and he began to fuck her mouth again, 
slowly this time, with shorter strokes. Oddly, his evident enjoyment, 
compared to his anger when she fingered her pussy, stirred her and she felt
her neglected clitoris throb and a feeling ran down her thighs as though 
someone was rubbing them with hot peppers.

She wanted to come again but stifled the urge because she was not sure 
how he would take it Holding back could be exciting, she found. Every time 
she moved her tonguetip under the head and into the eye, the impulse to 
reach climax became like an itch that she could not scratch and she kept 
hoping that he would come and not notice what she was doing, so that she 
could put her finger down again. She was sure that as soon as she touched 
her clitoris it would trigger her off and the itch would go away. In the 
meantime, all she could do was suck and lick and move his foreskin back and
forward with tight lips and try not to gag when he pushed his horn into the
back of her throat and held it there while his bunchy crotch hair tickled 
the end of her nose.

Fucking in the mouth was called "frenching," she had learned from some of
the guys who had tried to make her in their cars after a dance or a movie. 
Some of them had come right out and asked, "Do you go bareback or do you 
french?" At first she had not known what they meant and now she was glad 
she had not investigated. Paul, even though he seemed mad, was teaching her
like the kids could never have done. His hard prick in her mouth seemed to 
tell her what to do. Suck, nibble, work the foreskin, make with the tongue 
over and under the head, lick the eye; it all came as naturally as though 
he was directing her. By now she had learned that the most sensitive areas,
the ones which when titillated and tickled quickly and lightly made him 
hold her face and move his prick as though he was going to squirt his come 
right down her throat, were the eye and the underhead, where the loose 
tissue bunched in a little ruff just behind the deep cleft. Every time she 
ran her tongue over the ruff or explored the eye, he jumped a little and 
started to screw her mouth. Several times, he held her face so tightly that
her cheek where he had slapped her stung like fire but she did not care.

Perhaps, she pondered, the mare had felt the same way when the horse bit 
her. Maybe sex was pain, after all. She had read somewhere that there were 
men and women who had to hurt or be hurt before they could enjoy screwing. 
Was she one of them? Did the slapping and the cursing really belong to some
sort of studied buildup, to enable Paul to do his thing?

Her nipples under her thin bra were hard and demanding like her standing 
clitoris and she suddenly hoped that he would take them out and bite them 
until they bled. More pain would not matter. Indeed, it might make him 
finish all the sooner if he made her suffer an additional pang or two. In a
kind of desperation, she sucked harder, trying to draw the come up from his
balls so that she could taste it in her throat and perhaps be brave enough 
to swallow it. Several of the girls she knew frankly admitted to eating 
come. A couple of them Would not let the guys fuck them in the pussy but 
they liked to suck their boyfriends off. "You can't get pregnant that way, 
any more than if you got screwed in the ear," one big blonde had mentioned.
"Only I like it in the tits best."

He was taking a long time, she thought, He came much quicker when he was 
doing it in her cunt and immediately she felt guilty, afraid that she was 
missing something and that he would get angry with her again. Too scared to
look up because that would mean letting go of his prick, she tried to 
squint but only managed to get a close-up of his white shirt and the black 
hair showing through his open zipper.

"Harder! You're slowing down, you lazy slut!"

She barely heard him and the order seemed to sink into her mind of itself
but her response was immediate. She realized that she had been holding his 
horn, circling it behind the head with thumb and forefinger in an 
instinctive measure to prevent him choking her with too long a stroke. Now 
she took her hand away and drew as much of the hard shaft into her mouth as
she could, until she felt the head stretching her tense throat. Not knowing
why but wanting desperately to please him, she began to make swallowing 
motions and at once she felt his steadying hands on her face and his prick 
moved in its foreskin between her lips.

He must be pleased with her, she hoped, and now it was up to her to make 
him come and get her own thing when he shot off. Would he remember his 
threat of squirting all over her face to punish her for fingering her 
clitoris? If he did, she could stand that, too, but it would be so much 
more exciting if he unloaded his semen in her mouth. That wish brought 
additional fear that she might upchuck and disgrace herself.

He was squeezing her face so hard now that she could feel his ring 
digging into her cheek. His prick took up a rhythm of short, jabbing 
strokes, as it had done in her pussy before he pulled it out. He was on the
edge of coming, she knew. To help him, she tried to tighten her lips around
the plunging shaft, holding her tongue flat so that it rubbed the underside
of the head as it went in and out of her mouth. She felt it twitch just 
like the horse's great cock had done before he shoved it into the mare and 
the urge to rub her clitoris was growing so that she could barely fight it 
down.

"Suck! Damn you, suck!" His voice sounded hoarse and she felt his knees 
trembling. She had released the sack of his balls to put her hand between 
her legs. Now she felt for them and tugged at them and rolled them between 
her fingers, noticing in spite of her rising excitement that they had 
shortened up to the base of his prick and were not hanging down like when 
she first played with them. If anything, they seemed to have grown larger 
and she wondered if that was because they were full of come.

One of his hands left her face to press against the back of her head and 
now the bunchy hair was jammed so tightly against her nose and lips that 
she could barely get enough air and the room and the furniture began to 
spin around in a crazy whirling pattern. Don't let me pass out, her mind 
kept saying, please God, don't let me do that and miss it all.

She was coming herself but now that was a secondary sort of thing, pushed
back by her desire to drink his come, to swallow what he pumped into her 
throat as fast as he put it there. That way, she would belong to him 
forever.

"Little bitch! You thought I had forgotten, didn't you?" The words seemed
to be coming from a long way off and they were running into one another so 
that she barely understood what he was saying.

Then his hand came away from the back of her head to circle his prick as 
he took it out of her mouth. She saw the hand rubbing frantically before 
she was fully aware of what he had done. Then the first jet of warm semen 
caught her under an eye, quickly followed by fresh squirtings until she was
almost blinded and could feel the cloying stuff in her nose when she tried 
to breathe.

"There! That's for trying to fuck yourself instead of taking care of me."

The voice tapered off. The room spun harder than ever. She sobbed a 
couple of times and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she was 
alone. The only sign that she had really had a visitor lay in the two empty
glasses on the coffee table.

She sat up and checked her wristwatch. It was after midnight. Mr. Gorman 
would becoming back anytime now.

There was a bathroom downstairs and she pulled her pantyhose up and 
managed to get onto her feet. She felt dirty and her face still ached where
he had caught it with his ring. The cold water refreshed her and she 
straightened her clothes and ran a comb through her hair, feeling a lot 
better physically but still downcast and unhappy when she thought of how 
she had been treated. "Like I was a dog or something," she whispered.

Her cheek was still puffy and she went back into the living room and 
carried the two-glasses over to the bar and washed and dried them. When the
children's parents drove into the garage, she was rubbing her face with a 
piece of ice.

"Well, well, here we are!" Mr. Gorman appeared to have had a few drinks. 
His wife just smiled and went upstairs to look at the children. Cynthia was
grateful that her employer was a little stoned. On the way home, he did all
the talking. It kept her mind off what had happened. She did not mention 
Paul. She wanted to do a lot of thinking about him.

CHAPTER TWO

The following week, with no particular feeling beyond a sense of 
excitement, Cynthia agreed to baby-sit again for the Josh Gormans while 
they took in a show. That morning she ran into Paul in the street and was 
not quite sure why she had fallen all over herself to tell him where she 
would be.

"Get the damn kids to bed early," he ordered brusquely. "I can't let the 
little bastards see me because they'll tell their mother. She hates my guts
enough as it is."

At nine o'clock both children, after a vigorous game of tag around the 
living room, were sound asleep upstairs. Cynthia had about given up and was
wondering if she dared sneak a highball at the bar when a key rattled 
briefly in the front door and Paul walked in.

"I waited until I saw the light go out in the bedroom." He kept his voice
down on purpose. He had another man with him and, as both of them came over
to the couch where she was sitting, she saw that the second man was black.

"This is Vivian." Paul waved a hand at his companion. "He's got an 
eight-inch prick and he's going to stick it into you up to his black balls 
as soon as we have a drink."

The announcement was so deliberately brutal that Cynthia put a quick hand
to her mouth and felt her cheeks burning and Vivian looked embarrassed. 
Paul turned away and headed for the bar. "I'll mix you one, too," Paul 
flung over his shoulder. "It'll make you hotter and you'll come faster. 
Isn't that right, Viv?"

When his friend made no answer, he merely shrugged and poured Scotch over
the ice in three glasses and came back with them circled by his two hands.

"Take yours," he grunted at Cynthia, "and don't say I never did anything 
for you. Anything outside of fucking you, that is." He laughed softly at 
his own joke and motioned to Vivian to sit down. Cynthia, holding her drink
so tightly that her knuckles showed white, found herself wedged in between 
the two men. Neither, however, made any move to touch her.

"Here's to rape." Paul held his glass high, then swallowed the Scotch in 
a couple of quick gulps. "Come on," he said to the black man. "We haven't 
got all night." He turned to Cynthia. "You, too. Drink up. Then get out of 
your clothes, all of them. I want to see what white meat looks like lying 
under black."

Her hand trembled but she managed to get most of the whisky down before 
he took the glass out of her fingers. "That's all you get. Now off with the
threads. When I come back, I want to find you naked from your toes to your 
chin. You do the same, Viv. We'll have a ball. That is, two balls and one 
pussy."

He cradled the three glasses in his hands and took them back to the bar 
and Cynthia watched him pour another Scotch neat for himself as she began 
to fumble nervously with the zipper of her dress. It was in the back and 
she was all thumbs until Vivian leaned over and started the zipper down for
her. "Don't panic," he whispered. "I'm not going to hurt you, white baby."

They were undressed to shorts and panties when Paul decided he had had 
enough to drink and came back to the couch. "What the hell?" His voice 
sounded a little blurry. "You can't do anything that way." He reached over 
and hooked a finger in the elastic of Cynthia's panties and pulled them 
down around her trembling thighs. "There!" he said triumphantly to Vivian. 
"What did I tell you? How's that for light pussy? Now let me see you cut 
it."

As though she were someone else looking on, Cynthia watched while Vivian 
shed his jockey shorts, then gasped when she saw the big penis. It was only
half hard but it stood out from the kinky crotch hair and was longer and 
thicker than Paul's. As she stared, its owner put a hand around it and 
stripped the foreskin back and she gasped again when she saw the pink head,
all moist and ready for action.

"Horse-fuck her the first time." Paul seemed to dominate his friend 
completely. "And don't forget to pull out before you squirt. I don't want 
to come in your come, hear?"

Now, in spite of the shock which Paul's crudeness and the sight of that 
great black cock had given her, Cynthia felt her clitoris hardening and a 
delicious sensation which ran up her spine and made her shudder. She wanted
to be screwed, hard. She would have liked Paul better but as long as he was
there, looking on, it would be almost as great And from his last remark, he
intended to take her after Vivian was through.

Still not quite certain what she was doing, she turned her back on both 
of them and knelt on the couch, with her face resting on her arms at one 
end. "Hurry," her mind urged Vivian. "Put it into me now."

She felt the couch give under his weight as he knelt behind her and put 
one hand under her bare buttocks to lift them higher. Then his thumbs 
spread them wide and now his big cock head was doing the same to the lips 
of her wet pussy. She winced with pleasure as the top of the head slipped 
over her standing clitoris and slid back to align the hard shaft and gather
more lubrication. When it came back, quicker this time, she was ready for 
it and pressed against it and a good half of the big horn went into her 
vagina before retreating for a third try. The next time she bit her lips 
and moaned a little as Vivian, true to Paul's prediction, put it all inside
her quivering pussy right up to his black balls. His crotch hair felt like 
bristles in a brush tickling her rectum.

After the initial pain of the first stretching, when she thought that the
black prick was going to tear her up, she gave a little cry of protest when
it drew back almost to her clitoris once more, because she thought he was 
going to take it out. "Don't stop now!" Her mind was clamoring again. Then 
she subsided with a sigh of pure pleasure as it slipped up her again, 
deeper this time, until she fancied she could feel the insistent head 
punching against the mouth of her womb.

She felt a third hand on her buttocks and imagined dimly that it must be 
Paul's. He must be watching Vivian's stick-hard cock stretching the lips of
her cunt. The mere thought that he was watching Vivian take her gave her a 
further thrill. Although the prick in her was not his, somehow it seemed to
make him a party to the action and she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to 
believe that it was Paul fucking her steadily, in and back, like a piston, 
balls banging into her ass every time it went home, then lifting to hammer 
again at the next long stroke.

She was trying to imagine the look on her employers' faces if they came 
in and caught them, when Vivian grunted softly and began to pour the prick 
to her in shorter, more rapid strokes. She sensed that he was on the edge 
of coming and took the unconscious brakes off her clamoring desire because 
she wanted to come when he did. It wouldn't be Vivian she finished with, of
course. In her mind, it would always be Paul and Paul alone. A corner of 
her mind took time to wonder why she felt that way. Was it, as she had 
heard somewhere, that a girl always subconsciously came with the first man 
who had screwed her? Was it really that? Forever after, even if she got 
married, would she be able to close her eyes and imagine it was Paul's 
prick in her instead of her husband's? With all her remaining clarity, she 
fervently hoped it would be like that.

Then she forgot everything else but that she was going to come. The great
horn in her was plunging back and forth in inch-long strokes and the heavy 
balls slapping her crotch felt harder and tighter. A long shudder shook her
and she gave herself up to complete sensation. Then, just as she arrived at
ecstatic climax, the swollen prick slid out of her vagina and she felt hot 
come squirting over her back. The immediate effect was as though someone 
had thrown cold water over her. Too far gone to stop, she jerked her crotch
convulsively a time or two, then buried her face in her arms and began to 
cry in great sobs which Paul deadened by pushing a pillow over her head.

"Shut up, for Christ's sake." There was a fierceness in his hoarse 
whisper that made her stop weeping. Something that felt like a handkerchief
was wiping the sticky come off her back and buttocks and when she opened 
her still streaming eyes and rolled over, Paul was already kneeling between
her spread legs with his stiff prick in his hand, ready to plunge it into 
her. "Hush up or I'll slap you like I did last time," he threatened. "Next 
thing, the damned kids will wake up. You know what that will mean. Open 
your legs wider."

Halfway between tears and pleasure, as he pushed his prick up her 
dripping vagina and let his weight down on her, she put both arms around 
his neck and impulsively kissed him. "Do it to me right," she begged in a 
small, pleading voice. "I don't care if I get pregnant. Come in me, 
please."

"Cut out the horseshit!" He took time to rub his lips where she had 
kissed him Then he put his full weight on her and held her flat while he 
drove the full length of his erection into her relaxed vagina until their 
crotch hair met and tangled. "Do it right, did you say?" he muttered in her
ear. "Where do you want it? Up your ass? I'm going to screw you so that I 
like it and you'll like it too or else. Just so you'll know."

She barely heard him. After the disappointment of Vivian pulling out just
when she was coming, the letdown had gone into reverse as soon as Paul's 
horn plowed into her. Now she was coming again and everything was great 
because it was really him and not somebody else. Oh, God... was all her 
tumbling mind registered. It was coming. The thrill was flooding into her 
ass and all the way up her spine so that her ears were ringing.

It was over quickly, leaving her breathless but happy and her wet pussy 
twitched around his stiffness as though in gratitude for what he had done 
to her. She wanted to kiss him again but held back because she was afraid 
of how he would take it Instead, she hugged his neck and put her unsteady 
legs around his waist and let imagination take over again.

Was he in love with her, she wondered. She had read somewhere about men 
who had to hurt a woman in order to show their affection. But, if he did 
love her, would he have allowed another man to touch her? There was no 
answer to that; only the steady thrusting of Paul's hardness over her 
clitoris and deep inside at every stroke and the thump of his balls in her 
crotch as though he was hammering them together.

She strained up to meet him, careful not to spoil the timing, even in her
inexperience knowing that if she broke the regular rhythm, he might slip 
out of her and that would spoil everything. She felt herself getting ready 
to come again but deliberately pushed the urge away, biting her lips, 
hoping that the pain might help her to wait for him. It was wonderful to 
reach climax but incomplete when one did it alone. She remembered the 
ecstasy, in spite of her slapped face and near panic at what was happening 
to her, when he screwed her last week and she had come big and long as soon
as she felt his hot come shooting into her raped pussy. That surely, was 
the only way to go.

Anything else was just buildup to be able to enjoy the real thing all the
more for knowing the loneliness of coming alone. She must wait until he was
ready, even if she bit her lips through while holding off. Another thought 
came to her. One of her girl friends had told her that men enjoyed doing it
much more when the girl finished at the same time. That was what she wanted
Paul to feel; to enjoy her thoroughly so that he would come to her again.

Why did the man have to shorten his strokes toward the end, she asked 
herself. And why did his balls seem to get harder and colder the longer he 
screwed, right when he began to breathe louder and do it quicker? They 
seemed to be all alike. Vivian had got that way just before he uncoupled 
and now it was happening to Paul. She could hear his hard breathing in her 
ear and he was putting more and more weight on her, while the couch 
underneath them creaked at his faster stroking. She could stop chewing her 
lips now, she told herself. In a few seconds, he would come and she could 
come with him.

The very thought of feeling that hot juice of his again made her meet his
flurried stroking even more vigorously and he growled at her and pushed her
shoulders down, holding her with his strong hands and putting all of his 
hurried weight on her so that all she could move were her fingers and toes 
while he fucked her deeper and deeper. Out of the corner of an eye she 
caught a blurred glimpse of Vivian. The black man was playing with his huge
penis, stroking its standing hardness while he watched the action. She 
forgot about Vivian as Paul grunted and instinct prompted her to dart her 
tongue into his ear. At once, he lifted himself off her nakedness, holding 
himself up on stiffened arms and looking down, deliberately watching his 
prick screwing in and out of her twitching pussy. She had a quick urge to 
see it but when she raised her shoulders to glance down the length of her 
body, her tits got in the way and all she glimpsed was a patch of dark 
crotch hair before he muttered again and slammed her back down.

"Keep still, you bitch." She heard him that time and now his abuse 
sounded wonderful, instead of frightening her. She wanted him to call her 
everything; "whore,"

"cunt,"

"cocksucker,"

"prick eater," anything that had to do with fucking and being fucked. 
Even the term "bitch" made her think of dogs screwing and her excitement 
grew until she thought she would pass out with the sheer ecstasy of it. 
"Come!" her mind urged him. "Come, darling, give it to me before I flip and
miss everything."

As though reading her prayer, he hunched back on his heels and slid both 
hands under the small of her back, knocking her knees away so that he could
lift her bodily while he drove the prick to her even faster. That lasted 
for less than half a dozen strokes. Then he seemed to lunge into her in one
long, glorious thrust and the urgent semen squirted deep in her cunt as she
hugged him down on top of her again and came with him as though she would 
never finish.

She was panting so hard that she did not feel him get off her. She did 
hear his slippery horn come out of her with a little plopping sound. Then 
she closed her eyes, still breathing as though she had been running and let
herself dream. Now she loved him. He could do anything to her and she would
love that, too.

She jumped and opened her eyes as the ungentle hand slapped her shoulder.
"Get up, slut!" Quite bewildered, she made out that it was Paul, standing 
over her and drinking whisky out of a glass in his free hand. He was 
getting ready to slap her again when she pushed up on her elbows and 
obediently slid around so that she could get her bare feet on the rug. 
Sitting there, shivering a little now that the excitement had drained out 
of her, she waited for him to tell her what to do.

He looked at his watch, then said, "Get your clothes on, just in case 
that stuffed-shirt brother of mine and his asshole wife show up early. Fix 
your face and hair. Put everything back on except your panties. Move."

Nothing about him frightened her anymore, she realized. She wanted him to
be rude to her. Perhaps that was what made her love him so; that and his 
wonderful prick which made her come a little every time she had thought 
about it during the past week. She had even locked herself in the bathroom 
at home and tried to remember every detail of that first time while she 
masturbated herself first with her finger, then with the smooth nozzle of 
her mother's douching syringe. The syringe was longer and thicker than her 
finger and felt more like his hard penis when she rammed it into her pussy 
all the way, then let it come back to play over her clitoris until she came
until her knees were shaking. Then she had washed and dried the syringe 
carefully before putting it back in the cabinet.

She forgot and was stepping into her panties when Paul snatched at her 
wrist. "Damn you, can't you hear? I told you to leave them off. Viv-and I 
are going to have a little fun before we go." He dropped her wrist and took
a deep swallow of Scotch while he watched her wad the offending panties up 
and slip them under a cushion. His frown relaxed a little as she fluffed 
the cushion and patted it back into shape. "You're learning." The words 
were a switch but his tone held a sneer. "One of these days you'll be 
worthwhile fucking, damned if you won't Now haul your white ass over to the
bar and fix me another drink. I'll need something to brace me while I watch
Viv do his stuff."

He held out his empty glass and she tried not to show any confusion as 
she took it and walked a little stiffly over to the bar. Her pussy ached a 
little, probably, she thought from the stretching it had received by the 
black man's huge erection, but it was a good ache.

She fumbled with the Scotch bottle, then remembered to put more ice cubes
in the glass first. She had never mixed a highball that way but she had 
watched Paul. She overdid the whisky and when she took the drink over to 
him, he sipped, then pulled a face. "Christ! What are you trying to do to 
me? Get me smashed so you can he rid of us? Go back and put two more ice 
cubes in it and swizzle it around." He tried the drink again when she came 
back, then nodded. "That's better. Now kneel on the couch like you did 
before and pull your dress up. You ready, Viv?"

"Never readier. Give me a pull at your glass first." The black man held 
his hand out.

"You son of a bitch, you drank it all." Paul looked ruefully at the 
remains of his drink when Vivian handed it back. "When I told you I'd get 
you some young white pussy, I didn't include all of my brother's Scotch. 
Now get your big cock hard and go to work."

"Can't get it any harder or it'll snap off." Vivian took it out of his 
open fly and skinned the foreskin back all the way. With a black hand still
cradling his penis, he looked up at Paul. "Beauty, isn't it?" A taunting 
note came into his voice. "You may be white, man. You may even have more 
money. But when it comes to peter, you ain't in my class at all."

"Don't pull any shit," Paul snapped. "You get fresh and you'll be behind 
bars for the rest of your life."

The cockiness left the other as quickly as it had showed. "I didn't mean 
anything. Making a joke, man, that's all."

"Joke my ass. Now shut up and do what we agreed."

Vivian fingered his thick prick while he looked at Cynthia on the couch. 
He saw Paul nod to her and obediently she got on her knees as she had done 
the first time and reached back to pull her dress up.

The sight of her white buttocks seemed to be too much for the black man. 
He skinned his great erection once again, then held the foreskin back from 
the pink shiny head and put a quick knee on the couch behind the waiting 
girl. He left his other foot on the rug, bending that knee slightly to line
his flaring horn with the crack between the firm, naked cheeks, opening 
them with a thumb and guiding his prick with the other hand.

She felt the sudden pressure of the head probing her crotch and braced 
herself to receive a second straining entry, hoping and yet not caring 
whether the huge cock hurt her as it had done the first time. From 
somewhere far away, it seemed, Paul spoke derisively. "Remember the rules, 
Viv. We don't want any striped bastards running around, do we?"

His companion merely grunted and slid his free hand around her hip to 
pull her up a few inches. Now the hard erection was prodding insistently 
and some drops of sticky fluid that she thought might be come lubricated 
the spot just behind her ready pussy. Why was he taking so long, she 
wondered? Last time he had entered her like a dog taking a bitch. Three 
strokes were all he had needed to get right up her. Now he seemed to be 
hesitating. And what had Paul meant about "striped bastards?" Was he going 
to pull out once more and leave her all up in the air while he shot off on 
her butt?

She got the answer in the next second. Now the probing head was going in 
but, to her sudden consternation, it was not pushing up her pussy. Instead,
it was opening the tightness of her rectum. Just as she realized what was 
happening, the black man drove harder and she screamed in spite of herself 
as her sphincter closed around the back of the head. The pain was shooting 
through her in sharp waves and she almost fainted as he pushed harder.

She knew she couldn't take all that hard prick in there. It was just too 
big and long. It would tear her wide open. Desperately, she tried to 
wriggle away from the prodding horn. It felt like a stick being shoved into
her. She had never felt such pain in her life.

Her tormentor pulled her closer and she knew his tense fingers were 
bruising her thigh where he held her against him. With her mind reeling, 
she realized that she could not get away. He had her at his mercy, to do 
with as he pleased. "Stop him, Paul! Please, please!" She did not know 
whether she said it aloud or just thought she did. When no answer came, she
era-, died her face closer in her arms and began to sob convulsively.

Something had happened. The terrible pain was going away. Had Paul come 
to her rescue after all? She managed to turn her head and saw his blurred 
figure standing by the couch. He seemed to be laughing as though at some 
good joke. Then she heard his voice, unsteady but jibing at Vivian.

"So you couldn't hold it, you horny bastard." He broke off to chuckle, 
then jeered afresh. "How about your big horse's dong now, eh? So I'm not in
your class? Let me tell you something. When I screw, I run a good show. I 
don't jab and jitter and blow my nuts like some high school harry until I'm
good and ready. I don't believe you even got all the head into her ass."

"Did too," Vivian protested sulkily. He said something else but the 
relief after the ordeal, during which she was afraid she was going to die, 
was so great that she did not listen. Slowly, as though her mind were 
coming back from a long trip into misery, she figured out what had 
happened. Unable to restrain his eagerness to take a white girl in the ass,
the black man had come prematurely. She could feel his come trickling 
through the hair on her pussy and her rectum was sodden with the gooey 
mess. Now she was safe. Whatever else Paul made her do, it could not be any
worse, she told herself, than what she had just been through.

In sudden rebellion, she swiveled around, trying to keep her dripping 
butt off the couch and, without looking at either of them, went to the 
downstairs bathroom and locked the door. She removed her miniskirt and was 
relieved to see that, although it was a little creased, none of the semen 
had soiled it Methodically, she flushed the toilet and when the water in 
the bowl leveled off again, she sat on it and washed between her legs until
she was clean. When she came out, with her face fixed and her hair combed, 
she looked as fresh as when she had come to work.

Paul was leaning on the bar, with a new drink cupped in his fingers. 
Vivian was sitting on the couch, looking unhappy. The black man did not 
have a drink, she noticed. Paul must have cut him off. She marched over to 
the bar and perched herself on a stool, surprised at her sudden temerity. 
"Fix me a Scotch," she said, forgetting to say please.

Paul looked at her quickly, then further surprised her by putting his 
glass down and reaching for a clean one. He scooped ice then poured the 
Scotch, and stirred it. Then he made a little mocking bow as he handed the 
drink over. "Like I said," he grinned, "you're learning fast. Just play 
along and you'll be all right. I like a broad with spirit."

The rest of his speech blurred away in an alcoholic maundering. He was 
quite drunk but steady enough physically. He leered at her as she sipped 
her highball, then looked at his own glass and picked up the almost empty 
bottle. He replaced the bottle on the bar and straightened his jacket. 
"Come on, big lover," he said to Vivian. He teetered a little as he peered 
at his watch. "Time to go." He looked back at Cynthia, who was recovering 
her panties from under the cushion. "If my bigshot brother wants to know 
where his booze went, tell him the fucking termites ate it."

The black man got up, not looking in her direction. He seemed unhappy. 
Paul must have blasted him again while she was in the bathroom. He must 
have something on Vivian, she thought, to be able to threaten him with the 
law.

They left as suddenly as they had come and she finished dressing before 
going over to the front door and locking it after them. A car started and 
then the only sound was the hiss of the surf on the beach.

CHAPTER THREE

A mile out of town, a sign reading "Motel Vacancy" threw red-and-blue 
neon across the highway and Paul slowed the borrowed car to pull in. "Stay 
put," he ordered Cynthia. He had picked her up half an hour ago, three 
blocks from her house.

He got out and went into the office and she tried to make herself as 
small as possible while she waited, afraid that she might be recognized and
these stolen intervals with him would come to an abrupt end.

He came back and got in and drove slowly, reading the cabin numbers until
he found the one on his key. There was a stall alongside the cabin and he 
backed the car in. "Think you can stand getting fucked for about three 
hours?" he inquired conversationally as he switched off the motor and 
opened his door. "Come on. We haven't got all night. I believe you've been 
riding your finger, just thinking about it."

She got out without answering, but the familiar thrill ran through her 
deliciously as she waited for him to lock the car and open the cabin door. 
She saw the Scotch bottle in his hand as he went in ahead of her and picked
up the phone and ordered ice. When he turned around, he grinned at her 
maliciously while he broke the seal on the bottle with a thumbnail. "I 
thought you'd be in your skin by now," he jeered. "You've been hot to trot 
ever since I picked you up."

He turned away to answer the door and take the ice bucket. He only opened
the door a crack and did not say thank you. But that was Paul. By now, she 
had learned to expect nothing and everything from him, depending on the 
mood he was in. And she didn't care, one way or the other, even when he hit
her. In fact, a few slaps made doing it all the more exciting. However, she
had enough intuition to keep playing it cool and not to appear too eager. 
She knew she could not play hard to get. He would simply have pushed her 
down and raped her. Inexperienced as she was, all she could do was play it 
by ear and keep up some appearance of reticence. That way, she might be 
able to keep him coming back. So far, it had worked.

This was the third time they had been together and from his remark when 
they got out of the car, the evening promised to be as thrilling as ever. 
And this time, she had him to herself, with no friend to worry about. The 
fact that she had lied to her mother, pretending that she was babysitting 
again, did not weigh on her conscience. As far as she was concerned, 
starting on that first night when he had taken her cherry at his brother's 
place, Paul was all that mattered.

She was unfastening her brassiere when he came over and handed her a 
drink without speaking. She sipped it, wondering how anyone could really 
like Scotch, while she stepped out of her panties and kicked off her shoes.
The whisky warmed her and she drained the glass, rattling the ice as she 
had seen him do to get the last drop.

He finished his own drink as she put the glass down on the night table. 
He stood for a minute, taking in the freshness of her young figure, eyeing 
the firm, proud breasts and the flat belly and the triangle of silky hair 
at the crotch between the enticing thighs. He did not look at her face. She
had noticed this before. Evidently faces, once he had decided that they 
were not actually repulsive, did not interest him as much as what he 
inelegantly called "the meat."

He stepped closer and took one of her nipples between thumb and finger 
and pinched it until she shrank back with a little gasp. "So!" He grinned 
at her without mirth. "Touchy tonight, eh?" Deliberately, he pinched the 
other nipple between thumbnail and forefinger, then abruptly walked over to
the only chair and took off his own clothes. He folded the trousers 
carefully in their creases and hung them on the back of the chair. When he 
turned around, Cynthia was stretched out on the bed, shivering a little in 
spite of herself but not daring to cover herself until he told her what to 
do. Taking orders from Paul, she had already realized, sharpened her desire
in the same way that slapping thrilled her, even while the pain lasted.

"Let's see." He stood beside the bed, looking down at her while he 
stroked his chin in mock indecision. "I had planned to show you a few new 
things tonight. Actually, there's nothing new in fucking. It's still a 
question of push and come, no matter how you slice it. But there are a few 
positions which make it more interesting. Get up."

Dutifully, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat, waiting.

"Suck my prick while I figure out the first one," he said casually, as 
though he had asked her to fix him another drink.

She put a hand out and took his penis-that wonderful horn which had taken
her virginity-and felt it grow harder in her warm hand. She kissed the head
twice before taking it between her lips and let her tongue play underneath 
and in the big eye, feeling her clitoris throb almost unbearably as she let
the head slip back into her eager throat.

"That's enough," he said, after a minute. "I'm not going to feed the 
jizzum to you yet you cannibal bitch. Come on over to the chair."

She followed him, waiting until he took his slacks and found a hanger for
them. Then he sat down, with his prick standing up almost against his 
belly, and motioned to her.

"Face me and spread your legs over mine," he directed. "Fit the head of 
my cock into your cunt as you sit."

Obediently, she straddled him, fumbling until she got his erection lined 
up, then sat slowly, shuddering with pleasure as the hardness slipped up 
her until it was completely buried. "It's in me," her mind repeated. "All 
of it." Unconsciously, she moved up and down, getting the full sensation of
being fucked, until he put a rough hand on her shoulder.

"Cut it out," he grunted. "What are you trying to do. Jack us both off?"

She froze at once and waited to see what he wanted her to do. His hard 
prick throbbed in her pussy and she was hard put to it to keep still. Only 
because she felt completely dominated by him did she sit quietly. But she 
could not control her pussy. It kept twitching around the shaft of his horn
and she felt as though she would come at any second.

Presently, he began to move his hips in a half-circular, screwing motion 
and she knew then why fucking was sometimes called that. He had enough 
strength to lift her weight a little, so that his prick moved up and back 
in her pussy a couple of inches each time. In between, he kept the circling
motion up until she could not hold back any longer.

Her cunt twitched harder as he slapped her shoulder. "Okay, cocksucker," 
he growled. "Let it go before I blow my nuts. Make it snappy."

It was like being released from exquisite, unbearable torture. But even 
in her frenzy, she was careful not to let his horn come out. She stroked up
and down over the whole length of it, gasping as though she was drowning 
every time the swollen head touched, her hard clitoris, faster and faster, 
until she finally stiffened and lay against him and came as though she 
could not stop.

She stayed there, resting against his bare chest feeling deliciously 
spent while she wondered dreamily if he had come with her. When he slapped 
her thigh and she reluctantly got up, she noticed that there was no pearl 
of semen in the eye of his penis and guessed that he had held back on 
purpose. "Why?" she asked herself. "Didn't I do it right or is he getting 
tired of me already?" The mere thought made her want to bawl. Then she 
remembered what he had said about not wanting to blow his nuts yet. He must
be saving up for something else he had in mind. The thought made her feel 
better and excitement returned in a sudden, wonderful wave.

"Get back to bed," he snapped at her. "Lie across it, with your ass at 
the edge."

He made himself another drink while she was arranging herself on the cold
sheet. He did not offer her one. She wondered if it was the whisky that 
kept him hard. Or could men keep an erection indefinitely? She had no way 
of knowing.

He crossed over to the bed and she felt herself seized roughly and jerked
nearer the edge, so that her buttocks hung over a little. Then her thighs 
were pushed apart and he lifted one of her legs against him until her heel 
was resting on his shoulder. Then, as she described it to herself later, 
"He walked into me."

She remembered him fitting his prick between the open lips of her cunt 
while he pushed her other knee away. Then the length of it opened her up 
until the hair of their crotches met Never, she thought afterward, in all 
their fucking, had she ever taken a hard cock so deep inside her. Even 
Vivian's enormous prick had not gone in that far. She could feel his cool 
balls crowding into her crotch, covering her rectum. She had all of him. 
There wasn't any more.

He fucked her slowly, all the way back and deep in again and almost at 
once, she was ready to come again. Perhaps the thought that he had given 
her his whole length quickened her desire. This time, she did not wait for 
permission. Instead, she dug her fingers into the sheet beneath her and 
came in great, trembling waves of ecstasy. The effort left her breathless 
and she closed her eyes when it was over, seeming to drift away on a 
blissful trip to nowhere.

His harsh voice, like a drill master's she had heard at the ROTC parade 
ground, brought her back to reality. "Go to sleep on me, will you?" Almost 
immediately, his flattened hand caught her across a cheek and she opened 
her eyes to see him glowering at her. She was so startled that she just lay
there, looking up at his angry face. Her cheek stung but she kept her hands
still. In spite of herself, she was finding a growing curiosity in 
wondering what made this man tick.

His penis was still as hard as a stick and again there was no telltale 
drop of come in the eye. He must have held back again. Perhaps if he did 
come, he might get soft. "No, please," her mind begged. "Don't let that 
happen."

"What the hell are you dreaming about?" he demanded, frowning at her. "We
came here to fuck. Remember? Now move your ass and get up."

She sat up and wiggled around him and put her bare feet on the rug. At 
his frowning direction, she turned until she was facing him.

"Listen carefully," he was saying. "Put your hands on my shoulders and 
jump up with your legs around me. Understand?"

She nodded and pulled herself up until her wet crotch was level with his 
prick before opening her thighs and crossing her heels in the small of his 
back. She got a funny impression that she had done this all before. At any 
rate, it seemed natural to hang on and adjust the height of her pussy to 
his questing cock. He was holding it in his hand and just as she crossed 
her heels, she felt it plow into her and slide all the way up.

She bit back a stupid impulse to laugh at the thought of being fucked in 
the air, because that was what it amounted to. Instead, she hugged his neck
as she felt him grasp her buttocks with both hands and begin to screw her, 
pushing her away, then pulling her close, in and out until she wondered how
his back could take the strain. But then, wasn't he her man who could do 
anything? With that thought, she began to follow his rhythm, moving with 
him until he growled at her to stop.

"Keep your ass still, you stupid slut! Stay quite or I'll drop you flat."

After that, she just clung to him until the flooding rapture swept 
everything else out of her mind and she came for the third time, gloriously
and completely. She dropped her legs finally and stood, still hugging him 
and resting her flushed cheek against his shoulder. For a hopeful second, 
she thought he was about to lower his face to hers. Then, with a brusque 
movement, he pushed her roughly away. The edge of the bed caught her knees 
and she fell on her back across it, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes 
damp with sharp disappointment.

She heard him go over to the dresser and smelled the pungent Scotch as he
sluiced some over ice and swirled the cubes to stir it For a minute, 
everything was quiet except for a single car speeding along the highway. 
Idly, she wondered if its occupants had been on a fucking party, too. His 
voice seemed a long way off when he spoke again. Evidently, the whisky had 
mellowed him a little and he did not sound so gruff.

"So far, you've had all the fun," he told her. "I'm just the hard cock 
that makes you come, right? But you better remember all you're learning. 
I'm not going to show you again."

He came back to her when he had finished his drink and ordered her to 
suck his penis again. It was not quite as hard now and she rolled over to 
reach him and opened her mouth wide and took the length of it back into her
throat as though she were trying to swallow it. She felt it throb in 
response as the head slid back and instinct prompted her to release it 
almost to losing all of it, so that she could get in some quick tongue work
and probe the flaring eye.

When it throbbed again, she knew she was doing the right thing. She tried
brushing the rougher surface of her tongue across the top of the head, 
licking hard while she worked the foreskin back and forward along the shaft
with circling thumb and finger. Now it was hard again and when he pushed 
her face away, the head glistened and appeared to be bigger than ever.

"Lie flat on your back," he directed. When she complied, he rolled onto 
his side, facing her, and pulled her free leg back over his hip. Then he 
raised his knee, holding her that way with her buttocks against his belly 
while he steered his erection between the lips of her slick cunt.

As soon as the head passed the labia and pressed against her clitoris, he
grunted and heaved and at once his horn disappeared and there was only fair
crotch hair merged with dark between them. His penis was like a rock and it
hurt her when he thrust it in. As before, when he had dragged her over to 
the edge of the bed and walked into her, it was so deep that she could feel
it nudging against the button of her womb. It felt so wonderful that she 
wished it could go in there, too.

This was the fourth time he had taken her in as many positions and she 
wanted him to come with her so badly that she deliberately fought down her 
excitement, telling herself she'd make like a whore and just lie there and 
let him fuck her until he was ready. This resolution faded quickly when he 
pulled her closer and took her nipple between his teeth and nibbled at it.

For a second, knowing him, she waited for him to bite hard. Then, when he
merely sucked it lightly and teased it with the tip of his stiffened 
tongue, reaching at the same time for her other tit and cupping it in his 
hand, she breathed easily again and gave herself up to the sheer enjoyment 
of his cock cutting her pussy and the indescribable thrill which made her 
clitoris stand like a little penis in its own right.

The sensation was so wonderful that she did something then that she had 
not thought of before. Slowly, so that he might not see and stop her, he 
put her hand down and found her clitoris and pushed it gently with a finger
until it was rubbing against the moving shaft of his horn. The result was 
so gratifying that she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out Now, 
instead of having to wait until the top of the head came far enough back to
engage her clitoris, it stayed in constant contact with the back and forth 
movement.

If he felt the pressure of her finger, he took no notice. Even when she 
gasped and bit her lips again and came in a frenzy of twitching and 
crowding back against him, all he did was push her away ungently, as though
he was tired of her. She knew that he had not reached an orgasm. Four times
she had reached a climax and all he had done was fuck her, as though his 
prick was a piece of wood ramming into her and nothing else. How could he 
stand it, she marveled when the surge of emotion leveled off and she could 
breathe once more without gasping like an idiot. Was he really tired of 
her? If he was, she'd kill herself because she could not stand even the 
thought of losing him.

He said nothing for a full minute, lying there on his back with his wet 
prick standing straight up. The sight of it, hard and glistening even in 
the dim light, made her want to take it in her mouth again and suck the 
come out of him swallow every last drop of it. The urge was so strong that 
she actually put her hand out to touch it and rolled on her other side to 
face him. He grunted something that she could not hear and slapped her hand
away brusquely as he sat up.

She waited for him to leave her for the Scotch bottle and pour his 
between-fucking drink but he sat on the side of the bed, shaking his head 
slowly. "I must be getting old," he muttered more to himself than to her. 
"I nearly shot the works that time. Losing control. That's bad."

He sat there, mumbling to himself and presently she lifted her head high 
enough to sneak a peek and saw that, whatever he was blaming himself for, 
his erection was as hard as ever. He moved finally and looked down at her 
with a critical frown.

"I'm going to give you a treat," he announced but there was a scathing 
edge in his voice that belied his goodwill. "If I'm going to make a fucking
machine out of you, you might as well learn it all."

He stretched out on his back, with his penis standing up like a wooden 
peg and directed her to straddle his hips, facing away from him and kneel 
to get some spring in her knees, so that she could adjust her position at 
will. "Put it in," he said when he was satisfied with the way she obeyed 
him. "Get it up all the way, then lean forward and put your hands on my 
knees and fuck yourself with my prick. Catch?"

It was easy, she found, and terrific. Now she could control the length of
his stroke in and out and take care of the speed and timing. As long as he 
stayed hard, she could ball to her heart's content. It was a bit lonesome 
at first, because all she could see of him were his legs and feet. At the 
start, she was nervous, afraid that she would make a mess of it and get 
chewed out or beaten. Then she looked down and saw his rigid length moving 
in and out of her like a piston. It was the first time she'd had a chance 
to watch herself getting screwed and the sight drove the nervousness and 
everything else out of her mind.

A jingle she had read somewhere kept running crazily through her head. 
"We love to hop on pop... on pop... on pop... " She had hopped on him, all 
right, crotch deep. Deliberately, she pressed down and watched his entire 
prick disappear, then slide back again as she eased up to allow the head to
find her clitoris. After a minute of this, she repeated the trick and had 
used before, holding a finger against her clitoris and pushing it down 
against his moving horn. His prick looked funny until she realized what she
was looking at the underside of it and that depressed clitoris was sliding 
in the groove instead of on the top of the head. AH the same, it felt 
dreamy and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to recapture the 
sight of his hardness plunging in and out of her pussy as she moved up and 
down.

Another thought struck her, probably the result of his screwing motion 
when he took her in the chair. She experimented half fearfully, purposely 
leaning sideways and then, when he made no protest, rotating her buttocks 
and moving around his erection as well as up and down the length of it. The
combination was so wonderful that she almost forgot to breathe.

This had everything, she decided. It felt as though she were using his 
prick to bore a hole between her legs, a new hole in addition to the one 
where the friction was merely up and down. She hung onto the impression 
that she was being fucked by two cocks at the same time. It was a delirious
sort of feeling and she wondered if she could come twice to satisfy both 
demands.

It was too much. After a minute or so, she stopped the circular motion 
and raised up enough to let his solid prick come out into her hand. She 
stroked it a couple of times, then bent closer to fit the eye around her 
clitoris and hold it there, rubbing it sideways and rotating the shaft as 
she moved gently in the opposite direction. Unable to stand it any longer, 
she eased the hard shaft back into her twitching pussy and fucked steadily 
while she played with his bunched balls.

She had never had a chance to more than touch his testicles when she was 
sucking his cock. Strangely, they were always cool while the rest of him 
was warm and exciting. Almost shyly, she played with them, moving them 
against each other in their puckered sack, noticing how slickly they rubbed
together under her fingers and wondering if the bag was full of semen 
waiting to spurt into her when he finally decided to come.

A man's external sex organs were no mystery to her by now, but what went 
on inside was a closed book. Vaguely, she remembered some of her school 
chums trying to explain how semen was made in a male testicle and stored in
this gland or that, she could not remember which, until a valve 
automatically shut off his urine when he was ready and he came in the 
woman's cunt instead of peeing. It was all very complicated, like the 
process of becoming pregnant about which she had read in Biology II. In 
spite of her rising excitement, she felt quick fear nudge her as she 
thought of becoming pregnant. Her mother evidently did not use 
contraceptive pills. A diligent hunt through the bathroom cabinet and her 
parents' bedroom had failed to turn up anything in that line. With a chill,
she remembered Paul telling Vivian about the striped bastards and she 
missed a stroke thinking about it.

The fear was still somewhere in her consciousness when she felt Paul's 
hands come under her arms and his fingers groping for her tits. Now he was 
moving under her, thrusting up from the mattress as she came down. His 
balls were all drawn up around the base of his cock and sack containing 
them was smooth instead of staying puckered. Behind her, she could hear his
hard breathing and guessed that he was about to give her his hot juices at 
long last.

The realization that in seconds she would feel the spurting semen 
flooding her greedy cunt made her fuck faster and shorten the strokes as he
did when he was calling the play. There was no question about it now. He 
was working in time with her and his fingers were pinching her nipples, but
the pain only sharpened her eagerness and she was half sorry when he 
stopped playing with her teats and dropped both hands onto her stretched 
thighs to haul her down against his crotch.

He was doing the fucking now, rolling around under her flattened buttocks
and jerking up and down, his rigid horn drove in and out of her in 
inch-long strokes which jarred her so that she had to hang on to his legs 
to keep from falling off.

She had no need to guess the psychological moment in which he would come.
As soon as he began to tremble, she knew he was about to squirt and she 
tightened her bent knees against his thighs in anticipation, holding back 
until the split second when she felt the pumping action make his prick 
throb as though it were thinking for itself.

At the exact moment, a fraction of a moment before his semen reached her 
vagina, she pushed herself up and whipped his hardness out and rubbed it 
with a little moaning sound as she watched the lovely white come jet out 
over the sheet.

"You dirty bitch!" His fist hit her between the shoulder blades and 
knocked the breath out of her but she clung to his pumping horn until she 
could swivel around and lean over him to take it in her mouth. Semen 
splashed on her lips and she licked it off, then swallowed his plunging 
prick and kept her throat moving around the head while she drank the rest 
of his come.

"I was scared," she tried to explain. "If I get pregnant, they'll send me
away and I'll never see you again."

"I save it up so you can waste it, you stupid cunt." He looked up from 
the drink he was fixing and sneered at her. "Why d'you think I always give 
you a drink? Because I love you or some horseshit? That whisky has a pill 
dissolved in it You couldn't get knocked up if the whole Marine Corps 
fucked you."

He gulped down half the Scotch and regarded her distastefully. Then he 
shrugged and emptied his glass. "You're not doing too bad for a brat, 
though," he conceded reluctantly, reaching for his clothes. "Pretty soon 
you'll be able to hustle and then I can pimp for you."

CHAPTER FOUR

"Yes, Mr. Gorman. I'll tell her." Cynthia's mother hung up the phone. 
"That was Mr. Gorman at the bank," she said unnecessarily. "He wants you to
sit for them tonight."

Cynthia nodded. Paul was a good actor. He could mimic his brother's voice
enough to fool anyone. They had arranged it before he dropped her off the 
last time and she looked away, not wanting to meet her mother's eyes with 
the eagerness showing in her own. After what he had told her about the pill
in the Scotch, she was not afraid anymore. Excitement and anticipation 
would now drive her half crazy before it was time to meet him.

"Hi," she said, getting into the car quickly and leaning against him. He 
grunted something and turned a corner, heading back toward the center of 
town. She hunched down, hoping that no one she knew would see her and yet 
half hoping that some of her girl friends would recognize her so that she 
could brag at school the next day.

She looked at him inquiringly when he pulled over to the curb and tapped 
the horn but he had nothing to say. He reached back to open the rear door 
on his side and a man stopped leaning against a traffic signal to come 
over. He was a white man, she saw, smaller than Paul and younger. Then he 
was in the car behind her and she smelled perfume and wondered if he might 
be a queer.

Paul made an illegal U-turn, heading for the edge of town, in the 
opposite direction to the one he had taken the last time. Nobody said 
anything until flashing neon proclaimed a motel. Then Paul turned to the 
man in the rear seat. "Get out when I pull in. Pay for a room. And hurry. 
I've got a hard-on already."

The room turned out to be larger and better appointed than the cabana 
they had taken before. Paul backed the car into the port and got out. The 
other man keyed the door and went inside. So far, he had paid no attention 
to Cynthia beyond looking her up and down before he turned away.

"This is Charley," Paul said. "Did you order ice?"

Charley nodded and put a bottle on the dresser and went into the bathroom
to find a third glass. The ice arrived and he took it, then closed the door
and put the chain on. For want of something better to do, Cynthia was 
sitting on the bed, watching the two of them and wondering if she would 
have to take them one after the other or both together. There had been much
discussion between classes about how two men and a girl could do their 
thing together. None of her friends knew much about it and the general 
agreement was that the girl could suck one guy's cock while the other 
screwed her, then change over. Nobody came up with anything more.

She was considering Charley, who was not bad-looking, when Paul turned 
and motioned toward her. "See that?" he chuckled. "I've got her well 
trained, don't you think? Goes straight to the work bench, ready for 
action." He laughed and raised his glass. "Cheers. Drink up and I'll show 
you some other things about her."

He swallowed half his liquor in a single gulp, then picked up the third 
glass. "Take your medicine, pussycat," he said tauntingly. "Then get 
undressed."

,She drained the glass and the whisky nerved her to start taking off her 
clothes. She had not minded stripping in front of Vivian. She did not know 
why, unless it was because he was black. But she felt shy with Charley 
watching and turned her back to step out of her panties.

"Turn around." She felt Paul's hand on her bare shoulder and she obeyed, 
keeping her eyes down. "Look at that, will you?" There was a strange note 
of pride in his voice, as though she was something he had created 
especially for the occasion. "Just get an eyeful of those boobs, man. You 
never saw a better pair." He cupped a tit in his hand, pinching the pink 
nipple before he released it. "Nice flat belly." The hand brushed down over
her navel and a finger felt between her thighs and found her clitoris, 
making her open her legs a little in spite of her hesitation. "Good crotch.
Hair's like silk. Tight little cunt and enough ass to make it worthwhile."

His finger had lit a fire in her but she still felt like some prize 
animal as he pointed out her charms to his staring friend. "Cock hard yet, 
Charley?" He laughed again and took his hand away. "Get rid of those 
threads. There's work to be done."

He kicked off his shoes and unbuckled his belt. Beyond him, she saw 
Charley doing the same and a lively interest possessed her about what was 
going to happen. She did not care very much, as long as Paul was there. 
Maybe he would screw her while she sucked Charley's prick. She would leave 
it in this time and take all of his come as far up her pussy as he wanted 
to put it.

Both men were naked when she looked up. Paul's penis, she noticed 
happily, was already hard and standing. Charley's prick, a little shorter, 
was coming up fast as he looked at her.

"Match you for who does what." Paul took a coin out of his pants pocket 
and flipped it. He snatched it out of the air and slapped it on the back of
his hand. "Call it."

Charley called heads but it was tails. "I get first choice," Paul grinned
at him. "Let's see. We better leave the double bit until last, just in 
case." He came over to the bed and stretched out on his back. His horn now 
was standing straight up like a small mast.

"Come here," he snapped at her. "Sit on my prick and face the other way. 
Be sure it's in good before you lie back."

Dutifully, still keeping her eyes down, she knelt alongside him with her 
face toward his feet, then put a knee over his hips, catching his stiff rod
and working the head in between the lips of her ready pussy before putting 
her weight on him. Then she let herself down easily, feeling the hardness 
slip into her, loving every second of the wonderful sensation his cock 
always gave her. Although he had said nothing about his balls, she leaned 
forward with his horn stiff inside her and squeezed them gently as he 
directed Charley to stand close to the bed behind her.

"Now come back." His quick hand on her shoulder tugged at her until she 
was lying with her back on his belly and chest. When she turned her head, 
Charley's jutting cock brushed against her nose.

"Eat it," Paul grunted. As she reached for it and skinned the foreskin to
expose the moist head, he began to fuck her slowly, playing with her tits 
and moving up and back in her pulsing cunt in a lazy fashion which made her
impatient. She wondered if he was teasing her purposely, trying to make her
beg him to screw harder.

Charley's prick, shorter that Paul's, did not reach so far back into her 
throat and she found no difficulty in breathing while she let her tongue 
play under the head and up and down the shaft. She had learned to keep 
thumb and finger circling the prick between her mouth and the crotch. That 
way, when Paul fucked her face, there was no danger of him driving too far 
in and gagging her. Now she moved Charley's foreskin backward and forward 
as she sucked and got in her tongue licks, feeling his prick twitch in her 
mouth as he put a hand on her face and began to pump with her.

Paul had picked up the pace and was screwing her deeply instead of 
playing with her. Deliberately, she timed her own movement around his prick
to the rhythm of her hand on Charley's cock. After another minute of that 
technique, Charley's fingers slipped around to the back of her neck and he 
began to fuck her mouth in short, quick strokes. All she had to do now was 
watch the timing and keep her circling hand there so he would not choke 
her.

It was like a machine, her mind told her; some well-adjusted contrivance 
in which all the parts moved in perfect rhythm, each dependent on the 
other. The underside of Paul's erection was rubbing against her clitoris at
every shortening stroke. She knew she could not hold back much longer and 
she felt sure he intended to come with her.

Then, suddenly, the wonderful timing was interrupted as both men began to
screw like dogs, faster and faster. She held her breath until she felt 
Paul's hot semen squirt into her, then came herself with a deep sigh of 
contentment just as Charley shot off in her mouth.

Everything was too wonderful with the three of them coming together. She 
had decided to spit Charley's jizzum out but, unable to help herself in the
wave of emotion, she swallowed it anyway. She was still trying to clear her
throat when Paul pushed her off him and sat up. Charley had gone into the 
bathroom before Paul had finished coming. Now he came back, looking pleased
with himself.

"Best blow job I ever had... " he began and stopped. When Paul frowned in
mock reproval.

"Such language!" he protested. "I'll have you know that this young lady 
is still in school. She is not used to your coarse terminology. We call it,
"Kissing peter good night."

They both laughed and Paul got up and joined his friend. As she had 
figured, they made for the bottle and the ice bucket and poured two stiff 
drinks. She would have liked another herself. Come was exciting but it left
one with a sticky mouth.

They talked in low tones as they drank and she saw Charley nod a couple 
of times as though Paul was explaining something. She thought about getting
up and visiting the bathroom to dry herself and Wash her mouth out, but 
abandoned the idea as Paul put his glass down and came back to the bed.

"So!" He examined her critically. "You got fucked at both ends that time.
That's good. You can't get knocked up and come is like vodka, good for the 
digestion. Charley, come over here."

She reached out to stroke his penis, rubbing the wet foreskin to and fro 
until it got bone hard again. He fucked her hand a couple of times, then 
cleared his throat as though about to make a speech. "Ladeez and 
gentlemen!" he announced. "The famous Jizzum Trio will now present Niagara 
Falls."

Charley sniggered and fingered his prick, while Paul made her get up and 
sit in the chair, which he first pulled to the middle of the floor. "You 
got eaten last," he told the other. "Now it's my turn. You can do a hand 
job until you're ready to shoot. Play with her tits if you want to."

He walked around the chair to stand in front of her. Out of the corner of
an eye, she saw Charley screwing his hand. After a few strokes, he began to
feel her tits, keeping out of Paul's way.

"Suck me until I tell you to stop," Paul ordered.

She appreciated then what just a small difference in size made. She had 
to stretch her lips much wider to take his cock than she had done with 
Charley and yet there was apparently not that much variation in the two 
penises. She decided that the head of Paul's horn was larger around than 
Charley's, while the shafts were about the same thickness. Then she forgot 
to think anymore, giving her full attention to the job in hand.

She even loved the taste of his cock, she realized. It had a musky flavor
which thrilled her all over and made her clitoris get hard immediately. And
he always smelled clean, as though he had just taken a bath.

She sucked hard and moved her tongue quicker than usual because she knew 
he would stop her soon. In the meantime, just sliding her tight lips over 
the flange of the head made her think of it slipping into her pussy. Mouth 
fucking with the right person was almost as neat as doing it the regular 
way, she assured herself. The next time she did it, she resolved to play 
with her clitoris so that she could come when he did.

"Hurry, man!" It was Charley talking to Paul. His tone was strained. "I 
can't hold it in much longer."

Paul took her face between his hands and drove his cock back into her 
straining throat in one long thrust. Then he tapped the top of her head and
took it quickly out. "Ready?" he called to Charley.

"Ready. Let's go."

Before she realized what was happening, they were standing one on either 
side of her, each with his cock head in one of her ears. She could feel 
their hands bumping against her cheeks as they rubbed vigorously. Then, 
together, they pushed their prick in as far as they would go and shot off.

The noise was like close thunder as the spurting semen filled her ears 
and dribbled down over her neck. She felt sharp pain as it seeped in and 
welled downward, clogging the passages until she was deaf on both sides. 
Every time the stuff moved in there, new thunder rocked her until she could
not stand it any longer.

She sprang up, pushing Paul blindly out of her way and ran into the 
bathroom to wash her ears out, certain that if the thunder did not stop, 
she would go crazy. Behind her, she heard both men howling with laughter 
and the tears came because Paul had played such a dirty trick on her. Was 
there anything he would not do to humiliate her? With the screwed-up corner
of hand towel, she got as much of the come out of her ears as she could, 
then washed her sticky neck with soap and water and felt better.

When she came back, they were still laughing. Paul looked at her 
questioningly, then winked at Charley. "How did you like listening to a 
fuck?" he inquired solicitously. "That's what it sounded like when your old
man made you, only your old lady didn't listen hard enough."

They went off into fresh peals of merriment until finally Paul dropped 
ice into her empty glass and poured a generous slug of Scotch and held it 
out.

"Here," he jibed at her. "Get smashed. She's earned it don't you think, 
Charley boy?"

The other nodded, trying to keep his face straight and barely succeeding.
"She's okay." His accent was a bit blurred, either from the whisky or the 
merriment or both. Suddenly, she hated him.

The drink helped. She gulped it quickly, almost gagging at the first 
swallow, then feeling better as she finally got it down. Without looking at
them, she put the empty glass down on the dresser and crossed over to sit 
on the bed.

"Look at her," Paul commented. "All ready for more merry-go-round. Ah, 
youth, where is thy sting? No, that's wrong but you get what I mean, don't 
you, Charley boy? You can't wear 'em out at that age."

His companion nodded again, solemnly this time, then picked up the bottle
to see how much liquor was left. "Couple more rounds," he estimated. 
"Counting her."

"Piss on her," Paul answered brutally. "She's already one over quota. She
doesn't get any more."

Listening to them, Cynthia wondered if they realized that she was there. 
The whisky was making her sleepy and she felt like going home. She bit her 
lip as she realized that this was the first time she had wanted to get away
from Paul. But the ear business was still rankling. That had been dirty 
pool.

They were whispering again, she noticed. Then Paul grinned and came over.
She half cringed as he stopped in front of her, wondering what new 
humiliation he had cooked up. But his tone was mild enough.

"I'm pampering you by telling you this," he said, almost 
conversationally, "but you're going to enjoy our next number." He reached 
past her to get one of the two pillows and place it on the foot of the bed.
"Stretch out," he ordered, with the old arrogance again. "Lie on your back.
Get going."

When she was in position, he pushed her knees out of his way, kneeling in
front of her. "Put your feet up high." He nudged one impatiently. As she 
raised them, Charley reached over her head and caught both ankles and 
pulled them back. She had not heard him come up behind her.

Never in her life before had she been so helpless and, for a second, she 
felt panic flood through her and almost cried out Her head was pressed 
against Charley's belly as he leaned over her, holding both feet so tightly
that her buttocks were lifted off the bed and she felt as though her back 
was breaking. She was doubled so far backward that all she was conscious 
about, beside the discomfort, was the tightness in her crotch. It felt as 
though her rectum was sticking out while her pussy was closed so tightly 
that she was sure Paul would never get into her.

He must have sensed that she was uncomfortable; either that or his cock 
could not open her cunt, as she had guessed. He looked up, holding his 
erection in her crotch and grimaced at Charley. "There's no need to kill 
her," he growled. "Slacken up."

A lot of the pressure went off as the other loosened his grip and the 
circulation came back into her feet. The thrill from Paul's prick thrusting
into her was an anticlimax after the relief of being able to keep her back 
flat again. Then the surging desire to be fucked hard and deep possessed 
her and everything else went out of her mind except the steady drive of 
Paul's horn.

He was screwing her pussy deeper than ever, right up to the balls and 
back and in again, holding her tensed thighs lightly, supporting all of his
weight on his knees. From the look on his face, he was enjoying himself as 
much as she was.

She wondered what Charley, looking on and getting none of the action, was
thinking. He could not be masturbating because his hands were occupied. She
thought she felt his prick twitch against her head but was not sure. The 
hell with him, anyway. All she wanted was Paul and she had him, all to 
herself.

What did a man like Paul get out of fucking a kid like her, her mind 
inquired. Were young girls really tighter and hotter than older women? She 
had heard fellows at school talking. Some of them voted for young stuff and
others maintained there was nothing better than a woman who knew how to 
handle herself. What did they know about it, anyway? Paul could give them 
points and still beat them. She knew their style. Several of them had 
parked and felt her pussy but that was as far as they got with her. Some of
her girls friends who went all the way called them the hump-and-ham-burger 
lovers. As long as they got their thing, they had no regard for the girl. 
She was just a hole to come in. Then they had to eat so they could make 
more come. She closed her eyes and said a little prayer of thanks that she 
had waited for Paul.

She was breathing hard, on the edge of orgasm while he was still 
thrusting in long even strokes. She felt below her buttocks, trying to find
his testicles and play with them but they were out of reach. What was 
holding him? She moved slightly, thinking he might find it better that way.
Then she could not stand it a second longer. She came almost violently, 
fighting Charley's grip on her ankles as she jerked up and down in a spasm 
of ecstasy which was like sharp pain.

Paul stopped screwing her and held his hard prick as far inside her cunt 
as he could push it, letting her hot pussy twitch around it until she 
flattened out with a long sigh and was still. Then he took his prick out 
and put a foot back on the rug and stood up. She was certain he had not 
come with her, or if he had, it was a dry run.

She opened her eyes and glanced at his set face apprehensively, wondering
if she had done something wrong. But, almost mildly, he told Charley to 
release her before walking to the dresser to mix a drink.

For a moment, she thought Charley was going to take her. His cock looked 
as hard as a stick, standing up from his crotch hair so that the top of the
head almost touched his belly. Perversely, she wanted to rub it and watch 
him come. But he turned away and joined Paul and she changed her mind 
quickly. She still hated him for what he had done to her ear.

They took their time drinking. Neither appeared to be drunk, although 
Charley's voice slurred a little when he talked to Paul. She took advantage
of the respite to close her eyes again and dream.

In a way, it was wonderful to relax just in her skin, knowing that Paul 
would want her again soon. She wished Charley had stayed home. However, it 
was Paul who controlled the action, as usual. Charley only got what Paul 
gave him. She did not know which of them was responsible for figuring out 
the different techniques but she couldn't figure Charley doing it. He was 
plainly a follower, not a leader.

She fell to thinking about her favorite subject, Paul. Up until now, she 
had not taken time to realize how little she knew about, him. He never 
talked about himself. In fact, he seldom talked at all, except to order her
around and blast her when she annoyed him. For all she knew, he might have 
a wife and kids. The mere thought of another woman having him made her feel
jealous. She wondered if she dared ask him and decided against it. If he 
wanted to, he would tell her.

How he managed to live was another mystery. He did not appear to have a 
job, yet he always had money. Perhaps his brother paid him an allowance. 
Apparently, he did not own a car. The last time they had gone out together,
he had let it slip that the car he was driving had been borrowed. Tonight 
the car belonged to Charley. She had guessed that when they got out and he 
showed Paul how to lock the steering wheel.

They were talking louder now. She heard Charley say, "Let's do the double
bit now," and Paul's sharp answer telling him to hold his horses. That was 
the second time they had mentioned the "double" thing, she remembered 
wondering what they meant Then she decided that it was up to Paul. He was 
running the show. Charley was following his lead and she, she decided a 
little bitterly, was what she had been thinking a little while ago, a hole 
for them both to come in.

Paul rattled the ice in his glass and looked at the whisky bottle, then 
put his glass down and came back to her. "Our next number is called 
doggie-in-the-manger," he said, without smiling. "You're the doggie, so get
on your hands and knees and make like one. Catch?"

She was not quite sure what he wanted her to do and when she got on all 
fours in the middle of the bed, he made her turn around so that she was 
facing the foot, with her supporting hands on the edge of the mattress. 
"There," he muttered, studying her briefly. "You make a good bitch, bitch."
He beckoned to Paul, then got on the bed behind her and opened her buttocks
with his thumbs and drove his hardness into her cunt so fast that she 
gasped and looked around to see what was going on. "Get your head round," 
he snapped at her. "Take care of your end and I'll take care of mine."

Charley's hard erection nudging her mouth let her know what was expected 
of her and a bit wearily, she opened wide and let the head of his urgent 
prick slide between her lips until she had taken the length of it and his 
crotch hair was threatening to make her sneeze as it tickled her nose. She 
had a mad urge to bite it But men had bled to death, someone had told her, 
when their cocks were bitten. Besides, Paul would probably kill her. Then 
her resentment vanished before the growing rapture of him screwing her 
pussy and she tongued Charley's prick mechanically, not caring whether she 
did a good job or not as long as that wonderful horn kept plunging into 
her.

To her unspoken relief, Charley came almost immediately and this time she
spat the semen onto the rug before closing her eyes and putting her head 
down on her crossed arms. Behind her, Paul was laughing at Charley but not 
missing a stroke, even when he spoke.

"She got rid of you in a hurry, Charley boy. Now you can go into the 
bathroom and jack off while I finish."

The feeling was so wonderful that she drifted off into a state of half 
consciousness, half fantasy. She was a movie star, having sex with her 
leading man. She was Cinderella, being raped by the prince. She was a mare 
and Paul was a horse, fucking her with his heavy prick.

She came to earth in a hurry as he slapped her buttock. She thought she 
had reached a climax while she was dreaming, but she did not remember him 
coming. Was this another dry run? Or was he saving up for the "double" 
business, whatever that was?

"What the hell are you doing? Praying for more?" His voice was harsh and 
she wondered why he always had to be rude and insulting. "It's all over, 
you hot slut. You can get up and wash your mouth out."

She took his advice because her throat felt as though she had been eating
library paste. And all for nothing, for she had not got any sort of kick 
out of sucking Charley's penis. Why had Paul brought him along? To pay for 
borrowing the car, perhaps? It would have been much nicer if he hadn't been
there.

She was shivering as she sat on the edge of the bed and she pulled the 
quilt around her shoulders, hoping that this was it and she could go home. 
The whisky was finished, she noticed. Surely they had had enough excitement
for one night. They had their heads together, discussing something which 
seemed important. Paul was chewing ice. She could hear his teeth crunching.
She shrugged the quilt closer around her and bit her lip, trying for 
patience and hoping they would hurry.

It was a relief to her tensing nerves when Paul slapped his companion on 
the shoulder and came over to stand in front of her. "Sleepy, eh?" He 
hooked a finger under her chin and studied her face. She managed to keep 
her eyes steady on his until he took his hand away. "We have invented a 
final presentation, a kind of grand finale, which is guaranteed to wake up 
even a person in coma."

The jeering tone was so familiar by now that she did not expect anything 
else. Perhaps it was his way of being happy. "It's called Double Entry, 
like the bookkeeping bit. All you have to do, pussycat, is stand up and 
spread those lily-white legs. Then relax and enjoy it."

He turned back to Charley, who was rubbing something shiny on his 
erection. It looked lubricant of some sort, probably Vaseline. Paul took 
the jar and anointed his penis. It was suddenly hard again, she saw. When 
he talked to her, it was half limp. Now it stood out above his crotch as 
though it was made of bone.

"Come over here." He glanced at her and pointed to a spot in the middle 
of the floor. As she obeyed meekly, he found the coin on the dresser, 
flipped it and caught it deftly, covering it with his hand. "Heads takes 
long, tails takes round. Call it, Charley boy."

Charley came over to where she was standing and stood alongside her. He 
seemed to be checking their heights. Then he called heads and lost.

"See?" Paul left the sneer in his voice. "I'm unbeatable. You get round, 
like it or not. Ready? Go!"

She was so nervous that she was shaking when they reached her. Perhaps 
deliberately, Paul put it down to a chill. "You'll soon warm up," he 
grinned. "Little sluts who do this one sometimes catch on fire." His light 
slap on her cheek may have been playful but it stung enough to bring tears 
to her eyes.

"I won so I go first," he warned Charley.

Still ignorant of what they intended, she stood quite still and watched 
them take up their positions, Paul facing her and Charley behind. She was 
still trembling a little but now curiosity replaced a measure of her 
anxiety as she tried to guess what they had in mind.

Paul came closer until he was standing almost against her. He put an 
impatient hand between her thighs and shoved them apart. Then he took his 
lubricated prick in his fingers and worked the slick head between the lips 
of her pussy until it slipped inside. He had to stoop a little and bend his
knees to reach her crotch and he put a hand on her shoulder to steady 
himself as he called to Charley, "Snap it up. This is a ball buster." He 
stood there, with just the head of his horn in her pussy, waiting.

Only when she felt Charley's hand opening her buttocks did she tumble to 
what Paul meant by "Double Entry." Then the oiled prick forced her rectum 
open and she screamed with shooting pain as the length of it ploughed into 
her. Immediately, Paul drove his cock all the way up her cunt so that now 
she was hanging on two horns, front and back, sandwiched between the two of
them and feeling as though she was being split in half.

She sagged a little with the pain and Paul caught her under the arms and 
held her up. "Hang on to her," he said to Charley. "If she passes out, 
we'll put her on the bed and do it anyway." There was an exultant ring in 
his voice, as though he had been waiting for this moment all evening.

The pain eased and was pushed out of her consciousness by quick passion 
aroused and filling her mind in waves as Paul fucked her harder and harder.
When he was sure that she could stand again, he shifted his grip and held 
her close, pulling her against him with both hands on the backs of her 
thighs. Charley's prick in her rectum was now a sort of background effect, 
even pleasant, an accompaniment to Paul's thrusting.

Presently, sensing the strain which the difference in their heights was 
putting on him, she rested her arms on his shoulders, hugging his neck and 
standing on tiptoe so that he could straighten his back. Now he was taking 
her completely. Their crotch hair ground together every time he hauled on 
her thighs and several times Charley had to take a step forward to avoid 
coming out A delirious conviction possessed her. She was a handsome bitch 
and these two dogs were fighting over her. Actually, the imagined condition
was not too wild. First, Paul jerked her against him, then Charley pulled 
her back. The action speeded up as both men got ready to come.

Paul gave an extra-violent shove that almost knocked the breath out of 
her and called to his companion, "Can you feel my prick rubbing against 
yours, Charley boy?"

Charley was too busy to do more than grunt, "Man, it's too much. You're 
jacking me off."

Now she sensed the mutual action of the thrusting cocks for the first 
time. Sometimes they would enter her together. That was when the pain was 
worst, because then they opened her up more. She liked it better and it 
hurt her less when one went up while the other was coming down. That must 
be what Charley meant when he accused Paul of masturbating him. Vaguely, 
she remembered that there was only a thin partition separating a woman's 
vagina from her rectum and two hard pricks in either passage had to rub 
each other. It was almost the same as having two cocks in her pussy at the 
same time. The mere thought of that excited her further.

It was too good to last. The pain was a secondary thing now. All that 
mattered was the tremendous feeling. Would they all come together, she 
wondered? Would she be able to feel Charley's come when he shot off? She 
stopped thinking and leaned heavily against Paul, not moving, although the 
strain on her legs from tiptoeing was making her legs ache. It ended 
suddenly, even before she was quite ready.

"How're you doing?" Paul said over her shoulder to Charley. "Are you 
ready?"

"Yep. Let 'er go." The strokes in her rectum shortened and the pace 
increased. Then the first spurt of Paul's semen nudged her into climax and 
she came shudderingly as both her pussy and her rectum seemed to expand 
over the flooding juice from both plunging pricks, held hard into her until
both men had spent entirely.

CHAPTER FIVE

It had been five days since Cynthia Had gone with Paul and Charley to the
motel and she was almost sick with worry. Before he dropped her off that 
evening, he had promised to call, but since then she had heard nothing nor 
had she been able to run into him downtown, though she had haunted the 
street corner where she had met him before. Then, shortly after she came 
home from school, the phone rang and "Mr. Gorman" asked her mother whether 
she could baby-sit again.

She was so relieved that she dared to complain to Paul when he picked her
up and he set her back in his usual crude style. "You crazy little cunt," 
he growled at her, "do you think I've nothing else to do but fuck you? And 
how long is your old lady going to believe I'm my bigshot brother if I call
up every day? If you'd use your head half as well as you use your ass, 
you'd see what I mean."

She forgave him quickly, especially since he was alone. He was driving a 
new car tonight and she wanted to ask him if it was his but thought better 
of it, remembering that he did not like questions. Instead, she sat as 
close to him as she dared, reveling in the pressure of his arm, wondering 
vaguely where they were going and not caring. It was enough that they were 
together.

She had expected that they would go to a motel and was vaguely surprised 
when he turned several corners and finally stopped in front of a large 
house half hidden by a high hedge.

"What are you waiting for?" He leaned back into the car. "Come on. Get 
out."

"But-but I can't go in there," she protested in quick panic. "I'm not 
dressed and someone is sure to see us and fink to my folks."

He laughed spitefully. "I doubt that. The cats in there are not quite the
type to associate with your parents. And you'll probably find some who are 
not dressed at all. Let's go."

Still feeling uneasy, she followed him up the steps. When he opened the 
front door and walked in, she looked around quickly and was relieved to see
a roomful of couples wearing street clothes. There was a bar against the 
back wall and most of the stools were occupied. Some of the assembled 
guests stood around in groups of two and three couples and others kept 
coming in and going out of a doorway to Cynthia's right. It seemed to be 
just an ordinary crowd and she felt easier as she looked them over.

Paul allowed her to take his arm and he led her over to the bar and found
two unoccupied stools. "Scotch on the rocks," he told the barman. "Make 
mine a double."

She sipped her drink and looked around interestedly. "It's quite a 
party," she ventured. "What a lot of people."

Paul rattled the ice around his glass and grinned. There was a 
mischievous air about him and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing.
"You haven't seen anything yet," he informed her. "Stick around awhile."

She was finishing her drink when a youngish man with a flushed face 
caught her eye and came over. He pushed in between them without a 
by-your-leave, turning his back on Paul and letting his eyes rove over 
Cynthia's lush figure. "Why, you're just a kid." He seemed startled and 
looked around at Paul. "I didn't know they were letting junior leaguers in 
here. It's strictly against the rules.".

Paul regarded him distastefully. "The lady is my wife," he said softly.

The other recovered himself at once. "Oh, in that case, may I... "

"No, you may not." Paul turned his shoulder. "Get lost."

The fellow hesitated, then took the advice in a sudden hurry. He 
disappeared among the crowd.

"What was the matter with him?" Cynthia wondered.

"Not a thing." Paul pushed his empty glass toward the barman. "I didn't 
appreciate him calling you a kid, that's all." He sipped his fresh drink, 
then glanced at her with the same impish air that he had adopted before. 
"You see, this is a swinging party," he confided. "All these people you see
here came to get fucked."

"You mean, by anybody else?" Her nose wrinkled provocatively as she 
looked puzzled. "Did that guy...?"

"Sure. He wanted to screw you so badly he could taste it. Then he 
chickened when he thought you were quail. Can't say I blame him."

"But you... "

"I know. I stick my neck out every time I pick you up. I could get ten 
years in the pen."

Quick dismay struck her as she listened. She wouldn't be able to stand 
that if it happened. Why, when he got out, she'd be an old hag. "Please," 
her mind prayed, "don't let that happen."

Presently an oldish man detached himself from a group near the door and 
came over. He nodded at them in a benevolent way and put a hand on Paul's 
shoulder. "So you made it," he beamed. "Welcome aboard."

"This is Roger," Paul introduced him. "He's our host. Be nice to him."

The two men talked briefly and Cynthia studied Roger covertly. He must be
in his forties, she thought. That, to her, made him practically 
antediluvian but still he was nice. His blue tuxedo fitted him perfectly 
and there was a rakishness about him that intrigued her.

A woman joined them and was presented as Roger's wife. She was younger 
than her husband, not overdressed enough to make Cynthia feel awkward, with
a nice figure and big boobs which apparently were not confined by a 
brassiere.

Roger ordered a round of drinks and brought his around to Cynthia's other
side and perched on an empty stool. "You make me feel ten years younger," 
he told her, smiling. He really was charming, she decided, in spite of the 
fact that he could have been her father and then some. She only half 
listened to him because she was busy wondering if he still liked to make 
love and whether he screwed his titty wife enough to satisfy her. He looked
in good condition physically. A little tickling sensation ran up her spine 
as she reflected that he must still be good in bed.. What would it be like 
to be laid by an older man? Would his cock stay hard? Could he come like 
Paul did, in big, warm squirts which nearly drove her crazy?

These thoughts and others ran through her mind as he reached to put a 
hand over hers and pat it. As he leaned closer, she caught the suggestion 
of cologne and for some reason, the headiness of it brought a sudden wish 
that he would try to make her. A twinge of guilt came with the realization 
that she actually wanted to cheat on Paul, but she rationalized with the 
quick reminder that he had brought his friends to do it to her without as 
much as a by-your-leave. But she would never attempt anything like that 
without his permission. The desire was still with her when Roger came even 
closer and kissed her cheek.

On her other side, Paul was chatting unconcernedly with Roger's wife. If 
he saw Roger kiss her, he paid no attention. Instead, he finished his drink
and got up. He looked at Roger inquiringly, then said, "Let's go."

Roger's hand under her elbow helped her off the bar stool. He held onto 
her arm as they made for the doorway through which couples were still 
drifting. Cynthia had been curious about this coming and going ever since 
they had arrived. She wondered where the door led to and what lay beyond 
it.

To her surprise and disappointment there was only a large room with a 
couple of easy chairs and four couches in it. It was darker in there and 
for a moment, all she noticed was the furniture. Then she saw a couple 
occupying one of the couches. As far as she could make out they were both 
naked, busy doing what she recalled some of the girls describing as 
"sixty-nine." They paid no attention to anyone or anything except what they
were engaged in. As far as the others were concerned, they might have been 
part of the furniture, but Cynthia was all eyes. The way the man on the 
couch had his head between his partner's thighs gave her goose bumps all 
over. She knew his tongue was playing with the girl's Clitoris and wished 
immediately that it was her own. She had wanted Paul to do that to her but 
was afraid to ask him. It wasn't fair, she had decided. He made her suck 
him off and do the same for his friends but he did not seem interested in 
doing the same for her. She heard the girl on the couch moan and there was 
a short flurry and she knew they had come together. Roger's voice 
interrupted her musing.

"The best one is down the hall," he was saying. Only then did she notice 
the passageway to the right of them. They turned into it and went to the 
end and Roger listened for a moment, then opened a door.

It was a comfortable-looking bedroom, furnished tastefully with the usual
items including a double bed. A door on the far side of the bed probably 
led to a bathroom. The lighting was indirect and subdued until Paul found a
switch and an overhead fixture revealed the room in detail.

Roger shed his blue jacket and found a hanger in the closet Then to her 
amazement he undid his belt and stepped out of his trousers and hung them 
neatly beside the jacket His shoes followed and, as she watched 
open-mouthed, he stripped quickly until he was quite naked like the couple 
back on the couch. She found time in her surprised condition to notice that
he had a big penis and that it was standing half erect when he straightened
after removing his shorts.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" It was Paul. He nudged her and tugged 
at her sleeve. "Get it off." he ordered and there was enough hardness in 
his tone to make her comply without question.

Roger came over and cupped her tits, one in each manicured hand as she 
took off her bra. "Um-m-m! Wonderful," he murmured. As he bent to kiss each
nipple, she again caught the odor of cologne, faint but sufficient to 
sharpen her first desire. His prick, hard and fully erect by now, nudged 
her thigh with an impatience all its own and she got rid of the rest of her
clothing in a hurry. The bed seemed to be the natural place after that and 
she went over, her bare feet sinking into the heavy rug and stretched 
herself on the far side. She did not look at Roger's wife as she passed 
her.

In another minute, Roger was kneeling in front of her buttocks. He had 
pushed her legs back, telling her to hold them while he did things with his
hard cock. She felt the head parting the lips of her already moist pussy 
and then he was inside her so far that she felt his balls cover her exposed
rectum. He gave a little sigh of pleasure and began to fuck her slowly, as 
though anxious to prolong it as long as possible.

Things were happening so quickly that she almost missed seeing Paul and 
Roger's wife come over and sit on the side of the bed. They were still 
dressed but she noticed the wife had her hand up her dress and Paul's 
crotch bulged significantly. Both watched while Roger did his stuff, 
commenting now and again and criticizing when he missed a stroke due to 
Cynthia's involuntary response to his thrusting.

It was prearranged. It had to be. Everything, even in her inexperienced 
judgment, was too pat, too smooth just to have happened by coincidence. But
she did not care, now that Paul had given his okay. She was having sex with
an older man, probably twenty years older than Paul and he was fucking her 
wonderfully. His prick was just as hard as Paul's had ever been and his 
timing, except when she spoiled it in her eagerness for added sensation, 
was regular. And he was doing something that Paul usually neglected. Every 
even stroke went balls-deep into her, then receded to let the top of the 
head rub over her clitoris and excite her until she wondered how long she 
could stand it without coming. She did not want to come too quickly, for 
fear that he might finish with her. At his age, he was probably a one-shot 
lover and as long as Paul would let her, she wanted to feel his solid 
length opening her ready cunt all the way.

Her first impatience to respond to his hardness in her gave way to a 
pervading languor, an indolent dreaminess in which everything was 
wonderful. She closed her eyes, not tightly but just enough to shut out 
everything including Roger, who had taken her legs and opened them to the 
point of discomfort so that he could drive his horn deeper. Now there was 
nothing but her own receptive body and the stiff prick sending little 
shudders through her at every thrust. Paul had never been able to thrill 
her quite like this, possibly because he took her for granted and went to 
no pains to give any added pleasure while he was screwing her. He was 
selfish, she admitted, while Roger, in spite of his eagerness to take her, 
was making their union a mutual thing, helping her while he got his own 
kicks.

She wondered vaguely if that was why so many marriages went on the rocks.
Fucking in itself was wonderful but she was realizing that it could be 
beautiful when indulged in with consideration for the partner. Instinct 
told her not to spoil the harmony by jiggling about and she lay there 
relaxed and not moving except to keep in line and take the full horn every 
time it moved into her.

"He's still got plenty steam in him." She realized it was Paul commenting
to Roger's wife. She opened her eyes enough to focus on both of them.

They were sitting in the same positions, facing each other and looking at
the action, as though they were watching a ball game or a movie. There was 
an impersonal note in Paul's voice and she saw the other nod just as 
distractedly. "He always was a good lecher," she remarked. "The night we 
were married, he took me five times in a row. Then he made me go down on 
him."

"Not bad," Paul agreed. "How often does he pester you now?"

"Enough. About once a week. But I don't think that he does it to me 
anymore. In his mind, I'm some chick like this one; some youngster who took
her pants off for him. I'm just a hole for his penis when nothing better 
offers."

A corner of Cynthia's mind wondered why she did not sound at all bitter 
and her next remark supplied the answer. "I get back at him in my own way. 
I have no complaints."

"How?"

"Stick around. Maybe you'll find out before the evening's over. Then you 
won't need to ask."

It was all very intriguing and mysterious but Cynthia suddenly had no 
time to listen to any more. She was right on the verge of coming,' feeling 
that she could not stand another stroke. This was it and she could not help
herself. She reached down, managing to get both hands in the crack of 
Roger's buttocks and pull him into her deeper than ever. As the head of his
prick came completely inside, nudging against the end of the passage where 
the tight button of her womb was, she began to shiver all over, tightening 
her grip and stroking with him at last in short, delirious thrusts of her 
crotch. She came at once and it seemed to last longer than before.

When it was over, she lay back, panting a little, with Roger, who had 
spent with her, still screwing her gently and giving her the last drops of 
his come.

"I'd say that was as good a job of screwing as I've seen in a while." 
Paul's tone was dry and judicial, as though he was in the habit of watching
people fucking and then delivering his verdict.

Roger's wife took her hand from under her dress and smiled vaguely. 
Cynthia had recovered her breath and her head was clearing sufficiently to 
surmise that hers was not the only cunt to get its jollies. Paul's crotch 
was still bulging and she knew he was hard and ready but somehow the 
knowledge failed to thrill her. Perhaps if he did it to her, the old 
excitement would come back,, but just then she felt fulfilled, as though 
she had been made love to all evening instead of just once. She knew then, 
quite definitely, that it was not how often one was fucked, only how it was
done. Was that what love meant? She knew she was not in love with Roger but
why did she like his technique better than Paul's, whom she adored? Perhaps
she was just dazzled by his coarse way of taking her, making her feel like 
an animal completely dominated by physical possession. Then a surge of 
feeling swept through her and she felt ashamed for even thinking such 
things.

Roger got up and went into the bathroom and his wife put a hand on 
Cynthia's bare shoulder and stroked it.

"Why, you're cold, you poor thing." She reached down and pulled the 
rumpled quilt up. "There. Snuggle down and get warm." Her hand, lingered 
underneath the cover and her fingers found Cynthia's nipple as though by 
accident and stroked it. Instinctively, the girl recoiled and the other 
gave a short, barking sort of laugh and looked up at Paul. "She's still 
shy," she informed him. "She needs a teacher: someone who'll show her the 
other side of the mirror."

Paul's answer to that held a palpable sneer. "You should be able to do 
that without too much strain."

Roger came back into the bedroom, looking down his nose and avoiding his 
wife's eyes. Without speaking, he reached for his clothes and began to 
dress himself. "He's shot his wad," she mentioned, nudging Paul. "Now 
remorse is setting in." She lowered her voice. "He doesn't know that I 
could care less if he shoved it into a boar shoat." She laughed again in 
that brittle way, then looked back at Cynthia.

"Go ahead," Paul said, watching her. "Help yourself. I haven't-seen a 
blunt job in a coon's age.

She continued to stare at Cynthia. Slowly, she put a hand out and pulled 
the quilt down, exposing the firm white boobies. Then, without warning, she
bent down and began to suck the standing nipples.

At first, the shock made Cynthia lie there without moving. Then, 
instinctively, she pushed the other's head away and drew the sheet up 
quickly around her shoulders. "Don't," she protested. "I don't like that."

"Don't be such a stupid bitch," Paul rasped at her. "She won't hurt you 
and you'll learn to do a few besides jiggling your ass up and down." He 
looked back at the other. "Get with it," he nodded. "If she gives you any 
more trouble, I'll slap the shit out of her."

Roger, seeming surprised, met his wife's eye and looked away quickly and 
she got off the bed and began to peel her clothes off deliberately. When 
she was quite naked, she went back and pulled the quilt down once more and 
stretched out beside Cynthia. At once, she kissed her on the mouth. "Don't 
be afraid of me;" she whispered, "You're going to like what we do. You'll 
see."

Automatically, Cynthia put a hand up to rub her mouth, feeling the 
other's hot hand on her tits again. Then her boobies were being sucked with
a lot of expert tongue play and she felt a finger opening her wet pussy, 
searching for and finding her clitoris. Of a sudden, the feeling was so 
wonderful that she forgot her repulsion and shut her eyes again, tightly 
this time, as though to shut out the fact that she was being made love to 
by another woman instead of a man.

The sensation was so exquisite with the combination of the licking tongue
and the gently moving finger that, in spite of herself, she began to move 
her body under the coverlet, keeping time with the exploring finger which 
was so gentle that it began to feel like the head of a prick stimulating 
her standing clitoris and venturing a little way inside her pussy before 
returning to continue the stroking routine.

She almost came under the double stimulation when, without warning, the 
other seemed to jackknife and at once her head was where her finger had 
been and her darting tongue had replaced it. She was lying on her side, 
facing Cynthia and she had thrown the quilt over the foot of the bed so 
that she could breathe.

The sensation was indescribable. The quick tongue in the entrance of her 
cunt was a thousand times better than the finger, especially when a 
searching hand found her tits and began to stroke the nipples. Now she knew
how the girl on the couch had felt when her lover kissed her pussy 
preparatory to screwing her. Why hadn't Paul done this to her? Perhaps he 
just didn't care enough. Or maybe he thought it was beneath his dignity.

She could feel the warmth of the close crotch on her face and presently, 
stifling the urge to throw off restraint and let herself come, she put a 
hand over the buttocks and edged closer to the bunched hair. Before she 
realized it, her own tongue was separating the lips of the other's pussy 
and she found the clitoris, hard and standing.

"Just get a load of that." Dimly, as though he were a long way off, she 
recognized Paul's taunting laugh. "They don't need us anymore, Roger. Let's
go get a drink."

Quick panic gripped Cynthia as she thought of being left alone. As long 
as Paul was there, she didn't care much what happened because, in spite of 
his coarse ways, she trusted him to look after her. Now he was going, 
leaving her at the mercy of this stranger whom she had only met a short 
hour ago. She managed to raise her head and find Paul as the two were going
out. "Don't leave me!" she called and her voice sounded loud in her ears as
though she was shouting. "Stay here, please."

Paul stopped and turned around to look at her. "What do you know?" he 
chuckled. "It seems that we are needed after all. Better take a raincheck 
on that drink. It'll still be there."

Gratitude threw the wonderful sensation out of her mind for a split 
second. Paul came over and sat on the bed next to her and Roger slumped 
down in one of the chairs. "Go to it, pussycat." Paul reached over to pat 
her bare buttocks. "Tongue the hell out of her."

Roger's lesbian wife was ramming her tongue all the way inside now, 
tickling Cynthia's clitoris as it darted in and out, faster than any prick 
and almost as hard. Cynthia could hear her quickened breathing and she 
shoved her crotch closer, opening her legs wider and moving her hips in 
sudden sharp jerks. Her fingers grew rougher on the girl's nipples and she 
opened them to caress the breasts and hold them together.

This was it, Cynthia knew. Coming together would surely not be as 
wonderful as finishing with a man but she could not hold back any longer.

They climaxed at the same instant, it seemed. Cynthia felt the other's 
pussy tremble and then seem to go out of control. The hard pubic bone 
hidden by the dark hair bumped against her nose hard enough to bring tears.
The springing tongue left her pussy as the other woman pushed her face away
and rolled over on her back and finished coming with her finger. Then she 
rolled onto her face and lay there, as though she were dead.

"A dead heat, I call it." It was Paul, being cynical again. Roger did not
say anything. When his wife continued to lie there, without moving, he got 
up and came over to lift her and turn her on her back. To her astonishment 
Cynthia saw that she was weeping. The tears had plowed furrows down her 
cheeks through the makeup. In another moment, she sat up and rested her 
head against her husband. "There," he soothed instead of chiding her, "it's
over now and we can forget it." She began to sob convulsively and Paul, 
looking disgusted, turned away to inspect Cynthia. She was sitting up in 
the middle of the bed, rubbing her nose and wondering if she would get a 
black eye. If she did, she'd have to lie some more when she got home. They 
might phone Mr. Gorman to check her story. Then anything could happen. She 
felt a little reassured with Paul spoke again. His tone was bantering and 
she knew he was teasing her deliberately, but it was comforting, somehow, 
just to know that he was there.

"For your first yodeling job, you handled that okay," he said, with rare 
praise. "Your partner's got cuntlapper's remorse or something. Don't mind 
her. She'll be all right when she gets the hots again."

In quick sympathy and because Paul's approval made her feel ten feet 
tall, she reached forward and patted the bare shoulder in front of her. 
Roger's wife looked around, her eyes still streaming, and sniffed into the 
handkerchief her husband had handed her. "Now you can hate me," she 
whiffled. "I don't know what got into me."

"That's bullshit," Paul commented bluntly. You know you're a dike, so why
lie about it?"

Roger looked up quickly. "That's no way to talk to a lady... " he began.

Paul's jeering laughter cut him short. "Lady!" he hooted. "If she's a 
lady, my ass is a lemon and you can suck it, Roger lad."

"Now look here." The other stood up and took a quick step toward his 
tormentor. "I asked you here tonight... "

"Because I told you I was bringing some young pussy and you could cut it 
if you liked? Isn't that so?"

When Roger did not answer, he went on. "Of course, if you feel brave, we 
can go outside and settle it that way." His manner was calm but he watched 
the other carefully. "Or if you want to stick to the bargain we made, it's 
my turn to screw your wife. How about it?"

Roger looked down at his shoes, then turned away and slumped down in the 
chair and took his head in his hands. "It's up to her." His voice was 
muffled and he did not look up.

"What say, beautiful?" Paul swung around to face the wife. She had dried 
her tears at last and was trying mostly unsuccessfully to dab some powder 
on her shiny face. "Shall we dance or would you rather give me a blow job? 
Either way suits me."

It sounded so rude, talking to another man's wife that way, that Cynthia 
expected Roger to come out of his chair fighting. But he just sat there, 
cradling his face, as though he did not mind. He was no longer the debonair
host who had charmed her when she had been introduced to him. He looked 
crushed and older than she had thought.

Paul glanced at him, sneering openly, then appeared to forget that he was
there. Pursing his lips in a soundless whistle, he began to get out of his 
clothes.

Cynthia stopped watching him remove his slacks to look back at Roger's 
wife and saw that she was staring at Paul's hairy shanks as though they 
fascinated her. On an impulse, Cynthia got off the bed, wishing that there 
was some whisky to warm her. She put on her panties and brassiere and, when
Paul said nothing, got into the rest of her clothes. She felt warmer at 
once and sat down in the other chair, curious to see what was going to 
happen.

Paul's cock was only half standing, she noted, and felt glad that it had 
not stood up like it did when he was about to screw her. She should be 
feeling jealous, she told herself, surprised to find that she was not that 
way at all; only of an inquiring turn of mind, like she used to get before 
the circus started when she was a kid. She had never seen Paul fuck before 
except for stolen glimpses of his prick in her pussy during some of the 
positions he had so carefully taught her. Now she had a lively curiosity to
see what he looked like when he was doing it to somebody else.

"Ready, tootsy?" He went over to the bed, stepping across Roger's 
outstretched legs without even glancing at him. "How do you want it? Round,
long, blow? You say it and we'll do it. But hurry up. Everybody's been 
fucked but me."

He pulled the quilt off her nakedness and looked at her pussy. Then he 
got on the bed, straddling her belly, and allowed his hardening cock to 
push up between her big boobs. He cupped them together experimentally and 
drove his hardness up and back a couple of times. Then he grunted and 
settled himself so that his weight was half on her and half on his 
supporting knees. "That's it," he said, cheerfully for him. "We'll do it 
that way. It's a long time since I had a titty fuck."

He reached below his erection and pulled his balls up so that they made a
brown patch against her whiteness and began to screw her slowly and evenly,
holding her tits by the nipples daintily and pushing them together so that 
they made a tunnel for his penis to plow through. That was another thing he
must do to her, Cynthia decided. She would try and persuade him to go down 
on her and fuck her in the boobs the next time they were alone.

Wondering how his companion was taking it, she examined her face and saw 
that her eyes were closed. Her lips were moving as though she was praying 
or talking to herself. As Cynthia watched, she saw a hand go down past 
Paul's thigh into the damp crotch hair and move slowly from side to side.

Paul was giving his entire attention to screwing, as he always did. He 
squeezed the big boobs closer together, then allowed them to open up a 
little. Finally, he found the exact pressure he needed and she gasped 
quickly as he put more of his weight on her belly, using his knees for 
purchase and driving his hard cock backward and forward in long, measured 
strokes.

Cynthia's clitoris began to throb as she watched them. She repeated to 
herself that she wasn't at all jealous, only disappointed that Paul was 
enjoying another woman when he could have had her under him instead. She 
stole a quick glance at Roger's chair and was surprised to see that he was 
no longer there. He must have sneaked out as soon as her attention was 
occupied by Paul's antics. She could not help feeling a little sorry for 
Roger. If he had been a bit less eager to take her before anybody had a 
chance to more than breathe, Paul might not have been so abrupt with him. 
He had brought it all on himself. He was probably drowning his sorrow in a 
big, cool highball at the bar. She forgot about him and gave her full, 
attention to what was happening on the bed.

Roger's wife had opened her eyes. Now she was blinking them dreamily, 
holding onto his arm with one hand and using the other to finger her pussy.
Presently, she moved between his imprisoning knees and put both hands up to
her tits, helping him to bunch them higher. He let her do that for about 
half a minute, then sat back and slapped her hands away and muttered 
something Cynthia could not hear. Every now and then, he raised up and 
allowed the underside of his prick to slide through the tunnel to contact 
the woman's chest Every time, Cynthia caught a glimpse of his tight balls 
swinging against the joined tits, causing them to quiver at each impact.

It grew a little monotonous after the first few minutes and Cynthia 
wished that he had decided to do it the regular way. She would have liked 
to see that hard horn of his ploughing somebody else's cunt, just to watch 
the action. All she could see this way was the movement of his buttocks and
a brief glimpse of his cock head and the swinging testicles seeming to 
hammer his prick home. Still, it was thrilling, because it was Paul calling
the shots.

She felt a strong urge to watch him come. Would he be satisfied to leave 
his semen between the tits or would he squirt higher up? The thought of his
warm jizzum splashing out of his cock sent a shuddery thrill through her 
and she wanted him to hurry. She had never seen him finish; only felt him 
shoot off in her pussy and her mouth. In quick excitement, she got up and 
crossed to the bed to get a closer view.

Paul might have been reading her mind. He began to screw faster and the 
bed creaked, reminding her of the couch at the beach house. He was 
breathing through his mouth, as though needing more air. The white tits 
around his driving prick were stretched so tightly that they shone as 
though polished.

Obeying a sudden impulse, Cynthia leaned over and cupped a hand above the
bunched boobies, just as Paul grunted and came in a final hard thrust. The 
shooting sperm lodged in her cupped palm and she thrilled again at the 
intimate warmth of it.

Paul sat back and untangled a foot from the wadded quilt. He wiped his 
prick on a corner of it while she stared at her dripping hand. He was 
reaching for his clothes when she went into the bathroom to wash up.

CHAPTER SIX

The girl called Terry was lithe and brown, as though she spent a lot of 
time on sunny beaches, playing handball in a bikini. She had been in the 
car when Paul stopped to pick Cynthia up, hunched in the front seat close 
to him, so that Cynthia had to sit on the outside.

Although they had barely arrived at the motel, she had already sensed 
that it was his intention to make her jealous by playing up to the other 
girl. He had kissed Terry twice since they got out of the car, while to 
Cynthia he had scarcely spoken a word.

Now he gave her a malicious grin. "Did you really think it was my bitchy 
sister-in-law calling?" He looked away to frown in mock reproof at Terry. 
"Sweetheart, you let my glass get empty." As she jumped up to busy herself 
with Scotch and ice, he gave his cynical attention to Cynthia once more. 
"My brother is attending a bankers' convention in Sacramento. It was in the
paper. So I had Terry here fake it. I think she deserves a little fun for 
doing that, don't you?"

Without waiting for an answer, he reached out to spank Terry's trim 
behind as she handed him his drink and in spite of her resolve to remain 
cool and play it by ear, Cynthia experienced a twinge of envy. She knew 
that he was getting his kicks out of trying to make her mad. In another 
man, she would have called it a cheap trick but this was Paul, who was 
liable to come up with anything, as long as it was designed to offend and 
humiliate her.

She knew by now that he didn't care a damn about her except as someone to
abuse and work his ill humor on and make love to when he felt like it. When
she paused long enough to give that fact serious thought, she found, to her
surprise, that she expected it At least he was honest. Had he treated her 
differently, he would have been out of character. And there was not a thing
she could do about it. When she was away from him, she was miserable. It 
had been less than a week since he took her to the swinging party and it 
had seemed like a year. Even with this girl along, she was so glad to see 
him that she nearly choked up and she was sure he would hear her heart 
hammering.

"Come over here," he said to Terry. "Closer. That's it." Quickly, he ran 
his hand up under her miniskirt and she said "ouch" as the hand appeared 
again, holding a couple of dark hairs between thumb and finger. "You're a 
brunette, after all." He nodded his head, feigning astonishment. "From head
to pussy."

He sighed contentedly and put his glass down to regard Cynthia 
quizzically. "You've been screwed by a white man, a black man, a young man,
an old man," he reminded her pleasantly, "tongued by a stub-assed lez, 
doubled and buggered and taught just about every position there is. Quite 
an accomplishment for one so young and innocent, if I do say so. Remind me 
to dig you up a guy who's spotted or striped." He laughed at his own humor 
and drank the rest of his whisky. "Now, to work." He got up and clapped his
hands.

Terry glanced at Cynthia apologetically. She did not appear to be 
enjoying the situation. This jealousy bit had to be Paul's own idea, 
another mischievous quirk to build his ego. Maybe he had paid Terry to 
stick around. It would be like him to do that.

"The class will come to order," Paul said. When they both looked at him, 
he waved a hand at the bed. "Welcome aboard."

When both girls had removed their clothes, he showed them the positions 
he wanted them to take. He told Terry to lie on her back with her head on 
the pillow, then made Cynthia lie below her, so that her legs hung over the
footboard. He was already naked and he straddled Cynthia's head while he 
caught Terry's knees and pushed them wide. "Suck my prick," he directed 
Cynthia, then pushed his face between Terry's brown thighs and parted the 
dark hair in her crotch to get at her cunt with his tongue. "This is what 
is called a double sixty-nine," he informed them. "The top girl plays with 
her own tits and lies back and enjoys it."

There was barely room for Cynthia to find his hard cock and slip it 
between her lips. His balls kept getting in the way and she had to push 
them aside and hold them while she played her tonguetip up and down the 
tense shaft and under the head and in the eye.. He liked it that way, she 
knew, and feeling the slippery testicles sliding around in their cool bag 
gave her an extra thrill. When she had adjusted his hardness in her mouth, 
tightening her lips around it to accommodate the irregular strokes he made,
she let his balls go and circled his prick with thumb and finger, to avoid 
gagging because he never cared how deep he fucked her that way. Then she 
lowered the other hand and found her clitoris and stroked it gently.

She was back in heaven again. She could feel Paul moving above her, 
tonguing Terry's pussy hard, but she did not mind. The fact that it was not
her cunt he was sucking failed to disturb her as he no doubt intended. She 
had his prick all to herself and that was enough. Deliberately, she slowed 
down, moving her tongue languidly, to see if she could not delay his 
coming, wanting to prolong the great feeling indefinitely. Her clitoris was
responding to the stroking, standing up, hardening under the friction. To 
delay climax, she barely moved her finger and, a couple of times, she took 
her hand away from her crotch to play with her nipples. The only better 
way, she decided, would have been to feel Paul's prick deep in her 
lubricated pussy. Maybe he would fuck her when he was through showing off. 
That way she could close her eyes and dream that he loved her, after all. 
Even dreams were better than nothing.

The bed was shaking and she knew it was Terry moving her hips, enjoying 
Paul's tongue-work, probably getting ready to come. That was her affair. 
Cynthia wanted to wait until she took the first squirt of his semen in her 
straining throat before going into orgasm. Maybe he would like it better, 
too. It was almost impossible to tell what satisfied him and what did not. 
He never said anything except when he was in a temper and then he was not 
constructive. She could only sense from his physical reaction to stimulus 
when he was excited.

Terry began to moan in a low, crooning way and, perversely, the thought 
that it was Paul making her do that pleased Cynthia, so that she forgot for
a minute that she was engaged in a delaying action and sucked harder and 
harder, moving her tongue in little darting plays and working the foreskin 
up and back, playing with his balls and squeezing them ever so gently 
between her fingers. His immediate response told her that he approved.

Instead of thrusting irregularly in and out of her mouth as he had been 
doing, he began screwing rhythmically, up and down and deeper, until she 
had to be careful that she did not choke. She moved her circling thumb and 
finger higher along the rigid shaft and tightened them when she had to, so 
that her whole hand at times was holding him back.

Terry had stopped her moaning to start a regular series of sharp gasps 
punctuated by unintelligible muttering. As Paul would have agreed, she 
talked a good fuck. Cynthia's finger went back to her clitoris and she 
stroked faster and harder as Paul began to breathe heavily. She waited 
until she knew he was right on the edge of coming, then tongued the head 
frantically and made swallowing motions every time she let the length of 
him reach back in her throat.

The three of them appeared to come in the same second. Terry gave a small
shriek just as Paul shot off in Cynthia's mouth and she pushed her finger 
as far as she could into her pussy and came with them, breathlessly and 
endlessly. It was good. It was perfect. She wanted to lie there forever, 
drinking his semen to the last warm drop.

"Pretty nice team work." Paul was sipping more Scotch on the rocks to 
condition him for further action. Terry was still stretched on the bed when
Cynthia came out of the bathroom. "Take a look at that!" Paul motioned with
his chin. "When I lick them, they stay licked."

It was on the point of Cynthia's tongue to ask him to do it to her but 
she thought better of it. He was running the show, as usual. No matter what
she said, he would do as he pleased.

He finished his drink and got up and pinched one of Terry's still-hard 
nipples. She opened her eyes with a cry of pain and sat up quickly, 
massaging her breast.

"I just wanted to see if you were still alive," Paul mentioned 
conversationally. "Lie over on your side. I've got a treat for you."

Terry looked as though she was going to protest, then rolled over 
obediently, showing her white buttocks where her bathing suit had kept the 
sun off. Paul walked over to where his jacket was hanging on the back of a 
chair and took something out of a pocket. It was white and cylindrical, 
with a tapered head, something like a male penis. At first, Cynthia thought
it was a dildo. One of the girls had brought one to school and explained 
how it was used. Then Paul pressed a button on the blunt back end and at 
once the thing gave out a whirring sound.

He disappeared in the bathroom and Cynthia heard the water running. When 
he came out, the white cylinder was foamy and slick where he had soaped it.
He placed a thumb and finger around it and slid it back and forth a few 
times. When he thought it was slick enough, he went back to the bed.

Terry tried to roll back and see what he was doing and he snapped at her 
to hold still. When she hesitated, he slapped her buttocks, leaving red 
fingermarks. He pushed her back, then parted the white cheeks and fitted 
the tapered end against her rectum. She gave a little jump when he inserted
it. When he turned it on, her whole lower body began to quiver and she 
pushed back quickly, trying to get more of the thing inside.

Cynthia identified it then. She had never seen one but from overheard 
conversations, she knew it was a vibrator and her curiosity sharpened as 
she saw Terry put a hand back to hold it.

Paul let her take the vibrator while he turned back to Cynthia. "Get your
ass over here," he ordered crisply. He half shoved her onto the bed, then 
walked around the foot and lay down, facing Terry. "Hold the vibrator," he 
told Cynthia. When she complied, he pulled Terry's knee over his hip and 
fitted his standing prick between the lips of her pussy. Without pausing, 
he thrust the length of it balls-deep into her quivering body and began to 
fuck her in long slow thrustings, watching Cynthia meanwhile to make sure 
that she kept the vibrator in place.

Once more, she sensed that he was using her, purposely making fun of her 
while he enjoyed himself. Why, otherwise, was he screwing Terry when he 
could have been doing it to her? Instead, he was deliberately making her 
play second fiddle, doing chores like this when he should have taken her.

She let herself become angry enough to shove the vibrator further into 
Terry's rectum and make her yell a little. Then she lessened the pressure, 
telling herself that she was doing just what he wanted by losing her 
temper. By ignoring his crudeness, she would be annoying him and he might 
change his tactics. Summoning all her patience, she lay there, facing 
Terry's brown back and holding the vibrator so that it could not slip out, 
not even bothering to tickle her own cunt because she did not want Paul to 
think that she was interested. If she ever lost her cool, there was no 
telling what he might do to provoke her further.

Terry was moving her buttocks now, keeping time to Paul's stroking and 
Cynthia had to use extra care, holding the buzzing contraption loosely to 
keep it in place. Her struggle to control herself was not helped by the 
vibrations running up her arm to her breasts and her nipples began to stand
again as she pictured what a sensation Terry must be getting from the 
double stimulus of the vibrator in her behind and a stiff prick in her 
pussy.

Fortunately, because Cynthia's resistance was wearing very thin, the 
coupling did not last long. Paul, shortening his strokes, suddenly pulled 
Terry's thigh further over his hip and Cynthia knew from his jerky 
breathing and the quick flurry of his buttocks that he was coming. Terry 
moaned softly and lunged against him and Cynthia felt a wetness in her own 
crotch as she realized that they had come together.

She took her hand off the vibrator and Terry rolled on her back, raising 
enough to snatch the thing out of her rectum and throw it on the floor. 
Then she rolled over onto her face and commenced to dry-fuck the bed 
beneath her.

"It's out but she can still feel it." Paul got up as soon as Terry began 
to roll. He stood at the foot of the bed watching her with a sardonic grin.
"She'll come again before she snaps out of it. Watch and see."

As though to bear him out, Terry began to grind her teeth and thrash up 
and down. The bed creaked under her and the frantic movement increased, 
then seemed to reach a peak before she flattened, writhing still in an 
ecstasy of second orgasm. Then she rolled over on her back and opened her 
eyes wide and stared at them, her chest heaving as though she had been 
running. On the floor, the vibrator still buzzed impotently until Paul 
picked it up and switched it off.

Two highballs later, when Cynthia had given up the idea of finding any 
real pleasure, he looked at her and raised her hopes by saying, "It's your 
turn now, pussycat."

At his direction, the three of them stretched out face up on the rumpled 
bed, with Paul in the middle. He played with their nipples and fondled 
their breasts and stroked their crotches impartially until his penis once 
more stood hard and erect Then he rolled over onto Cynthia and spread her 
thighs impatiently and entered her in one long shove which took the breath 
out of her.

The rough handling hurt but she submitted meekly enough, happy with the 
thought that at last he had preferred her to Terry. Perhaps he was through 
with his teasing and now intended to take her as he had at their first 
coupling. The old familiar thrill returned at the weight of his bare body 
on hers and the stiffness of him inside her and she opened her thighs still
wider and hugged his neck carefully, so as not to annoy him. Waiting for 
this to happen made it all the more wonderful. He must care for her a 
little; otherwise how could he take her so vigorously after spending twice?
His prick ploughing back and forth in her moist cunt felt like an iron bar 
and she pushed up against him, giving her body to him entirely, to do 
whatever he wished.

On the other side of the bed, she could see Terry lying on her back, with
one hand between her tightly closed legs. She must be feeling like I did, 
Cynthia thought a bit maliciously when she could think at all. Watching it 
happen was nothing to feeling it. Terry had had her fling. Now she could 
jack off by herself and good luck to her.

Paul put his hands down and pulled Cynthia's knees up, holding them there
while he fucked her as deeply as he could drive his hardness. Her cunt 
twitched in response and she could barely keep from coming before she was 
ready. He was screwing quickly now. His fingers on her naked shoulders dug 
into the flesh and she knew that she would have bruises next day. But they 
would be good bruises because he had put them there. For a brief minute, 
she wanted to give him something to remember her and wondered if she dared 
bite his neck. She felt half delirious, wanting to meet her teeth just 
under his ear in a love bite which would show for a week. Suddenly 
terrified at what he most certainly would do to her if she even kissed him 
too hard, she got rid of the impulse in a hurry and began to meet his 
stroking instead.

She fell in with his rhythm, not moving fully to take his return strokes 
but meeting them with enough response to grind their crotches together 
deliciously before he pulled back. She grew impatient, wanting him to come,
then come again in her without uncoupling and, in her haste, she lost her 
timing and heard him curse and thought he was going to slap her face.

She bit her lip, waiting for the expected blow. When it did not come, she
lay perfectly still, letting him do the screwing, holding her breath when 
his thrusting grew shorter and even harder, ready to come the instant he 
spent the first drop. It was so wonderful that she wondered fleetingly if 
it were real or if she were only dreaming. Nobody else could make her feel 
so gloriously possessed except Paul. Maybe that was why she loved him and 
only came alive when he was with her.

Judging his readiness by his shortened breathing and the pressure of his 
fingers, she readied herself to receive his semen, wishing crazily for a 
moment that she was sucking him off and that she would be able to swallow 
it. But she would come with him, she promised herself; come completely, 
like she had never done before.

Now! She was moving again, unable to control her clamoring desire. She 
felt him thrust into her savagely and held her breath again. Her lips were 
bleeding where she had bitten them but that was nothing. All that mattered 
was to trip out together, to finish in perfect harmony.

She opened her eyes in sudden anguish, to find that he was no longer 
fucking her. Instead, he had moved quickly onto Terry and was giving her 
all of his attention, screwing her willing cunt like a horny dog. As 
Cynthia watched, only half understanding what was happening, she saw him 
come and grunt contentedly as he gave the other girl his squirting jizzum.

Cynthia got up and went into the bathroom and stayed there for a good ten
minutes before Paul came in without knocking. "I just wanted to be sure you
hadn't flushed yourself away," he said unfeelingly. "When you cool off, 
come on back and I'll let you have a drink. It'll be worth it after seeing 
that look on your face."

She sipped the Scotch without looking at either of them, feeling it warm 
her and iron some of the wrinkles out of her mind. After all, she reasoned,
he was his own boss. He could put his god-damned come in his sister-in-law,
for all she cared. Then she scolded herself for thinking that way. It was 
early still. Perhaps he'd give her another chance before the evening was 
over. Before she had finished her drink and because she wanted to, she had 
forgiven Paul completely, as she had known she would when she told herself 
she hated him. As she had read somewhere, forewarned was forearmed and she 
knew now to expect no favors so that she would not be left up in the air 
when he pulled one of his tricks again. In a sudden access of humility, she
resolved to take whatever he handed her and be thankful. That way, there 
could be no more disappointments.

She watched him covertly while he belted down a shot of neat Scotch, 
hoping that he would not decide to take her home yet. If he would only give
her a chance, instead of going out of his way to hurt her feelings, he 
could take Terry as many times as he could come and she would help him. She
did not remember in her upset condition if she had finished when he pulled 
out of her and mounted Terry. Anyway, that was past and the best thing to 
do was forget it. She was wondering what he intended to do, noticing that 
he was pouring the last of the whisky into his glass. Maybe if he sobered 
up, he'd give her a break. He spoke sharply, interrupting her thoughts.

"I suppose it was a dirty trick, leaving you like that, so I'm going to 
make up for it."

But it was Terry he led over to the bed, making her sit against the 
headboard with her tanned legs apart. "Hold it there." He turned then and 
beckoned to Cynthia. "Put your head on the pillow between Terry's legs," he
directed when she got up and crossed the floor. "Face up and raise your 
knees."

When she obeyed, he told Terry to take her thighs and hold them up. "The 
old rabbit catcher position," he mentioned. "The old mid-wives used it or 
have you been neglecting your sociology?"

Quickly, he skinned his jutting prick as he knelt below Cynthia's tensed 
buttocks and fiddled round to find the opening. He succeeded and she caught
her breath sharply as he drove his hard horn deep into her rectum and 
laughed as she flinched at the shooting pain.

"Hold onto her," he flung at Terry. "She's been asking to be screwed all 
evening. Don't let her go until I'm through."

She had anticipated feeling his prick in her pussy and the switch, in 
addition to the sharp discomfort in her distended rectum, took her breath 
away for a minute. She felt helpless, like a trussed chicken, especially 
when Paul pushed her fluttering hands away and put his own on top of her 
raised thighs to pull himself further into her. Terry's fingers were softer
than his but they still bruised her. She felt some small relief when the 
girl clasped her restraining hands together under Cynthia's knees, still 
holding her firmly but at least giving her something to rest on. Even so, 
she was doubled so far back that she was sure that her pussy was gaping and
she experienced quick shame at finding herself in such a position in front 
of another woman.

The only time she had been taken by a man that way was when Vivian had 
tried it in the beach house and Charley lost the toss for the "double." The
black man's cock had been bigger than Paul's but he had only put part of it
in her and the head had been half outside when he shot off. Charley, 
standing, was never more than half in her rectum except when he drove 
deeper to come. Paul was not so considerate. He was driving his whole 
length into her, not caring how much he hurt her.

Through the blur of pain and mounting unhappiness, she could feel Terry 
moving in time with Paul's stroking, giving herself a dry run. The bitch, 
Cynthia thought. If she hadn't come along, things would have been 
different. She must have a prick in her brain or maybe she had fallen for 
him. Cynthia relented. It was not Terry's fault but Paul's, the louse. He 
might have paid her or maybe she just liked to screw, which in itself was 
no crime.

Paul's horn was hurting her more and more and she had to bite her already
bleeding lips, liking nothing about it except the intimacy of his crotch 
pressing against her buttocks and the possessive urgency of his hands 
holding her thighs. She did not count Vivian's nervous effort as screwing. 
Paul had got the poor guy all worked up with his threatening and, in spite 
of that, the black man had tried to spare her. Screwing was what she was 
getting now, really and entirely. It hurt and it did nothing for her except
to bring on negative excitement because her man was into her, like it or 
not.

She tried to play with her nipples but her knees were in the way. Then 
she remembered her clitoris, standing in spite of the pain or because of 
it, but her thighs were too tight against her belly and she could not reach
her crotch. Finally she gave up trying and lay back against Terry's warm 
stomach, trying not to flinch every time that rigid prick plunged into her 
and hoping that Paul would come quickly and get it over with.

A man, she seemed to remember, could get a kick out of being taken in the
rectum because of a gland called the prostate which responded to stimulus 
somewhat like a woman's clitoris. But a woman was not built that way. All 
she could feel, beyond the mental kick, was an unwelcome invasion of the 
passage which was not meant for such coupling. There had been some furtive 
discussion at school as to why men went in for ass fucking. Queers, she had
been told, did it all the time but that was because a man, except for his 
mouth, had no other opening in his body large enough to accommodate a big 
hard cock. Also, the theory had been put forward that the rectum, being 
round in shape, provided greater friction for the male member right from 
the start, instead of being oval for most of the occupied area. And the 
rectum was tighter than the vagina. Tightness and hence more friction was 
gratifying to men. Some of the overheard conversation at school and in the 
street attested to that. That must be why Paul liked her to close her lips 
tightly around his erection when she sucked him off. That, apart from the 
desire to embarrass her in front of a stranger, was doubtless why he was 
taking her that way now.

He came finally, in a brief burst of hurried pumping which left her 
rectum lubricated and a vacuum in her pussy because she had not received 
his semen there. For a minute, she thought he was about to go for a deuce 
but he finally ceased thrusting and took his prick out and went into the 
bathroom to wash himself.

Terry had jerked her hips a bit when Paul shot off and Cynthia supposed 
that she had come. She did not care, one way or the other and when the 
other released her doubled knees, she stretched out full length, feeling 
the relief ease through her cramped muscles, glad that it was over but 
proud in a way that he had taken her, even if it was painful and shameful 
to her.

She was crying when he let her out of the car an hour later. She had 
tried to thank him submissively for what he had done and he had taken it 
the wrong way, claiming that she was bitching and making fun of him in 
front of Terry.

"Shut your goddam trap," he raged at her. "I've a good mind to drop a 
note to your folks, telling them that they have a whore for a daughter. 
Here."

Involuntarily, she had caught the thing he tossed to her. Dazedly, 
because she was petrified by his unwarranted accusation and his threat 
about telling her parents, she glanced at her hands and saw that she was 
holding the vibrator.

"Go and fuck yourself," Paul sneered. "That's all you're good for."

CHAPTER SEVEN

Two days later, on Saturday afternoon, the telephone rang and she 
answered. It was Paul and when he recognized her voice, he stopped 
pretending that he was his brother and laughed. "What're you doing, 
pussycat?" he inquired. "Still mad at me?"

She wanted to hang up on him but she listened in spite of herself. A 
hundred times, she had told herself that it was all over between them. Yet 
now, as soon as she heard his voice, she was almost peeing her pants to see
him again.

"See you at eight. Same place. Good-bye, pussycat." She caught his 
mocking chuckle as he broke the connection, leaving her staring at the 
receiver in her hand and hating herself because she knew that she would 
keep the appointment. When her mother came home, she gave the usual excuse 
of babysitting for the Gormans, who, according to the paper, had returned 
from Sacramento yesterday. "That's nice," her mother smiled. "What are you 
going to do with all your money, dear?"

That was something else. She had earned no pay since the second night 
Paul had come to the beach house. She'd have to lie and say that she had 
opened a savings account at Mr. Gorman's bank. Things were promising to get
out of hand fast. She stood there, holding the receiver without replacing 
it, feeling sudden panic which had been latent in her mind ever since she 
had met Paul. If her mother ever got suspicious and phoned the Gormans', 
she and he would be in immediate trouble. As to the money thing, she could 
see him sneering at her and branding her a whore if she asked for some. She
cradled the receiver, making up her mind to talk to him that very night. 
She walked over to the window and stood looking out into the street without
seeing anything. The helpless feeling that had been haunting her lately 
came back. She shivered a little, knowing beyond any argument that she 
would keep on doing whatever he wished. She was trapped and that was all 
there was to it.

She took a book with her when she left the house a few minutes before 
eight. It crossed her mind that her parents must be wondering why Mr. 
Gorman had not sent the car for her lately, although neither her father nor
her mother had commented to her. Then she saw Paul, parked at the far 
corner of the block, waiting for her, and she forget everything else in the
anticipation of going with him again.

"You're late," he growled when she opened the car door and got in beside 
him. "You kept me waiting. I don't like to be kept waiting."

He appeared to be in a worse mood even than two nights ago when he had 
throw the vibrator at her and told her to do a job for herself. She made 
some excuse about her watch being slow, careful to keep her distance and 
not crowd against him. He made a quick U-turn, earning a loud curse from 
the driver of another car and exceeded the speed limit until they were on 
the edge of town among spectral trees and oil pumps which for some reason 
frightened her. He had never taken her here before and she wondered what 
was going on in his mind. They were off the highway and there were no 
motels in this area. He spoke to her, allaying her quick sense of unease.

"I've got something special for you tonight, pussycat." His tone was more
agreeable. He seemed to have recovered his temper and she became excited 
enough to forget her misgivings and wonder again what he intended. That it 
would be something more or less unpleasant was practically certain. 
However, there was also the certainly that, whatever it was, it would be 
new. Paul never played the same tune twice. That she thought, must be part 
of his fascination for her.

He turned the car into a rutted lane and drove between sagging fences 
until they reached a small frame house set back from the road under 
eucalyptus trees.

"Get out," he said. "This is where we dance."

He put a key in the front door and switched on the light and at once a 
large red dog came bounding across the room and almost knocked Cynthia 
down.

"He won't hurt you," Paul grinned as she slipped behind him. "His name's 
King. He likes you, pussycat."

He grabbed the dog's ears and pulled them until the animal whined and 
pulled away. Then he took him by the collar and led him to the door behind 
them and pushed him outside. "He watches the place when I'm away," he 
mentioned almost affably.

This must be where Paul lived, she guessed looking around the living room
interestedly. Typically, he did not ask her to sit down and she decided on 
the couch while she watched him open a closet and produce a bottle of 
whisky. He went out of the room and came back almost at once with a bowl of
ice and two glasses.

"I'm afraid I haven't been able to manage a bar like my banker brother," 
he flung over a shoulder, "but it tastes the same." He got busy with both 
glasses and handed her a more than generous drink and raised his own. 
"Here's to sex," he toasted. "It's love that makes the world go round."

She wanted to ask him about the place and questions crowded into her 
mind. So far, nobody else had appeared and her feminine sense told her that
no woman lived here. Yet the living room was tidied and clean and the 
furniture dusted.

He might have been reading her thoughts because he solved the question of
the dusting and polishing by mentioning that he had a cleaning woman come 
in twice a week. "My dear brother at least sees to it that I live in the 
manner to which I am unaccustomed," he said ambiguously. It was the first 
time that he had even suggested receiving money from Josh Gorman. "He pays,
me to stay away from him," he went on, between sips of Scotch. "You see, 
I'm the bad apple in our family. Josh would rather pay up than put up with 
me."

So she had been right, Cynthia thought. He lived on his brother. Like a 
parasite, her mind prompted her. "Is that where the new car came from?" she
dared to inquire. The whisky was making her brave.

"None of your business," he chided, as though he was not paying much 
attention. He seemed to be preoccupied, immersed in his thoughts as he held
his glass up and let the light filter through the amber drink. Then he 
drained it in a quick swallow and looked over at her. "Get undressed," he 
said dourly.

The evening was a little chilly and she would have liked to leave her 
slip on but she knew he would not stand for it. "Meat to meat," he had once
told her. "That's the only way to go."

In spite of the times she had taken her clothes off in front of Paul and 
his friends, she felt quick shyness now and turned her back while she 
slipped out of her underthings. Maybe because she was in his house, she 
figured. Still with her bare back turned, she stretched out on the couch, 
wishing she could cover her breasts and hips with her dress and certain 
that he would bawl her out if she did.

"You read my mind," he said, coming over to join her. He was naked and 
automatically she glanced down and saw his standing cock. It twitched as 
she looked and she resisted the impulse to put a hand out and stroke it. He
would tell her what to do when he was ready.

She thought he would lie down beside her and perhaps play with her 
boobies and bite the nipples a bit before mounting her. Instead, he turned 
away and went over to the door and opened it to let the dog in. It made a 
beeline for the couch and she felt its cold nose nudge her thigh before 
Paul called it back and took a leash from the wall. He tied it securely to 
the leg of a heavy armchair and it sat on the rug and whined plaintively 
when he left it to come back to her.

"He's young like you," he told her mischievously. "He still has a lot to 
learn. You don't mind if he watches us, do you?"

She shook her head, refraining from answering because she knew it would 
be all the same if she did mind. Anyway, she'd rather have an animal 
present than another of Paul's friends. Then she glanced past him and saw 
the dog watching them out of sharp brown eyes and wished that Paul had left
him outside. A little shudder ran through her and she found no explanation 
except that she wanted them for once to be completely alone.

Paul nudged her and she made room for him beside her. He put a hand on 
her tits, gently at first, then pinching the nipples roughly as his hard 
penis prodded against her hip. He turned toward her to push her thighs 
apart and find her clitoris with a finger. Presently, he took his hand away
from her boobies and lipped the standing nipples without biting them, using
his tongue to probe them and sucking them in turn until they were wet and 
shiny.

She almost came before he stopped teasing her pussy with his urgent 
finger and nudged her again, harder this time. "Get up on your knees," he 
ordered. "We'll do it dog fashion and give King over there a few pointers."

He stood up while she got into position, with her head propped against 
her crossed hands on the arm rest and her back curved so that her buttocks 
were raised sufficiently, as he had taught her. Then he knelt behind her in
a hurry, as though anxious to couple and, almost at once, she felt his 
hardness in her pussy, slipping full length into her and not stopping for 
the head to engage her standing clitoris before his crotch hair tickled her
crotch, then retreated as he pulled back for another hard thrust. She 
grunted a little as he drove his prick into her again and murmured a little
prayer to her cushioning hands that he would go all the way.

The searching head came back for a third stroke and she loved the 
shuddering thrill as it lingered for a couple of tremendous seconds between
the distended lips and rubbed her clitoris before plunging back into her 
hot vagina. She sighed happily and closed her eyes, settling down to enjoy 
the pure ecstasy of being fully taken at last. It was worth all the 
teasing, all the degradation she had gone through to experience a perfect 
union like this. His hands came sliding under her arms to find her tits and
his impatient fingers on her nipples made her straining cunt twitch.

She smiled in pure enjoyment as he cupped both breasts in his hands and 
tugged at them as though to pull her closer to his crotch, until her 
buttocks pressed against his thighs and his piercing length thrust further 
inside her. She wanted desperately to fuck him back, to move in time with 
him, and only the knowledge that he would be angry restrained her and kept 
her kneeling passively while he entered her fully, creating his own rhythm,
possessing her nakedness completely.

He began to screw her so hard that her face slid over her folded hands 
and she reversed them for a better purchase. When her head continued to 
move forward at every new thrust, she laid a cheek on the couch arm and 
held onto the smooth fabric with both hands instead of cupping her face in 
them. It worked even better when she turned slightly and anchored a 
shoulder against the arm.

She thought of letting herself come. It would have been so easy with his 
full prick opening her cunt and nudging her clitoris every time the head 
came back far enough. Then she remembered what she had done before when he 
took her in this position. She sneaked a hand back between her thighs and 
found her clitoris with a probing finger and pushed it down against the 
chafing shaft, so that it was engaged during the entire stroke in and out. 
Now she did not have to hold her breath until the flange of the head 
touched it momentarily before returning. The ecstasy was continuous instead
of periodic and she wondered how long she would be able to stand it without
crying out in pure rapture.

She decided to delay orgasm as long as possible. At first, when Paul and 
the others had taken her, she had come three or four times before they were
ready. It was a glorious sensation but she had learned that saving herself 
for the final climax, with the driving prick squirting the tepid semen into
her so that the emotion left her weak and spent, was not only better but 
more fulfilling.

When she was unable to stand the constant friction on her depressed 
clitoris a moment longer, she took her finger away and groped until she 
found Paul's balls. They were cool in her hand, as usual, just beginning to
bunch up in his crotch, a sign, she had learned, that he was still a little
way from finishing. She played with his testicles, softly so as not to hurt
him, popping them like slick wine grapes between her thumb and finger and 
cupping them in her palm, trying to imagine what it would be like to suck 
each one and promising herself to try it next time she took his prick in 
her mouth.

She began to make her vagina twitch around his plunging hardness, knowing
instinctively that it would make him come sooner and release her to climax 
with him. She was so intent on keeping the twitching action up that she 
barely noticed that he had pulled out of her cunt until the head of his wet
prick came ramming against her rectum and opened it and drove inside. 
Before she could do more than gasp and release his balls, his full erection
was buried in there, splitting her like something on a pin and pumping in 
and out harder and faster than ever.

Now she realized how appropriate the word "fuck" was. Not only did it 
adequately describe the condition of being screwed but the very sound of it
expressed the feeling of having a hard cock in one's body. She was being 
fucked now, as much and as thoroughly as she ever hoped to be. Paul's 
turgid cock felt like a thick stick inside her and, perhaps because it had 
been lubricated from her pussy when he rammed it into her rectum, it did 
not hurt her nearly as much as when he had entered her that way, with Terry
holding her legs, at the motel.

She even changed her mind about the sensation it gave her, liking it more
and more. It still hurt briefly when he shoved the head as far up her colon
as he could and held it in there for a second or two before withdrawing. A 
thought struck her during one of these momentary pauses and she strained 
tentatively as though she were having a bowel movement, smiling again when 
she felt the stationary shaft throb in response.

She practiced the straining motion every time his urgent prick returned, 
timing the pressure to the moment when the head began to recede, as though 
she were ejecting it. She thrilled when she found him working with her, 
neglecting to withdraw until she had expelled a full half of his penis from
her rectum, then entering her again, slowly and deeply, always with the 
throbbing effect which made her think she was going crazy. She became so 
expert that, after a few more attempts, she found that she could milk his 
cock with her rectum fully as well as she could have done with her mouth or
her hand.

Without warning, while she was debating whether to hold back or let 
herself come in a burst of delirious joy, he let her void the entire length
of it. The head made a queer plopping sound as it emerged and she suddenly 
felt empty and useless, only reviving when he entered her wet pussy again 
without missing a stroke, straining into her and hauling on her thighs to 
bring her back against him.

Now his swinging balls were bumping between her tense legs, feeling 
tighter at each stroke and the glorious sensation shot through her again as
she envisioned their coming together because neither could delay any 
longer. She chewed her lips, finding any more waiting intolerable. She had 
to come or trip out.

The watching dog whined for the first time since they started coupling, 
straining at the leash and choking with the pressure from the collar, to 
sit panting, tongue lolling, to regard them with its head on one side 
inquiringly. It drooled on the rug and whined again. Both were too busy to 
give the dog any attention. Each was breathing rapidly and the couch shook 
under them with the combined effort which was approaching mutual frenzy.

They came in the next second in violent unison, bruising each other in 
the urgency of their desire. His fingers gripping her tits were iron bands 
and his prick a triphammer driving into her flesh. The room and everything 
in it blurred, then began to wheel in crazy circles as his semen jetted 
into her twitching cunt. She closed her eyes and left the scene, tripping 
to nowhere, out of herself, uncaring if there was any more.

The dog's cold nose exploring her wet crotch aroused her. Paul stood 
behind him, with the unfastened leash dangling from one hand. When she 
jumped and turned over, he laughed at her quick alarm. "Don't mind King, 
pussycat. You can't blame him for wanting a little, too, now can you?"

She sat up quickly, pushing the dog away with one hand while she reached 
for her slip to cover her nakedness. "You wouldn't!" Her voice trembled a 
little as she stared at Paul's amused face. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, I don't know," he answered conversationally. "King is a gentleman. 
He's a Labrador retriever with a pedigree longer than my cock. And he's a 
virgin."

"But-" She reached quickly for a pillow and hugged it against her 
breasts, not looking at the dog, her eyes wide with something close to 
terror as she considered the enormity of what Paul was thinking. She 
wouldn't do it. She couldn't. Not with an animal. Letting a black man screw
her was bad enough and she had enjoyed Vivian doing it in her pussy. But 
not a dog. Underneath all her resolution, yet dominating her mind, was the 
certainty that she would do anything he asked. The inevitability of it 
brought tears of self-pity to her eyes, so that his face seemed to be 
swimming in fog.

"I know several girls who like to be dog fucked." Paul's tone was 
reasonable for once, as though he was not ordering her but merely 
commenting. "Most of them prefer a dog to a man. You didn't know that did 
you?"

Mutely, having trouble with her breathing, she watched while he came over
and sat on the other end of the couch. When the red dog followed him, she 
crouched back against the armrest still hugging the cushion and trying to 
cover her thighs with the slip. She could hear her heart thumping and she 
was chewing her lips again.

"Here, boy." Paul snapped his fingers and the dog came nearer and rested 
his muzzle on Paul's bare knee. Dully, Cynthia's whirling mind registered 
the fact that King's rippled coat was a near-auburn, and his liquid eyes at
that short distance were deep golden. Paul patted the sleek head, then 
reached across the dog's body to pull him around so that he was facing 
Cynthia, while his feathered tail brushed against Paul's legs. "There's the
boy." Paul patted him again, then put a hand between the animal's legs. He 
fingered the shiny black balls and King looked around at him, whimpering 
softly as the hand slid forward to find the sheath of the penis.

Staring in spite of herself, Cynthia saw the pink head, pointed like a 
blunt spear, emerge for a couple of inches as Paul drew the sheath back and
worked it slowly along the hardening shaft. King humped his back quickly 
and whimpered again as he began to fuck Paul's hand. At any other time, the
intent look in the golden eyes might have appeared comical, but all 
Cynthia's attention now was riveted on the pointed prick coming further out
of the sheath with each stroke, sprinkling the rug with a few drops of what
she thought might be semen, while a big knob swelled under Paul's circling 
fingers. The knot, she had heard, was what caused a dog to get hung up in a
bitch and again the feeling of pure terror gripped her as she thought of 
being connected that way until the dog's prick softened and the swelling 
went down.

Perversely, on the heels of her panic came a quick curiosity about how a 
stiff prick lacking a head, with a thing in the middle as big as a walnut, 
would feel in her pussy. Dogs fucked quickly, she knew, and she hated 
herself for trying to feel the strange-looking cock jabbing in and out of 
her.

Now questions began to replace some of the fear crowding her mind. As 
there was no visible foreskin on King's thrusting penis, would the friction
be greater? A man's prick, even when fully inserted in the vagina, slipped 
back and forth in the foreskin, which in turn moved behind the head to 
create sensation. But a dog's cock had no definite head; only a slanting 
tip containing the eye. King's had a large eye and the sight of it, 
appearing to open more as the panting animal screwed, suddenly made her 
pussy twitch. At once, she felt herself blushing, admitting lively interest
in the animal's member despite her revulsion at the thought of any contact 
with it.

Paul took his hand away when the swelling in King's penis emerged from 
the sheath and stayed that way. The dog continued to go through the motions
of fucking for a few more seconds. More droplets dribbled out of the open 
eye and Cynthia could see the shaft behind the knot running back, hard as a
stick, to the black testicles.

King screwed on, slowing down now that Paul's hand was not there to 
masturbate him. Finally he stopped altogether, whimpering plaintively as he
turned his head to lick his retreating erection.

"Turned you on, didn't it?" Paul's question held derision as he regarded 
her closely. "I can tell. You want to fuck that pink horn so much you can 
taste it. Just to show you that I'm a right guy, I'm going to let you. Get 
down on the rug."

"Oh, no!" The gripping fear was back again and she put a hand to her 
mouth in quick alarm.

"Oh, yes!" Paul's tone was thin now. "You're going to do it and I'm going
to watch you. Or would you rather I had a short telephone conversation with
your folks?"

"No, not that! Yes... " She hardly knew what she was saying.

"I guarantee King will not hurt you. I had the vet clip his claws less 
than a week ago and his cock is not as big as mine. So get going."

It was the threat to tell her parents, more than anything, that made her 
get off the couch and kneel on the rug, she told herself. It was not until 
afterward that she admitted to feeling a strange thrill, different to the 
anticipation of being taken by a man. Men's pricks, except for length and 
thickness, were much the same and felt the same but the one she had just 
seen, with its flat point and dripping eye and the funny bulb in the middle
and no foreskin, interested her even against her better judgment. What 
sensation would it give her, she wondered, especially if its owner diddled 
it in and out quickly, like the mating dogs she had seen in the street? 
Above all, and the risk she would be taking thrilled her rather than 
bringing back the natural fear, would King hang up in her pussy, unable to 
withdraw? A spell of breathlessness plagued her at the thought.

Out of the corner of an eye, she saw Paul push the animal behind her with
his muzzle almost touching her exposed crotch. The dog's questing nose 
nudged her rectum, then went deeper to find the lips of her pussy. As soon 
as he smelled the vestiges of semen in the labia, he whined afresh and she 
felt the weight of his lumbering forelegs as he mounted her. His blunted 
claws bruised the tops of her thighs and his darting prick, hard as iron, 
entered and left her crotch without penetrating either orifice.

"You clumsy bastard." Paul reached over and took King's questing prick in
his hand again and guided it to the wet slit of Cynthia's cunt. "Don't let 
him come in your ass," he cautioned her. "If he gets in there, we'll be 
here until morning."

Paul removed his hand and at once she flinched as she felt the point and 
then the hard shaft of the dog's cock drive up her pussy. The swollen bulb 
halfway along the rigid member lingered over her clitoris, tight and hot in
the passage, then went on until she felt the hairy sheath prickling the 
entrance. The sensation was weird as King drove his prick deeper. After the
first contact with the tapered end parting the labia, all she could feel 
was the knot slipping into the vagina, as though someone was pushing a 
spongy golf ball deep inside her.

After the sensation of a man's balls swinging into her crotch in time 
with the fucking action, the impact of the dog's lesser testicles was an 
anticlimax. They did not swing, being shorter and tighter. They might have 
been a couple of dark plums following his prick, making the sensation 
fleeting and vague. All the same, they were balls, male balls. The 
resultant mental stimulus was exciting even if the physical reaction was 
less.

Now Cynthia knew how a bitch felt when she took the male dog in her 
necessarily narrower passage. If it was difficult for the dog to retire his
turgid knot after orgasm, it must also be hard and painful for the female 
to accommodate such an organ, shaped, as it were, like a douching syringe 
with a tube at either end.

So far, there was no indication of difficulty in insertion or retraction.
The central knot, which was all she could feel once the stiff penis was 
fully inside her, slipped back and forth at three times the speed a man 
usually screwed. Now King was fucking in earnest, holding the tops of her 
thighs tightly in his circling paws, beginning to pant with the exertion 
and drooling on her bare back as he pumped the prick to her.

In comparison to a man, a dog normally comes quicker. This one driving 
his hardness into her was no exception. Subconsciously, she had been 
waiting for the sluicing semen to come squirting into her cunt ever since 
the animal had entered her, intrigued as to whether a dog's jizzum was as 
hot as a man's and how much there would be.

She found out quickly. King only took a few more strokes before spending.
She was surprised and somehow disappointed that there was no sudden flurry 
before squirting, as in the case of a man reaching orgasm. The dog simply 
moved his erection in her pussy at the attained speed, which did not 
increase or diminish in length or rapidity right up to the moment he 
finished. There was no attendant effect of faster breathing, only the 
quick, steady pumping of the stone-hard cock and the tapping of the small 
testicles, then, without warning, a flood of splashing juice further 
lubricating her vagina and sending shudders of pleasure all through her, 
during which, for some unexplained reason, she failed to come.

Apprehension shot into her mind as the dog finished and began to 
withdraw. To her great relief, the swollen knot, even larger now that he 
had spent, slid back and came out of her distended pussy without 
difficulty. Had the swelling been in her rectum, as Paul had warned, the 
tight closure of the sphincter muscle would surely have held the panting 
animal inside her. The fresh contact of the retreating knot with her 
clitoris made her shrink back in quick ecstasy.

"Good boy." She could not see Paul but she knew that he was patting 
King's head. "Blew your first one in a woman, eh? Now go back and finish 
the job."

What now, she wondered dully? Did he want the dog to take her a second 
time? She heard the animal's blunt claws scratch the rug as Paul hauled him
back to face her buttocks. "Get your nose in there and show us how you can 
lap." Paul must have pushed King's nose into her crotch. Nervous, not 
knowing what was going to happen, she flinched quickly and almost cried out
as the cold nose snuffled against her rectum. Dogs always smelled one 
another when they met, she knew, but did this one have to do it to her 
after taking her so completely?

Then the animal's rough tongue, warm where its nose had been moist and 
cool, licked across her rectum and she forgot to be apprehensive and scared
in the pure delight of it.

Cynthia put her head down on her arms and gave herself entirely to 
physical sensation. She forgot to be afraid or disgusted anymore. The 
licking tongue was an independent thing, unconnected, just a tongue 
caressing her intimately, without origin. It might have been Paul's or 
Vivian's or the lesbian wife's who had made love to her at the swinging 
party.

Her dripping pussy twitched uncontrollably as King stopped his probing of
her rectum and gave his attention to the wet area further down. At every 
second lick, the end of his tongue found the opening of her cunt. Then he 
was licking the hair around it, opening the lips and applying the warm 
roughness to her clitoris. Unable to keep still under the added stimulus, 
she pushed back against him and heard Paul chuckle and urge the dog to 
further effort. "Lay it into her, King boy."

The derision in his voice had no effect on her mind. Before, when the dog
was screwing her, she had decided that she could not get any lower than 
allowing an animal to possess her. Now she could not have cared less, as 
long as the wonderful sensation continued to drive her almost out of her 
mind. She knelt there and enjoyed it, deliberately repressing all thought 
other than the realization that she had never experienced anything so 
exciting before. She knew that she was going to come before that teasing 
tongue made many more strokes over her clitoris and this time she had no 
intention of holding back as she was beginning to do when Paul took her. 
The woman at the party had done her best but nothing a human tongue could 
do was a match for King's hard licking. His strokes were longer, beginning 
at her standing clitoris, which seemed to puzzle him a little so that he 
lingered over it, to end on her rectum before lapping back for another 
pass.

She did not even try to repress the overwhelming urge when it drove 
everything else out of her head. Instead, she held back for a couple of 
maddening seconds to let her desire become unendurable, then came with a 
hard gasp until she became afraid that she could not stop. It was the best 
orgasm she had ever felt and it left her momentarily spent and weak. She 
closed her eyes, trying to retain the exquisite feeling, and the dog's 
tongue left her crotch and he whimpered behind her.

Her eyes were still closed in delicious reverie when she felt his paws 
grasp her hips and his silky belly hair tickling her back as he mounted her
again. His moist nose sniffed the back of her neck and he licked it 
briefly. Although she could not see him, she knew that Paul was helping the
dog to find her pussy with his pumping cock.

It parted the lips almost at once and the engorged knot in the middle 
which had reminded her of a douching syringe followed the sharp head deep 
into her vagina. She could feel the swollen part forcing her pussy open, 
sinking in ever deeper as he quickened his strokes. The knot was even 
bigger than Vivian's black cock and it hurt her this time as King rammed 
his erection into her. But the pain was pure pleasure, making her want to 
laugh and scream as she pushed back against it. She turned her flushed face
sideways on her folded arms and giggled and sobbed, out of herself, in a 
state of total rapture which frightened her as it enthralled her mind to 
the exclusion of everything else.

Vaguely, she wondered for an instant if the dog's plunging prick would 
tear her pussy. Then the thought vanished as the rapture prevailed. The big
bulb seemed not to move anymore. Only the sharp head and the shaft were 
providing any friction, driving in and out at an ever-quickening rate as 
though detached from the swollen section. Her straining mind did not even 
try to explain it. All she was aware of now was the stick-hard shaft 
rasping over her clitoris, making her want to come forever.

From her experience the first time King took her, she knew that the 
coupling would be over almost as soon as it began. The dog would spend in 
her much sooner than a man could reach orgasm. Yet doing it with King 
seemed to extend the act, in spite of its brief duration, into a much more 
satisfying and complete experience.

Even though she was subconsciously ready when he came, the first jet of 
his tepid semen took her by surprise. Then she was with him, climaxing in a
protracted orgasm which dominated her mind and body so entirely that she 
could not remember the urgent prick coming out of her.

Dimly, she thought that a brief light flashed behind her. She heard Paul 
talking to the dog and pushed herself up to turn and face him. Then she saw
the camera with the flash attachment in his hand. She wanted to protest but
the impulse was a weak one. What did it matter, anyhow?

"I took a couple more before," he informed her evenly, "but you were too 
busy to notice. Don't worry. They're just insurance. I won't show them to 
anyone unless I have to."

He tugged at the panting retriever's silken ears until the dog yelped, 
then turned away to pour himself a drink.

She was coming out of the bathroom when he spoke again. "Now you know how
to dog-diddle," he mentioned and the sneer was back in his tone. "That's 
insurance, too; for your old age, like saving yo-yos and boy scout knives."

Later, she hated him and herself and cried all night.

CHAPTER EIGHT

In spite of herself, the first thing Cynthia looked for a few evenings 
later as Paul opened his front door was the dog King. To her 
disappointment, he did not come rushing to meet them like the first time 
and Paul answered her unspoken question.

"He's at the vet's. Won't eat. I think he's in love."

She felt the hot blush on her face but he did not pursue the subject. As 
usual, the first thing he did was to dig out the whisky and go into the 
kitchen for ice.

She had regained a measure of cool when he came back and put another 
question which popped into her mind. "Why didn't we come here instead of 
going to those motels?"

He turned quickly," frowning at her. "You know I don't like questions," 
he grunted. "Why don't you shut up? If it'll ease your mind, I only moved 
in here a couple of weeks ago. Anything else bothering you?"

"No," she answered contritely. "I just asked."

He grunted again but had nothing more to say until he handed her a drink.
"Drink it all, pussycat It's got a pill in it, like I told you. You'll need
it tonight."

Wondering and not caring overmuch what the evening held in store for her 
as long as Paul was there, she sipped the Scotch. Then, because she was 
thirsty, she emptied the frosted glass in two long swallows and asked Paul 
politely if she could have another.

He looked at her appraisingly without saying anything, then surprised her
by taking the glass and refilling it. "Enjoy yourself," he said. "There's 
work to be done."

She was sipping her second drink, not enthusiastic about the taste of the
whisky but enjoying the quick kick it gave her, when a car stopped outside,
followed by a loud knocking on the door.

Paul put his drink down without appearing surprised and went to the door 
and opened it Past him, Cynthia saw another man about Paul's age. When he 
came in, a girl wearing a lot of makeup and a pair of hot pants followed, 
resting a hand briefly on Paul's arm in greeting and glancing curiously at 
Cynthia. She was so made up that her age was anyone's guess. Cynthia was 
certain that she would never see thirty again, which made her more or less 
old and decrepit.

"Welcome to my lowly pad," Paul said. He waved at chairs and mixed two 
more drinks. Only after he had handed them to his new guests did he bother 
with introductions. "Cynthia, meet Trudy and Bill. They're brother and 
sister, though you'd never guess it."

She had already lost interest in the girl and was studying the brother, 
comparing him to Paul. He was an athletic type, broad through the 
shoulders, with almost white hair which stood up stiffly in a crew cut. He 
was younger than his sister, Cynthia figured, and she felt sure that he had
played football at school. At first glance, she liked him somewhat more 
than she disliked Trudy.

"This is the girl I told you about," Paul mentioned. "She's coming along 
fast but she still has a lot to learn. What do you suggest we do for 
openers?"

When they hesitated, he went on. "Don't be afraid to speak up. She knows 
what the score is."

Trudy handed him her empty glass and shook her head at the offer of a 
refill. "Let's go then," she suggested. "The first thing to do is take off 
our clothes." She sent a quick glance in Cynthia's direction to see how the
idea affected her and opened her blue-shadowed eyes a trifle wider as she 
watched her get up off the couch and pull her dress over her head. "Well," 
Cynthia heard her murmur, "she's quick on the draw, right enough."

For some not apparent reason, Bill wanted to keep his jockey shorts on 
but Paul shook his head. "No fair to organized lechery. Get 'em off."

As soon as the other reluctantly complied, Cynthia was barely able to 
stifle a giggle as she saw the reason for his hesitation. He was blessed 
with a pair of balls like a yearling bull's, above which nestled a penis 
less than an inch long, looking as though the rest of it had been cut off. 
Cynthia was convinced that he must have had an accident until she saw the 
pink head emerging from the foreskin. As she watched, incredulous still, 
the head came all the way out and the foreskin receded as the stubby prick 
became erect. In no time at all, even while his sister was unconcernedly 
removing her brassiere, Bill's baffling member was standing proudly up 
against his belly, longer and thicker than Paul's.

"Had you guessing, didn't it?" Paul, who had been watching the 
astonishment grow in Cynthia's face, laughed shortly. "Bill has a gut cock.
It's in his own when it's not in somebody else's." He nodded when he saw 
that all of them were naked. "That's that," he said. "Where do we go from 
here?" He was looking at Trudy and she made a face at him, then smiled.

"Why pick on me? I'm just here, like the rest of us. But if I had my 
druthers, I'd like to play merry-go-round."

It made no sense to Cynthia until Trudy stepped out into the middle of 
the floor and bent over, with her hands on her knees. At once, Paul took 
his hard penis in one hand and made like he was leading himself by it. When
he came up behind Trudy's dimpled buttocks, he pushed his erection between 
them, then opened them with his thumbs to see where he was going. "Long or 
round?" he asked her.

"Long," she answered. "Round this early gives me the hiccups." Then, when
he drove his length into her cunt-"Jesus! You're Worse than Bill. Take it 
easy, lover, will you?"

The "lover" was not lost on Cynthia and she was furiously jealous until 
she decided that it was merely a term of address, with no particular 
meaning. Bill came over to her and held out a hand to help her off the 
couch. Then he seemed to change his mind and sat down beside her. "You're 
pretty," he told her sincerely. "Just looking at you makes me want to come.
How do you like to fuck?"

She was still wondering where all that hard prick had come from, 
listening to him with only one ear. Then she realized that he was trying to
be gentle with her and liked him even more. For a minute, she appeared to 
be tongue-tied, not knowing how to respond to this unexpected 
consideration. Then she said, in a sort of shy whisper, "I'm old-fashioned.
I like it the regular way."

"You mean, like Dad and Ma did it?" She sensed he was laughing with her, 
not at her and nodded quickly. Not looking at him, she wriggled around and 
lay flat, with her head on the arm rest, raising her knees to let him get 
between them. Unashamedly, she reached for his standing penis and steered 
it to her pussy as he put weight on her and startled her by bending down to
kiss her on the lips. "I only kiss my women for openers," he said. "After 
that, I can't be certain where their mouths have been."

He moved his crotch in response to her guiding fingers and pressed gently
when his cock head opened her pussy, thereby discrediting Trudy's 
allegation that he liked to ram it in."

"We'll have to make it fast," he murmured in her ear. "When Sis calls 
out, that's merry-go-round and we all ride together."

She was too excited by the sensation of his prick slipping into her to 
ask questions and she forced her thighs wider apart to take the fullness of
him and feel the nudging of his balls as he finished thrusting and paused 
momentarily before withdrawing. It was perfect and she closed her eyes to 
dream that she was a hetaera of ancient Athens, dispensing her favors only 
to her chosen lovers. She was Helen being made love to by Paris on the ship
that carried them to Troy. She was anybody but the girl who had been taken 
by a dog in this very room a couple of nights ago.

"Why, you're crying!" Bill came to a quick stop to look at the tears 
seeping through her lashes to streak both cheeks and drip slowly off her 
chin. "Am I hurting you? I thought... "

"It's all right," she whispered, managing to open her wet eyes and give 
him a shaky smile. "I'm just being silly, I guess."

Trudy's voice cut off any further explanation. "Merry-go-round!" she 
called and Bill got off the couch and held his hand out. "Get up now," was 
all he had time to say before Paul and Trudy came over to join them.

"Get your ass down on the floor," Paul directed Cynthia. "Lie on your 
back between Bill's legs."

Bill was already in position when she looked down and he helped her first
to sit between his knees, then lie back on his belly with her head on his 
chest. He put both hands down to adjust her buttocks, lifting her a little 
until the head of his prick was in line with her pussy. Then he let her 
down easily and they were coupled once more, only this time his prick went 
deeper. If this was "merry-go-round," she decided that she was definitely 
in favor of it. The sensation of being speared by Bill's erection drove the
tears away and she rubbed a quick hand over her eyes so that the others 
would not notice.

Paul's gruff voice cut in to her enjoyment. She felt his knees pressing 
against her ears as he straddled Bill's head to shove his turgid prick into
her face. "Suck it," he ordered tersely.

She had to turn her head sideways before she could fit the head into her 
mouth and she had started the tongue bit when she felt hurried lips on her 
nipples as Trudy did her part of the action.

"That's about it," Paul remarked. "Unless another cock comes up through 
the floor and sticks her in the ass."

After a little awkwardness which earned her a slap on an ear, she managed
to match the rhythm of her lips on Paul's prick with the stroking of Bill's
solid length in her pussy. The triple stimulation, as Paul began to screw 
her mouth, was almost too much for her. If someone had told her that one 
day she would become so turned on that she would be unable to stand it, she
would never have believed them. Yet that was what was happening to her now.
Bill's horn was pressing against her clitoris all the way in and out, not 
just engaging it momentarily. The friction was constant Paul's driving 
prick was probing her swallowing throat at every stroke, almost gagging her
in spite of her circling finger and thumb. Trudy's tongue on her nipples 
was a teasing softness, an urgent insistence which in itself was more than 
sufficient to induce quick orgasm.

Not sure that she was doing the right thing but unable to remain still 
under the mounting exhilaration which amounted to virtual torment she put 
an unsure hand out and found Trudy's pendulous tits and stroked them 
unsteadily. The physical exertion helped and when she timed it to the 
movement of both pricks and followed Bill's steady strokes with a careful 
up and down reaction of her hips, the overwhelming excitement leveled off 
into a condition of controlled ecstasy which was still all that she could 
experience without immediate climax.

It did not last Otherwise, she was certain afterward that she would have 
had no sanity left. Bill shortened his strokes in silent concurrence with 
Paul and both men shot off in unison. The flooding semen in her cunt and 
throat seemed like anticlimax after the intolerable emotion which preceded 
orgasm; so much so that she lapsed into a state of non-feeling, as though 
her mind had gone numb and Trudy had to keep on sucking her boobies for a 
full minute longer before she could come.

When it was over and the rampant pricks were out of her, she let her head
fall back on Bill's chest and would have liked nothing better than to pull 
a faint. She closed her eyes and at once her mind swam away and she was 
somewhere else, drifting through nothing, so spent and empty that all 
feeling had gone.

Hours later, so it seemed, Paul's voice roused her and she found that she
was stretched out on the couch instead pillowing herself against Bill. She 
had no idea how she got there. Presently, Trudy brought her a drink. She 
took the glass with both hands and it rattled against her teeth until she 
got half the whisky down. The liquor stopped the trembling and she listened
to what Paul was saying. There was a peevishness in his tone.

"Get a move on, you stupid bitch. You're holding up the party." She 
wondered if he was drunk.

"She's all right now," Trudy pronounced. She took the empty glass and 
added, in a lower tone, "Don't worry. It hits me like that sometimes and 
I've been screwing longer than you've been breathing."

"How'd you like to suck your brother's cock?" Paul inquired.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Trudy answered, without any special 
inflection. "Would it, Bill?"

"I love you, too," Bill said. "Let's go."

One of the strange things about this party was that nobody told her what 
to do. She had to play everything by ear except when Paul snapped at her. 
Cynthia wondered if that was their way of teaching her. If it was, it 
worked. Never as long as she lived would she forget what it felt like to be
fucked in the cunt and mouth and have her titties eaten, all at the same 
time. There were no words to describe the total sensation or any way to 
predict the outcome. She was afraid to think about it, yet it stayed in her
mind, fascinating her.

This time Paul squatted on the rug, pulling Trudy down with him. Adeptly,
she pushed her buttocks between his parted knees and lay back on him, as 
Cynthia had done with Bill. There was a little pause while Paul found 
Trudy's pussy with his ready penis. She helped him by raising her hips, 
then settled down with a happy sigh. Bill knelt beside Paul's head and 
offered his hard cock to his sister, who took it between her lips without 
any hesitation. Plainly, it was a repetition of the first action, with a 
change of partners. When nobody said anything, Cynthia supposed that her 
part was now that of booby sucker and she bent over Trudy's ample breasts 
and began to lick one of the brown nipples, feeling it harden and rise 
under her tongue.

One of the advantages of Cynthia's position was that she could watch the 
performance without skimping her own job. Since Trudy had been so decent to
her, she had changed her mind about the older woman. She wanted to help her
all she could but at the same time, by peeking out of eye corners, she 
contrived to see the rest of the action.

If she had not just been in Trudy's place, she might have been tempted to
laugh at the spectacle of Paul's cock screwing, as it were, backward. The 
underside of the head, instead of the top, was massaging the clitoris and 
his brown balls lay seamy side up in his crotch instead of banging against 
Trudy's cunt every time the engorged prick went into it Paul's knees on 
either side of her hips opened and closed regularly at each stroke but his 
erection was still visible for a good half of its length, until she lifted 
a foot and held it in her hand, thus taking some of her weight off him. 
After that his horn drove into her so that the reclining testicles appeared
to belong to her. The spectacle of a pussy seemingly possessing a bag of 
balls was too much for Cynthia's overworked mind. She snickered in spite of
herself, releasing Trudy's hard nipple and making out that she had sneezed.

Bill's face was too high for her to see it without raising her head, but 
she got a close-up view of his prick going in and out of his sister's 
mouth. She was holding the back end of it in her free hand, rubbing the 
foreskin up and down while she sucked the top part but never allowing the 
head to sink into her throat. Apparently, she gagged easily and was afraid 
of the full length. It did not look like much of a blow job but from the 
way Bill kept stroking Trudy's face, pausing every now and then to bend his
knees and fuck her mouth as deeply as she would let him, he seemed to be 
enjoying it. A corner of Cynthia's mind registered the certain knowledge 
that if she dared to do a half job like that with Paul, her cheeks would be
stinging in no time. Maybe they had started that way when they were kids 
and never changed the pattern.

Cynthia sneaked another look at Paul's upside-down cock, making a mental 
note to remember Trudy's foot-in-hand technique, which not only afforded 
her partner more room for action but also raised her pussy for better 
penetration.

Aware then that her own clitoris was clamoring for stimulation, she put a
hand down and stroked it lightly with her finger, wishing that Trudy could 
play with her tits. That not being possible, she did the next best thing, 
milking the hard nipples between her thumb and finger until she felt the 
sudden surge of emotion which warned her that she was on the verge of 
coming.

Trudy took her brother's prick out of her mouth, rubbing it harder and 
holding it away from her face. At the same time, she drew in her breath and
held it, then released it in a deep sigh and began to jerk her hips faster 
and faster, in time with Paul's stroking. Paul reached around her and found
her standing clitoris and pushed it against his moving hardness, holding it
there while he shortened his strokes to quick, inch-long pumping. Above 
Cynthia's head, Bill had closed his bigger fist around his sister's and was
fucking her hand faster and faster.

There was a definite pause, during which nobody seemed to move. It only 
lasted for a split second. Then Cynthia saw Bill's arching come jetting 
onto the rug. Trudy called out and released her foot, jerking against 
Paul's horn. Then she raised both feet, letting go of her brother's 
dripping cock to hold her ankles and Cynthia, tickling her clitoris and 
fingering her own tits, saw the surge of the rushing semen along the tube 
of Paul's inverted penis as he arched his back in a final thrust and held 
his pulsing hardness in the twitching cunt until he had voided his load.

Cynthia came then, hard and breathlessly, as though Paul's squirting 
prick had been deep in her vagina instead of Trudy's. She was still coming 
when Trudy put her feet down and sighed again as she rolled away from 
Paul's spearing shaft and sat up. Semen oozed from her half-open pussy and 
joined her brother's come on the rug. Nobody spoke. The ticking of 
Cynthia's wristwatch sounded loud in the suddenly quiet room.

Paul, as usual, was the first to say anything. He got on one knee, then 
stood up, running a casual thumb and finger along the length of his 
softening erection to squeeze out the last drops of pearly come. "Good 
timing," he mentioned. "Everybody blew together." He went over to the 
bottle and mixed himself a drink, neglecting to ask if anyone else wanted 
one. That was Paul all over, Cynthia found time to reflect; rude, selfish, 
arrogant, yet fascinating like nobody else she had ever met.

"Now you know why we call it merry-go-round," Trudy remarked when she was
breathing normally. "Everybody gets to ride and the action goes round and 
round. Paul, you horny bastard, don't be so stingy with your Scotch."

CHAPTER NINE

For two weeks, Cynthia saw nothing of Paul. He did not call or contact 
her and she was sick with worry that something might have happened to him. 
He could have had an accident, she told herself. He might be in jail. A 
dozen possibilities, all of them disturbing, ran through her mind as the 
days went by with no news of him.

One of the worst features of their relationship was its necessary 
secrecy. Officially, they did not know each other, with the result that 
there could be no direct communication. Then she ran into Vivian, Paul's 
black friend, when she was coming out of a downtown drugstore. Vivian had 
some news. He assured her that as far as he knew, Paul was all right. He 
had gone out of town on business and should be back in a few more days.

With her mind easier, she began to wonder what sort of business had kept 
him away for so long and at once began to worry that he had taken up with 
another woman. Vivian had been polite but vague. He might be covering up 
but there was nothing she could do about it.

Two evenings later, the phone rang and she contrived to get to it before 
her mother could answer. "Eight. Same place." It was Paul and he hung up as
soon as he gave her the message. She tried to keep from showing undue 
excitement and had the presence of mind to say, "Yes, Mr. Gorman," before 
hanging up.

"Babysitting again?" her mother smiled. "It will do you good to get out 
of the house. You've had a peaked look lately and I know you love those 
children."

"Yes, mother." There was only one "child" and he was a son-of-a-bitch on 
wheels but what her mother didn't know would not hurt her. Or would it? 
Supposing, in spite of all Paul's precautions, she got pregnant or if some 
busybody blew the whistle on them. What would happen then? For no apparent 
reason, she put her arms around her mother and kissed her. Then she went to
her bedroom to change clothes. Tonight she wanted to look her best.

* * *

The black car was waiting when she turned the corner, with Paul sitting 
behind the wheel, smoking a cigarette. He seldom smoked and Cynthia thought
this might be a sign that he was in one of his less cranky moods tonight 
But he just nodded, as usual not making any effort to open the door, as 
though they had met yesterday and he had not been away at all.

It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him where he had been but she 
thought better of it. She didn't care very much, anyway, she decided, 
allowing her arm to rest ever so lightly against his as they drove off.

"Some friends of mine are in town," he mentioned when he had finished his
cigarette and flipped the butt away. "I've invited them to my pad. That's 
where we're going. And don't tell me you've got the rag on."

She had finished menstruating four days ago. During her period, when he 
had not called, she had wished that he would, so that she could use it as 
an excuse for not meeting him. Now she realized that it had just been pique
and that she would have gone with him anyway.

She wondered who his "friends" were and to her surprise, after they got 
away from town and the trees and derricks loomed vaguely against the sky, 
he explained further. "While I was away, we formed a little club. It's 
called the Fucking Shame, because it's a pity we didn't think of it 
sooner."

He had no more information to give her and when they reached the end of 
the turnoff, she counted four other cars parked under the eucalyptus trees 
in front of the house. Three of them had out-of-state licenses, she 
noticed, and a little fear which she could not have analysed shot through 
her. What were a bunch of strangers doing in this out-of-the-way place? 
Then she felt the solid comfort of Paul's arm against hers and the fear 
went away, leaving a growing curiosity in its wake.

When she was a trifle slow in getting out, he took her elbow roughly. 
"Get a move on," he snapped. "We're late enough as it is."

There were seven strange men in Paul's living room when he opened the 
front door and almost pushed her inside. None of them got up. They just sat
and looked at her appraisingly. There were no introductions. As Paul turned
to close the door, one of them, a heavy set man with long sideburns and a 
droopy mustache, put his highball glass down and came over and put a finger
under her chin. "Young pussy," he mumbled, looking back over a shoulder at 
the others. "I haven't had any in a coon's age. Look at those legs and 
tits, will you?" He put his other hand up to squeeze one of her breasts. 
Involuntarily, she flinched and looked appealingly at Paul.

"Now, Willy." Paul put a hand on the big man's arm and turned him back to
the couch where he had been sitting. "You know the rules. Hands off until 
it's your turn."

Willy muttered something about looking the merchandise over and sat down.
Two of the other men glanced at Paul and nodded. "You sure can pick 'em," 
one said. "She'll do."

"Let's get this straight." Paul included them all in his straight regard.
"This 'merchandise,' as Willy calls it, belongs to me. It's strictly on 
loan, to start the club rolling." He went into the bedroom and came back 
carrying a leather dice box. "Who's first?" He looked around the room. 
"High man takes first turn." He held the box out and rattled the dice 
inside and Willy got up quickly, not waiting to set his glass down.

"Poker dice," he said, after peering into the box. "My favorite fruit." 
He looked for a place to throw them and rattled the dice several times, 
holding the box against an ear, before spilling them out on the coffee 
table.

"Three kings!" he called exultantly. "Let's see someone beat that."

Willy's throw was high until the last man, a youngish, blond fellow who 
looked out of place among the older members, threw four aces and swept the 
dice back into the box triumphantly.

"You can take your pick," Paul said to him. "On the couch here or on the 
bed. If you're too shy to get a hard-on, you can shut the bedroom door."

To her relief, the blond guy, whose name turned out to be Ernie, elected 
to take the bed. A little cheer went around the room as he put an arm 
around Cynthia's shoulder and led her away. "Leave some for us," somebody 
called before Ernie closed the bedroom door and turned the key.

Before, with Paul close by, Cynthia's principal feeling had been one of 
excitement. Now, alone with this stranger, although he looked to be a 
decent kind of guy, she grew suddenly shy. She wished Paul had given her a 
second highball. The drink he did pour for her was a short one, barely 
enough to dissolve the pill, which made it taste funny.

For a minute, she stood there by the locked door without moving or saying
anything, watching Ernie take his clothes off. Then, realizing what was 
expected of her and feeling a quick thrill as she saw his hardening prick, 
she began to undress, keeping her back turned until she was naked. His 
hands came under her arms and cupped her hard boobies as she straightened 
from stepping out of her panties.

"I like you," he said. "And I like these, too."

He took his hands off her breasts to turn her around. Then he pulled her 
against him and dry-fucked her a couple of times. His penis was hard now, 
like a stick jutting out of his light crotch hair. It slipped between her 
thighs and brushed the lips of her pussy while he went through the motions.
After that, he pushed her away to get his head down and suck her nipples.

Her clitoris began to throb at the first contact and she shoved her 
boobies against his mouth and moved impatiently. She had not had a man for 
a couple of weeks and she knew she was as hot for it as he was. She had no 
need of any fore-play and would have liked to stretch out on the bed and 
feel him enter her and come after the first few strokes and keep on coming 
until he shot his load into her. She would not hold back with this one, she
told herself. With Paul, it was different, almost a duty to wait until he 
was ready. The only feeling she had now was purely physical. Like a cat in 
heat, her mind registered, or a mare waiting for the stud.

Ernie put a hand down and pushed a finger into her wet pussy to stroke 
her clitoris. The contact thrilled her so unbearably that she almost 
wrestled with him to get onto the bed and lie down.

"Not that way," he said, holding her back. "Lie on your face across it. A
little higher. That's it."

For a second, she wondered if he was going to take her in the rectum and 
hoped he would not because he had a thick prick and she did not want to be 
hurt. But he just used his thumbs to pry her buttocks apart and steered his
stiff horn, without holding it, to where his finger had been moments ago. 
The lips of her pussy stretched a little uncomfortably as the head sank in.
Then the top of it slipped over her erect clitoris and the wonderful 
sensation was all she could think about.

He knew how to screw, she decided, even if he did not look very much 
older than she was. Instead of heaving and shoving the length of his penis 
all the way into her, he pulled back when it was partly inserted and again 
she flinched as the swollen head found her clitoris and stroked it 
deliciously. He fucked her a little deeper the next time, coming back to 
find the clitoris once more and, as his hardness finally penetrated her 
fully so that their hair mingled, she let herself go and came with a little
sigh of contentment, almost as fully as she usually did with Paul.

His technique was fine but his staying power needed developing. She had 
barely finished when he caught her by the shoulders, hauled her back and 
had a violent orgasm which shook the bed and in which she did not 
participate because it was too soon. He screwed her diminishingly for a few
more strokes, then came out and released her. When she looked around, 
wondering if he was through, he was pulling his pants on, looking very 
satisfied with himself.

"One-shot Charley, that's me," he grinned at her. "Never managed a 
double-header yet."

She sat up, feeling neglected in spite of his explanation. Through the 
closed door, she could hear the rattle of the dice box and knew they were 
playing to see who was next. Quick resentment filled her as she thought of 
Paul's agreement to "lend" her to his cronies or fellow members of whatever
they were, without as much as a by-your-leave, as though she really were 
his property, to be insulted or traded at will. She pulled a corner of the 
quilt over her nakedness as somebody knocked on the door.

She half expected to see the loud man with the black sideburns when Ernie
opened it Instead, it was the fellow who had congratulated Paul on his 
choice of female companionship when she first arrived. Ernie finished 
dressing and gave her another grin before he left. When he closed the door 
behind him, she surprised herself by putting both hands flat on the bed and
inquiring, "Well, how do you want it?"

The newcomer opened his eyes a little wider. "Sounds familiar," he 
grumbled and she wondered if the disappointment in his voice meant that he 
was asked the same thing when he went to a whorehouse. His next remark 
confirmed it. "I come here for a nice friendly evening and I get hit with a
crack like that." He sounded a bit blurry and she wondered if he was drunk.
"But I forgive you." Now he sounded magnanimous, as though he was doing her
a favor. "Do you know, by any chance, what a missionary fuck is?"

She shook her head, certain that Paul, in all his teaching, had never 
mentioned such a classification. She did not even know if missionaries 
screwed, although they must, because most of them had big families.

"You can call me Jim," her companion confided, unbuttoning his shirt. 
"I'm not a missionary. Just managed to escape. Threw me out of the 
seminary, flat on my ass. Nasty of them. All I can do now is screw like 
one."

Sure now that he was a little tipsy but intrigued because she wanted to 
find out how missionaries did it she sat there without saying anything 
more, watching him climb out of the rest of his clothes. When he pulled a 
shoe lace into a knot and cursed steadily without being able to undo it she
got up and helped him and he patted her bare behind and followed her back 
to the bed. She noticed that he had omitted to remove his shorts.

"Lie down on your back now," he instructed her, "and cover yourself with 
the quilt. When I get on top of you, take the quilt away. The sin lies in 
seeing. And you must shut your eyes when we do it."

She almost giggled but went along with him to the extent of doubling the 
quilt over herself while he got a knee on either side of her hips and felt 
in his shorts for his penis. When she saw it, hard as a bone, she flung the
quilt off and got her legs outside of his. Then she put her knees up as far
as she could double them and reached for his erection, taking it out of his
hand and working the head into her exposed cunt. When it was in position, 
she wriggled her hips and pushed hard and the whole length of him 
disappeared, so that when she raised her head to look down, all she could 
see was his brown balls lying in her crotch, with no visible cock to 
balance them. This time she had to giggle and, mistaking her smothered 
laughter for remorse, he patted her arm soothingly.

"There, there. Don't cry, child." His voice tapered off, as though he was
talking to himself. "More like a dog fuck than a missionary grind."

He finished shortly, coming quicker even than Ernie and further surprised
her by saying, "Thank you. Best piece of-that is, nooky I can remember."

Jim had omitted to lock the door and he was putting his shoes back on 
when it opened and Paul looked in. A man she did not recall seeing, bigger 
even than Willy of the mustache and sideburns, was behind him. He seemed 
impatient. "What's going on?" he growled.

"Hold your potato," Paul told him. "If you're through, Romeo wants to 
show the world how good he is in bed. It's okay, you guys." He turned his 
head and waited until the other men came in, then said, "Let's check him 
out."

Ernie was not among them and Cynthia heard a car start up and guessed 
that he had left. One-shot Charley or whatever, he appeared to have enjoyed
himself. She could still feel the smooth knob of his prick teasing her 
clitoris. The big man Paul called Romeo pushed through the others. He came 
over to the bed and stood looking down at her. Jim muttered something to 
the effect that he had absolutely no interest in watching some other guy's 
ass going through the motions. He shoved his way out and she heard ice 
tinkling and knew he was mixing another highball.

"I can't get over those tits," Romeo, whose real name turned out to be 
Hank, informed the audience. He put a hand down and fiddled with a nipple 
and laughed when it hardened under his finger. "And I don't particularly 
relish a wet deck." He removed his jacket and looked around for a hanger. 
Finding none, he folded it carefully and placed it on a chair. "I think a 
little booby-busting is called for," he mentioned. For some reason, 
although he had taken off everything else, he had forgotten to remove his 
socks. She wondered if he suffered from cold feet, like her father.

"Look at those for a pair to draw to." Hank, kneeling astride her flat 
belly, bunched her titties with both hands. Without further comment, he 
hunched forward and thrust his standing prick into their unresisting 
softness and began to screw them in rapid, stabbing strokes.

"What the hell?" Somebody spoke up and she saw movement around the door. 
"I thought he had something special he wanted to show us. I want another 
drink."

The bedroom was empty when she managed to take another look. Even Paul 
had gone and she was alone with this guy who was fucking her tits almost as
fast as King, the dog, had screwed her pussy.

He was heavy and he put most of his weight on her as he rasped away, 
holding her tits so close together that when his thick cock drove between 
them, he hurt her. When he stopped pressing them against each other to take
the nipples and hold them that way, the pressure eased but now his fingers 
and thumbs were like clamps and the discomfort was even worse. She was glad
when he came and shut her eyes and tucked her chin in to avoid getting too 
much of the spurting semen on her chin and mouth.

He finished coming with a grunt and a final shove and she wanted to get 
up and wipe herself but he shoved her back roughly and pulled her thighs 
apart and drove his smeared prick savagely into her pussy.

Paul had raped her when she passed out that first night in the beach 
house but she did not think he had been as crude as this man who was taking
her brutally, fucking her so hard that his weight coming down on her at 
every stroke drove the breath out of her and made her think she was going 
to faint. The bed was creaking so much that she wondered if it would break 
beneath them. Then she hoped it would, so that she could get out from under
him and draw a full breath again.

When he had screwed her boobies, his erection between them had not seemed
so large. Now, probably because of the vicious manner in which he was 
driving it in and out of her dilated cunt, all the way up and back to 
plunge in again balls-deep, it seemed like a crowbar inside her.

Worse than the pain was the thought that he might injure her and that she
would have to go to a doctor. If that happened, she would really be in 
trouble and so would Paul. She bit her lips, trying to think of some way of
ending it. He was too heavy to push off her. Besides, he had her by both 
shoulders and was pressing her deeper into the mattress with each new 
stroke. His cock seemed to be a foot long, pinning her to the bed so that 
she could only move her hips when he raised up. That gave her an idea and 
she waited deliberately until he drove down into her, then lifted his 
crotch to start all over.

She tried to time it properly, waiting until he was at the maximum 
withdrawal, with his cock head bulging the lips of her pussy. Then she 
snaked a hand down and caught him by the balls and twisted hard as she 
tried to heave him off. She could barely move under the crushing weight and
was about to give up when he let out a yell like a banshee and jumped off 
the bed and stood alongside it, with the come spurting out of his cock as 
though it were a small fountain.

"Goddamn you!" he snarled at her and, for a moment, she thought he was 
going to hit her. Then the door opened and Paul walked in. He looked at 
Cynthia and then at Hank. "What's going on here?" he inquired.

"She-she grabbed me by the nuts," the big man gasped. "Just when I was 
about to come."

"He was hurting me," Cynthia defended herself. Of a sudden, she came off 
the bed in a flurry of arms and legs and picked up one of her shoes. "Get 
out of here, you bum!" She barely realized that it was her voice. She was 
mad all through and didn't care if Paul slapped her. Nobody, Paul included,
was going to hurt her like that. She tried to hit the big man, when Paul 
caught her arm and took the shoe away. "Easy does it," he said to her. 
Still holding her arm, he turned back to Hank. "Well," he asked the big 
man, "what are you waiting for?"

"Goddamn it, I paid my share with the others."

"Sure you did. Here it is."

Paul pulled a roll of bills out of a pocket and stripped some off. 
"Here," he said, handing them over. "Now you can go and fuck yourself."

The other snatched the money and eyed Paul appraisingly, as though taking
his measure. Apparently, he did not care for the odds. Instead, he pulled 
his pants on, not looking at either of them and went out into the living 
room to finish dressing.

"He really was hurting me," Cynthia repeated. The money bit mystified her
and she tried to remember what Paul had said about a club. Perhaps it was a
membership fee which he had handed back to Hank. Anyway, it did not matter 
because he did not appear to be angry. On the contrary, he gave her 
shoulder a perfunctory pat as he handed the shoe back. "Regular little 
spitfire when you get riled up," he half grinned. "And all the time, I 
thought you were just a pussycat."

He went out of the bedroom and she dropped into a chair, wondering 
without much interest what was about to happen next. The flare-up with the 
guy Hank seemed to have drained her, leaving her listless and indifferent. 
She was grateful when Paul came back, carrying a stout-looking drink, which
he proceeded to hand to her. "Drink up," he said before leaving her again. 
"There's more on the program and we'll all have a ball." He turned in the 
doorway as if he had remembered something. "Next guy that bothers you, just
holler." He shut the bedroom door and she got the idea that he was giving 
her a chance to catch her breath.

She had finished the whisky when another knock came. Wondering if she had
not better dress, she had her panties and bra on when the knob turned and 
one of the men whom she had barely noticed before came in and smiled a 
little uncertainly at her. "Paul said to wait a few minutes. That guy Hank 
just left."

He must have known what had happened and was trying to reassure her. She 
could not have cared less what the big ox had done but she was grateful for
the assist This guy looked more human, at any rate; even a bit bashful as 
he stood there, not seeming to know what to do or say next Cynthia made up 
her straightening mind that she liked him.

"Take your pants off and stay awhile," she invited. "Everyone else does."

He actually blushed and she found time to wonder what a sensitive guy 
like that was doing with the other characters. "What's your name?" she 
asked. "That is, if you want to tell me."

"Sure," he answered without hesitation. "I'm Perry Ricks."

She repeated it to herself and had a hard job keeping her face straight 
when she discovered how close it was to "Pricks."

"What would you like to do, Perry?" she managed to ask him.

The way he put his hands in his pockets and took them out again and 
shuffled his feet made her think of a kid with his first date. Then he 
appeared to make up his mind and looked at her steadily without blushing 
anymore. "I want to get in bed with you," he confessed, "but I want to do 
it the-the way I like it. Do you mind?"

"I don't know what you mean. How do you like it, as you call it?"

"Well, don't think I'm queer or anything like that It's just that when 
Paul suggested I join his club and explained it was a sex thing, I thought 
it was a good chance for me. You see, I like girls but I don't like to do 
it to them, if you can understand."

Cynthia frowned and shook her head. It seemed that she had been shaking 
her head to this guy and that all evening. "I'm afraid I don't," she 
admitted. "Why don't you tell me some more about it?" That way, she could 
rest a bit more while she listened. She wished she had another drink. The 
liquor was taking away the listless feeling.

"I don't know how to say it." He was stammering again.

"Look." She felt like patting his shoulder to give him courage, but 
thought it better to keep her hands to herself until she found out what 
made him tick. "I know I'm not very old," she said, instead, "but I've been
there and back, if you read me. So out with it."

"I like to do it to girls but not where other guys do." He appeared to 
grab his courage in both hands, eager now to explain. "Other guys like to 
do it between a girl's legs," he said in a rush of confidence.

"Or in their mouth or ear or butt," Cynthia said to herself. She nodded. 
"Go on."

"I don't care for that," Perry continued. "I think it's-well, dirty. 
Please don't laugh at me. I like to do it between their buttocks or in 
their armpit It's the only way I can get an erection."

And if that's not queer or something, Cynthia mused, what was it? Aloud 
she said-"I don't see any harm in doing it that way. Do you want to try 
it?"

A light grew in his eyes which was not there before. He seemed to shed 
his diffidence and become alive. She watched while he hung his coat on a 
chair back and came over to her. "Aren't you going to take the rest of your
things off?" If he was still shy, it might be as well to boost him along a 
bit. But he shook his head. "This is far enough."

To hurry him up because she was afraid someone would come in and 
interrupt them before she found out how he went about his strange sexual 
enjoyment, she got up and walked over to the bed and stretched out. "Which 
do you want to do first?" she asked.

"Would it-that is, I rather prefer it in the back. If you'll just lie on 
your side, I can get behind you."

Obligingly, she rolled over, bending her knees so that her buttocks were 
presented to him. She felt the bed give as he climbed on it, then the 
warmth of his body through the shirt as he lay against her. She half 
expected to feel his cock nosing into her crotch to find her pussy or 
rectum and was surprised when it pushed between the backs of her upper 
thighs instead. So far, she had not seen how he was hung. There had been a 
suggestion of a long prick in his slacks before she got on the bed but 
nothing like the horn which came out below her cunt, protruding far enough 
for her to reach down and stroke the head and push the foreskin back. It 
was longer than Vivian's black dick but not as thick around. No wonder he 
didn't like to stick that elongated member into a woman. It was better 
fitted, Cynthia found herself thinking, to serve cows or mares.

He had not been circumcised and the head, after she skinned the foreskin 
back, was pink and moist in her hand. He began to screw her thighs and hand
as soon as he felt the touch of her fingers. To help him, she pressed her 
thighs together and cupped the head of his prick in her palm, allowing it 
to slip between her fingers while she squeezed it gently. Counting what was
between her legs and in her cradling hand, she figured she must be 
accommodating nine or ten inches of bony cock.

Experimentally, after he had screwed for a while, she tried pressing the 
head and the shaft as they drove forward against her pussy, trying to get 
some friction on her clitoris, but he reached over her hip and put his hand
over hers and pushed his penis down again. Clearly, he wanted nothing to do
with her genitals. Perhaps the friction of her tightly closed thighs was 
all he craved. She contrived to hold the head of his erection over the side
of the bed when he came and the rug caught the arching semen instead of the
quilt.

The pulsing of his prick as the come pumped along the underside to reach 
the eye and shoot out gave her a brief thrill but she did not come with 
him. It was too remote, too far removed from the real thing to induce a 
climax in her. It reminded her of masturbation, with her thighs doing the 
rubbing instead of her hand.

He sat up on the edge of the bed as soon as he finished coming and pulled
a handkerchief out of his hip pocket to wipe his cock. He doubled it over 
and offered it to Cynthia but she did not need it. She was becoming expert 
in dodging jizzum, she found. Unless it was somewhere inside her, she 
wanted none of it.

A little more boldly, he asked her to let him screw her in an armpit and 
when she nodded, he hitched himself higher behind her nudeness and lifted 
her arm to put his still-hard cock underneath. He lay so that the head 
pointed upward and would go into her armpit when he began to fuck and she 
knew she would have to be quick if she wanted to avoid taking a warm come 
bath. She decided that the best way would be to roll onto her face when he 
spent and let the bedding take his load instead of her chest and tits. She 
wondered if a whore, doing it for money, felt this way, with no emotion, 
going through the motions mechanically to satisfy her customer. All she got
out of it, except for the novelty of being screwed in the buttocks and 
under her arm, was an increasing boredom and she wished this kook or 
whatever he was would hurry and get it over with. All the same, in a way 
she felt sorry for him, with that long pole of a prick which no sensible 
woman would think of taking.

His erection slipping through its foreskin between her arm and her body 
awoke a spark of desire in her and she pressed down on it while she did 
some more thinking. He was a decent guy even if he was a little kooky. This
thing of his, screwing between arms and legs, was ho better than jacking 
off. Perhaps she could help him.

He was jerking his elongated penis back and forth, mumbling under his 
breath as though saying a little prayer, getting ready to blow his nuts, 
when she moved quickly. However she accomplished it, she was not sure 
afterward, but at one moment she was lying passively on her side, facing 
away from him, and in the next she had turned around and thrown a thigh 
over his hip and half of his erection was in her pussy. The other half was 
circled firmly by her hand.

He fought her at once, trying to get away from her and free his horn, 
bleating something she could not understand while he attempted to shove her
leg away. Only when she tugged at his prick and squeezed it did he give up 
and stop struggling.

"Now you're going to get fucked, whether you like it or not," she told 
him evenly. She turned to get a little nearer to him, hugging him against 
her with her leg. Then she began to screw the part of his, cock that was 
inside her with slow, even strokes.

"I won't come," she heard him mutter. "It's not right."

"Oh, yes, it is." She screwed a bit faster, feeling him return her 
thrusting, feebly at first, then taking up the rhythm, until she had to 
hold the plunging shaft tighter to avoid taking more of it As it was, she 
could feel the head punching against the end of her vagina. She found that 
by moving his hardness sideways when the head receded, it found her 
clitoris and she knew she was going to come with him. When he threw his arm
around her and hugged her convulsively, she screwed all the harder.

They came together. His warm semen shooting into her passage felt 
wonderful; much more exciting than watching it squirt out onto the rug.

"There." She moved her leg away when it was over. "Wasn't that better, 
Perry boy?" Unconsciously, she adopted Paul's way of addressing people. 
When he did not answer, she looked at him quickly and saw that he was 
crying softly. Something told her not to say any more. When Paul rapped at 
the door, Perry was trying to wipe the come off his fly with his 
handkerchief. He looked up as the door opened and went out, walking around 
Paul without looking at either of them.

"What's the matter with him?" Paul asked her. "He looks kind of 
tuckered."

"Yes," she nodded and suddenly wished that everybody would go away and 
leave the two of them alone. "I raped him, for a change."

He frowned at her without asking any more questions. "That's four down 
and three to go," he mentioned presently. "How do you feel?"

It was the first time he had even showed any consideration for her 
condition and she felt quick tears in her own eyes at the thought of it. 
"I'm okay," she assured him, a little huskily. "But send me one who isn't 
screwy. I'm tired of creeps."

"Willy's getting impatient by the minute," he said. "He's hot to trot but
I think he's all mouth. Work him over and tell me later what happened." He 
went out then and Willy came charging into the bedroom in his underwear. 
Apparently he had shed the rest of his garments outside. There was a bulge 
in his shorts which bespoke a stiff erection. "Open your legs, you pretty 
thing," he practically shouted at her. "I'm going to stick it so far up you
that you'll be able to taste it!"

He stepped out of his shorts and shrugged out of his undershirt and threw
them on the floor. The bed groaned under his weight as he knelt on it and 
pushed her knees up over her boobies. For a moment, he fiddled with his 
jutting prick, moving it in her crotch until he found her cunt. Then he 
came, pumping his jizzum all over her thigh. He stopped rubbing his penis 
and hunkered back, out of breath as he regarded it ruefully. "That's my 
trouble," he gasped at her. "I haven't been able to get into a woman in ten
years."

Cynthia had heard of premature orgasm but this was her first experience. 
To her surprise, although she had no feeling one way or the other about him
personally, she felt cheated, possibly because she had anticipated the 
thrill of having a hard cock put into her and nothing had happened except 
the sticky mess on her leg. She decided that she hated him. Then she 
remembered that she was doing ail this for Paul and her quick anger went 
away. "Try it again," she suggested evenly. "Come back here. I'll help 
you."

He skinned his foreskin back and his waning penis appeared to stand 
again. Purposely, she took her time in drying her thigh with an edge of the
quilt. Then she held both arms out invitingly. "Easy, Willy boy," she 
counseled. "Just keep it hard. I'll get it in." Just for kicks, she was 
determined to take him, even if she had to fuck him as she had done with 
Perry.

His prick was about average size, she figured, feeling its length with a 
hand as he leaned over her to try again. The head was slick with fresh come
and she steered it between the lips of her pussy quickly, afraid that he 
would shoot off before he was inside.

A look of astonishment, replaced by another in which she read hope, came 
into Willy's face as he felt his penis sink into her vagina. Carefully, 
while she thought he held his breath, he let more weight press on her and 
at last, as he gave a loud sigh, she thrilled to the settling of his balls 
against her rectum. Then he froze, seemingly afraid to begin screwing.

Tentatively, she started the action for him, pushing up a little way, 
then dropping back, deliberately trying to keep her full cunt from 
twitching. She moved slowly, only an inch or two, watching his eyes widen 
and the hope in them give way to conviction. "I did it!" Excitedly, he 
commenced to fuck her. His prick, if anything, was harder than when she had
eased it into her. He put more of his weight on her and she lay quite 
still, letting him have his way without interference. Willy was going to 
have the lay which all those years had denied him.

His frank fascination with what he had achieved made her enjoyment 
increase until it matched his own. If he was out of practice, as he 
claimed, he certainly had not forgotten how to screw. Once he was confident
that he was not going to climax before he was ready, he settled down to 
work, not forgetting her clitoris when he pulled back, leaning forward at 
the return stroke to allow the shaft to slide its length over the sensitive
area.

She was making up her mind that this style of screwing was better than a 
tongue job. When the lesbian wife had lapped her pussy, Cynthia was sure 
that no more wonderful sensation was possible. Now, with the length of 
Willy's horn slipping up and back, engaging her clitoris constantly, she 
changed her mind. This was pure ecstasy. Even Paul had never stimulated her
this much.

Nothing would have pleased her more than to come again and again, but she
made up her mind to fight the urge away, letting Willy take his time in his
newfound potency. After all, coming was like swallowing after one had 
enjoyed chewing. Once you gulped, you were through. If she let herself 
climax, she was almost certain that he would come with her and the sheer 
wonder of it would end.

When he spent in her, it was like a strong anticlimax after the almost 
unbearable excitement of his prick on her clitoris. He did not come 
immediately. She was fucking with him steadily and with a sort of desperate
purpose when he finally reached orgasm. Even then there was none of the 
usual flurry about it, just the natural end of intercourse, when both 
parties unconsciously agree that mutual abstention is no longer possible. 
His semen did not burn her like Paul's did, yet the sensation of it 
flooding her vagina drove her to climax with him.

He rested on her for a few seconds, then heaved himself up and began to 
look for his abandoned underwear. He put it on slowly, giving his belly a 
little satisfied pat as he settled the elastic of his shorts and came back 
to the bed: His mustache tickled as he bent over to kiss her on the cheek. 
It was a fatherly kind of kiss, without passion. "Thank you." It was more 
of a whisper than anything. She watched him close the door quietly behind 
him before she got up to stretch the cramps out of her legs and sit down in
the chair.

Afterward, she could not remember much about the remaining two members of
Paul's club. They came into the bedroom together and fucked her normally 
and dully, one watching the other. Then they went out laughing, as though 
each had achieved some sexual miracle. She forgot them before they were 
through the door.

* * *

It was an hour since Cynthia had showered and dressed herself. The last 
car had left after some raucous conversation and promises to return for the
next meeting. She was sitting on the couch, sipping a drink and watching 
Paul count money on the coffee table.

"Well, pussycat." He looked up at her, leaving the pile of bills on the 
table. "You ran through seven of them. I guess you're proud of yourself."

When she made some noncommittal answer, he scooped the money up and held 
it out to her. "Three hundred clams. Take it. It's yours."

"But-" She hesitated, not sure if he meant it or was playing one of his 
games with her.

"If you think that it makes a prostitute out of you," he said dryly, "it 
does. I made each of those clowns ante up fifty bucks before they got 
inside the bedroom. You'd have had a better take if I hadn't refunded 
Hank's money. Fuck him, anyway. I hope he breaks a leg."

She took the roll of bills from his automatically, her mind not quite 
registering what she was doing.

"Don't you want to count them?" The old sneer in his tone, for some 
reason, set her more at ease. "I might be holding out on you, you know."

She shook her head, then opened her purse and stuffed the money inside. 
Let him sneer. He did not know it but he could not hurt her anymore. She 
had graduated. She was herself. Nothing he said or did would humiliate her 
in any way. Because he needed her as much as she needed him.

He was right. Now she was a whore. But she was his whore and there was 
nothing he could do about it. That made all the difference.

THE END

