Forced To Love
by Robin Townsend


FOREWORD 

Teenyboppers, jailbait, had always been Jim Wallace's special weakness. 
Young and curvy and willing. Underage girls who would permit him to 
experiment with the secret places between their legs. Promiscuous 
Lollipoppers who would encourage him to enjoy their sexual favors. Young 
things who were anxious to experience not only sexual intercourse, but who 
were eager to discover "sixty-nine," anal seax, and group sex. 

But those were dreams . . . secret lusts that Jim carried deep inside him. 
He had too much sense to fool around with girls that young. But, yes, he 
would look. There was nothing wrong with looking. He could look at them in 
their micro-mini skirts, feast his eyes on their bare legs, hunger to feel 
their breasts, their tight little behinds. But as long as he confined his 
desires to merely looking and wishing, they couldn't lock him up, could 
they? Just thinking about it, that wasn't a felony, was it? 

But then the trouble began . . . 

Sometimes an opportunity presents itself that is too tempting to decline. 
Young stuff that is so readily available, so hot for sex, that laws are 
swiftly forgotten. And it happened to Jim ... 

A Vietnam veteran, drifter, girl-wanter, Jim is hitchhiking his way to 
Pennsylvania, wanting to hunt up former friends. A seventeen-year-old 
college girl, Candy Mason, offers him a lift, and Jim's sexual 
merry-go-round begins its course. 

The girl's saucy figure, the way she flaunts her sex, sets their destination 
back by several hours. She's eager to lift her dress and take down her 
panties; and, following a few drinks at an out-of-the-way roadhouse, Jim 
seduces the teeny-bopper in the back seat of her car. 

So he's gone over the brink, lived a dream, screwed someone sweet and young 
and tender.. And he's unleashed a monster, he discovers too late, for his 
predilection for young stuff, some of the girls no more than fourteen, leads 
him straight down the path to doom. 

-The Publishers 

1 

She was tender, all right. About seventeen, the way Jim figured. Seventeen 
and she had hot pants. And what made him so certain about the hot pants was 
the fact that she'd stopped to offer him a lift. Any time a young girl, 
driving alone, picks up a hitchhiker, well, she wants to get fucked! 

"Where did you say you were going?" she asked him, breaking into his 
thoughts. 

"Rivertown. It's about fifty miles this side of Pittsburgh." 

His gaze swept from her young face to the exciting slope of her teenybopper 
breasts. No bra on, he saw. He could make out her nipples, little buds of 
delight which were pushing outward on her pink cotton pullover. 

She maneuvered the Volkswagen through some heavy truck traffic, then 
jockeyed back to the inside lane. 

"You go to school down there?" she asked. 

He told her no, and he was amused that she thought him that young. He'd been 
out of school several years now, finished a hitch in Vietnam, worked briefly 
for a Chicago metal firm, then for a wholesaler, and lastly, for a shirt 
factory. 

"The metal firm went out on a long strike," he explained, "so I quit 'em and 
joined this wholesaler. Only he had some back accounts and went bankrupt. 
And after that, there was this shirt factory, and they closed up and moved 
to Tennessee." 

"Looks like you're doomed to welfare," she said with a light, easy smile. 

"Sort of." And he appraised her body once again, marveling at the curvy 
swell of her breasts, imagining how nice it would be to suck on them, to 
suck hard and deep and to hear her moan in response. 

"So what are you going to do in Rivertown?" 

"He struggled to take his mind off her hot young titties. "Look up some 
friends. Maybe get a job." He glanced briefly at the stretch of interstate 
highway before them. "I used to live there a long time ago," he added. 

"Are your parents-" 

"They're dead," he said, answering her question before it was phrased. "What 
about you? Where you headed?" 

"For home," she said. And home was a tiny suburb, not far from Gettysburg. 
She had completed her first semester at Kent, thought college was a drag, 
and didn't know if she was going back or not. 

"I just think there's more in life than college," she offered. 

Like picking up hitchhikers and giving 'em a .fast fuck? he wondered to 
himself. "So what will you do?" 

"If I don't go back to college?" 

"Yes." 

"I don't know. Just goof off for a while, I guess. Try to figure out what I 
want." 

He was silent, again feasting his eyes on her. Ripe and young she was. Dark, 
shoulder-length hair, a pleasing smile, lips that a guy could kiss for 
hours. Real pretty. 

And those bouncy, sweet-to-suck titties! Not king size or freakish, just a 
juicy, joyful mouthful. And finally, and what made his dong stiff and pulse 
for action, was the tops of her bare thighs. 

She wore a dark brown corduroy mini-skirt, and from the bottom of the skirt 
to the crotch of her panties could be no more than two inches. It was that 
short! Which left her pretty thighs plentifully exposed. 

He ached to touch the silky smoothness of her thighs, to run his hands up 
between her legs and discover how moist her young pussy was. But he was a 
little hesitant to make a pass-at least not just yet. She was jail bait and 
he wanted to be a hundred percent certain of his ground before he made a 
move. 

"Were you waiting very long back there?" 

"No. I've been pretty lucky about getting rides." 

And he had been. Three rides had enabled him to travel from Chicago to 
Pennsylvania, where twenty minutes later, she herself had picked him up. And 
this, given a ride by a teen-ager, was the best deal of all, he thought. But 
how did you fuck a girl in the tiny back seat of a Volkswagen? Especially 
with all the suitcases and junk she'd piled back there? 

They drove for another hour, exchanging unimportant bits and pieces of their 
pasts, and he kept his gaze riveted on her legs and titties almost 
continuously. 

Then, with nightfall descending rapidly on them, she said, "Are you getting 
hungry?" 

Hungry to eat you, he thought to himself. But out loud he answered, "Not 
really." 

And this of course was- an outright lie. He was damn near starved to death. 
But he was also next to broke, and a buck and some change divided by two 
wouldn't buy shit. 

"You could eat something, couldn't you?" she said, slowing down for a 
roadhouse. 

"Really, no," he answered. "But if you want to stop, go ahead. I can wait 
out in the car." 

She pulled into the gravel parking lot and turned off the ignition. Her eyes 
sparkled from the glitter of the neon atop the roadhouse. 

"You don't want to sit out here," she said. "Why not? I can catch a little 
shut-eye." 

"You don't have any money, do you?" 

"A little. But I'm not hungry." 

"Liar." 

"Honest. I'm not hungry." 

"So go inside with me anyway. I don't want to go in alone." 

She wouldn't listen to his protests, so he finally climbed out of the 
Volkswagen and lumbered after her. 

The view from behind was even better than the one in front. She had a 
delightful little wiggle. Her mini-skirt, tight as it was, didn't conceal 
the hot bounce of her ass either. And damn if he wasn't aching to lay her. 
And when they came out of this joint and went back to the car, well, he 
wasn't going to put it off any longer. 

The inside of the madhouse was as dingy as the outside. Dimly lit, smelling 
of stale beer and too many smokes. There was a bar, lined with the usual 
regulars, and a pool table at the rear, a few booths along the outside wall, 
and of course, the juke box. 

He and the girl found an empty booth and sat down. Presently, the bartender 
came over for their order. Three hamburgers and a pair of beers. 

"I told you I didn't want anything," he said, after the bartender had left. 

"The treat's on me," she smiled. 

He resigned himself to her generosity, uttering a simple, "You women!" 

She wrinkled her nose at him, patted his leg. The contact was brief, but the 
touch of her hand instantly electrified his senses. He wanted to do the 
same, put his hot hands on her smooth, bare legs, give her a squeeze. But he 
knew if he succumbed to his desires, touched the teen-ager's loving thighs, 
that he wouldn't be satisfied with just a squeeze. He'd want to feel her 
up-all the way! 

When their sandwiches were delivered, he wolfed them down, then drained his 
beer. He felt much better, now that his appetite had been appeased. But now 
another part of his anatomy was demanding attention, the half-stiff cock 
inside his denims. And this sweet young thing beside him could answer all 
his wild, erotic dreams. 

They had another beer, then another, and the bartender never once questioned 
her age, which, as far as Jim was concerned, was just fine. He wanted the 
girl to get a little high, for it would make his conquest all the easier. ' 

She handled the beer with apparent experience, he noted, and he couldn't 
help but wonder what other kind of experience she had. He'd heard that most 
of the college girls screwed like mad. This one was probably no different, 
he thought. This, in spite of her innocent, girl-next-door-smile. 

The third beer produced a warm glow in the both of them. A lazy warmth that 
sent them to the edge of silliness. Her laughter had a light, 
schoolgirl-like tingle to it and the laughter spread to her pale blue eyes. 

She was easy to like, too. No airs about her. Very ordinary. Very natural. 
Fun to be around, and he wondered if he was, perhaps, falling for this 
little teenybopper here in the booth with him. 

He didn't bother to analyze his feelings any further, mainly because 
something else was bugging him-wanting to get into her pants. 

The beer, of course, provided him with more impetus. And their common 
laughter had drawn them slightly closer together so that now their legs were 
touching each other. 

He decided to push his luck. Put his hand under the table, play with her 
leg. And this he did. But he kept up a line of patter, cracking her up about 
the goofy styles in women's dress. 

"I like 'em nice and short," he said, "the way yours is." 

He casually dropped his hand to her bare thigh. "Middies for biddies, and if 
you've got nice legs"-he stroked her warm, tender flesh-"nice like yours, 
then I say show 'em." 

"Thank you," she said, smiling, half-grinning, and doing nothing about his 
roaming hand. "Now if I could just get my father to think that way 
everything would be fine." 

"He doesn't approve?" 

"Heavens, no! He thinks every girl in a mini-skirt is a whore. Ill have to 
change clothes before I go home because if he saw me in this, wow!" 

He continued stroking her warm, smooth thighs. He was encouraged by her lack 
of resistance, knowing that in mere minutes he was going to fuck her. 

"I don't think your father and I would see eye to eye." 

"I'm afraid not," she said, spreading her legs slightly. 

He dared to move beneath her skirt He was only inches away from her panties. 
She pretended not to notice him, sipped desultorily at her beer. 

But now the bartender was watching him. It was a tip-off to leave, too. Get 
out of here before the bartender wanted her pussy, or if he was a do-gooder, 
caused trouble. 

He nudged the girl, made a motion with his head that they leave. She paid 
the check and they hurried back to the car. 

"I feel good," she said, fumbling with the key. 

"I could have drunk a few more beers and been on cloud nine." 

"Me, too. But that big-nosed bastard behind the bar was getting ideas." 

"So were you," she teased. 

"But my ideas were different," he said, moving against her. 

"I doubt it." She unlocked the car. "You were thinking the same thing he 
was-how to make out." 

He didn't deny it. He smelled her hair, kissed the top of her head, and held 
the door open while she climbed inside. He closed the door, came around to 
the other side, climbed in himself. 

"Well, how do we?" he asked. 

"How do we what?" 

"Make out." He glanced over the seat. "You got enough luggage in here for 
six girls." 

She laughed. "I can see you never went to college." 

"What's college got to do with making out?" 

"You learn how to put square pegs in round holes." 

"Ha, ha! But I don't have a square peg." 

"Ha, ha, again! But I do have a round hole." She started the car. "And in a 
very few minutes, sir, we shall put the round hole to good use." 

He felt as silly as she was. "With my square peg?" 

"Yes, with your square peg." He didn't ask where or how, assuming she had 
ideas of her own. But he hoped she hurried. 

She whirled the Volkswagen around with surprising expertise. Seconds later, 
she was roaring down the highway. But where was she headed? he wondered. Was 
she putting him on? Or was she really going to put out? 

He didn't let matters die down. He put his arm around her, moved as close as 
the split seat allowed, and once again began to play with her legs. 

"That feels nice." 

"It's supposed to." 

"It also causes accidents." 

He ran his hand up further and further. His index finger found the silky 
texture of her panties. His prick swelled with joy. He watched her face. 

She bit her lip, made little grimaces that were a mixture of joy and 
impatience. "Can't you wait?" she asked. 

"I don't think so. Where you taking us?" 

"Any place. Just so it's dark." 

"What about in there?" he said, pointing ahead to a dirt road that spurred 
to the right. , She slowed the car, swung the wheel, and suddenly they were 
bouncing over stone and ruts and mud. Her driving ability continued to amaze 
him, and especially so when she jerked the tiny car into another hard right, 
taking them into a plowed-up wheat field. 

She switched out the lights, climbed out of the car. She began pulling 
suitcases out of the back seat, piling them on the ground or in the front 
seat. He helped her. Then, grinning at one another, both a bit breathless 
from all the exertion, they climbed into the empty back seat. 

"I didn't think it was possible," he said, drawing the young girl into his 
arms. 

"Anything's possible if you put your mind to it. Including square pegs and 
round holes." 

He kissed her and she was as delicious as she looked. Lips of honey and 
youth, of passion and softness. Lips that yielded to the pressure of his 
kiss, that parted ever so slightly, hinting of the pleasures within. 

She moaned softly, which excited him all the more. He put his hand between 
her smooth young thighs. Her thighs yielded just as her lips had: parting 
slightly, inviting him inside. 

He thrilled to the feel of her panties: warm and silky, excitingly moist. He 
searched out the wettest spot of all, began to massage this area, and swept 
her into another long, possessive kiss. She reacted rapidly. She squirmed 
beneath his expert fingers. The moan in her throat became more intense. 

His cock stiffened to full hardness. His balls churned maddeningly. He 
wanted her youthful cunt and damn if he wasn't going to have her! 

He rubbed her pantied pussy a little harder. Her crack sucked inwards on the 
nylon, defining her nest with surprising clarity. She kissed harder. Her 
lips parted widely, seeking his tongue. 

He slid his hot tongue slowly into her mouth. At the same time, he pulled 
the crotch of her panties aside and sought her quivering bare flesh. 

Their tongues met. His mind exploded. So did hers. Both of them moaned in 
delight. They squirmed. He began to probe deeper between her legs, and she 
moved to give him the access he needed. 

Then, and for reasons he couldn't immediately understand, a pang of guilt 
and fear struck at his heart. What would he do if the police suddenly 
happened on the scene? Fucking around with an under-aged girl! And now he 
wondered if she was even of college age. Maybe she was putting him on. Maybe 
she was only sixteen or so. Then what? 

"Why'd you stop?" she asked suddenly. 

He swallowed his fears. "I thought I heard something," he lied. 

She sat up and listened. "I don't hear anything." 

"Maybe this isn't such a good place," he suggested, staring at the black 
night outside the Volkswagen. 

"Don't you want to make out?" she asked, sounding a bit hurt. 

"Sure, sure. But..." 

"But what?" 

"I just don't want to get caught, that's all." 

She leaned back against the cushions. She snaked her teen-aged arms about 
his neck. A sly smile came across her youthful face. 

"I think you worry too much," she said softly. 

"It's not that," he lied. 

"Or maybe you think a square peg won't go in around hole." 

He gave her a half-hearted smile and tried to put down the vague fears that 
threatened his pleasure. But he was worried and there was no use denying the 
risk of fucking a teenybopper. It might be the best piece of ass in the 
world, but if he got caught... well, it wouldn't be quite so nice. On the 
other hand, how could you look down at a moist, fuzzy, teen-age slit and 
tell yourself no? 

He decided he couldn't deny himself. To hell with the cops! To hell with 
everything! 

He slid her mini-skirt up as high as it would go. He stroked her bare 
thighs, dug his fingers into her hot, yielding flesh. He pinched her lightly 
and then his fingers raced between her slightly spread thighs and went 
straight to the crotch of her wet panties. 

This time he drew her panties downward. What he discovered surprised him. 
Her pussy hair was so fine, so sparse, that at first glance he thought she 
was without any. It was as though he were staring at the wet pussy of a 
hairless twelve-year-old girl. But her youth, instead of worrying him, now 
excited him. 

He lifted her ass, drew her panties down to her ankles, then off. He sucked 
in his breath. His eyeballs swelled in anticipation, but so did his cock! 

He was all over her with his hands-stroking her small, flat tummy, tracing 
finger paths through the corn silk of her lovely, young ass, then carefully 
poking his finger inside the hot, wet darkness of her fuckable cunt. 

The instant his finger entered her pussy, she seized his wrist and forced 
him to plunge his finger in deeper. 

"Ohhh, is that ever wonderful!" she moaned. 

He pushed still deeper, working his finger in as far as it would go. Her 
pussy clamped together on his finger. She was small in there, he thought, 
but not so small that she wouldn't find room for his throbbing seven-inch 
prick! 

He began to slide his finger back and forth inside her pussy, slowly at 
first, then a bit faster. 

At the same time, he used his other hand to explore beneath her sweater. Her 
cushiony, pink-nippled tits awaited his touch, his mouth. 

They were suck-size, exactly what a guy would expect out of an average 
teenybopper. And, of course, not unlike every other guy who played around 
with a young girl, he wondered how many other guys had been there before 
him. 

It didn't make him jealous, knowing that others might have sucked and fucked 
her. As a matter of fact, he found the thought mildly exciting. And she had, 
indeed, been played with ... of that he was certain. She knew how to raise 
up, giving him a better shot at her breasts; she knew how to bend her knees 
to make her pussy all the more vulnerable. 

"Pinch my nipples," she whispered. 

He did. 

"Not too hard," she warned. 

He let off on the pressure. He felt her nipples harden, grow hot. Her 
teen-age breasts seem to swell beneath his hand. 

"They're nice," he told her, barely recognizing his voice. 

"I'm glad you like 'em," she said weakly. And now she was squirming her 
hips, wiggling like a fish out of water, working his finger around and 
around inside her slippery pussy. 

He couldn't simply play with her titties any longer. He had to suck on them. 
Suck them, taste them! He slid upwards. He plunged his mouth over one of her 
luscious tits. She moaned loudly, raised up. 

He gobbled her tit like he was starving to death. He sucked so hard that he 
wondered if he was hurting her. But if she was hurting, it was a pleasant 
hurt, a hurt that made her moan and roll her eyes and wiggle her ass and go 
about half-crazy with desire. 

He went faster and faster with his finger. Her young cunt was on fire. Her 
juice had lubricated her pussy to the point that it was soaking wet. 

Her fingers dug into his back. Sweet moans of delight began in her throat 
and reached out for his ears. Her breathing grew more rapid. And now he 
remembered a familiar phrase: If they're big enough, they're old enough. And 
damn if she wasn't ripe and ready for fucking! 

But before he could complete his thought, she fumbled for the fly in his 
denims. She got his fly open and struggled to get a firm hold of his cock. 

He lifted up slightly, rolling to her left. She grasped his stiffness, 
pulled it out of his pants. 

She said: "It doesn't feel like a square peg. It feels like a round one." 

He smiled in the darkness, still playing with her cunt, licking her hot 
boobies. Her small hand felt good. She worked his foreskin back and forth, 
stroking the underside of his cock, tickling the frontal side of his balls. 

"I don't know if it's square or round," he mumbled, "but I think I oughta 
put it some- where." 

"So do I," she gasped. "And I think you'd better do it right now!" 

It was awkward, cramped, self-defeating with all their clothes on. But at 
the same time, perhaps because she was so young and willing, because they 
were both so hot, it was the greatest! Or so he thought. 

He couldn't get his prick inside her cunt quick enough. And once this was 
accomplished, once he had crawled between her wide-spread thighs, his 
emotions ran amok. And so did hers! 

"Ohh, but is that wonderful!" she exclaimed. 

He pushed his massive, throbbing cock in still deeper. Her pussy lips 
yielded, stretched. Her hole sucked on his length. He was drawn to her young 
bottom. 

He grasped the cheeks of her ass, slid his prick out of her young pussy, 
then pushed it back inside. 

"Don't take it out!" she pleaded. 

But he wanted to tease her, get her so fucking hot she wouldn't know her own 
name. 

He repeated the act, burying his cock deep inside her throbbing pussy, then 
drawing it all the way out, positioning it at the opening of her slit. 

"Damn you!" she hissed. She grabbed the head of his dick and plunged it into 
her pussy. She raised her ass. In the same motion, her legs flew out at 
space, scissored his waist. 

"Okay, smart ass," she grinned. "Now let me see you do it." 

He tried to move and found he was trapped. She was surprisingly strong too. 
He could move his pelvis an inch or two, but all his efforts failed him when 
it came time to tease her. He couldn't get his cock out of her pussy, no 
matter how hard he tried. And suddenly he decided he wasn't going to try. It 
was just fine where it was! "Well?" she said. 

"I give up. Square pegs in round holes, you win." 

She ground her hips slightly. Her ass worked against the seat cushions of 
the car. His cock felt the massage of her pussy lips that caressed his dick. 

The thrill of what she was doing to him was indescribable. Jacking him off 
with her cunt, she was. Holding him prisoner, working her quivering cunt 
back and forth over his throbbing dick. 

Her eyes watched his reaction: the sweat that broke out on his forehead; the 
strain of his facial muscles; the dreamy pleasure that swam in his eyes. 

He clutched her baby-soft ass. His face, he flattened against her bare 
breasts. She hugged him fiercely. And now her hips began a dance of wild 
rhythm that threatened to drive him out of his mind. 

Kid though she was, she knew how to fuck, how to explore the side roads of 
pleasure, how to milk the sex act for all it was worth. She skinned him 
again and again, her hot young pussy slipping back and forth over his 
swollen cock. No longer could he control his emotions. He was sex unbridled, 
dying to shoot his come into her lovely teenybopper cunt, her thighs, 
permitting him to fuck her at will. 

He stabbed her with all the might in his body. He knifed her tender young 
pussy with his huge cock, drawing an uncontrolled moan from her soft, red 
lips. 

Her eyes swam as she experienced thrill after thrill. "Fuck me!" she begged. 
"Oh, fuck me hard!" 

Her words excited him, and he saw that it didn't make any difference how 
young a chick was, for when she got hot, she lost her senses. But there's 
nothing wrong with that, he thought. I've lost my senses, too. 

And now he was too excited to even think. Push it in, pull it out. Fuck the 
kid! Give this young-assed teenybopper the thrill of her life. Give her what 
she wants. 

He slipped the meat in and out of her as fast as he could. And for a 
youngster, he was surprised how capable she was. Pumped like a regular 
wildcat, she did. Wiggled her ass, slapped her belly against his groin, 
shook convulsively, sucked in every inch of his throbbing cock, and searched 
for more. 

They worked as a team, and this was what made it so wonderful, he thought. 
Other girls-so many of them-did little to help. They just laid there and let 
you fuck them. But this little hot-twatted teenager was something else! Like 
a pro. Loving his peter. Loving every thrust, every inch. Crying with joy. 

She raised her legs still higher, drew her knees to her chest. He was able 
to penetrate her cunt another inch or so. 

"Ohh ... it... it feels so ... so good! Y-Yes! Oh, but yes!" 

She was getting ready to pop her nuts, he thought. But that was all right, 
too. He was also ready to pop his. Couldn't hold off much longer. Had to 
shoot his juicy load of come into her young crack or blow his mind! 

He got a good, firm grip on her soft white ass. His strokes came faster. The 
car shook, the whole world shook. 

She pumped back in response. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. A 
violent shuddering took hold of her lower body. A crazy, joyous shriek came 
from somewhere in her throat and grew to a passion-wracked crescendo. 

Faster and faster went his cock. His balls swelled to the bursting point. 
The juice inside him bubbled for release. 

"Give it to me!" she screamed. "Give me your juice! Quick!" 

He couldn't speak. He was too hot to utter a word. Just a spasmodic jerk of 
his head. Telling her ' with an insane nod: Yes, I'm coming, sweetheart. 
Right smack into your pantin' little pussy! 

He reared back, then made a pounding plunge into the teenager's juice-filled 
slit. A hot jet of love cream shot to the bottom of her cunt. Another spurt 
burst from his cock, and then another and another. And, at last, it seemed 
that her whole cunt was filled with the cream of his orgasm. And if there 
was anything better in this world than fucking, Jim had little idea what it 
might be. 

For another minute or so, Jim and the joyous teenybopper rocked together, 
exacting the last thrill from their wonderful fuck. Neither wanted to 
release the other; neither wanted to break the wondrous silence. 

He felt up her lily-white ass, kissed her bare breasts, rubbed noses with 
her, kissed the dew of moisture along her upper hp. In degrees, his stiff 
cock grew small, limp. Still, they clung to each other, heard the excited 
but diminishing beat of their breathing. 

At long last, running her hands through his hair, measuring the look in his 
eyes, she said, "That was pretty cool." 

"I thought it was pretty hot." 

She kissed the tip of his nose. "It was that, too." 

He returned the kiss to her eyelids. "One of the best," he told her. 

"Not THE best?" she said, pouting quizzically. 

"I'll think about it." He grinned at her, awed by her youthful beauty, and 
thinking himself quite the fortunate one, wondering how many hitchhikers 
experience so thrilling a ride. 

"Do you think you can remove yourself so that I can put my panties on?" she 
asked. 

"I don't know if I have enough strength." 

"Try," she smiled. 

He uncoupled himself, zipped himself, then watched her slide on her tiny 
panties. He didn't want her to smooth down her skirt, but all good things 
have to end, he thought sadly. Minutes later he was helping her repack the 
back seat of the car. 

When they were back on the highway, he lit smokes for them, and she said: 
"Know what?" 

"What?" 

"We made out and we don't even know one another's names." 

"Crazy!" he said. 

"That's your first or last name?" she asked. "Both," he answered. 
"Crazy-Crazy. That's something." He laughed. "Jim Wallace, at your service, 
Miss...." 

"Mason. Candy Mason." 

"I like that." 

"I don't. I think it sounds crappy." 

"You don't know what's good," he said. "Candy is something you suck, 
something you lick, something you eat." 

"And you're a dirty old man," she said, her grinning eyes still on the road. 

"A dirty young man," he corrected. And now suddenly serious, she clasped his 
hand and said, "Jim, I like you." 

His reaction was automatic. "I feel the same about you, Candy. You're good 
to be with." And he cuddled against her, contented and happy. 

In the darkness of the bug car, miles and time slipped by them, time which 
would never return. 

He dozed off, for how long he didn't know, but too soon, it seemed, she 
shook him gently, taking him out of the warmth of his sleep. "Here's your 
Rivertown," she said. He shot her a sleepy, blank expression. "My what?" 

"Rivertown. It's where you wanted to go, isn't it?" 

He blinked his eyes, shook the sleep from his senses. They were parked in 
front of the Rivertown bus depot, and the street was empty. 

She scribbled on a small pad of paper. "This is my address, Jim. After you 
get settled, if you feel like writing . . . well, you can drop me a line." 

Wasn't she being a little abrupt? he wondered. He pocketed the slip of 
paper. He said: 

"Want to go inside the bus depot and get some coffee before you go?" 

She smiled sadly. "No, I better not. It's pretty late and I want to reach 
home before morning." 

He tried to think of something further to say, but his sleep-fogged mind 
refused to function with its usual sharpness. And yet, he didn't want her to 
leave. There seemed to be some things that needed saying before she drove 
off, something to soften his sense of regret. 

But that was it. Suddenly he was climbing out of her mud-spattered car, 
looking a bit forlornly at the young girl behind the wheel, managing a 
clumsy farewell. 

"G'bye Candy. I-I'll write. Okay?" 

"Sure, Jim. You do that." 

He blew her a kiss, took a final glimpse of her flashing bare thighs, the 
sparkle of her eyes. And then the door was slammed, she waved, and the bug 
car shot down Main Street, rounded a corner and disappeared. He felt as if a 
part of him had died. 

 2 

It was too late at night to call up old friends, so he spent the night in 
the bus station, jawing with the manager, drinking too-strong coffee, and 
thumbing through a pile of tabloids. 

When daylight broke, he went to a restaurant and had breakfast. From there, 
he went to a public library restroom, washed and shaved. By ten o'clock, 
perhaps ten-thirty, he was searching through the Rivertown phone book, 
looking up old friends. But this was when the disappointment set in. He 
discovered that his old buddies had, for the most part, moved up north, were 
in the service, or in college. 

He realized, and too late, that hitchhiking here had been a stupid act, at 
best. There was nothing here in Rivertown but memories. The town had 
changed, people changed, and he was a stranger amidst strangers. But worse, 
he was broke. 

He started asking around about jobs, but found there was very little work in 
Rivertown. 

"Unless you want to work for that kook Ramsey," the pharmacist at the 
Rivertown drugstore told him. 

"Who's Ramsey?" 

"Runs a gas station and general store out on 

Bridgewater Road. Doesn't pay anything, though. That's why he's all the time 
looking for help." 

Jim quickly decided that this was no time to be quarrelsome about wages. 
With only a handful of change in his pocket, he couldn't afford to be 
particular. 

"Think he might need somebody right now?" Jim asked the druggist. 

"Probably does. Between him and that wild daughter of his, they can't keep 
help more than a few days." 

"She'll rape you if she gets half the chance," the druggist continued. 
"Biggest delinquent in town, and everybody knows it but her old man. Him, he 
thinks she's a regular little angel." 

Jim listened with interest. He liked young stuff and after fucking the 
teenybopper who'd driven him here, he found old desires wide-awake. So maybe 
a few weeks of work, even if it didn't pay anything to write home about, 
would be worth his time. 

He asked for directions to Ramsey's place, thanked the pharmacist, and set 
out for Bridgewater Road. 

An hour later, he found the place. Nothing much, and just about the way the 
pharmacist had described it: a dilapidated gas station and a dinky garage. 
Adjacent to this, a ramshackle two-story frame building, which housed the 
store, such as it was, and their living quarters. 

He found Clay Ramsey out behind the gas station, burning trash. He had a 
reedy thinness about him, but the taut, leathery expression he wore 
suggested that he was tougher and meaner than his physique indicated. 

Jim walked up to him, introduced himself, came right to the point: he needed 
work. 

Clay Ramsey looked holes through him. He didn't appear to like what he saw, 
for he grunted and said, "I ain't got need for no floaters." 

Jim quickly defended his motives. "I'm not a floater. This is where I used 
to live." And he explained to Ramsey why he was here, about Vietnam, the 
whole bit. 

"You ever pump gas or work in a grocery store?" 

Jim lied and said he had. Up in Chicago and before he went in service. 

"Job don't pay much," he warned Jim. 

"I'd appreciate anything at all." 

"Well, I suppose I can use you, all right. But thirty's all I can pay." 

Jim started to tell Ramsey to shove his job up his ass. Thirty dollars a 
week, shit, that was out of the Great Depression. But before he could 
protest, Clay Ramsey added: 

"There's room upstairs over the store. You can have that. And you can take 
your meals with us. We don't eat fancy-like, but you won't go hungry." 

Jim weighed the offer. It wasn't the greatest, but since the old geezer was 
including room and board, it was passable. He could stay here long enough to 
save up some money, then head east and get a better job, or maybe go back to 
Chicago. 

"I'll take it, Mr. Ramsey. And I think it'll work out just fine." 

Clay Ramsey grunted noncommittally. He poked at the trash fire and went back 
to the station. Jim followed him. 

"There's just Kathy-Mae and myself," Ramsey said, lighting his pipe. "I run 
the station and she takes care of the store." 

Jim briefly wondered if Kathy-Mae was the wild child that the pharmacist had 
spoken of. Ramsey suddenly provided the answer. 

"Kathy-Mae quit school when her mother died, and I'll tell you-what did you 
say your name was?" 

"Jim, Jim Wallace." 

"Yeah. Well, Jim, like I was saying, I'd be lost without Kathy-Mae around 
here to give me a hand. Just the best little girl a father could have." 

Jim remembered the pharmacist's words: "Biggest delinquent in town, and 
everybody knows it but her old man. Him, he thinks she's a regular little 
angel." 

"You're lucky to have her," Jim said, knowing that this remark would please 
Ramsey. 

"You can say that again." He looked down the road. "Ain't much doin' right 
now, Jim, and if you got a hankering to take the job, why, I'll take you on 
over to the store and introduce you to Kathy-Mae, and she can show you where 
you'll bunk." 

"Suits me," Jim answered. 

Ramsey locked the register, then led the way. "This might work out all 
right, Jim. Fellows I had before, all they wanted was the price of a drink. 
Afraid of work, too." 

"Well, I'm not afraid of work," Jim said. "That's good. And like I say," he 
said, glancing over his shoulder at him, "Maybe it'll work out okay." 

The inside of the store was a mini-version of an old general store: dimly 
lit, high-ceilinged, jammed with merchandise, with only very little aisle 
space. Groceries, cold cuts, and a beverage area occupied about two-thirds 
of the store, and the remaining space was crowded with hardware, stationery, 
magazines and paperbacks, a few cosmetics, and, of course, a counter or two 
of yard goods. A hundred sundry items hung from the walls; no space was left 
unused. 

Ramsey shouted, "Kathy-Mae, you in the back there?" 

Suddenly a girl of about fifteen or sixteen emerged from behind a curtain, 
leading to the rear of the store. Her straight blondish hair hung past her 
shoulders, which was the first thing Jim observed; the second thing was her 
cute, saucy shape: the curvy ass and the tiny waist, her not-fully-developed 
titties-noticeable, nice, naughty. 

"Kathy-Mae," Ramsey addressed her, "this here is Jim Wallace. He's going to 
be staying with us for a spell. You can show him where he'll bunk down, all 
right?" 

The yoUng girl nodded shyly to her father, smiled faintly at Jim. She had a 
comic book rolled up in her hand, which fit the picture of an innocent young 
teenybopper. She chewed gum, her Scotch-plaid dress was little-girl in 
length, and one knee sock had slid down until it was several inches below 
the other. 

But she caught the direction of his gaze and lifted her leg to straighten 
the sock. This motion, though it took only a few seconds, offered him a 
titillating view of her thighs: tanned, firmly filled out, damn nice! 

He forced himself to look away. He didn't want old man Ramsey getting 
suspicious, and if he took that much pride in his daughter, he'd be quick to 
take notice of Jim's every move. 

"You want me to take him upstairs now?" she asked her father. 

"In a minute," Ramsey said. "I want to show him the place, first." And for 
the next ten minutes, Ramsey walked him up and down the narrow aisles, 
pointing out the merchandise. 

"You got a little bit of everything," Jim said, glancing over his shoulder 
to see if the girl was still behind them-which she was. 

"Well, I've found it pays to keep a wide line of things. There's a housing 
development down the road a piece, and I've found that if you try to have 
what they want, it'll keep 'em from goin' in town with their business." 

He took Jim back to the register. "We do some cash business," Ramsey said, 
"but most of it goes on the books." He pointed to a large ledger beside the 
register. "The fellows out here work at the automobile plant and they get 
paid every other Friday, which is when they usually square up with me. Get 
some dead-beats, but most of 'em pay up pretty regular like." 

Suddenly a car drew into the gas station. Ramsey said, "Kathy-Mae, you take 
Jim up to his room. I'll be back in a few minutes." 

Jim nodded to Ramsey, then zigzagged back to the narrow aisle that led to 
the stairway. Kathy-Mae swished her cute ass in front of him, causing Jim to 
excite with desire. It was wrong to feel this way about young girls, he 
supposed, but when they were this sweet, this luscious, he forever wanted to 
fuck them; and how, he wondered, was a guy supposed to suppress strong 
feelings like that? 

"Watch you don't trip on these steps," she cautioned him. "They're awful 
steep." 

He had to admit she was right. The steps were dangerously steep in their 
slope. But this steep angle was just great! Especially when a curvaceous 
teenager, wearing an extremely short dress, climbed the steps ahead of you. 

The view knocked his eyes out, literally. The bare backs of her thighs were 
visible all the way to the edge of her frail white panties. He saw the 
lovely cheeks of her ass, the promising dark pouch between her legs, and if 
he'd have had a camera, sonofabitch if he wouldn't have snapped a picture of 
it! 

By the time they reached the top of the steps, his cock was stiff. 

"It's in here," she said, leading him to a room at the end of the dark 
hallway. She opened the door and went inside. He followed after her, hoping 
she wouldn't notice the bulge in his pants. "My room's next door," she 
offered, and before he could reply, she went to the window and raised the 
window shade. 

But with a sudden zip and clack-clack-clack, the shade had shot loose from 
her hand and spun to the top of the window. She pulled a small wooden chair 
over to the window, stood on it, and stretched for the shade. 

Once again he was struck by the loveliness of her youthful legs. He had 
swept to her side to steady the chair and he found himself looking up under 
her dress once again, staring unashamedly, nearly tempted to tip-toe for 
another inch of height, then kiss her lovely young ass. 

If she knew he was looking, she gave no clue. And when the end of the shade 
slipped from her fingers and she had to reach for it again, he was able to 
steal another look. Her panties were a little too tight for her, apparently. 
They barely covered the crack of her pussy and he saw some of her pubic 
hair. But that wasn't all he saw. The material of her panties was gathered 
deeply into the crack of her ass, so he was able to see most of her bare 
ass. 

His cock was on fire when she climbed down from the chair, and he was so hot 
that he could have pulled it out, right in front of her, and jacked off on 
the spot. Or better yet, said: Let's fuck! 

But, of course, he did neither of these lustful deeds. She was, from a legal 
standpoint, jailbait of the worst possible kind. She had an overly 
protective father, she wasn't more than sixteen, and if you fucked around 
with her and got caught-hell, a judge would give you twenty years, probably. 

"What d'you think of it?" the girl asked him. He glanced hurriedly at the 
room: the tiny dresser, the aged double-bed, the threadbare rug. 

"It's-it's fine." He smiled weakly and she read his displeasure. 

"I got some pictures you could hang on the walls," she offered. "And there's 
an extra lamp I could bring in." 

"I don't want to put you to a lot of extra bother," he said, his eyes 
swimming up and down her ripe young body. 

"It's no bother," she shrugged. "Might as well make it like home." 

He smiled appreciatively, thinking: Home was never like this. 

"You don't have no suitcase or nothing?" she asked. 

He told her the way it was. His luggage, together with all his books, was 
stored in a Chicago express office. "I thought I'd wait until I got settled 
before I sent for it." 

"You'll need some work clothes, then, or something." 

"I don't want to put you to no bother," he said. 

"It's no bother. I like to do things." 

He tried to read a meaning into that. What things? Fuck? Stand on a chair 
and let some guy stare at her half-bare ass? 

"What size d'you wear?" she asked him. 

"Really-I don't want to put you out." 

"Will you shut up and tell me what size you wear?" 

There was a long, ripe pause as he stood there. 

He slowly gazed upon her, with her little 
sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice hands on her hips, an impish smile 
crossing her red mouth, and he wished he could sweep her into his arms and 
fondle her body. 

"Well?" she said. 

He told her his sizes. 

"I'll get you some towels, too," she said, and she disappeared, and he heard 
her clip-clopping down the stairway. 

Minutes later, she returned, bearing work uniforms, fresh underwear, towels, 
some toilet articles. "After a while, I'll get you some pictures to put on 
the walls, and if you want, I got a little portable radio you can use." 

"You sure think of everything." 

She shrugged, embarrassed by his gratitude. "And the bathroom, it's across 
the hallway." She stacked the towels neatly in the small dresser, set the 
toilet articles on the nightstand, and smoothed out the bedspread. 

Once again he was trapped into looking at her lovely, curvy bare thighs. His 
balls churned with itching desire. How nice it would be, he thought. Open my 
fly, pull my cock out. Stroke it a few times, make it as hard as iron. Then 
move up to her. Move up to her real quietly. Then, before she knows what's 
happening, pitch her dress over her ass, pull down her panties, and stick it 
between her legs and into her cunt. 

His thoughts so completely ran away with him that he unconsciously felt 
himself. But suddenly she straightened up, turned, and said, "Well, I'll get 
out of your way so you can change, if you want." 

He swallowed his desire, trying not to be obvious about how he felt, but 
knowing he must be very obvious indeed with his pecker sticking straight 
out. 

But if she noticed it, she gave no indication. And he wondered if her 
naivet was manufactured or genuine. She was only fifteen or sixteen, he 
reminded himself, and maybe what the pharmacist had told him was an 
exaggeration, pure gossip. Maybe this sweet little Kathy-Mae who exuded such 
perfumed innocence was just as he saw her. 

"See you later," she said, heading for the door. 

He stared hungrily after her swishing, tight little ass. "Okay, Kathy. And 
thanks." 

She waved and closed the door. 

Well, he thought, I think I like all this. And even if she's too young to 
fuck, there's no law that says a guy can't look. Meanwhile, I can stash away 
some dough. 

He showered, put on the clean work clothes she'd given him, and he was about 
to go downstairs to the store when there was a rap at his door. 

It was Kathy-Mae again, this time bringing him something to eat. "Pa thought 
you might be hungry," she explained, setting a tray of sandwiches and beer 
on his nightstand. 

"Tell him thanks," he said enthusiastically. "I sure am hungry." 

"You like beer, I hope." 

"Love it!" 

"So do I." She sat on the edge of the bed, a few feet from the tray. She was 
looking wistfully at the beer. "But Pa thinks fifteen's too young to be 
drinking high-powered beer." 

He wolfed down part of a ham sandwich and he saw that she was still staring 
at the beer. 

"Sometimes I sneak one," she said suddenly. 

He started the second half of his sandwich, not oblivious to her hints. She 
wanted some of his beer. 

"What if your Pa found out?" 

"How's he going to find out? I'm not dumb enough to tell him, y'know." 

It was all he wanted to hear. He said, "Drink some of mine, if you want." 

She accepted eagerly, taking several deep swallows. She paused, wiped her 
mouth, then once again tilted the bottle to her rosy lips. 

He allowed her to drink about half the bottle and he made no attempt to stop 
her. It would be easy to get her drunk, he thought. Get her drunk and fuck 
the hell out of her. But in order to do that he'd first have to get rid of 
her old man. 

"I'd better be getting downstairs," she said, getting up off the bed and 
smoothing down her dress. "We usually get busy about this time." 

"I'll finish this and be right down," he promised. 

"Take your time." She made a few steps toward the door. "And Jim, I'm-I'm 
glad you're with us. I mean-well, it's kinda like having a brother." 

His dark eyes settled on her luscious tits. He didn't feel very brotherly. 
He said, "Kathy-Mae, that's nice to hear. And I'm glad to be here." 

She offered him a warm, meaningful smile and he recognized the signs of a 
crush. Already she was fond of him and if he cared to risk the consequences, 
he was sure she would let him fuck her. 

He spent the rest of the afternoon doubling back and forth between the gas 
station and the store. Clay Ramsey showed him how to check out the cars that 
came into the station: look under the hood, check the water and oil, make a 
quick inspection of the battery, give them a clean windshield, then collect 
for whatever gas that had been pumped into their tank. All with a courteous 
thank you and come back again. 

But the gas station did less business than the store-or at least that was 
Jim's conclusion that first day. And that was just fine, for it caused 
Ramsey to order him to spend most of his time in the store. And there was 
nothing wrong with that. Not with a lovable, fuckable teenybopper to keep 
him company. 

She threw him moon eyes most of the afternoon, and that was fine, too. And, 
naturally, there was an opportunity here and there for little familiarities. 
Like when they were forced to pass each other, going down the narrow aisle 
to wait on a customer. He had to brush her little behind or "accidentally" 
bump her tits. And once, when she had to get by him to reach the cash 
register, her hand brushed his half-stiff cock. 

He wasn't sure whether this was intentional or not. All he was sure of was 
that it felt good. Not simply good, but terrific! 

Towards the later afternoon, a food truck delivered a shipment of boxed 
breakfast food. Some of the cartons were stored in the tiny back room, but 
the bulk of it had to be placed on shelves. 

Kathy-Mae slid an aluminum stepladder down the aisle. She climbed atop the 
ladder so that she could reach the shelves where the breakfast cereals were 
stored. 

"You hand 'em up to me, okay?" she said. 

His mouth watered. He gazed at the teenager's curvy legs. The view was even 
better than the one on the steep stairway, or when she'd been in his room 
adjusting the window shade. He could see everything-her panties, .little 
tufts of pussy hair that peeped out from the elastic edging, the dark, 
luscious crack of her ass. ' 

"Are you going to stand there all day?" she said, waiting for him to hand up 
the cereal boxes. 

He forced himself to look away and reached down into the huge cardboard box 
on the floor. He grasped several boxes of cereal and began handing them up 
to her. 

But he couldn't take his eyes off her marvelous legs, her huggable ass, her 
kissable young pussy. Reaching for the cereal, handing it up to her, this 
was done in blind automation. All his worldly attention was concentrated 
between the teeny-bopper's slightly parted legs. 

A lump grew in his throat. Another lump grew in his pants. He ached to touch 
her, run his hands over her smooth, firm flesh, stroke her young legs and 
thighs. 

He forced himself to speak. He said, "Maybe I shouldn't say this, but white 
is my favorite color." She didn't realize he was staring at her wispy 
panties. She said, "What's that suppose to mean?" And then, as she continued 
to study his face, she saw where he was looking, and said: "You're not 
supposed to be looking." 

"How can I help it?" He grinned devilishly. 

"Stop staring, and hand me the rest of those boxes." 

He obeyed part of her command, handing her the boxes. But the looking part, 
looking up her dress, wondering what her pussy would taste like, that 
continued. 

It was wrong, wrong by all the rules in the book, for a twenty-five-year-old 
man to look up the dress of a fifteen-year-old girl. But he wondered how 
many men-twenty-five or fifty-five-would turn their eyes away, especially 
when the teenager was as curvy and well-developed as this one. And 
especially, also, when you knew that fifteen-year-old was permitting, even 
encouraging, you to look under her dress. 

He had a big hard-on and he didn't care whether she noticed it or not. In 
fact, he was kind of hoping she would notice it. Maybe if she saw his stiff 
cock protruding from his pants, maybe she'd know what to do about it. 

When she finally descended from the ladder, he made sure that he stood close 
enough to her so that his cock made contact with the crack of her ass. She 
couldn't help but feel it, but she gave no indication of whether she enjoyed 
it or was repulsed. 

Later, she stacked some canned goods on one of the lower shelves, and he 
noted she was once again careless about her legs. She was in a squat 
position, legs slightly parted, and he had no difficulty seeing her panties 
nor the dark shadow behind them. 

Some fifteen-year-old girls did this because they didn't know any better. 
They simply hadn't learned womanly mannerisms of keeping their skirts down 
and making certain that their legs were kept together. But this one, 
physically developed beyond her tender years, was something else. She was 
exposing herself because she wanted to. She wanted him to look, wanted to 
excite him, wanted him to climb the walls. 

By late afternoon, he was so hot that he could have come in his pants. The 
sight of her, the hunger to fuck somebody so young, the knowledge that she 
would probably welcome his stiff pecker, was driving him crazy. The only 
thing that prevented him from feeling her up right there in the store, or 
taking her into the back room, bending her over a milk case and giving her 
the meat, was his concern for the consequences. 

It was this-worrying what might happen if he got caught-that made him decide 
to leave her alone. As willing as she might be and as nice as her young cunt 
might feel, it just wasn't worth the risk of going to jail. 

So he cooled things. He paid less attention to her cute remarks and wiggling 
ass, tried not to look when she managed to expose herself, made a point of 
keeping a safe distance from her when she had to pass him in the narrow 
aisles of the tiny grocery store. 

After six o'clock, Ramsey closed the station and the store and the three of 
them went upstairs for supper. Kathy-Mae was surprisingly adept at cooking: 
liver and fried onions, home fries, creamed peas, and an Italian salad to 
rival the best. 

During the meal, Kathy-Mae played kneesy under the table with him. He tried 
to ignore her familiarities, engaging in conversation with her father. And 
Clay Ramsey loved that, for he was a born talker. 

Jim also learned that there was another Ramsey daughter: Linda, who was in 
her freshman year at a downstate business college. Ramsey held high hopes 
for her, and although he was not unaffectionate to little Kathy-Mae, it was 
obvious that the older daughter was his favorite. 

"Linda'll go a long way," Ramsey said proudly. "Works hard. Got a good head 
on her." But suddenly his eyes darkened and he looked at the floor. "Only 
thing is, there's this boyfriend she has. Big thing with them, going 
together. And if they get too serious-well, y'know how those things are, 
don't you?" 

Jim nodded, but he quickly changed the conversation, saying how great the 
meal was, and complimenting Kathy-Mae on being the "best little cook in 
Pennsylvania." 

Kathy-Mae blushed. But at the same time, her little tits swelled with pride. 
And I'd like to suck on 'em, Jim thought. Not fuck her, because she's too 
young for that, I guess. But just tease her a bit. Tease her and tease 
myself. 

But he wouldn't permit himself to think of this too long. He drew Ramsey 
into a long conversation about the business; meanwhile, Kathy-Mae cleared 
the table and did the dishes. 

The two of them, he and the old man, sat in the front room, drinking beer, 
getting acquainted, enjoying a restful fraternity. He rather liked old 
Ramsey and he could see that the man was lonely, in spite of his two 
daughters. But the death of his wife was a sensitive subject, apparently, 
for he mentioned it only briefly. 

They gabbed and drank beer until the eleven o'clock TV news was completed, 
then decided it was time for bed. Kathy-Mae, who had been sitting in the 
kitchen reading a comic book, closed it and turned out the lights. 

Ramsey's bedroom occupied the front portion of the apartment, while 
Kathy-Mae's was separated from it, being on the opposite side of the 
hallway. Jim's, of course, was adjacent to Kathy-Mae's. 

He was in his room, had peeled off his shirt, when Kathy-Mae quietly opened 
the door. 

"I forgot to say goodnight," she said, standing just inside his room. 

Excitement flared between his legs. His eyes roamed up and down her hot 
young body. She wants to get fucked, he thought. She didn't come in here to 
say goodnight. She came in here because she wants me to grab her and fuck 
her. But his resolve to be cautious held firm. He said: 

"G'night, Kathy." 

A small pout flew across her face. She studied him briefly, apparently 
debating what she should do. 

"What I came to tell you about," she said, looking over his shoulder, "is 
that that tape over there-" She pointed to a crisscrossing of masking tape 
that was plastered against the wall, about three feet up from the baseboard. 
"In case you're wondering what it is, I put it there." 

Jim didn't know what she was getting at. He hadn't noticed the masking tape 
before and couldn't understand why she was mentioning it now. 

"The creep that worked here before you came, he made a hole in the wall. I 
didn't know it was there-I mean, not right away-and this guy, he used to 
peep through the hole and watch me when I was getting undressed. When I 
found out about it, that's when I put the tape over the hole." She smiled 
vaguely. "I thought you might want to know." 

Jim didn't say anything, but he was thinking. Thinking plenty. Like, what 
was the tape doing on this side of the wall? Where it belonged was on her 
side of the wall. But maybe there was tape on both sides of the wall, he 
thought. And now, as he stood still and stared at the spot she had pointed 
out, he heard her say: 

"I'll see you tomorrow, Jim." 

He half-turned, mumbled abstractedly, and as soon as she had gone from his 
room, he undressed, turned off his lights, and knelt in front of the spot 
that was taped up. 

Slowly, making sure he was extra quiet, he pulled up an end of one of the 
strips and peeled it back. Then another strip. Finally, the third and last. 

A ray of light poured into his darkened room. It was as he had supposed: 
there was absolutely no tape on her side of the peephole. A half-inch hole 
and all he had to do was look! And there were only two conclusions about 
this: either the fifteen-year-old girl was extremely dumb and knew no 
better, or else she had hot pants and planned it this way, planned it so he 
could peep through this hole and watch her. 

He took a pillow from his bed, threw it on the floor, sat on it, and pressed 
his eye to the peephole. Kathy-Mae was standing in front of her dresser 
mirror, brushing her hair. She was still dressed, but unless his guess was 
very wrong, in another minute this luscious, wiggly-assed teeny-bopper would 
be quite undressed! 

He was excited before it happened. And suddenly the young girl put down her 
hairbrush, yawned, moved a few feet closer, and began to take off her 
clothes. 

Without thinking, Jim's hand closed around his cock. He pulled it out of his 
shorts. Eye to the peephole, he watched the teenybopper stripping down for 
bed. Jim found himself stroking his huge, stiff pecker. He was going to see 
it all, he thought. He was going to watch this delicious young cunt take off 
her clothes, and he was going to do something he hadn't done since high 
school days. Right here on the floor! 

3 

She was about six or seven feet away, giving him a perfect view of 
everything: from the top of her blond head, and on down her lustful, 
teenaged body to the tips of her toes. 

He had stopped speculating whether this was planned or not; he was just too 
damn excited to care. 

Kathy-Mae loosened the fastener behind her dress, grasped the hem of the 
plaid outfit, and slid it over her head. 

Jim was stunned. Stunned and so hot he couldn't breathe! He knew this 
luscious bit of jailbait had a nice shape, for he had witnessed that much 
when she was climbing the stairs or stacking canned goods in the store. But 
he never realized she'd be this nice. 

She was in her panties and bra: white skinned, curvy, tempting enough to 
eat! Fifteen years old, but voluptuous beyond words. Her swollen titties 
were begging to get out of her brassiere. Her brief white panties scarcely 
contained the delights between her legs. They were tight, extremely narrow 
in her crotch, and cut quite high on her teenybopper ass. 

She flung her dress over a chair, stretched her arms in the air, and Jim 
stroked his cock a bit faster. No wonder, he thought, that girls this young 
get fucked. Maybe the law said that fifteen was too young for fucking, but 
if that was the case, then why did Mother Nature make them so juicy and 
tempting? Just to drive a guy nuts? 

The girl sailed back to the mirror and did something to her hair. Jim found 
himself staring at her round little ass. His dreams and desires ran away 
from reality. He saw himself pulling down her panties and shoving his cock 
up the crack of her ass. He imagined he heard her moan, but the moan was his 
own, as he stroked and re-stroked his fast-lengthening cock. 

Kathy-Mae threw down the hair brush, pivoted slowly, then came to the 
bedside. She reached behind her to unfasten the clasp of her bra. Jim waited 
anxiously, every cell in his body tingling with delight. 

Suddenly the teeny hopper's bra fell loose. She lowered the straps and 
flung-the bra over the bottom of the bed. Her blood-red nipples stared at 
Jim-or so it seemed to him. Begging for his approval, asking for the passion 
of his hot, wet tongue. 

But his approval was automatic. With his eye pressed to the small peephole, 
her cute, bouncy titties enlisted all the sexuality he could muster. His 
balls were never more swollen, nor was his cock ever this hard. The little 
bitch had him going-and plenty! 

He was more certain than ever that Kathy-Mae knew he was pressed to the 
peephole. She was parading around half-naked, flaunting her titties, shaking 
her ass, as she traveled back and forth from the dresser to the bed, and she 
must be doing it for him. 

Watching her, he wondered if she would take off her panties before she 
crawled into bed. He was dying to see her pussy; crazy-anxious to know if 
she had a lot of hair or just a little, wondering whether the lips of her 
slit were pink or reddish or flesh-colored. 

But Kathy-Mae wasn't about to remove her panties. At least, not yet. Her 
lovely boobs were sore from their entrapment inside her bra, and now that 
the bra was tossed aside and her tits were free, she wanted to massage some 
of the soreness from them. 

Jim watched her, his eagerness as swollen as his cock. She grasped a tit in 
each hand and squeezed gently. Her eyes swam, her lips parted. Jim's hand 
went faster on his cock. 

Kathy-Mae's self-massage was doing more than ridding her of her soreness. It 
was exciting her! Her little nipples were hardening, forming small telltale 
erections. 

Suddenly she let go of her grapefruits and went for her nipples. She began 
pulling on them, jacking them off. Her nipples grew larger-berries ripe for 
plucking and sucking! 

Jim let go of his cock briefly, and played with his balls. If she could play 
with herself, then he could do the same.. 

Kathy-Mae went faster with her fingers, tweaking and pinching her nipples, 
causing her cute, bouncy titties to swell and swell and swell. And how long 
had she been doing this to herself? he wondered. Probably since she first 
sprouted titties, around ten years of age. And before that, before her tits 
were big enough to play with, she probably played with that little crack 
between her legs. 

Perhaps the young girl read his mind. In any event, she suddenly released 
her swollen titties and clutched herself between her legs. 

Jim's hand went back to his cock. Kathy-Mae had inserted her tiny fingers 
inside the elastic ribbing of her panties. Her legs were parted slightly, 
and as her eyes became suddenly glazed, Jim knew that her finger had reached 
and then touched her pussy. 

Her fist, balled up, filled the entire front side of her panties, and from 
her motions, Jim knew the little teenager was fucking herself. 

He felt less and less concerned about the law, about the fact that she was 
tender jailbait. Her hot teenybopper body demanded attention, needed it! Her 
crack was on fire. She craved a good fuck, so the hell with the law. 

And Kathy-Mae apparently thought the hell with everything. She'd given 
herself over to her finger, let passion take its course. It felt too good to 
stop, nor was she intending to. 

She frantically tore off her panties and Jim very nearly went through the 
wall. Her young pussy was less than a foot from the wall. He could see wet 
drops of excitement on the lips of her pussy. Love juice. Her cream. And 
hair? Just a nice bush. Not too thick, and blond, like the hair of her head. 

She spread her legs wide apart, faced the peephole, and began playing with 
her clitoris. She used the tip of her finger and worked with obvious 
expertise. 

Now the fifteen-year-old arched backwards and squatted slightly, so that she 
appeared to be sitting on an invisible chair. She divorced her finger from 
the rosebud of her swollen clitoris and inserted it into the hot, wet 
darkness of her cunt. 

She sank her finger inside, all the way to her knuckles. Her mouth popped 
open. Her eyes were more glazed than ever. Hot, she was. Just as hot and 
excited as any fifteen-year-old can get. 

And now pumping herself. Pumping her finger in and out of her hole. A 
finger-fuck. A teeny-bopper jacking off. 

He could not contain himself. Not for another minute. He had to do likewise. 
Juvenile as it might be, he had to jack off. 

But she was just as swept up in her sexual hunger as he was. Fucking 
herself. Working her finger back and forth just as fast as she could, 
pretending that some boy was on top of her, in between her outstretched 
thighs, and fucking hell out of her. 

- She squeezed her eyes shut and sailed higher and higher. Her stomach 
muscles gleamed with sweat. Spasms of near-orgasm gripped her. Her ass 
pumped upward as her finger pumped downward. 

Suddenly, Jim heard the teenager moan. Her finger took its deepest plunge. 
Her thighs squeezed shut on her hand. Her lips clamped together. 

Euphoria lit up in her face. 

At the same instant, Jim felt the hot gush of his- gism. It soared up from 
his balls, flooded the vessels of his cock, and came spurting and shooting 
from the head of his dick, enough of it to fill a cunt to overflowing. His 
creamy come splattered the wall, streamed to the floor, and puddled in front 
of his knees. 

She, too, had got her nuts off. Now the spasms were ebbing, and she was 
catching her breath. 

He came away from the peephole, cleaned up the mess he'd made, and formed a 
conclusion: He was going to fuck this little nymph on the other side of the 
wall. Fuck her good and proper. Maybe it was against the law, he thought, 
but try and tell a stiff cock about the law! 

Much to his dismay, fucking the little teenager was a problem. Her old man 
hung around like glue. Never went anywhere during the evening and seldom 
left the gas station or grocery store during business hours. 

Jim thought about giving the kid a fuck in the back room behind the store. 
Just a quick one, to see what it was like. But that was a problem, too. 
Salesmen and customers popped in unpredictably. And there was no telling 
when old man Ramsey might leave the gas station and come into the store. 

So there was nothing he could do but bide his time and wait. Walk around 
with a hard-on and content himself with an occasional feel. And Kathy-Mae 
didn't seem to mind these liberties he took. When she squeezed him in the 
narrow aisleway of the store, and he happened to pinch her soft, round ass, 
she just rolled her eyes and smiled. 

Naturally, her apparent willingness to lay around caused him to become 
bolder. He felt her up more frequently, reached under her skirt and goosed 
her on one occasion; and on another day, when he chanced to catch her bent 
over a milk case, and she'd worn a low-cut sweater, he saw the top of her 
boobies and was unable to resist the urge that prevailed. He flung his hand 
inside her sweater, cupped the hand around one of her brassiered titties, 
then squeezed gently. 

She giggled, said something about his hand being cold, and before he could 
get inside her brassiere, see what her bare titties felt like, a customer 
came into the store. And after that, another; and then a salesman. So he had 
to give up the quest-at least for that morning. 

His desire didn't lessen, however. He was determined he would fuck her, that 
it was simply a matter of time and place. And from her actions, the short, 
sexy skirts she wore, flaunting her bare thighs, jiggling her titties in 
front of him, Jim was positive she wanted to be fucked. 

Their evenings were much like the first one. Beer, old man Ramsey bragging 
about Linda, the daughter who was in college, or yak-yakking about the sad 
state of the country. Kathy-Mae remained silently in the background, and Jim 
had to content himself with stolen glances. 

The peephole in his room offered him stolen glances of another kind: 
watching her undress or play with herself. But this was no longer enough. He 
wanted to do more than simply look at her; he wanted to feel the warm 
smoothness of her bare flesh; he wanted to smell the exciting secrets 
between her legs; taste her juices, lick her tits; hear her sigh and moan. 
But how? How and when? 

And then, on the second Thursday after he arrived, the opportunity presented 
itself. Ramsey didn't feel well. He thought it was the flu, he said. Nausea, 
headache, and a feeling of dizziness. 

Jim suggested he remain in bed. 

"Kathy-Mae can manage the store, Mr. Ramsey, and I'll take care of the 
station." 

"You sure you can handle things?" 

"Sure, we'll get by." 

"All right, then. But if you get too busy down there, you come and get me, 
y'hear?" 

Jim told him he would. Then he and Kathy-Mae went downstairs. He pinched 
Kathy-Mae's ass, kissed her on the neck, then went out and opened up the 
station. 

The first hour was rough. Guys going to work, stopping to fill up. The store 
was rushed, too: kids getting school supplies, mothers rushing in for that 
forgotten milk or lunch meat or loaf of bread. But by ten, things had 
quieted down, and Jim slipped into the store to see what Kathy-Mae was 
doing. 

He found her occupied with a comic book. She was sitting on a milk case, her 
legs propped on another, her skirt up around her panties, and she didn't try 
to cover herself when he came back of the counter. 

He looked briefly between her legs, saw the pink of her panties, then 
wondered about throwing her a fuck. It was quiet upstairs, so was her old 
man asleep or what? He decided to find out. 

He tip-toed up the stairs, eased the door open and looked inside. The TV was 
playing softly and Ramsey was asleep on the couch. 

Great! he thought. Now I can make her. Introduce her to Mister Peter. Show 
her where Mister Peter goes. Spread her legs and stick it to her. 

She was still absorbed with the comic book when he returned to the store. He 
went behind the counter, stood a few feet away from her, and stared between 
her parted legs. His prick started to thump. Just a glance at the silky pink 
of her panties and, goddam nit, he was ready to explode. 

Kathy-Mae, too absorbed in her comic book, or simply playing it coy, failed 
to acknowledge his presence. She flipped the pages, slapped her gum around 
in her mouth, and closed and re-opened her milky-white thighs. 

Jim moved closer. He dropped his hand to her bare knee. She looked up 
nonchalantly, said "Hi," then went back to her comic book. 

He looked between her legs. Little tufts of blond pussy hair peeped out from 
the edges of her thin pink panties. His cock jumped. 

Now he let his hand slide along the inside of her thigh. He tickled her bare 
flesh with the tips of his fingernails. She chewed harder on her gum. 

His fingers roamed nearer to her crotch. An inch separated the tips of his 
fingers from the bush of her pantied cunt. He could no longer restrain 
himself, however. He had to touch her, and did. Right in the seat of her 
panties. Right in the dampness that kissed her cunt. 

She looked up with a start. "Just what do you think you're doin'?" 

There was no belligerence in her tone or expression, so he said, "Trying to 
play with your pussy." 

"Is my father-" 

"He's asleep." He continued to play with her panties, poking at the spot 
that covered her young pussy. 

She was clearly aroused by his ministrations, no longer able to look at her 
comic book, and not quite certain what to do. ' "Feel good?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

He fingered her some more. She began to squirm. Now to get inside her 
panties, he thought. And motion followed desire. 

He worked his finger around the edge of her flimsy pink panties. She didn't 
resist him and ooh'd and ah'd when he finally touched the moist lips of her 
teenybopper pussy. 

"You like?" 

She nodded again. 

He slid his finger up and down the outside of her cunt, not roughly, but 
with just enough pressure to continue the arousal. 

She went a little bit insane, gripping the milk case tightly, mouthing down 
on her lower lip, half shutting her eyes. She squirmed against his finger, 
making him certain that boys by the bushel had done at least this much, if 
not more. Her pussy lips swelled with excitement, and Jim prayed silently 
that no one would come into the store. He was going to fuck this young chick 
and he was going to do it now. 

He shoved his finger inside her cunt. She coughed and choked and swallowed 
her gum. Her eyes watered, and Jim grinned, and worked his finger deeper and 
deeper inside her warm, slippery cunt. 

He could have just about popped" his nuts at this point. His hotness was 
enormous. The wondrous thrill of probing the youngster's willing twat was 
more than his excited prick and balls could stand. But he fought down his 
desire to come. His jizz belonged in her young pussy, not in his shorts. 

Kathy-Mae loved what he was doing. Her eyes had glazed with pleasure and now 
she was breathing through her mouth. 

"Let's go in the back," he suggested. 

She readily agreed, climbed off the milk case, took his hand, and they went 
behind the curtained doorway. 

The barren back room was a storage area more than anything else: uncrated 
canned goods, empty egg crates, and case upon case of returned pop bottles; 
and it appeared, on first glance, that it would be impossible to fuck her 
back here, except by standing up. 

But Kathy-Mae's vision-or experience-closed in on a stack of empty burlap 
potato sacks. They were in a corner, between two stacks of pop cases. 

She spread them out, then drew him down. 

He snuggled beside her, hugging her, kissing her anxious mouth, groping 
under her skirt, stroking her smooth young legs and thighs, fingering her 
panties. 

"We'll have to do it quick," she said. 

"I don't care," he said. He pulled down her panties and touched the soft 
down of her pussy hair. 

"Heavens, how I love your hand," she whispered. 

He slipped his middle finger into her cunt, worked it around. 

"This is what I want," she said boldly, and reached for the fly of his 
pants. 

He raised his hips slightly, enabling her to get inside his pants and 
shorts. She grasped the head of his dick and pulled it out. 

"You got a nice one," she said, not trying to disguise her experience. "Nice 
and big and hard." 

He twisted to the thrill her small hand was bringing him. She was sliding 
his foreskin back and forth, slowly, tickling the mouth of his prick with 
the tip of her fingernail. 

A buzz of excitement grew in his balls and spread all through his loins, 
then shot back to his dick. He rammed his finger deep inside her young cunt. 
Her love juice soaked his knuckles, streamed from her pussy and coursed down 
the crack of her ass. 

"Do it to me, Jim," she begged quietly. "Put it in." She pulled on his 
prick, leading it to her greedy, wet slit. 

He swung between her legs, now drawn toward her stomach. His cock and balls 
dangled at the mouth of her pussy. She grasped his cock like a baseball bat 
and pushed it into her fiery cunt. 

A wet hotness enveloped him. Never in all his life had a cunt felt so 
thrilling. She was everything a man could want: willing and eager, pretty 
beyond words, an eroticized child with the worst case of hot pants that he 
had ever encountered. 

"Fuck me, Jim!" she moaned. "Hurry!" 

He sank his cock into her, all the way to his swollen, hairy balls. A 
billion thrills engulfed him, engulfed her. 

He slid out an inch or so, then slid back. In -and out, back and forth. 

"Go fast!" she urged him. 

He quickened the fuck. Out of her slit, into her slit, a jab for him and a 
jab for her. A fuck for my honey, a fuck for me. 

She drew her legs back as far as they would go. Her creamy ass bounced 
against his muscular flanks, and it was difficult to say whether she was 
leading the fuck or he was. 

He pumped furiously, driving his cock in harder and harder, faster and 
faster. 

She was too hot to speak. All she could do was shake her head-yes! yes! yes! 

And his stuff was coming. He was coming much faster than he wanted, but it 
couldn't be helped. He was too hot, too damn excited. 

But it didn't matter, he discovered. She was as hot as he was. Ready to pop 
her nuts, ready to gush her juice in with his. 

"I'm coming, honey!" she shrieked. "I-I'm- ohh, Jim! J-Jim-I-I-I'm-" 
Suddenly, a loud, low moan broke from her throat. She thrust her ass up in 
the air. 

Jim dueled her: his prick, her cunt. His jizz came out like a bullet. He 
grasped her bobbing ass, banged his cock to the bottom of her young cunt, 
moaned, and then they sank back to their rough burlap bed. 

He didn't stay in her very long: too much chance that someone would come 
into the store. 

"I like to do it longer," she complained, as he climbed to his feet and 
zipped up his pants. 

"Me, too," he said, "but what are y'gonna do. I mean, if somebody comes-" 

She giggled. "Somebody did!" 

"You can say that again," he said. 

"All right, I will. Somebody did come." 

He kissed her wet lips, pressed himself against her hot young body. "And it 
was soo good," he said, following the kiss, "that I might want to do it 
again." 

"Suits me," she answered. "I can do it just as often as you can." And then 
with a smirk: "Maybe I can do it more than you can." 

"We'll have to see." 

"Anytime you want," she said. "Anytime at all." 

She proved good on her word, too. Jim discovered that his fifteen-year-old 
mistress would fuck him anytime he wished, which as events proved out, was 
fairly often. 

The fuck sessions were, of necessity, quick ones, but that did not detract 
from their pleasure. If old man Ramsey was particularly busy in the station, 
Jim would manage a quickie in the back room, sometimes standing up, 
sometimes bending her over a milk case, and sometimes on the burlap. 

Kathy-Mae was unusually cooperative. Most of the time, she wore no panties. 
All he had to do was lift her dress, part the lips of her young cunt, and 
shove in his stiff cock. 

When, for one reason or another, he couldn't fuck her in the store, they 
sometimes managed it upstairs: a fast one when the two of them were supposed 
to be grabbing a sandwich, with old man Ramsey running back and forth 
between the gas station and the store. 

All of this, fucking the fifteen-year-old in her father's shadow, was risky 
as hell, and he knew it. But she was so goddamn nice, so ripe, so hot, so 
willing and eager to fuck, that logic went out the window. He fucked her 
every chance he got and he knew he would continue to do so for as long as he 
could. 

At night, they would frequently sneak into the bathroom and lock the door. 
They would embrace and kiss and feel each other up. On such occasions, she 
wore a thin nightie, with nothing underneath. He would wear a robe, and that 
was it. 

In scant seconds, she had the robe parted and was playing with his peter, 
fondling it, making it hard. He, at the same time, would raise her nightie 
and finger her cunt. Seconds later, he would straddle her legs on the wash 
basin. Then, she in a sitting position, he standing up, the fuck would 
begin. Soon, he'd shoot a load of his hot come into her constricting, 
sucking pussy, and then they'd steal back to their beds. 

Once, when the old man had to go to the bank, they locked up the store, 
raced upstairs, and fucked for nearly an hour. On that occasion they removed 
all their clothes, and Jim was able to suck her precious, lovely titties as 
he fucked her. He was able to covet her bare flesh, feel its indescribably 
curvy wonders, stroke her ass, palm her tits, fuck her until he was too weak 
to move. 

But with all their fucking and playing around, jacking each other off, 
trying this and trying that, Jim had carelessly overlooked the most ecstatic 
thrill of them all: to eat her. To eat her moist young pussy and to let her 
suck his prick. 

The problem was: how to approach her. Women and older girls were more 
sophisticated about such things, and, therefore, more willing. But a tender 
young thing such as Kathy-Mae might be repulsed by such an action. 

But desire overruled logic. Jim had to find out what it was like to suck the 
fifteen-year-old's pussy, and there was only one way to find out: suck it! 

On the following day, when business grew slack, and old man Ramsey was busy 
tuning up a Ford pick-up, Jim went into action. He coaxed the girl between 
two aisles of stacked canned goods. Kathy-Mae had a puzzled expression. "We 
can't do anything here." 

"Some things we can," he said. "Nobody can see us unless they come down the 
aisle." 

"But-" 

"Don't be afraid. We can hear if anybody comes in the store." 

She bridled, and more so when he assumed a kneeling position in front of 
her. 

"What are you fixing t'do?" she asked. 

"Pull your dress up," he ordered. 

"Do what?" 

"Pull your dress up, goddamnit!" 

His scorn worried her, apparently. She obeyed his command, grasping the hem 
of her short navy-blue jumper and drawing it up to her waist. 

She was naked beneath the jumper, of course, and as he looked up at her 
inviting blond pussy, he was overwhelmed by the obsession to suck and suck 
and suck. 

She immediately sensed what he was about to do, and though he couldn't 
fathom whether she was pleased or displeased, he noted that she did spread 
her legs wider apart. 

He raised up and poked his tongue out. Kathy-Mae kept her head rotating, 
making certain that no one was coming into the store. Jim reached his goal. 
His hot eager tongue slipped inside the youngster's moist cunt. Kathy-Mae 
let out a surprised gasp. 

"What's the matter?" 

"Nothing. I-I just didn't think it would feel that nice." 

He was glad that nobody had ever sucked her pussy before. At least he was 
first with something. "Do it some more," she urged. "I like it." 

Not half as much as I do, he thought. And greedily, he plunged his face into 
her furry offering. He kissed her pubic hair, licked her hot tummy, the 
insides of her smooth, milky thighs, and the musky wetness of her delicious, 
teenaged crack. 

She went deliriously, wondrously mad when he dipped his tongue into her 
honey-pot and began to suck. Mad and crazy and overjoyed. And the deeper his 
tongue probed her cunt, the more she moaned. He felt her coming, felt her 
shooting off, felt her relax, only to re-excite as he sucked on and on and 
on. 

He sucked every last drop of joy juice from her quivering, baby-sized cunt, 
and he made her so weak that she could scarcely support herself. 

"I never dreamed it would feel so-so cool," she gasped, "I mean, it-it's the 
greatest!" 

"Sure it is." He wiped his mouth and straightened his shirt. 

"But what about you?" she asked, glancing at the lump in his pants. 

"What about it?" 

"Want me to take care of you?" 

"How?" 

"With my hand, how else?" 

"I had something else in mind." 

"You mean-" He nodded. "Will you?" 

"You know I will," she said, "if that's what you want." 

He nodded again, then opened his pants. 

His dick sprung out, larger, redder, more swollen than he ever remembered 
it. Kathy-Mae looked at it with a trace of apprehension. She glanced over 
the top of the canned goods, assuring herself that they were still safe. 

"Maybe we oughta go in the back," she said. 

He agreed, and at this point he would have agreed to anything. 

In the back room, she went immediately to her knees. She looked fondly at 
his stiff cock, grasped it at its base and slowly parted her pretty, 
teenybopper lips. 

He was not sure what to expect out of her, whether she was sucking his cock 
out of pure acquiescence, or whether she was stricken with a genuine desire 
to also please herself. But the instant that the contact of girl-mouth and 
man-cock was accomplished, he knew that their desire was mutual. The initial 
hesitancy vanished and she began sucking on his cock as though it were a 
lifeline to heaven. 

She sucked greedily. 

He grabbed her by her blond head. He guided her down to the base of his 
cock, so that the tip of his organ was halfway down her throat. 

She didn't gag and she loved every inch of him, sucking him off like crazy. 
Tremors of delight built from the curl of his toes to the tingle of his 
scalp. Delight piled upon delight, joy rushed through every cell in his 
body. 

"Suck it, baby! Suck my cock!" 

"I am," she moaned from the side of her mouth. "I'm sucking you off, Jim. 
Sucking your cock!" She used her tongue. "Are you going to come?" 

"You bet your sweet ass I am," he said. She sucked some more. "D'you want to 
come in my mouth, Jim?" 

"Can I?" 

"I want you to, honey. I want you to squirt your juice all around, on my 
tongue, down my throat-just everywhere!" 

Her words, her slobbering, sucking mouth drove him up the wall. His cock was 
ready to burst. The juice was coming. Coming up out of his balls. Out of his 
balls, into his cock, into her hungry, young mouth. 

He moaned like it hurt him, but it was the most exquisite pleasure he had 
ever felt. And then another moan, louder. 

"Ohhh! Kathy-Christ! Suck! Suck it out! Ohhh! Ohhh! Y-Yes!" He screamed in 
joy. Kathy moaned. And suddenly, out and beyond the sweet darkness of erotic 
joy, there was another moan, not his, not Kathy-Mae's. 

"What a fuckin' helluva thing for a father to have to discover." 

Kathy-Mae fell away from Jim's dripping cock. Jim froze with fear. Old man 
Ramsey, a murderous rage in his dark, shiny eyes, stood just inches away. He 
held a meat cleaver in his fisted hand. He moved slowly toward them.... 

 4 

Clay Ramsey viciously backhanded Kathy-Mae. "Get your ass up them steps, 
young lady! Get in your room and stay there." 

Her face now stinging-red from his slap, Jim's jism still at the comers of 
her mouth, she scrambled to her feet and mounted the stairs two at a time. 

Ramsey looked after her. Then, the cleaver still in his right hand, he 
directed his dark steely eyes upon Jim, who was now zipping up his pants. 

"I oughta kill you," he spat. 

Jim stood silent. His feelings vacillated from shame to fear. If Ramsey 
swung the cleaver, he'd have to move fast to escape its terror. Swing right 
and hope that Ramsey missed, then leap at him and try to overpower him. 

But Ramsey held his ground. He said: 

"And the law'd be behind me, y'know. Court's got no feeling for your kind. 
None at all." 

Jim continued his silence. He knew that there was little which could be said 
in his defense, and he also knew that anything he did say would only anger 
Ramsey all the more. 

It was this, his silence, his penitent expression, lowered eyes, which 
braked Ramsey's violent outburst. 

He flung the cleaver behind him. "But it takes two, doesn't it? If Kathy-Mae 
wasn't half-ways willing, it couldn't have happened." 

Jim didn't know what to say. His awkwardness grew. 

"But that's the bad blood in her," Ramsey went on. "Like her mother. Just no 
damn good." He paused. Now his eyes narrowed. "Didn't know about her mother, 
did you? Thought she just up and died, didn't you?" 

Jim was again confounded by what to say. He had accepted Ramsey's earlier 
explanation-that his wife died a few years ago-and hadn't thought it proper 
to probe deeper. 

"Well, she ain't dead. She's alive as you are. Off in California, last I 
heard. Shacked up. Shacked up with that fuckin' soap salesman she run off 
with." 

"I'm sorry-" 

"Don't be. Maybe it's the best thing that ever happened to me." 

"Well-" 

"And Kathy-Mae's gonna be just like her. Got the same hot bitch look in her 
eyes, swings her ass the way her mother does, and don't give a hoot in hell 
for books or learning." His expression re-hardened. "But that don't mean I 
wanna see her fuckin' around right in front of me. I can't take that and I 
don't intend to." 

"If you want me to leave-" 

"That'd be the best thing. Get your things together and clear out. But,-" a 
shrewd gleam came to his narrowed dark eyes-"since you're a goddamn 
girl-killer, or think you are, maybe there's a use for you around here." He 
grinned craftily, but Jim didn't find any warming reassurance that the 
trouble was over; in fact, the old man's sly ambivalence led him to believe 
that the trouble had only begun. 

Ramsey continued, "You could help me with Linda." 

"Linda?" 

"My own daughter. She'll be coming home this weekend right after her 
mid-semester exams are over." The glint in his eyes grew brighter. "She and 
that smarty-assed boyfriend of hers are getting too damn serious, if you ask 
me. And that's what worries me." He brooded briefly. "But I think jjou could 
fix things. I think you could fix things just fine." 

Jim didn't see what he was getting at. 

"I want you to move in," the old man said. 

"To what?" 

"Move in. Take her over." 

The scheme of the old man's thinking was suddenly apparent, and he didn't 
care to become involved. 

"If it's all the same to you, Mr. Ramsey, I'd rather not. And I can get my 
things together and be out of here in ten minutes." 

"You sure could," his aged adversary said, "and that'd be the easy way, 
wouldn't it? But things ain't gonna be that easy. You fooled with Kathy-Mae 
and, by God, you ain't gonna up and run off. And if you did and I went to 
the police and told 'em what happened-well, they'd be looking for you, 
wouldn't they?" 

The taint of fear was fresh. And perhaps more unnerving than the threat of 
Ramsey's cleaver. They could lock him up for a long time for fooling around 
with an underage girl. He knew it and Ramsey knew it. 

"But there's no call to bring the police into this," Ramsey added quickly. 
"You help straighten out Linda and I reckon I can just up and forget about 
what took place between you and Kathy-Mae." He waited, anxiously studying 
Jim's reaction. 

By way of concession, Jim said, "What makes you think I can help?" 

Ramsey said, "I just know." He got two bottles of beer from the cooler, 
opened them, and handed one to Jim. "I know my girls and I know what they're 
like. Kathy-Mae's empty-headed and boy-crazy, and there ain't no hope for 
her. But Linda-well, she's a darn side brighter. Brighter and got a future. 
And that makes her worth saving, and the way I look at it, if you play up to 
her, she'll up and forget this other boyfriend of hers, and my worries'll be 
over." 

"And you think it'll be that easy." 

"I know it will. I told you I know my girls and I know just how fickle Linda 
is." 

"Maybe I'm not her type." 

Ramsey fed on his beer. "You are." 

"What if it doesn't work?" 

"It will," Ramsey said confidently. "She'll take to you like a duck to 
water. And Homer whatever-the-hell-his-name-is will be out." He sat on the 
butcher block. "What d'you think?" 

Jim shrugged. He couldn't refuse the old bastard. Not without stirring his 
temper anew and risking a brush with the law. 

"I can try," he said, without enthusiasm. 

"Sure y'can." Ramsey glowed. "Y'can and y'will." He sucked more beer into 
his throat. "But you can't be bashful-like with her. Linda likes the forward 
kind." 

Jim looked up sharply. How forward did Ramsey intend him to be? Was he 
suggesting that he be sexually forward? He decided to ask. 

"D'you mean . . ." 

"I mean what I say," Ramsey cut in. "You ain't gonna turn her cheek on this 
Homer fellow by just using your big blue eyes. You're gonna have to court 
her the way courtin's done, and if that includes taking her to bed, then, by 
God, that's what you'll have to do." 

Jim couldn't hide his surprise. 

Ramsey explained, "This might sound like a helluva thing for a father to 
say, but the truth is, getting in her pants ain't gonna ruin her life. But 
if she up and marries before she's ready, quits school and gets chained down 
to some city asshole like this Homer guy, well, that can ruin a lot of 
things. Fuck up her life pretty good. And I'd rather see somebody like you 
fuck up her hole than somebody like him fuck up her life." He took a long 
swallow of his beer. "Doesn't that make sense?" 

Jim was forced to nod his agreement, for as offensive, as gross, as the old 
coot's remarks might be, the logic was sound. Still and all, a father 
telling you it was perfectly all right for you to fuck his daughter seemed 
beyond belief. 

"You really mean all this?" Jim asked, wanting to confirm what he'd heard. 

"Sure, I mean it. She's getting too all-fired serious about this 
sonofabitch, and I wanna put a stop to it." 

"Ever think of having a talk with her?" 

"With Linda? You must be out of your cotton-pickin' mind. She's the 
stubbornest critter you ever saw. Tell her to do one thing and she'll turn 
and do another." He scratched his backside. "There's only one way to break 
up her and this Homer, and that's the way I already told you. Just take 
over." 

Jim remained skeptical. The old man had over-simplified things. There were 
sane arguments why it might not work and fewer reasons to say it would Work. 
But Ramsey was just as stubborn as the daughter he had described, and it was 
useless to try and influence his thinking. 

Ramsey set down his empty beer bottle. "Now we can be right friendly about 
all this. Forget about Kathy-Mae and what y'did. Or else ... we can be kinda 
unfriendly, if y'know what I mean." 

Jim knew exactly what the old bastard meant. Play ball or expect trouble. 

"And if you take a notion to slip away when my back's turned," he went on, 
"it won't make a particle of difference to the police. Cause wherever y'go, 
sooner or later, they'll latch on t'you." He paused. "You understand, Jim?" 

"Yes sir," he said meekly. "I understand." 

"That's fine," Ramsey said, gloating victoriously. "Now what say to another 
beer?" 

His sleep was torn by worry that same night. He hadn't wanted to become 
involved in Ramsey's family problems, but involved he was. Deeply involved. 
Right up to his asshole. And there was no way out. He had to follow Ramsey's 
orders or risk the consequences. 

He blamed his predicament on Kathy-Mae, of course. If she hadn't been so 
luscious, so available, so utterly irresistible, he wouldn't have got fucked 
up the way he was. Monkey around with jailbait, and this was his just 
reward, it seemed. 

So now he had learned a bitter lesson, he told himself. And he wasn't going 
to mess with her ever again. She could go fly a kite, her and her blond 
fuzzy pussy. He wasn't having any. He'd simply stay away from her. Give her 
the freeze. 

But less than twelve hours later, his resolution died. A new load of canned 
goods was delivered. And soon after he began stacking the cans on the 
shelves, starting with the bottom shelf, then working up, he felt 
Kathy-Mae's presence, looked up, and there she was: smirking slightly, 
wearing a short little-girl dress, one that looked as though it belonged on 
a ten-year-old, and absolutely naked underneath. No panties. Just a warm, 
moist, furry-haired cunt to stare at-hopefully, to resist. 

He greeted her on the briefest of terms, sullenly turning back to what he 
was doing. 

"Are you mad?" she asked. "Nope." 

"You act it." 

"Just using my head." 

"I like it better when you use other things." 

"That's over with. Your father and I had a long talk." 

"About me?" 

"About a lot of things." He tore open a carton of vegetable soup. "And from 
now on, we're behaving ourselves." 

She was silent. But she didn't budge from her stance. He sensed her standing 
beside him, her short, flared dress exposing her lovely pink slit. A wild 
child of the boldest sort, and he experienced a compulsion to look. To look 
and look and look. 

"What did he say about me?" she asked. 

"I think you know," he said coldly, still fighting the compulsion to stare 
at her pussy. "Didn't he say anything to you?" 

"Damn right, he did. He whipped my ass good. Said I'd wind up in a bad 
girls' school if I didn't mind my habits. But he's all the time telling me 
that." 

"Then maybe it's time you start listening to him." 

"Oh, I listen, all right." And she left the statement dangling in the air, 
letting him finish it in thought: That she listened, yes, but that, in 
practice, she did as she pleased. 

But her juicy, tempting body wasn't going to tempt him, he told himself. No 
matter how she phrased the invitation or how erotically her young pussy 
quivered in his face, he had the power to resist. But the fallacy of his 
resolve was simply this: while his mind had the strong will-power to say no, 
he discovered that his cock had no will-power at all. It grew hard and 
stiff. An invisible force compelled him to glance up at her tender, 
willing-and-waiting pussy; and when this pretty, young child said: "Pa's 
awful busy in the station, right now," he dropped the canned goods in his 
hands and rose to the occasion. 

Rose to the occasion? He was on all fours and he simply raised his face, 
nuzzled it between her anxious thighs, then dipped his hot, wet tongue into 
her moist honey pot. 

"Mmmmmm, I like that!" she sighed. 

He was too busy lapping her cunt to answer. 

"I'll watch the door," she said. "You keep sucking." 

That he did. Hard and deep. Sucking her little pussy as fast as he could. 
Sucking out the drops of joy juice, sucking out her creamy come, making her 
go wild with joy. 

"I sure do love that," she said, raising her dress higher. "I could have you 
do that for hours and hours." 

He sucked harder, making sure he didn't miss a single drop of her creamy 
outpouring, and when he felt her rising and trembling, wiggling her curvy 
ass for still another orgasm, he took out his cock, jerked it back and 
forth, and squirted his jizz all over her loafers, coming at the same 
instant she did. 

After she had wiped off her shoes and he had wiped off the head of his dick, 
she said: 

"That was fun!" 

And while he could not disagree with her uninhibited enthusiasm, he was 
disappointed in himself. Disappointed that he had been unable to resist her. 
Disappointed that this young snatch, barely into puberty, could command all 
his senses. But he later rationalized he was getting his due. He had agreed 
to help Ramsey with this hair-brained scheme of his, so why shouldn't he 
fuck the fifteen-year-old if he could? Besides, having already been caught 
in the act, Ramsey could do no more than catch him again, and if he hadn't 
shot his ass off the first time, it wasn't likely he would do so on other 
occasions. 

This bit of reasoning was, of course, lacking in all logic. But it was 
exactly the kind of self-deception that man practices to justify his 
wrongdoings, which in Jim's case, meant that he was going to fuck the 
teenybopper as often as he was able. 

There was another problem also. He hadn't popped her cherry. She'd been 
making it with boys since she was ten. So there was no reason for feeling 
guilty. And if he and Kathy-Mae wanted to screw ... well, why not? 

They went at sex like it was going out of style. Twice that afternoon, once 
during the evening. 

The following morning she jacked him off in the hallway, before they went 
down to the store. After the milkman made his delivery, at about ten, she 
went down on her knees and sucked Jim's prick. He shot a big load of jizz 
into her mouth, and after that he was so weak he could scarcely move. No 
more for today, he told himself, but Kathy-Mae had other ideas. 

She played with his dick until it got hard again, then lowered her 
short-shorts, climbed up his frame, and made him fuck her. It was quite an 
effort, doing it standing up, and trying to come when he thought he was 
bone-dry. But in the end, it was worth the effort. It felt terrific! And it 
felt terrific for her, too. And their exhaustion was a delightful euphoria 
which defied description. 

All this fucking and sucking should have been enough for them, he reasoned. 
Enough for anybody. But that afternoon the old man had to go into town: to 
the bank, to the wholesaler, then to an auto parts store. He wouldn't return 
until suppertime, he said, and maybe after. 

To little Kathy-Mae, this was a signal to fuck, to do every wild pleasure 
that the devil invented. And the instant that her father's car pulled away 
from the station, she unzipped Jim's pants and started to rub his cock. 

Jim was sure she was wasting her time. Surely his cock wouldn't harden 
again-not this soon-he thought. And he told her so. 

But she grinned devilishly and said: 

"Betcha you're wrong." 

And her hands proved she was right. She played gently with his balls, 
tickled their undersides, then ran her slender fingers up and down the crack 
of his ass. He trembled with delight. And soon his cock was throbbing to 
life, growing stiffer, bigger. 

At her insistence, and despite the risk, he hung a Closed sign on the door, 
and they went into the back room and stripped off their clothes. 

She wanted to suck him off again, she said, and she wanted to do it while he 
was sucking her. This was fine with him. He enjoyed lapping her quivering, 
hot-lipped pussy; and he loved the madness that her lips and tongue brought 
to his thumping cock. She licked the soreness out of it, sucked away the 
crusted semen of previous orgasms, and soothed him with the gentle warmth of 
her experienced tongue. . 

"You taste good," she said, licking a drop of come from the slit of his 
prick head. 

He lifted his face from between her firm young legs. "So do you." 

She gobbled his dick with more fervor. It hurt, but pleasantly. He watched 
her red lips plunging up and down his thick shaft. Her titties bobbed with 
her joy. Her hair flew in every direction and she couldn't go fast enough to 
suit herself. She was a born cocksucker, he thought. She loves to mouth a 
man's dick, and there were no two ways about it. 

But, by the same token, his own perversion was just as absolute as hers. He 
loved to dive between a girl's legs and suck her pussy. And when the girl 
was jailbait, he zoomed to joys unknown. And if his sucking could make the 
girl come, which it always did with this fifteen-year-old, then his pleasure 
was even greater. 

They continued in this way for another four or five minutes. Kathy-Mae came 
twice and she was approaching the hot plateau of still another orgasm. He, 
in turn, knew that her sweet teenaged tongue was about to make him come. She 
sensed his passion and said: 

"Fuck me, honey! Get on top of me and fuck me!" 

He obeyed like a beaten dog. He climbed over her, sank between her luscious 
legs, aimed his dick, then shoved. 

One never got tired of fucking, he thought. You never got used to the 
ultimate pleasure: the wild, joyous thrill of sinking your dick into a young 
girl's cunt. Each time was better than the last. 

They clutched like mad when they came. Tore at one another's bodies, 
embraced, kissed, hugged, thrashed wildly, moaned their joy, then fell limp 
and exhausted, kissed again, whispered how wonderful it had been. 

Nor was it the end of their orgy. For an hour later, she led him upstairs, 
took him into the bathroom, lifted her dress, bent over the bathtub, and 
directed him to fuck her in the ass. 

He played with his prick, made it get hard, but then discovered he couldn't 
get it in her tight asshole. There was no Vaseline, so he went to the 
kitchen, smeared some butter up and down his cock, then returned to the task 
at hand. 

With some coaxing and ass-wiggling, he finally managed the insertion. Just 
the tip of his dick, at first. But with supreme efforts, more pushing and 
maneuvering, he managed the head of his dick, then the rest. 

He balanced himself by grasping her thighs. He secured leverage from the 
bottom of the tub, then commenced to pump. She moaned so loudly that he 
thought he was hurting her. But when he stopped, she kicked the tub and told 
him to keep going. 

He started stroking again, marveling at her capacity for sex, getting it in 
the ass and loving it, wanting every inch he could offer. 

He got his hands on her tits and pulled at them while he was pumping his 
dick into her asshole. Her pleasure sky-rocketed. She screamed with joy. She 
reached behind her, dug her nails into his flanks, and squeezed with 
happiness. 

"Ohhh, how-how g-great! Shit!" she screamed. 

He sank into her hot, bouncy ass, all the way to his balls. The last inch of 
him disappeared between the round, kissable cheeks of her young behind. 
Thrill mounted thrill and he could no longer control himself. 

"I think ... I think I'm gonna . .. ohhh, Kathy! Kathy! Kathy, I'm coming!" 
he shrieked. 

The crack of her ass squeezed hard on his cock. She moaned in unison. Her 
ass wiggled wildly and then the hot stuff was pouring through his dick, 
shooting into her ass, overpowering them with the thrilling joy of it all. 

And afterwards, when she was sponging his limp dick with a warm washcloth, 
when his physical resources were as limp as his dick, he said: 

"Well, I guess we've tried everything." 

"That's what you think," she said, grinning impishly. "I know a whole lot of 
things we haven't tried. I've been saving 'em up for a surprise." 

"I don't think I'll live for another piece of tail," he said, leaning 
heavily against the bathroom wall. "I've had it!" 

She grinned girlishly, then clicked her tongue. "You just had a little," she 
said. "The best part's still to come!" 

5 

On Friday night, Jim's work was cut out for him. Linda was home from 
college, and he found her taller and more slender than her kid sister. But 
she wasn't any the less appealing, he decided quickly. He liked long-legged 
girls with lively dark eyes, and her modestly proportioned titties and ass 
were nothing to be ashamed of. 

Homer, her boyfriend, was visiting with his parents in upper New York; he 
would join her late Sunday afternoon, she explained. 

"Which is perfect," old man Ramsey whispered to him while she was out of the 
room. "With him out of the way, y'got an inside track. And I can tell, from 
the way she's been looking at you, you won't have much trouble." 

Jim didn't reply, but he continued to think Ramsey's scheme a bad idea. He 
didn't care to be involved in this sort of underhandedness and he doubted" 
it would work anyway. But Ramsey didn't want to hear any protests at this 
late date. He was certain that Jim could capture his daughter's feelings, 
thereby alienating her from Homer, the boy she wanted to marry. All simple 
enough, according to Ramsey, but as Jim envisioned it, it could very well be 
one huge fuck-up! 

"Linda," old man Ramsey said to his daughter, "bein' as your feller won't be 
here for a few days, and bein' as Jim here ain't seen much of our town, why 
don't you take my car and show him around?" 

"I'd like to," she said, stacking the last of the supper dishes. "That is, 
if he wants to." 

Jim shared a brief secret glance with old man Ramsey. He said: 

"It's all right with me." 

She flashed him a smile, then glanced down at her clothes. "I'll go get 
changed." 

Jim nodded, and even before the leggy beauty was out of the room, old man 
Ramsey was rubbing his hands together, grinning slyly. But Kathy-Mae, who 
was now hanging up the dish towels, had heard her father sponsor the 
invitation, and she was not smiling. She said: 

"Want me to go along with them, Pa?" 

"You got work to do," he snapped. 

"It's all done," she protested whiningly. 

"Then I'll find more." 

"I never get to go nowhere," she sulked. 

"You can go plum to bed if you don't quit that sassin'." 

She stormed out of the room. A minute later, she locked herself in the 
bathroom. 

Ramsey said, "I reckon three's a crowd." And then he grinned. 

Linda Ramsey handled her father's '65 Plymouth with surprising expertise. 
She chatted constantly, pointing out the local landmarks, such as they were, 
driving from one thoroughfare to another. 

He reminded her that he'd lived here several years ago, and told her where. 

"But things have changed an awful lot since then," he said. 

"For the good or the worse?" she grinned. 

He stole a glance at the curvy silhouette of her breasts. He answered: 

"I'd say things improved." 

She missed the double-entendre, down-shifting the Plymouth, swinging 
cross-town, and heading east. 

"Feel like a drink?" she asked. He said yes. 

"I know a place not far from here. Place jumps. And they don't ask for an 
ID." 

The suggestion sounded promising. Apparently she was planning to drink 
something harder than beer, which could make his efforts somewhat simpler. 
He hoped. 

Barney's was the name of the place, a sprawling log-cabin type of structure, 
just beyond the city limits. Its neon-lit parking lot was jammed with cars, 
and Jim noticed that many of the cars were occupied by young couples, who, 
at that moment, were doing some damn purposeful necking. 

"Looks like somebody's having a good time," he commented, searching her face 
for a reaction. But Linda let his remark glide by, stepped in front of him, 
and entered the smoke-filled confines of Barney's. 

She was an obvious frequenter of the place, for the bartender waved to her 
when they entered, as did several of the young people present. It was noisy 
and crowded, and for a brief while it looked as though there'd be no place 
for them to sit. But a table at the back was suddenly vacated and they sat 
down. 

A uniformed waitress took their order: whiskey and water for him; 
rum-and-coke for the girl. 

When the waitress delivered their drinks, then departed, Jim took the 
evening's first direct, head-on look at Linda. She was strikingly 
attractive, exhibiting the sharply chiseled features of a young glamour 
model, though not nearly as aloof. And her dark eyes, now shaded with 
violet, were a pretty match for the lavender-and-purple pants-suit she wore. 
So with her smiling rod lips properly moist and her bright, animated eyes 
appraising him, as they were, he felt somewhat proud. 

But being with so pretty a girl, one so completely self-possessed, tended to 
unnerve him slightly. 

But his pretty companion made no big thing about her looks, he noticed. She 
didn't play with her hair, nor glance from table-to-table, perusing the men, 
nor make the customary trip to the powder room, designed to attract male 
stares. No, her attention seemed devoted solely to him, he decided. So maybe 
the odds were looking up. 

She consumed her rum-and-coke rather swiftly, he observed, and he lost 
little time in signaling for another round. And some five minutes later, 
still another. 

She was an inquisitive one, wanting to know how long he planned to stay in 
Rivertown, did he like working for Pa, where would he go if he left 
Rivertown, and, finally, had he a girlfriend. 

He considered this last question significant. And more significant than 
this, he noted that she had barely mentioned her boyfriend Homer. He noted 
also that the third drink had made her a bit giddy. Her eyes sparkled more 
brightly, her speech was a trifle thick, and when she attempted to flick the 
ash of her cigarette into the tray, her aim was far from the greatest. 

Obviously, the more she drank the better his chances were. So, on the merit 
of this conclusion, he ordered her another drink. She was entirely aware of 
his machinations, however, for she said: 

"I think you're trying to get me drunk." 

"What's wrong with that?" 

"That depends." 

"Depends on what?" 

"On a lot of things." 

"Such as . . . ?" 

Her smile was laden with doubt. "I think you know." 

He pretended not to know, shrugging, then casually changing the subject, 
asking her some questions about college life. She leaped at the bait, began 
telling him about her dorm, then the academic spectrum, and, of course, 
something of her social activities. It removed the finger of suspicion from 
him and enabled him to pry a few more drinks on her. By the time the sixth 
drink was gone, so were Linda's sensibilities. 

He helped her to the Plymouth, and though she wouldn't have stumbled and 
fell, had he released her, she was damn high. But not high enough to be 
incoherent; just warmly flushed with drink, silly, giggling over most 
anything, and about as uninhibited as he could hope for. 

Fortunately, he hadn't consumed quite as much as Linda, so it was he who 
would do the driving-in more ways than one. 

"Wanna take a little drive before we go home?" he said. 

"I don't care. Whatever you wanna do, that's what I wanna do." 

Jim thought, I'd like to fuck you. How about that? 

And where to drive? Or more specifically, where to park? He didn't have 
enough money for a motel, having spent more than he planned in the tavern. 
So if he was going to take her some place and try to put a fuck into her, 
the question remained: where? 

He started driving, all very aimless in his direction. But when they were 
about six miles out of the county limits, his gaze suddenly riveted upon a 
roadside billboard. His headlights picked up a dirt lane that travelled 
toward the huge sign, before veering sharply to the right. 

He slowed down, appraised the shallow culvert, and decided he could cross it 
without getting hung up. Linda, who'd been leaning against him, woke from 
her short snooze. 

"Where are we?" 

"In South Africa." He maneuvered across the culvert. 

She pounded his thigh, playfully. "I think you're up to something." She 
grinned. "Me?" 

"Yes, you." 

He followed the dirt lane, then swung in behind the billboard. He cut the 
engine and turned off his lights. 

"I just thought we'd talk for a while. . . ." 

"Behind a billboard?" 

"That's the best place there is." He grinned broadly, then swept Linda into 
his arms and kissed her. 

He expected some resistance, a mild protest, maybe something about being 
engaged to Homer, saying that it wasn't right. But the drink or the desires 
of her body washed away whatever resistance she might have had. She seemed 
perfectly willing to be kissed by him; in fact, she even wrapped her arms 
around his neck and kissed him back. 

He broke from the kiss only briefly. He mustn't give her time to think or 
recognize any caution lights. So he kissed her again, deciding that her 
warm, desirable lips were a real prize. Moist, but not sloppy; hot, but not 
frantic. And as he rolled his mouth against hers, felt the pressure joyfully 
returned, he felt something else: her breasts-hot, pear-shaped protrusions, 
which molded themselves to his chest. 

He ground himself slightly against her, increasing the thrill of the kiss, 
the contact with her breasts. But there was no need to excite her by 
degrees, feel her up, try and get into her panties. She was already hot. And 
she proved it by dropping her hand to his lap. 

He sucked in his breath when her nimble fingers began shaping the cloth of 
his pants around his dick. It felt so good he could have soared to outer 
space. And when she began stroking his dick back and forth, doing it in a 
very meaningful fashion, he was tempted to tell her to unzip his pants and 
do it right. But let her do that herself, he thought. Let her pull down on 
the metal clasp, part the fly of his shorts, then grab his naked dick and 
play with it. 

While waiting for this delicious moment to arrive, he sucked on her lips, 
nibbled at her throat, and massaged the curvy warmth of her wondrous tits. 

"I like that," she murmured, pressing her ample tit against his grasping 
hand. "Squeeze harder!" 

He increased the pressure, and now he was fumbling around with her clothing, 
seeking an entrance to bare flesh. But the pant-suit proved troublesome. It 
was high on her neck, belted at the waist, and the fastener to the bottom of 
the outfit completely eluded him. 

She permitted his hands to roam where they might, but she did not help him 
find the mysteriously elusive openings to her garment. Meanwhile, she was 
pumping furiously on his trousered dick. 

"How the hell d'you get into this thing?" he said, still fumbling for the 
opening. 

She giggled drunkenly, deciding that it was more fun to tease him than to 
help him. 

But he was not to be denied his goal. He struggled to work his hand under 
the belted top. He succeeded in inserting his hand, not too much . trouble 
there, but then he got hung up at the wrist. 

Linda, still giggling at his frustrated efforts, continued to pump furiously 
on his dick. 

"You could help," he said disgustedly. 

"I am helping," she smirked. And her eyes darted to her hand, which was 
still stroking his stiff cock. 

"That's not what I mean." 

"But don't you like what I'm doing?" she said coyly. 

"Sure, but-" 

"And doesn't it feel good?" 

"Sure, but-" 

"Then, how can you sit there and say I'm not helping you?" 

"Linda...." 

But she wouldn't listen and she wouldn't stop playing with his dick, and 
suddenly he realized that the fondling his dick was getting was a hundred 
times more thrilling now than when she started; in fact, it was a little too 
thrilling. He was getting too hot too soon, and as she smirked and pumped 
away on his throbbing, swollen cock, what she was up to hit him. 

She wanted him to come! She wanted him to pop a load right in his pants! The 
bitch was trying to trick him! 

He fought to unloosen her hand. 

"Linda! Linda, let go!" 

But she wouldn't let go. She wouldn't let go and she wouldn't stop what she 
was doing. 

"Linda, for chrissakes. . . ." 

She pumped faster. And she fought off his hands. And her silly, drunken 
giggle died, replaced by a determined, intent stare. 

He seized her wrist, frantically trying to stop her before it was too late. 
But it was already too late, he discovered. He'd passed beyond the 
point-of-no-return. The tug-of-war between willpower and utter enjoyment was 
no contest. The thrill of her hand was too great for the mind's refusal. But 
nevertheless, he summoned a last-second protest, moaning to her to stop. 

"Linda! L-Lin-Ohhh! Ohhh, my God!" 

Hot jizzum spurted out of the head of his dick. It shot through his shorts, 
soaked the front of his pants, seeped through to her hand. He clutched her, 
dug his nails into her crotch, bit on her neck, moaned, swooned, and very 
nearly sobbed. It was that great. 

But it was the death of something, also. The death of his dick. And the edge 
of the sexual frenzy was gone. His limp member, throbbing to diminishment, 
had never dipped its shiny red head in her hot cunt. All was wasted-or so it 
seemed. 

"Why the hell did you have to go and do that?" he asked, still bewildered by 
the turn of events. 

She had released his peter, removed a Kleenex tissue fronV her purse, and 
was now wiping her hand. 

"I felt like it," she said tonelessly. "But I hope I didn't ruin your 
pants." 

"Not at all," he said sarcastically. "They're using Jizzum to replace 
detergents. Stops pollution. I do it all the time." 

She giggled and dabbed the Kleenex at the front of his pants. But this token 
ministration didn't accomplish anything. He was too soaked for help, and if 
he had ever felt more stupid, more helpless than this, he couldn't remember 
when it was. 

"You're not mad, are you?" 

"No, I'm hopping-mad with joy. This is my thing. I mean, it's the way I get 
my kicks, shooting off in my pants." 

She laughed: laughter tinkling with mischief. 

He sagged slightly, leaning to the door on his side, resting his head on the 
headrest, staring at the moon. 

"You are mad," she announced. 

He was silent for a few seconds, but when she poked a finger in his ribs and 
said, "Aren't you?" he replied: 

"Well, let's say it wasn't what I had in mind." 

She played with the buttons on his shirt. "What did you have in mind?" 

"You know damn well what I had in mind," he snapped, still staring at the 
moon. 

"Sure, I do. That's why I did it." 

"You were too obvious, right from the start. Pushing all those drinks on me, 
driving way out here in the country. And all the time, thinking you were 
getting away with something." 

He was irritated by her tone, by her attitude, and if this was woman's 
liberation, as they called it, she could stick it up her ass! 

"You guys are all alike," she continued. "You knock yourself out, scheming, 
trying to figure how you can get a chick to go to bed with you. I mean, how 
dumb can you get?" 

He sat in brooding silence, wondering whether he ought to slap her in the 
mouth. The cock-teasing little bitch had it coming. 

She went on, "Why doesn't a guy just ask? Why does he have to trick and 
scheme and try to put something over on the girl?" 

"Why don't you shut up?" he said suddenly. And now he switched on the 
ignition and started the car. Old man Ramsey could have his bitch-goddess 
back in his lap. He didn't give a shit if she married ten Homers, and if 
Ramsey wanted to make trouble, let him. 

But even before he could throw the car in gear, she reached down and 
switched off the ignition. 

"I wasn't through talking." 

"As far as I'm concerned you are." He reached for the keys. 

She seized his wrist. She snapped, "If you wanted to fuck me, why didn't you 
ask?" 

He was startled. He gazed at her in mute amazement. "Huh?" 

"Why didn't you ask?" 

He got a grip on his voice-box. "Just like that, huh?" 

"Why not? Why be a fake about it? Isn't sex what life's all about?" 

He heard himself say, "You're crazy." 

"No, I'm not. I just don't like to be put on." 

"Nobody put you on." 

"Like hell, you didn't." And now she was grinning. 

But her grin, along with her sudden show of haughtiness, only angered him 
further. He wanted to tell her to go fuck herself and he had to bite his lip 
to keep from doing it. 

"I think we'd better start back," he said solemnly, again reaching for the 
ignition key. "It's getting late." 

Suddenly she wrapped her slender warm arms around his neck. She kissed him 
on the mouth, spearing her tongue deep inside. Her tongue clashed hotly with 
his, causing not a small thrill in the area of his loins. At the same time, 
she dropped her hand, opened his jizz-dampened pants, and searched for his 
pecker. 

He could have told her she was wasting her time. His peter was as soft as 
warm butter, and even if the flesh was willing, which it wasn't, the spirit 
was not. He just didn't care any longer; he wanted to take her home. 

But he didn't reckon with her determination. Nor with what she was going to 
do. And though he tolerated her playing around, French kissing him, rubbing 
his dick, he was certain it would lead to nowhere; and he was about to tell 
her to stop, when she suddenly lowered her mouth to his genitals and began 
to suck him off. 

To say that he was pleasantly surprised would have been an extreme 
understatement. Her lips were like warm syrup. Her tongue rolled up and down 
the length of his prick, licking every square inch of him, giving him the 
quickest rebirth he had ever experienced. 

Rebellion vanished. He loved what her mouth was accomplishing with his prick 
and would have protested loudly had she stopped. But he wanted it to feel 
even better than it did, and for that reason he pulled his pants completely 
open, raised his ass slightly, then buried his hands in the fuzzy curl of 
her hair. 

She was fantastic, he thought. Not just fucking herself in the mouth, the 
way the amateurs did, but employing a little imagination: cupping his balls, 
alternately licking and sucking, nibbling the head of his dick, then 
tonguing its slit. 

It felt so good, so wonderful, that he simply reclined in the seat and let 
her suck to her heart's content. He didn't attempt to feel her up; he just 
wanted total concentration on getting blown. 

But she didn't go all the way. She stopped suddenly, raised her head, looked 
at him, and said: 

"Do you want to come in my mouth or do you want to fuck me?" 

He was dumbfounded. Dumbfounded by the frankness of her proposal, by the 
bluntness of her words, and dumbfounded at himself, so torn by indecision. 

But it was she who broke the silence and made the decision. She said, "How 
about if we finish this part some other time? I'd rather-rather have it down 
below." 

Before he could reply, she unloosened her outfit, opened a clasp at the 
side, and lowered the pants suit. She was wearing bikini panties: little 
ones with colored flowers. But he only had a glimpse of them, because they 
were quickly skinned down to her ankles, and she bared her furry bush for 
his inspection. 

But there was very little inspection, really. He was too hot for any delay. 
His seven-inch prick, stiff and hard in his hand, was quivering hungrily for 
the sticky heat of her young pussy. 

He was so hot, and so was she, that they decided to do it right here in the 
front seat. 

She stretched out on her back, one leg draped over the front seat, the other 
dangling under the dashboard. He climbed from behind the wheel, worked his 
way between her beckoning thighs, and pointed the top of his dick due south. 

"Give it to me, Jim-honey. All you got!" 

He gave her a thrust of his stiff peter. The lips of her pussy sucked at the 
head of his dick. He shoved, his dick plunged deeper, and a moaning song of 
happiness burst from Linda's throat. 

"You're something," she groaned and moaned. "So big. So nice and big." 

What adjectives to tell her, he wondered. That her cunt was glorious and 
thrilling and just about the best he ever felt? Was that what he should tell 
her? 

"Say something. Jim. Tell me." 

"What?" 

"How it feels. Does it feel good? L-like it. . . like it does for me?" 

He worked his fingers between the seat cushions and the young girl's ass. He 
squished his prick back and forth in her warm, tight pussy. The feeling was 
heavenly, so heavenly that he could have shot his cream right then. 

But he mustn't come this soon, he warned himself. It was too super-wonderful 
to end it quickly. He must fuck her as long as he could-a small boy 
prolonging the luxury of his ice cream cone or all-day sucker. 

For that reason, he controlled his breathing and constrained his rhythm. He 
moved his ass in a clockwise fashion, working his dick around in the depths 
of her cunt, feeling areas of her velvet pouch which, perhaps, had never 
been touched by a prick. 

She let him know that this might well be the case, moaning almost 
hysterically, rotating her ass in cadence with his own movements, slapping 
her belly against his every now and then, uttering: 

"Jim, you're the most! Honest, I never felt anything so wonderful in all my 
life." 

He kept fucking. Gently, though. Stirring her in new places, re-visiting the 
old. Soaring to the verge of orgasm, then backing off, holding back, only to 
re-excite himself several seconds later. 

"You still didn't tell me how it feels for you, Jim. I want to hear." 

"Wonderful," he panted. "Just wonderful." 

"Am I the best?" 

The old question, he mused. But wasn't she? Wasn't she the very, very best? 
He thought so, and he told her: 

"Linda, I never knew anything could feel. . . like this." He shoved her the 
meat harder than before. 

"I'm glad," she said softly. "Real glad." Then she pushed him away, without 
warning. "What's the matter?" 

"Nothing. But let's try it another way." 

"How?" 

"Let me sit on your lap." 

"Huh?" 

"Sit up." 

He did as she suggested. His pecker pointed to the roof of the car. But 
seconds later it was pointing upward to her cunt. She had straddled him, 
wrapped her arms around his neck, and then, watching the enjoyment flood his 
eyes, slowly lowered herself down on his swollen prick. 

When the joyous union was complete and her cunt was fully stuffed with his 
throbbing cock, he thought he would go out of his mind with the sheer 
ecstasy of it. 

And that which followed was just as wild. She commenced raising and lowering 
herself, fucking his prick, completely dominating him. 

She picked up speed. Her bare ass rose and fell, cupped hotly by his sweaty 
hands. Her tits, which were, unfortunately, covered by her pants-suit top, 
bounced against his face. 

"How does this feel?" she asked, riding him hard. 

"Great!" he said breathlessly. 

But suddenly she climbed off him and reversed herself. She reached between 
her legs, grabbing his prick, then re-inserted it in her throbbing, dripping 
pussy. He helped her, raising slightly, pushing forward. Then it was in! 

"Push," she ordered him. 

He nudged his stomach against the sheen of her lovely young ass. His prick 
entered the hot confines of her pussy. 

"Harder!" she commanded. 

He lifted his hips and jammed her with greater force. 

"That's it!" She leaned forward slightly, resting on top of the dashboard. 
He seized her tiny waist, and by alternately raising and lowering her to his 
prick, their wondrous fuck re-commenced. 

Without a doubt, this was the most thrilling position he had tried with her. 
She was light, easy to move, and both of them could take the initiative at 
will. 

It proved a mutual attack. Her delightful bottom bounced up and down on his 
groin, sending wave after wave of thrill over his body. But by the same 
token, he was able to meet her plunge, raising his ass off the seat, 
sticking his prick upward, stabbing her cunt again and again and again. 

Her moans grew louder. Her plunges grew more frantic. He, too, lost his 
senses'. Fuck her, he thought. Fuck her cunt, give her the meat, fuck this 
guy Homer right out of the picture. 

"Jim, I think I'm ... I think I'm gonna come. I can't... I can't hold off 
much longer. I'm. ..." 

He rushed to join her. His balls churned. Hot sperm rose to his cock. 

"C'mon," he urged. "Come, baby. Come!" 

"Ohhh, darling!" She screamed. "JIMMM!" She came down hard on the spearing 
length of his huge cock. 

At the same instant, he lunged upward, impaling her thrashing, juicy cunt at 
its greatest depth. Hot jizzum spat from his cock. Shudders of joy swept 
over him. 

"My God!" he exclaimed. And it wasn't over yet, for a spasm of jerks caused 
him to fuck the last drop from his balls, pushing, pulling, seemingly trying 
to jam even his balls into her greedy, lovely cunt. 

She was equally frantic. Her snapping pussy refused to release his throbbing 
prick. She had to have the last fraction of an inch, the final drop of 
creamy jizz, the last grunt and groan. 

But at last it was over and he patted her lovely ass, kissed her back, then 
helped her off. 

"I needed that," she said, and her candor continued to startle him. 

He replied, "So did I." 

They dressed, lit cigarettes, listened to the car radio for a minute or two, 
and the way she was gazing at him, he knew that he was IN. Homer had been 
squeezed out of the picture, he told himself, and with another fuck or two, 
she wouldn't even recall his name. 

He put his arm around her. He'd give her a bit of a snow job, waltz her with 
words. He said: 

"This is the best night I ever had. I mean, you and I, going out, and then 
this." He held her hand. "I think quite a lot of you, Linda." 

He exchanged smiles with her. He knew her mind was working overtime, too. 
Probably thinking how she could give Homer the Dear John bit. But matters 
weren't quite as he thought. She said: 

"I didn't want us to get serious, Jim." 

"Well, no," he stammered, trying to hide his surprise. "I meant-" 

"That's the trouble with people nowadays," she rushed on. "They forget that 
screwing's a lark. I mean, it's a ball, right? You get your gun off, have a 
few laughs, and get rid of the edge that you had. But that doesn't mean the 
whole world has to collapse. I mean screwing's great. But just because a 
girl lets a guy do it to her, that doesn't mean she's necessarily nutty 
about him." She paused. "Am I right?" 

"Well, sure. But-" 

"You take us. I like you or I wouldn't have done it with you. And you must 
have thought a little bit of the same way. But we don't have to lose our 
cool over it ... do we? It happened, it was good, and that's that." 

He got the picture without any further blueprinting. She didn't take sexual 
intercourse seriously. It didn't necessarily relate to love, not in her 
book; and if he was to accept her brash candor at its face value, getting 
fucked was simply another of life's necessary physical functions and not 
much more romantic than taking a shit! 

He started the car, and this time without protest. 

"I hope I haven't hurt you by what I said," she offered, when they were 
again back on the main highway. 

He masked his disappointment as best he could. "Not at all," he said 
detachedly. 

"I mean, it was fun and all that, but I wouldn't want it to interfere with 
the plans Homer and I have." 

"You don't have to apologize. I understand." 

She sat closer to him, dragging desultorily on her cigarette, seemingly at 
peace with the world. 

"You're all right, Jim. I like you." 

Which was a pail of shit, he thought. He was a prize chump. He had set out 
to seduce the girl, thereby expecting to squeeze her boyfriend out of the 
running. Instead, it was she who had seduced him, and Homer was ahead by 
thirty lengths. 

"I should have jacked off," he said under his breath. 

"What?" 

"Just talking to myself." 

"But what did you say?" 

"I said it sure is a pretty night." 

She looked beyond the windshield and stared at the moon. "It sure is," she 
agreed. "But you know what I wish?" 

"What?" 

"You won't get mad?" 

"Why should I?" 

"Well, what I wish ... I wish Homer were here now. Tonight." 

"So do I," he said moodily. "I always wanted to be a chauffeur, anyway." 

6 

Saturday was a bitch! The store and the station did twice their usual 
business; Jim had to hump it for ten solid hours. On top of that, old man 
Ramsey was bugging him about Linda. Had he done any good? Did he think he 
could break up her and her boyfriend? And when? 

Jim put him off. He didn't want to say he'd failed miserably, so he said he 
was still working on it. 

"You mean you didn't do nothing?" 

"I didn't say that. We talked." 

"Just talk?" 

"What can you do in a car?" he lied. "Besides, if she's real serious about 
him, I'm not so sure I can do anything." 

Ramsey grew pissed. "We've been through that before. You ain't backing out 
of this. We made a deal." 

Jim felt a sudden chill. There was real menace in the old bastard's face and 
he wasn't going to take no for an answer. 

"I know about our deal and I'm not backing out," he said. "All I said was 
you can't do nothing in a car." 

Ramsey clenched his fists. He spoke through narrowed lips, not unlike a late 
movie western villain. But he meant every word he spoke. 

"I want results, no excuses." 

"Look-" 

"Tonight, you'll have a place. I'll see to it." 

Jim wanted to cut him off, tell him the truth: that he'd already been inside 
Linda's panties, that it was futile, that her mind was made up: she was 
going to marry this Homer guy. 

But the cold determination in the old bird's eyes changed his mind. That, 
and a simple coincidence: a sheriff's deputy coming into the store. 

The deputy said, "How's business, Clay?" 

Ramsey's countenance changed from anger to one of pleased surprise. "Ace 
Callahan!" he shouted jubilantly. He ran forward to greet the deputy. "I 
ain't seen you since . . . since that last time we went hunting together. 
And that's been-" 

"Pretty near a year," the huge, red-faced deputy finished. He opened the pop 
cooler and helped himself to a bottle of orange drink. 

"So where you been keeping yourself?" Ramsey asked. 

"Mostly over near Harrisburg. But I bitched for a transfer, and that's why 
I'm back." 

"Then we can do some more hunting." 

"Shit, man, that's the only reason I came back to this god-forsaken 
hellhole, to shoot us up a few coons." 

There was loud laughter between the two men. Jim, who had been standing 
quietly in the back room, now melted out of sight. He wanted no part of Clay 
Ramsey's deputy sheriff friend; in fact, with things the way they were, and 
with a cop-bastard now on the scene, Jim wished himself dead. 

He went upstairs to his room and slumped across the bed. He was exhausted, 
disgusted, and not a little bit worried. He could hear their boisterous 
conversation downstairs and he wondered how long it would be before 
big-mouthed Ramsey would tell the deputy sheriff about Kathy-Mae and what 
he'd caught her and Jim doing. 

He drew a pillow over his head, hoping to muffle the boom of their voices. 
To some extent, he succeeded. But the cool cover of darkness was only 
temporary, for Kathy-Mae had quietly opened the door, slipped inside, and 
she was now beside the bed reaching down to pinch his ass. 

He came up with a start. Seeing her, his alarm was total. 

"You'd better get out of here . . . and fast!" 

She never moved a muscle. She'd been cool toward him since the arrival of 
her sister, denying him her impish smile. But now that they were alone, she 
seemed bolder than ever. 

He came up to a sitting position. "Maybe you didn't hear me. I said you 
better leave." 

But she wasn't moving. Just standing over the bed, grinning at him. 

"You're a big ol' fraidy-cat, aren't you?" 

"You're goddamn right I am. And I'm gonna stay that way." 

"Pa won't get mad, long as we're just talking." 

She leaned to one side, cleverly throwing her hip toward him, being as 
provocative as she could. 

"Talking is where the trouble starts," he said, trying not to notice how 
short her skirt was. "So you better go." 

"I'll bet you wouldn't tell Linda to go, would you? You and her probably did 
it, didn't you?" 

He didn't want to be nasty with her, but he answered almost automatically, 
saying: 

"I don't see where that's any of your business, Kathy-Mae." 

The verbal harpoon didn't phase her. She said, "But you probably did, huh?" 

"Kathy-Mae!" He sighed, completely exasperated by her. 

"I just came in to ask you something," she said, suddenly looking downward. 
"What?" 

"Well, I was gonna ask you how I can get out of going to this birthday party 
my girlfriend is having tonight. It's gonna be a drag and I don't wanna go." 

"Tell her you're sick." 

"Oh, I could do that easy enough. Pa's the one that's bugging me to go. Just 
cause Cissy's parents do a lot of trading in our store, he says I gotta go." 

"Well, then maybe you'd better." There was no point in further aggravating 
her father, and he told her so. 

"I suppose you're right," she said morosely. "But it sure is gonna be a 
drag." 

He didn't say anything further, hopeful that she would now leave. But when 
she made no move toward the door, just stood there silent and brooding, he 
reminded her what her father might say if he found her there. 

She said, "You worry too much." 

"I've got a right to worry." He avoided the sight of her curvy shape. 

"Not as long as they're downstairs talking." She grinned wise-owl fashion. 

"And they could quit talking mighty fast." 

"But by that time I'd be out of here." 

"It's still not smart." 

"Jim, you don't know my Pa. When him and Ace start bulling, they're at it 
for hours sometimes." 

He didn't take issue with her on that count, but he still wished she would 
leave his room. 

"Where's your sister?" he said, wanting to move the conversation in another 
direction. 

"On the phone. And we don't have to worry about her, either. She's talking 
to Homer, and that could last a whole year." 

"I wasn't worried about her, as you put it. I was just wondering what she 
was doing." 

"I'm beginning to think you want me to leave." 

He forced a smile. "That's about right." 

"Okay," she conceded cheerfully. "I'll go. But first you got to tell me if 
you like 'em." 

"Like what?" he asked naively. 

"These," she said, and before he could protest, she jerked up her skirt and 
proudly exhibited her black, bikini-cut nylon panties. "I bought 'em when I 
was in town this morning. D'you like 'em?" 

He was speechless. Bare from the waist down, she was, except for these wispy 
little panties; and they were so skimpy that they failed completely to 
conceal her pussy hair. It curled forth from the edges of the panties, 
spewing in all directions. And the thin ribbon of material, which was 
designed to conceal the crack of her pussy, concealed nothing. Her moist 
pink cunt-lips were exposed to his gaze. 

The sight floored him. He couldn't gather his. wits, couldn't move. The 
exciting smell of her junior-size cunt mesmerized him. Her cutely shaped 
lower body held him captive. And then she said: 

"Wanna touch 'em and see how they feel?" He was stupefied. She pushed her 
cunt toward him. 

"Go on," she urged. "See if you like how they feel." 

He obeyed as if in a trance. His hand went out to space. Blindly, he found 
the pouch of her filmy panties. They were wet. Wet and hot. 

"Feel nice?" she asked. 

He nodded, still transfixed by the warmth of the fifteen-year-old's tender 
crotch. Her juices seeped through the thin material and wet his fingertips. 

But then the booming laughter of the two men downstairs broke his pleasant 
euphoria. He said: 

"You're gonna get me killed, girl. You better get out of here." 

"But, Jim-" 

"Jim, hell! I don't want no more trouble with him, so you clear out of here 
before there is trouble." 

But she was shameless. Shameless and bold and hot and she had to be screwed. 
She slid her panties down to her knees. 

"Honey, we could do it quick," she begged. 

"No," he said, with a catch in his voice, and his eyes still focused on the 
gold of her cunt. "You've got to go." 

"Just stick it in once," she pleaded, "and then I'll go. I promise." 

"Kathy-Mae-" 

"Please, Jim. Please." 

He stared hard at her young cunt. She'd arched her back slightly, which 
caused her pussy to project upward and outward. Then she placed her hands 
down there and eased the lips of her pussy apart. She said: 

"C'mon, Jim. Just put it in for a minute." 

The soft, pleading tone of her voice was irresistible. And so was the golden 
fleece of her anxious pussy. 

He listened for the sound of the two men talking. They were still re-living 
old times. He could almost make out the words, something about the time they 
fished and hunted in Canada. 

"Are you gonna do it to me?" she said anxiously. 

He unzippered his pants and took out his pecker. "I'm not taking my pants 
off or anything," he advised. 

"I don't care." 

"And this is gonna be one-two-three. You understand?" 

She nodded. "You want me to sit on you?" - 

"Yes." He moved to the edge of the bed. 

She lowered herself slowly, working her nimble fingers in the necessary 
fashion, taking the tip of his hard cock and placing it at the mouth of her 
soft, young, extremely wet cunt. 

It amazed him how well they fit together, he and this curvy, 
fifteen-year-old bit of jailbait. Blended for sin. United in fuck. 

He fucked her like a jackrabbit. No holding back, no foreplay, just a good, 
hard, quick fuck. 

But that was all right with her. She needed pecker, a stiff one, and she 
wasn't particular about the manner in which she received it. 

"Fuck me, Jim! Yes, yes, like that! H-Hard! Ohhh, yes! Yes, J-Jim!" 

He plowed into her as hard as he could. His final thrust raised them up. In 
the same instant, she clamped her legs around his waist and squeezed him 
with all her juvenile might. 

"I came, Jim! I came! Oh, I came!" She was never more happy, ringing him 
with an ecstatic embrace. "I came and you came." 

He was as pleased as she. Pleased that their short union had been so wild, 
so mutually satisfying 

She kissed him, tears of joy brimming from her smiling eyes. They hugged 
each other like a pair of re-united sweethearts. And finally, when safety 
was again a consideration, he raised her from his lap, and assisted her to 
draw her panties back to their starting point. 

"Will you go now?" he asked good-naturedly. 

She said yes. And there was a smile and great pleasure on her young face. 
She gave him a final kiss, squeezed his pecker in fond farewell, then went 
out. His parting thought was: There's nothing quite so tasty as forbidden 
fruit! 

When supper was completed, Clay Ramsey played Cupid right to the hilt. He 
produced a fifth of gin, a bottle of Wink, put on the FM stereo, and turned 
down the lights. He was about as obvious as a snowstorm, and when he 
announced that he was going into town to bowl with "the guys," wouldn't be 
back until quite late, the cards were stacked, the stage was set. 

"And you don't have to worry about Kathy-Mae," Ramsey whispered to Jim, 
before he went out the door. "She's gone to a birthday party at her 
girlfriend's, and I doubt if she'll be back before midnight." He zippered 
his jacket. "So make the most of it." 

"I'll try," he said weakly. 

"You better do more than try," Ramsey warned. "This Homer'll be here 
tomorrow, so if you're gonna accomplish anything, it's got to be done 
tonight." 

When the door was closed and he heard Ramsey's car pull out, Jim tore the 
seal on the fifth of gin, poured drinks for himself and Linda, added ice, 
then settled down on the couch with her. But to his utter surprise, Linda 
climbed to her feet, hurried to the window, peeped out. Then, in a loud 
voice, she shouted: 

"It's all right, Kathy. You can come out now." 

The shock was like a cold fist smashing him in the jaw. Kathy-Mae had 
emerged from a closet. She stood in the center of the living room, a large 
grin on her young face. 

"I thought you went to a birthday party," Jim said, nearly tipping over his 
drink. 

"That's what we wanted Pa to think," Linda put in. She lowered the volume on 
the stereo. 

"And I didn't wanna go to that stupid old party," Kathy-Mae pouted, dropping 
heavily onto the couch. 

"So why should she go?" Linda crossed the room and picked up her drink. "If 
a party's a drag, I say to hell with it. Right, Kathy?" 

"Right!" 

"Besides," she said, sitting between Jim and her young sister, "we're gonna 
have a party of our own. Right, Kathy?" 

"Right!" 

She kissed Jim's throat and squeezed his thigh. Then she said, "Kathy,. I 
think you better get another glass. I mean, if we're gonna teach you how to 
drink and we're gonna have a party .. . well, we'd better get started, huh?" 

Jim was stricken by a mixture of sexual excitement and puzzlement. This 
crazy house and these crazy girls were full of the unexpected. Nothing 
seemed to escape their perverse imaginations, and he could only wonder what 
bizarre experience he would now endure. 

He soon found out. When kid-sister Kathy-Mae returned with a glass, a rapid 
drinking bout began. The name of the game seemed to be Let's get 

Drunk. The girls gulped the 90-proof gin with only a splash of water. And 
little Kathy-Mae, who was an apparent stranger to strong drink, made faces 
with every swallow; but it didn't prevent her from consuming four quick 
drinks, all in rapid succession. 

Jim warned the girls what they might expect, gulping the stuff so quickly, 
and he himself refused to join the race, preferring a more casual pace. 

"We're not chicken," Linda teased, swirling to the music from the stereo. 
"Are we, Kathy?" 

"Chickens we are not," the fifteen-year-old announced loudly. She swung 
around, her back resting against the arm of the couch, her legs curled 
beneath her. 

"I'm not a chicken," he offered. "I'm just using my head." 

"You," Linda said, pointing her half-filled glass at him, "are a shit." 

"My friends call me Mister Shit." 

"Okay," she said, weaving slightly, "on and after this date, I, Linda 
Ramsey, the party of the first part, will address you, the party of the 
second part, as Mister Shit. How's that?" 

"I'll drink to that." 

"Can I have another?" Kathy-Mae asked her sister. 

"You can have all y'want, sis. Get loaded, 'cause when that bottle's empty, 
the party begins." She swirled recklessly, and her short white skirt flew up 
around her hips, giving him a glimpse . . . again ... of her lovely legs and 
pantied ass and cunt. 

Kathy-Mae swished more of the colorless gin into her mouth. She, too, was 
now on her feet, flirting with her ass, prancing to the music, throwing her 
skirt around, giving Jim more than a casual peek at her jailbait bottom and 
her flesh-colored nylon panties. 

His pecker responded to the visual thrills the two girls were offering him 
and he could feel it pounding for action. But he couldn't loosen up. Two of 
them, sisters at that, made it awkward. And, really, he didn't care for the 
younger one being around just now; he wanted to try a few things with Linda, 
give her more of the hearts-and-flowers routine and hope it would break up 
her and her boyfriend Homer. But it was obvious that this bit, the two 
sisters and himself, was planned. His own scheme was shot full of holes; 
meanwhile, the girls probably had a scheme of their own. 

Ten minutes later, the last drop drained from the gin bottle, Linda 
staggered and said: 

"Okay, it's time for the party. Right, Kathy?" 

Her young sister, weaving considerably, leaning against the stereo, said, 
"Right. Time for the party." 

Linda looked at Jim. "First, everyone's gotta take off their clothes." 

Jim grinned his surprise. This wasn't the way he did things. But Linda 
wasn't waiting for his approval. She'd kicked off her loafers and was now 
pulling her sweater over her head. Kathy-Mae was quickly following suit. 
She'd unclasped her skirt, released it, and it had dropped to the floor. 
Now, still able to exude a certain childish innocence, smiling coyly, she 
stood before him in her kissable, flesh-colored nylon panties. 

"You, too!" Kathy-Mae ordered. 

"I'll catch cold," he stalled. 

The girls advanced on him. Linda was stripped to panties and bra and was now 
working to unclasp her bra. But Kathy-Mae was waiting to see if Jim was 
going to cooperate. She said: 

"I think we'd better help him, Linda. He's chicken." 

Suddenly Jim decided to play the game. He didn't know what these two 
hellcats had in mind, but whatever it was it sounded like fun. He unbuttoned 
his shirt and flung it off. 

"That's more like it," the younger sister said. She undid her bra and bared 
the sweetness of her child-woman breasts. 

Jim climbed out of his pants. He had a big hard-on and it was bulging out 
the front of his shorts. 

"Wow!" Linda exclaimed. "Look what we got." She grabbed his dong and gave it 
a playful squeeze. 

Jim licked his lips and slid his T-shirt over his head. Meanwhile, Linda had 
divorced her kissable titties from her brassiere. Both girls were now nude, 
except for their panties, and Jim was down to his shorts. 

He looked at the two nymphets, wondering how many of his former friends 
would believe him when he later described this night. The youngest one, a 
spattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose, just as hot a 
hellion as he'd ever known. And her sister? Bold as they made them. Bold and 
beautiful, bored by anything remotely conventional, anxious to prove that 
sex was one grand kick, unrelated to love-honor-and-obey a guy named Homer. 

The girls wiggled their asses. Pony-tailed, as delicious looking as warm 
cookies, nippled titties bobbing for approval, little Kathy-Mae said: 

"When I count to three, well take off the rest. Okay?" 

There was a round of agreement. Kathy-Mae counted: 

"One, two, THREE!" 

They tore at their remaining garments. Kathy-Mae skinned herself out of her 
panties in less than three seconds. Linda, apparently more tipsy than her 
sister, lost her balance and nearly fell. So it took her something like ten 
seconds to slide her panties over the curve of her ass. Jim was the slowest 
of all, perhaps because he was so busy staring. 

Yes, he'd seen it all before, but never under such ideal conditions. Always 
before there was the threat of being caught. Things had to be hurried and 
many, many pleasures had to be surrendered for haste. 

But now there was time. He could feast his eyes on this prancing bit of 
jailbait, only fifteen years old, and there was no concern for old man 
Ramsey. Ramsey, as he'd promised, would be gone for most of the night. 

"Are you going to just look at us?" Linda asked, picking up her panties and 
trying to throw a ringer on the nearest lamp. 

"What's wrong with looking?" he said, his eyes roaming from one juicy cunt 
to the other. 

Kathy-Mae looked at his pecker, which was sticking straight out, as springy 
as a diving board. She said: 

"I think it's fun to look." 

"Sure it is," her older sister said, her voice a shade lower than usual. 
"But it's more fun to touch." She moved within reach of him, grasped his 
pecker, rubbed it back and forth. "Don't you agree, Jim?" 

Jim's reflexes refused to get together. Speech and action and thought simply 
wouldn't agree. His gaze swept from Kathy's bobbing, juicy, suckable morsels 
to Linda's. He didn't know which way to look, what to touch, what to say. 
Linda's hands were performing lewd acts on his swollen pecker, and she was 
making little twists with her upper torso, causing her pretty boobs to shake 
in his face. Kathy-Mae, meanwhile, had clasped her hands behind her head and 
was slowly gyrating her hips. 

He knew he was in for the wildest night of his life. He knew that the booze 
had made them quite high, particularly the younger one; and he was certain 
that they would do anything he desired. 

"Let's do it in the bedroom," Kathy-Mae suggested, still bump-and-grinding 
her young cunt for Jim's thrill. 

"Let's not," Linda said. She worked Jim's prick back and forth. "We've got 
more room out here. And for what we're going to do, we'll need lots of 
room!" 

Jim couldn't keep his hands still. He began low oh Linda's backside, feeling 
up her upper thighs, then her deliciously rounded ass. When he did this, 
coveted her ass, she flexed her buttocks, causing the cheeks to jiggle 
beneath his hands. 

He liked that. She knew the tricks. All of them. And all the while, she 
continued to lightly fondle his balls and prick, sending one wondrous tremor 
through his body and then following it with a dozen others. 

Kathy-Mae, who was standing but a few feet away and was shaking herself, 
making her tits bounce around, moved closer. Her sister said: 

"C'mon, Kathy. Do something." 

"Anything?" 

"Anything. Get behind him." 

Jim heard the words and thrilled to what was going to happen. He was still 
stunned, of course, by the girls' total lack of shame, by the fact that, as 
young as they were, they could perform like this in front of each other. But 
logic mattered not; it was far too late for that. 

Kathy-Mae circled him. He felt her small hands on his ass. Then he felt her 
firm tummy pressed against him. Her little bush tickled the crack of his 
ass. And now she began to move her cunt, rubbing it into the space between 
his legs, endeavoring to reach his balls. 

"While you're doing that," Linda said, "I'm going to do this." And she took 
his pecker and began to rub it against the lips of her warm, wet pussy. At 
the same time, she put one of her arms around his neck, drew him close and 
slapped her breasts against his chest. 

Jim sighed uncontrollably. He stroked her ass more meaningfully. But 
Kathy-Mae was demanding attention, also. She'd been rubbing her snatch 
against his ass, feeling up his balls, kissing the small of his back, and 
now she wanted some of the caressing that Linda was getting. 

Jim divorced his left hand from the older girl's ass. He reached behind him, 
got a firm grip on the fifteen-year-old's baby-soft behind. He slipped his 
index finger up the crack of her ass, then pressed. Meanwhile, Linda pressed 
forward. 

"I never got it from both ends at once," he grunted happily. 

"You are now," Linda announced, fingering his cock, teasing him with the hot 
proximity of her wet cunt, watching his eyes. "You're getting the works!" , 
"Put it in," he said urgently. 

She didn't answer. Nor did she put it in. She wanted to play awhile longer, 
tease him to the limit. And Kathy-Mae, so hot that she was breathing 
irregularly and whimpering with joy, was not unable to control herself. She 
was dry-fucking his ass as fast as she could. She had seized his waist, 
hugged him like a small baby, and was humping him the way one dog does 
another. 

Jim tried to get his finger into the little one's cunt, but Kathy-Mae was 
moving so rapidly, so frantically, that it became impossible. 

"I think my little sister is getting her gun off," Linda said, gazing over 
Jim's shoulder. "And as long as she is, I think I should." 

Jim was so hot he couldn't speak. He shook his head. 

Linda parted the lips of her cunt. She bent her knees slightly, took his 
peter in her hand, and guided it slowly to the mouth of her wet cunt. Jim 
shuddered with insane pleasure. The tip of his cock was resting just inside 
her pussy. 

But suddenly little Kathy-Mae slammed her young cunt against his ass. The 
dramatic impact caught him off-balance. He was catapulted forward. The 
entire length of his swollen, throbbing cock rammed up Linda's cunt. She let 
out a scream. She writhed against him. He tried to regain his balance but 
Kathy-Mae's pitching, rolling, thrashing cunt again smacked his ass. 

"Ohhh, my God!" Linda moaned. 

He started to tell her he was sorry, that it was Kathy-Mae's fault. But 
suddenly he realized that the painful thrust of his cock was what she 
wanted. She wanted to be hurt. She wanted his cock to cut her in two. 
Anguish was pleasure, hurt was joy. And she proved it, moaning aloud, 
gasping: 

"Ohhh, sweets! It feels .. . ohhh, so wonderful!" Her cunt squeezed hard on 
his prick. Her hips churned against his loins. Her titties bore down on his 
chest. 

"Fuck her, Jim!" the fifteen-year-old urged him from behind. "Fuck her hard! 
That's the way she likes it." 

Jim couldn't believe his ears: a kid sister telling some guy how he should 
fuck her sister! But these were wild times and wild girls, and it was a case 
of being in the right place at the right time. 

He took a firm grip of Linda's hips. He undulated back and forth, shaft in, 
shaft out; and as he rode her, fucked her and made her eyes glaze, her kid 
sister continued to pump her fuzz against his ass. 

"Let's do it on the floor," she whispered in Jim's ear. 

Jim looked questioningly to Linda, who was writhing back and forth on his 
cock. She nodded to her sister's suggestion. 

Jim withdrew his cock. They lowered themselves to the floor and started 
anew. This time it was Kathy-Mae who grabbed his dick and started to play 
with it. Meanwhile, Linda began to suck his nipples with her hot lips and 
finger-fuck herself while she did it: 

The delirium was maddening. The two girls were driving him frantic with 
desire. The fifteen-year-old's hand was a warm and delicious thing, wetting 
his cock as though it were her very own little puppy dog. She handled it 
with loving care, marveling at its size and color, gazing hungrily at it as 
though this were the first time she'd ever seen it. 

But Linda was driving him up the wall, also. Her teeth were clamping gently 
on his nipples, tensing just enough to bring a sense of pain, and yet not 
enough so that it was unbearable. It was a masochistic joy that tripled the 
pleasure of Kathy-Mae's busy hands. 

Once again he found himself a prisoner of his own hot desires, and 
conflicting desires at that. 

The older one's delightful nibbling and sucking was drawing him in one 
direction, but Kathy-Mae, who was practicing jack-off-a-cock, was drawing 
his attentions in yet another direction. 

"Let's give him a real suck job!" Linda said suddenly. 

Jim started to protest. He wanted to fuck 'em, dammit. But Kathy-Mae liked 
her sister's suggestion. She smiled brightly and said: 

"Okay, let's!" 

Before Jim could appraise what was happening and react to it, the two 
sisters were fast at work. Linda's tongue went in his ear and Kathy-Mae's 
tongue went to his cock. And Linda didn't simply remain in his ear. Her wet 
lips roamed across his cheek, touched his lips, then worked on his eyelids. 
Joyful shivers ran through him. Then she went to the other side of his face, 
licking the rim of his ear, nibbling his throat, then descending to his 
nipples. She kissed and nibbled and licked and sucked, and by the time she 
returned to his mouth and began French kissing him, Jim was wild with 
passion. Young Kathy-Mae was something else. She licked the rim of his cock, 
savoring the taste, then her long pink tongue curled around the shaft, 
licking it around and around and around. 

She brushed back the hair of his balls, then lowered her young mouth over 
his swollen cock. Her cheeks puffed with the sudden engorgement of his 
organ: a youngster with a mouthful of candy jawbreakers, he thought. 

"Suck it, honey," he moaned in delight. 

"What the hell d'you think I'm doin'?" she mumbled from the corner of her 
mouth. 

He pushed up. He wanted to get more of his cock into the youngster's mouth. 
Let her taste all there was, he thought. Suck, baby, suck! 

But now Linda, who'd been so busy sucking his lips and ears, wanted to suck 
what Kathy-Mae was sucking. She moved her head downward. Her long hair 
tickled his belly. And then there were two heads down at his loins! 
Kathy-Mae was licking the base of his cock and Linda was sucking the head of 
it. 

Jim dug his nails into the carpet. The ecstasy was paralyzing in its 
wonderment. His response was total. 

He reached out and grabbed a tit: Linda's. He pulled on it, pulled and 
squeezed. 

"Play with mine, too," Kathy-Mae complained. 

Jim reached downward, stretched, and managed to find Kathy-Mae's tit. He 
fondled it, surprised by how hot it was. 

Both girls reacted with loud moans. They liked having their tits played 
with, but no more than he liked having his cock sucked. And this was the 
first time, he realized, that two young girls had ever worked on him at the 
same time. The first time in his life! 

But the thrills were too much. His jizz wanted to come out. He wanted to 
come. He warned Kathy-Mae. 

"But I want you to come in my mouth," she murmured. "Now!" 

Her words triggered the expected. The come began to boil upward. He shook 
with the onset of an explosive orgasm. The girls hovered over his cock, 
waiting for it, wanting it. 

Suddenly it spurted out. Kathy-Mae sucked up the first mouthful and then her 
sister pushed her aside. She, too, wanted a taste of his come, and it felt 
so good that he didn't care who sucked him or how long. 

Then each of them were sucking and licking at the same time. His cream 
spurted on their faces, in their mouths. Some of it dribbled down their 
chins, some of it got on their hair. But no one cared. It was wild and 
terrific and fun, and when Jim finally let his body relax, he felt as weak 
as a new-born babe. 

"I don't think I'll ever forget this night. Not in a hundred years," he 
said. 

Linda licked his jizzum from her lower lip. She said: 

"You make it sound like the night's all over with, Jim. And as far as we're 
concerned, the night's only begun!" 

7 

The two teenagers proved true to their word. The night had only begun, and 
during the next three hours he experienced an orgy that he didn't think 
possible. 

Stripped, excited anew, the three of them crossed to a bedroom, stretched 
out on the large double-bed, and proceeded to fuck themselves silly! 

Kathy-Mae demanded to see Jim fuck her older sister. She loved to watch, she 
explained, and Linda loved to put on an exhibition. So that part worked out 
just fine. He climbed on top of Linda and fucked her in conventional 
fashion. Kathy-Mae crawled close and watched. And while she watched, she was 
not indisposed to playing with herself. Jacked herself off at least twice, 
Jim noted; and Linda came once, while Jim endeavored to hold himself back. 

But then Kathy-Mae wanted Linda to get on top of Jim and see how that 
worked. 

"Are we supposed to be giving your kid sister a course in how to fuck?" Jim 
quipped to Linda. 

"Don't be nasty," she scolded him. "Kathy just likes to watch." And then she 
added: "D'you care?" 

"Hell, no. Matter of fact, I kinda like it." And so another phase of their 
fucking began: Linda straddling him in a sit-up position, working his erect 
cock into her eager pussy, then pumping for her life. 

The fifteen-year-old got up on her knees and finger-fucked herself with wild 
abandon. The faster her sister fucked, the faster she played with her cunt. 

Finally, so hot that she had to participate, Kathy-Mae said: 

"It's my turn, Linda. Let me do it to him." 

He didn't think Linda would stop. He reasoned that she would want to finish 
what she started. But to his surprise, Linda was cooperative. She climbed 
off of him, making room for her little sister. 

Kathy-Mae was so hot, so excited, that she had difficulty inserting his 
prick. Linda came to the rescue. She worked her capable hands between their 
bodies, found his dick, and maneuvered it into her sister's pussy. 

When the union was successfully affected, Kathy-Mae shrieked with joy, 
fucked like a mink, and moaned so loudly that Linda had to put her hand over 
her mouth. 

The movement was mad. The bed bounced so forcefully that Jim was afraid it 
might collapse. But it held. And the bed was apparently better made than he 
was, for after two minutes of wild thrashing and fucking, Jim could no 
longer hold back. He shot a big load of hot, creamy jizz into the 
youngster's yawning pussy, and was then so tired that he could have died. 

But Linda wouldn't let him die. She pulled his prick out of her kid sister's 
pussy, and began to suck it as fast as she could. At the same time, 
Kathy-Mae, still convulsing from post-joys and post-tremors of her delicious 
fuck, now went after her sister's cunt. Linda didn't try to push her away. 

He watched Linda lap the final droplets of jizzum that crested at the tip of 
his dick. She was on her stomach, legs spread wide apart, and her little 
sister had buried her face in the former's cunt, and was licking it as fast 
as she could. 

Jim thought himself incapable of any re-excitement . . . there was a limit, 
after all, to what a man's genitals could tolerate . . . but stirred by the 
action of Linda's long pink tongue, stirred by the sight of Kathy-Mae 
sucking off her sister, Jim's prick again hardened. 

Soon, he had to join them. He wanted to suck off the fifteen-year-old and 
after some mild body contorting, he managed it: a crazy chain of sucking 
that saw him taking care of Kathy-Mae, while she tongued her sister, and 
while her sister mouthed him. It was crazy, delirious, wonderful. 

They did this for about ten minutes. Then Linda broke up the chain, 
persuaded her little sister to lie on her back, and crawled on top of her. 
She rubbed her pubis against Kathy-Mae's, exciting them to new heights. Jim 
couldn't take his eyes off the spectacle and was unconsciously playing with 
himself. 

Both of the girls experienced an orgasm. Then they forced Jim to lie down 
and they knelt near his face. 

"We want you to eat both of us at the same time," Linda announced. 

"It's a good trick if you can do it," he said. "You can do it," Linda 
smiled. The girls clasped one another. Their pussies nearly touched. Then 
they lowered their crotches toward his mouth. He flung his hands out, 
grabbed asses, then began playing windshield-wiper with their eager twats, 
lapping one, then the other. 

At length, both of the girls dribbled their come into his mouth, and that 
should have been the end. But it was not. Linda complained that she wanted 
to be fucked in the ass, something that she'd never yet enjoyed. 

He thought of protesting, but when Linda assumed a doggy position, poked her 
sweet, innocent, provocatively rounded ass in his face, he couldn't resist. 

He wet his cock, mounted the pretty college girl, and slowly worked it into 
her tight but heavenly asshole. He didn't think he could manage a total 
insertion, but Linda wouldn't have it otherwise. 

"I want all of it," she moaned, twisting her ass around. "Every single 
inch." 

He pushed hard. Kathy-Mae helped. His prick slid between the cheeks of her 
ass. Delicious chills stole through their bodies. Little gurgles of delight 
bubbled from their mouths; and after much effort, all of it joyful, his 
entire prick was buried into her asshole. 

He began a slow grinding. He was surprised how great it felt, the hot 
throbbing that filled his cock. And Kathy-Mae, overjoyed by what she saw, 
was stirred to play with herself. She had poked two fingers into her little 
cunny and was now working them in and out. 

Five minutes later, Jim shot another load of jizzum. It filled her asshole 
to overflowing and then dribbled down her thighs. Kathy-Mae and Linda 
emitted some joyous moans, indicating that they matched his nut-popping 
almost to the second. 

He wanted to quit at that point, for he was totally exhausted, but the girls 
wanted more. Kathy-Mae wanted to get it in the ass, like her sister had. He 
argued that he was dead, through for the night. But neither girl would 
accept his resignation so lightly. They insisted on fondling him, giving it 
a try. 

But this time the old white warrior wouldn't respond. He'd had it... at 
least, for tonight. And their naked ministrations, their lewd dancing proved 
to no avail. Even their foul language failed to make his dick rise, and when 
they stretched out on the bed, spread their legs, exposed their cunts to 
him, begged: 

"Please fuck us, Jim-honey. Please," he was still beyond response. 

"Girls, I got to hit the sack," he pleaded. 

"You're no fun," Kathy-Mae pouted. 

Linda said, "You know what I think, Kathy? I think he's frigid." 

"Frigid, your ass!" he snapped. 

"He can't take it," the fifteen-year-old laughed. 

"Right," her sister agreed. "Just can't take it." 

"I can take it," he argued, rising to his feet, collecting his clothes. "But 
I'm no superman." 

"Too bad," Linda said, finger-fucking herself. "I guess we'll just have to 
get someone else." 

"Do that," he said, slightly irritated by their taunts. "Fuck the whole 
world if you want." 

"You know," Linda said, still massaging her pussy, "we just might do that." 

Jim stalked out angrily. He was too exhausted to care what they did. All he 
wanted was sleep and quiet. 

His awakening the next morning was not unlike the resurrection of a wet 
dishtowel. He felt horrible, headachy, nauseous and incredibly weak. And it 
was rainy and overcast outside, which only heightened his physical and 
psychological gloom. 

A cold shower put some sting into his body, and a cup of black coffee cured 
the aches and pains. But the melancholy stupor he felt was not so easily 
chased away. He had failed to deter Linda; she was still firmly resolved to 
marry Homer ... or that was his impression from seeing them hug and kiss 
after Homer had arrived. He'd been at the window, staring gloomily at the 
rain, when Homer pulled up in his Japanese sedan. He witnessed Linda running 
out to Homer's car, saw her throw open her boyfriend's car, saw their muted 
embrace. So the situation, like it or not, was hopeless. 

He postponed meeting Linda's boyfriend and remained in his room. There was 
chatter in the other rooms: old man Ramsey up and about, Kathy-Mae gushing 
excitedly, and of course, Linda and Homer. 

Presently, Ramsey tapped on his door and came in. He'd brought more coffee. 

"Didn't know if you'd be up yet, or not. Got some coffee, too." He set the 
tray down, drew up a chair. 

Jim knew what the old guy wanted to hear: some good news. He wanted to hear 
that Jim had made out with Linda, that maybe he had arrested her and Homer's 
affair somewhat. But there was no use in building dreams out of unwarranted 
optimism. Ramsey was holding a dead line; Linda simply wasn't taking the 
bait. And Jim told him. 

"I didn't think it would work." Ramsey said forlornly, staring more at the 
floor than at Jim. "But I guess it was worth a try." 

Jim was silent, wondering if Ramsey was going to stand firm on his earlier 
threat to turn Jim in to the state troopers. 

"I really tried everything," he explained. "But I guess she's so wrapped up 
in this guy . . . well, she's just not interested in anybody else." And that 
statement needed some qualifying, he thought, for Linda was interested in 
others, apparently. But that interest was solely sexual and it had to be 
differentiated from what she felt for Homer. But it wouldn't help to tell 
this to her father, so he remained silent. 

Ramsey said, "It sure breaks my heart. I mean, her getting herself messed 
up, getting married so soon. Throwing away her college, and, dammit, I 
wanted her to amount to something. I had hopes she'd-" He broke off, choked 
up. 

Jim was embarrassed. He didn't want to be witness to Ramsey's personal grief 
and he hadn't realized that the old guy's feelings were so intense. 

"Well, you did your best, I suppose," Ramsey said, regaining his voice. "So 
I can't hardly hold it against you, can I?" 

Jim didn't answer. 

"I just wanted you to know," he said, pushing his coffee aside, "that I was 
just popping off the other day. I was mad and-" 

"You had a right." 

"Maybe so. But I wouldn't have turned you in to the police. Kathy-Mae's old 
enough to know right from wrong, so she's more to blame than you are. 
Anyway, in this crazy, mixed-up world, who's to say what's right and what's 
wrong?" 

Jim didn't know what to say. But suddenly he felt sorry for the old guy. He 
was so humble, so defeated, so despairing. He'd worked hard to be both a 
mother and a father to his girls and he felt that he'd failed. 

In his compassion, Jim. desperately sought to cheer up Clay Ramsey. But 
hackneyed pleasantries were no match for the old guy's heavy gloom. His 
despair was as real as the rain and there was nothing that Jim could do to 
dispel it. 

During the afternoon, Jim submitted to an introduction to Homer Worthington. 
He was tall, startlingly slim, and though his boyish good looks were 
appealing enough, Jim found his grin a bit distracting. It was a perpetual 
grin, too agreeable, too pleasant, and if it were not for Homer's youth, Jim 
might have likened him to a politician. 

After the amenities were dispensed with, Clay Ramsey disappeared, Jim 
settled in an overstuffed chair to read the Sunday paper, and Kathy-Mae 
donned a raincoat and went to her girlfriend's. The lovers were in and out 
of the living room, and finally settled on the couch, across the room from 
Jim. 

They moved like Siamese twins, always linked together, and Jim found their 
syrupy exhibition very trying. And when he could no longer tolerate their 
moon-eyed adulation of one another, he left the room and resettled in the 
kitchen. They remained in the range of his vision, however, and from the 
open doorway he could see them holding hands, whispering into each other's 
ears, occasionally kissing. Frequently, Homer would giggle, and it occurred 
to Jim that the fellow was a good deal less mature than his twenty or 
twenty-one years. Childish, really. 

But his immaturity, being the doltish clown, didn't lessen Linda's slushy 
affection for him. His callow good looks had won her heart, apparently. She 
thrived on his childish, soppy utterances and there was not a thing that Jim 
could do to alter her emotions. 

He left the kitchen, went downstairs, and hunted around for Ramsey. He found 
him, sitting in the closed-up gas station, sipping desultorily on a stale 
beer, watching the rain. 

"Looks like it's going to rain all day," he said idly. 

Ramsey grunted. 

"Guess the farmers need it, though," he went on. 

Nothing from Ramsey. 

Then he said, "I don't know what she sees in him, Mr. Ramsey. He's like a 
big kid." 

"She must see something in him." 

"I guess so," he conceded unhappily. "And sometimes it doesn't take much." 
He stared hard at the rain. "Worst of it is, her mind's so damn made up. She 
wants this Homer and that's that." 

Ramsey shook his head dismally. He knew he had to accept the fate that was 
dealt him, that there was not compromise. But he didn't have to like the end 
result. And there was some compensation in being able to say: 

"Well, I ain't going to worry about her no more. If that's what she wants, 
she can have it." 

Suddenly, a flash of inspiration hit Jim. "Say that again." 

"Say what?" 

"What you just said." 

"I said if that's what she wants, she can have it." 

A smile crossed Jim's face. His eyes were distant but bright. 

"You think of something?" Ramsey asked hopefully. 

"Maybe, I don't know. But ..." He took his eyes off the rain. He stared 
anxiously at Clay Ramsey. "Want to leave me borrow your car for the rest of 
the day?" 

"You gonna take her out?" 

"No, nothing like that. But I've got this idea...." 

"And you want the car?" 

"Yes." 

"Take it, man. Use it as long as you want." He handed Jim the keys. 

Jim pocketed them. He donned a rain slicker. "How's the gas?" 

"I just filled it up." 

"Good." He buttoned up. "I better take a few dollars, just in case." 

Ramsey hit the register, handed him some bilk. "What are you fixing to do?" 

"I'll tell you about it when I get back." 

"Can't you tell me now?" 

"I could but I don't want to build up your hopes ahead of time. I don't know 
if this is going to work or not. It's just a shot in the dark." 

Ramsey grew excited. His eyes lit up. A trace of smile worked at the comers 
of his mouth. "Jim, if you can do any good-" 

"Cross your fingers." 

"Christ, I'll cross everything. Even my goddamn balls!" 

The rain and the Pennsylvania mountains were a bitch, and Ramsey's car 
wasn't the most. The brakes needed work, she missed when he gave it too much 
gas, and it had a bad shimmy when he tried to exceed fifty. But this old 
heap would get him to the other side of Gettysburg, and that was the 
important thing. 

Basically, his idea was very simple. Just a bit of psychology. A girl named 
Candy, that's what it was all about. A girl named Candy, who had given him a 
lift in her little Volkswagen, who had later made love to him, and who had 
invited him to remain in touch with her. And if Candy could be persuaded to 
come up to Rivertown for a few days.. . . 

"Now what good would that do?" he could hear Ramsey ask him. 

"Maybe plenty," he'd tell the old guy. "That is, if I know anything about 
the feminine mystique." 

"What the hell are you talking about?" 

Jim continued the conversation with himself. "Linda's a woman, that's what. 
She's a woman and she's got womanly pride, womanly ego. And like all women 
who are young and pretty, she has to constantly prove it to herself." 

Ramsey's face would be a blank, of course, Jim would have to explain it 
better. 

He would say, "If there was another girl around, maybe I could make her 
jealous." 

"How? It's Homer she's nutty about, not you." 

Jim would say, "I know that, I know that. But I know how women are, see. 
They have to compete. Got to be the best. And if I can get Candy to 
cooperate, help me put on this act, I'm thinking that maybe Linda'll get 
interested enough to see if she can outpoint Candy and win me over. And when 
Homer sees what's happening, he'll blow his cool and tell Linda to pound 
salt." 

Ramsey would raise his cap, scratch his balding head, and say: 

"Sounds like a crock of shit to me." 

Which if might be, Jim thought, as he fought the slashing rain and headed 
east. But it was better than nothing. Besides, it would be good to see Candy 
again. Maybe they'd even fuck. 

When he was within local telephoning distance of Candy's home, he drew into 
a gas station and called her.' Fortunately, she was there. She sounded 
pleased to hear him, surprised, of course, and how soon would he be down to 
visit her? 

He said, "If it's all the same to you, Candy, I'd rather meet you somewhere 
outside. I'm just not up to meeting parents and relatives just now." 

"But I'm all alone," she said cheerfully. "Mom and Dad left for Florida 
early this morning and I was packing to go back to Kent. If it hadn't been 
for the rain, I'd have already left." 

The news cheered him. He said, "Give me directions." 

"Okay, Jim. Where are you right now?" 

"In a phone booth, lovely one." He smiled at the mouthpiece. "And I'm cold 
and wet and oversexed. What can you do for me?" - 

"I can do plenty for you. Only tell me what phone booth." 

He told her, and minutes later he was back in his car and on the way. 

Forty minutes later, he found her street, her house. It was a large, square 
brick home, not pretentious, but neat, substantial and well-maintained. 

Candy beckoned him to the side door. And when he entered the tiny hallway, 
she flung her arms around him, kissing him long and fervently. 

"You are wet," she said, breaking abruptly from the embrace, and surveying 
his rain slicker, then the wetness that had been conveyed to her gown. 

"Water's always wet." He grinned and skinned out of the raincoat. 

She took the coat from him and hung it up. She returned to the room, 
bouncing toward him in some crazy little furry slippers, her thin gown held 
away from her body. 

He laughed quietly. "You look like you're pregnant." 

She held the gown six inches out from her abdomen. "That's 'cause you got me 
all wet," she said. She tip-toed, kissing his mouth, and they rubbed noses. 

"Why don't you take it off?" 

"I can't. I don't have anything else on." 

"I know it, pretty-eyes. That's why I said take it off." 

"Do you really want me to?" 

"Sure, why not? I don't want to be responsible for you catching pneumonia or 
something." 

"Okay, I will." And with a sudden unwrapping of the tiny belt, she stepped 
out of her gown, naked and lovely: a sweet, seven teen-year-old muffiniface 
of a girl, whose body was the most delightfully proportioned thing he'd ever 
set his eyes on. 

"C'mere, you," he said, standing apart from her. 

"Do you like me?" she asked, her eyes roaming from his fly to his face. 
"What do you think?" 

"Is my shape nice?" 

"The best." 

"My things aren't too small?" she asked uncertainly, meaning her breasts. 
"They're just fine." 

"And the rest of me?" 

"Out of this world." She came closer. "Do I make you hot?" 

"Crazy hot." 

"Is your thing hard?" she asked, looking in that direction. 

"Like a poker." 

"Then take it out and fuck me, Jim." And with that, she fell into his open 
arms. 

He filled instantly with sensuous longing for her; and however enjoyable 
their first encounter had been, he knew this would surpass it, even before 
it began. 

She was long-haired, dark-haired, as tempestuous in body as she was in face. 
And there was nothing hidden this time. Nor was he handicapped by the narrow 
confines of a Volkswagen's back seat. They had lots of time, apparently, 
complete privacy, and voracious appetites for sex. So this would be the 
best, he thought. The best ever. 

"Can I undress you?" she asked. 

"Be my guest." 

She stepped up to him, her enchanting breasts swaying and bobbing to the 
slightest motion of her body. She began to unbutton his shirt and he was 
tempted to play with her tits. But deny yourself, he said silently. Hold 
back on the wondrous realization of how soft and warm her young breasts are. 
Anticipate just as long as you can. 

She shed him of his shirt. Next her nimble hands worked at his belt buckle. 
Then the snaps. 

He felt the thunderous pulsations of his cock, felt it swell. His pants 
bulged out. 

"Want something?" she teased, gently touching the outside of his pants, the 
bulge. 

"Golly, yes, I want something. I want you." 

He helped her, kicking off his loafers, stepping out of his pants! His 
shorts bulged obscenely but he didn't care. Candy reached for the bulge and 
gripped it firmly. 

He sighed. And damn if it didn't feel nice. 

"You're big," she remarked, watching his eyes. "Big and hard and ready." 

"And it's all yours," he said huskily. 

"You better believe it." She released him briefly, pulled his T-shirt over 
his head, drew an imaginary circle on his chest, kissed it, then went for 
his shorts. 

He still had not touched her, though, Christ, he certainly ached to. But he 
continued to suffer the sweet agony of deprivation, knowing that that would 
make realization all the more wondrous. 

But Candy was not going to deny herself. She lowered his shorts, looked 
happily at the arch of his elongated cock. 

"Is all that for me?" 

"Every inch of it." He tilted her face up to his. "Can you take it?" 

"I don't know," she said, brushing her juicy, swollen breasts against his 
chest, "but I'm goddamn sure going to try." She took his hand and led him to 
the divan. They kissed and touched and fondled, and she said, "What'll we do 
first?" 

"Whatever you want." 

"Let's just do it the regular way, first, okay?" She pitched backwards, 
spread her legs, and exposed her cunt to his gaze. 

His cock throbbed and seemed to swell another inch. Impulse demanded that he 
crawl on top of her and fuck hell out of her. But the lovely sight of the 
teenybopper's hairy cunt, her moist lips wet with her juices, the crack open 
and waiting, her pleading eyes, made him want to do something else. He 
wanted to suck that delicious little pussy of hers. Suck it and suck it 
thoroughly. 

He dove like an out-of-control submarine. His hot tongue speared the crack 
of her cunt. She shuddered and moaned and clamped her legs tightly around 
his neck. 

I'm trapped, he thought. Trapped between her ! legs, forced to suck her 
pussy. But that was all right. That was just fine. And it was exactly what 
he wanted. 

He sent his tongue in and out of her slit, first slowly, then rapidly. Her 
juices flowed freely and the salty taste of her lovely box stimulated him to 
new heights. 

She clawed at the couch. Then she clawed his back. The heels of her feet 
pounded his ass. She lurched up, her greedy pussy wanting more and more of 
his tongue. 

He sucked her off three times in all, and then he crawled on top of her, 
stuck his dick in her and fucked. 

He was too hot to hold off. This first fuck was for himself, he thought. The 
second one would be for her. 

But she was prepared for a quick come, even wanted it, for when he pleaded 
that he had to come, couldn't hold back, she said: 

"It's all right, honey. Go ahead and come. I want you to come. We'll both 
come." 

She pumped her black-haired box, bounced her sweet ass up and down on the 
couch, and he shot his hot cream into the teenybopper's straining cunt. 

They wiped up, smoked cigarettes, then started again. He sucked on her 
breasts until they were as pink as a baby's bottom. She was the passive one 
during this phase of their love-making, offering her tits to his mouth, 
enjoying it to the ultimate. 

"You've got the most wonderful, educated tongue," she told him. "Not too 
rough?" 

"Just right." 

"I'm glad it pleases you," he said between laps. "It does," she said with 
emphasis. "You can suck me just as long as you like." 

"Here or down below?" 

"Both places," she sighed. "Just don't stop." 

He lapped at her breasts for quite a while. Then she insisted on crawling 
over him and lowering her breasts to his cock. The feeling was terrific. So 
terrific, in fact, that he wished he could fuck her between her tits. And 
this simple wish soon became transformed into action. He was moving his 
prick gently between her squeezed-together breasts, when she said: 

"That feels nice." She hunched lower. His cock slid in deeper. He worked it 
back and forth. 

"Anybody ever do this to you?" he asked. 

It was a blunt question, he thought tardily. But she didn't mind answering. 
She said no, that no one had ever done this particular thing to her. 
Jealousy found its way to his innards and he wanted to ask her just what 
they had done, whoever "they" might be. But he didn't want to hit a discord, 
not now, anyway. So he reared back, then thrust forward, fucked her tits 
with his cock. 

It grew more thrilling to him, as he went on, and she told him that he could 
come if he wanted to. But that wasn't his wish, at least not now. 

"Why not?" she asked, squeezing her tits tighter and tighter around his 
cock. 

"Because I want to fuck you again," he said. 

"You already did." 

"But I want to do it again." 

"Hog!" She laughed. 

"A horny hog," he added. 

"Okay," she said, crawling off of him, "c'mon and fuck me then." 

She had tumbled down on the carpet, legs fanned, tits pointing to the 
ceiling, her crack again ready. 

He strode toward her, lowered himself, and suddenly, she rolled over, 
throwing her butt up in his face. He slapped her ass. . "Ouch!" 

He slapped her delightful ass a second time. "Turn over," he ordered. 

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Maybe I want it the other way." 

"In the ass?" 

"No, you jerk. I mean between my legs." 

And this was all right with him. A stiff prick that found its way between 
her parted little-girl thighs, then, and with her help, nosed its way into 
her snapping cunt. 

God, but it was good! he thought. Dog-style. Humped over her round ass. 
Shoving it home. 

Candy's bottom rose and fell. She let out a hysterical moan, arched her face 
upward and screamed for more cock. 

"Give it to me, Jim! Give it to me! More! More!" 

Her words spurred his excitement. He fucked harder, deeper. He thought his 
cock would come up through her mouth, that was how deep he had shoved it. 

But they didn't finish that way. She came twice, told him to hold off awhile 
longer, then told him to climb off so that they could try something else. 

She wanted to fuck face-to-face, sitting on a kitchen chair. He told her 
nobody but a damn fool would fuck on a kitchen chair, and Candy said: 

"That's us, sweetheart. C'mon, put it in." 

So they fucked in the kitchen, on a chair. 

After about fifteen minutes he plunged his cock into her hot pussy hard and 
let go with a stream of instant-ready gism. She heard him moan, felt the hot 
tingle inside her pussy, and scissored his hips with her bent legs. 

She kissed him. Her tongue leaped into his mouth. Her ass bounced up and 
down on his groin. 

Afterward, they showered, toweled each other, then padded to the front room 
for refreshments, some smokes, and talk. He was fond of her, he realized, 
and growing fonder all the time; in fact, he was so taken up by the pretty 
college youngster that he completely forgot why he was here. He remembered 
after she said: 

"So how's everything in Rivertown?" 

"Oh!" 

"Did I say something wrong?" 

"No, but I forgot." 

"Forgot?" 

"What I had to see you about." 

He settled back on the couch, legs curled beneath him, Candy close at his 
side, and then he told her about old man Ramsey's deep concern for his 
daughter's welfare, his worry about a premature marriage to the boy named 
Homer. She wouldn't listen to her father's advice, Jim explained to Candy, 
and nothing else had worked. He did not tell Candy that he'd screwed Linda 
and her kid sister; it just didn't seem wise. But he did tell her of his 
plan, explaining how badly he needed her help. 

"What do you think?" he asked, when he was finished. 

"Sounds kind of far-fetched to me. Downright hairy." 

"But it'll work, I think." 

"I don't know." She wrinkled her brow. "You think that if I make out with 
you and do it in front of her, she's going to get jealous and make a play 
for you, right?" 

He nodded. 

"And then you're going to encourage her a little bit, and this Homer's going 
to get pissed and take off?" 

He nodded weakly. 

"Crazy, Jim. Right out of the hypodermic needle, if you ask me." 

"You won't do it?" 

"I didn't say I wouldn't do it. But I think it's stupid. Unless she's a 
complete idiot, she won't fall for it." 

"Well, will you at least help me try?" 

She shrugged. "What have I got to lose? I mean, it's crazy and it won't 
work, but if you want me to do it, I will." She kissed his nose. "And who 
knows, maybe it'll be fun." 

"That's my girl!" He kissed her passionately. 

"I'll have to miss the first couple of days of the new semester," she said. 

"You don't mind?" 

"Sure, I mind. But if you put that cigarette down and give me another fuck, 
maybe I'll get over it. 

 8 

It was nearly midnight when he and Candy reached Rivertown. Ramsey let them 
in, there were introductions, and then Jim briefed the old man on his plan. 

Keeping his voice low, so that the girls, who were now asleep, would not 
hear him, Ramsey expressed the same skepticism as had Candy. 

"But like you say, Jim, it's worth a try." 

They had hot coffee and lunchmeat sandwiches, and then Ramsey offered a 
suggestion of his own. 

"I got a cabin just over the ridge, Jim. Go up there every now and then and 
do a little hunting. What I was thinking, maybe the four of you could go up 
there. Give you more privacy, you know, and maybe give this scheme of yours 
a better chance to work." 

Jim had to agree. Kathy-Mae performed wonders on Jim's cock, but her 
presence at the wrong time could very well screw up what he had in mind. 
Too, the old man being around might put the brakes on things. 

"What I could do," Ramsey began, "is sort of suggest it in the morning. You 
know, say, 'Why don't you young folks pack a picnic basket and take a hike 
up to my cabin?' And if I know my Linda, she'll jump at something like that. 
And you could take along her portable record player and something to drink." 
His eyes crinkled in sly amusement. "How about it, Jim?" 

He beamed his approval. He looked at Candy. She said: 

"Whatever you decide is all right with me." 

"Sounds like a winner, Mr. Ramsey." 

"Fine." He rubbed his hands together. "Now we'd better see about finding 
your girlfriend some place to sleep." 

Jim wanted to say, "Let her sleep with me," but he wasn't sure how well that 
would set with Ramsey. 

"What I can do," Ramsey went on, "is give you my room for a few nights. I 
can sleep on the couch. 

"Nonsense," Candy put in. "You let me sleep on the couch." 

But Ramsey wouldn't hear of that. Nor would he agree to Jim's suggestion 
that he would take the couch. 

"Tell you what," Ramsey said. "If Candy, here, don't mind-" "What?" 

"Well, the way I see it, you're trying to make Linda jealous and have her go 
after you, right?" Jim and Candy nodded. 

"Well, why not start tonight?" He paused. "If you don't want to do this, 
just say so. But, well.. . why couldn't Candy and you. ..." 

Jim knew what he was trying to say, and it was perfectly all right with him. 
And judging from the expression he saw in Candy's eyes, she too understood. 

"If you don't want to do anything like that," Ramsey said apologetically, 
"there's no need to." 

"I don't mind," Candy said shyly, "if Jim doesn't" 

"Well...." 

"Jim, you don't have to do it this way if you don't want to," Ramsey said 
again. "I just thought. . . well, when my Linda discovers that you and Candy 
slept together . . . well, we'll be off on the right foot. She's bound to 
feel something." 

Jim didn't say anything, but he had to agree with Ramsey's logic. Homer was 
spending the night in a nearby motel because there weren't enough beds in 
the Ramsey house; and now here was Jim, bedding down with another girl. 
Linda would be furious. 

"I guess it's all right," he said weakly. "But I hope things don't 
backfire." . "Backfire?" 

"I mean, I hope she doesn't get too mad. If she does...." 

"Well, you're the psychologist, son. If she gets mad, you just get her 
un-mad." 

Jim swallowed his doubts. He bid Ramsey good-night, took Candy by the hand, 
and led her to his bedroom. 

Loosely speaking, they didn't fool around too much. Six fucks was what he 
counted, and they didn't fall asleep until nearly three in the morning. 

The first fuck was wonderful. They tore off their clothes, assumed 
conventional positions; he astride, she on the bottom. Then, having 
concluded fuck number one, they had a smoke, and went for number two. 

This was in her mouth. Fiery, quick, intense. And men there was another 
rest, while Candy fingered herself and Jim mopped the sweat from his 
forehead. 

Fuck number three wasn't really that at all. She wanted to see Jim jack off. 
He told her she was crazy. 

"But I never saw a guy do it," she explained. 

He told her she hadn't missed anything. 

"How do you know, if I haven't seen it?" 

She coaxed him, rubbed his peter until it stiffened, and then begged him to 
continue. He finally acquiesced to her wishes. He felt a bit ridiculous in 
the beginning, but as his cock grew harder and harder to his swift stroking, 
his embarrassment vanished. 

She gazed on with avid interest. And it was more than curiosity that was 
being satisfied, for the exhibition had aroused her considerably. She began 
to rub her tits, move her ass on the edge of the bed. 

"I think I'm going to come too," she whispered, breathing rapidly. 

Suddenly he shot a load of jizz into space. It splattered on the floor. He 
writhed in ecstasy, twisting and turning his cock, jerking it back and 
forth, exacting the last possible drop, the last possible thrill. 

Candy, meanwhile, fell backwards. She had two fingers jammed in her cunt and 
she was thrusting them in and out at a furious pace. Then her face 
contorted, her legs drew up, and after a series of wonderful shudders, she 
went limp, . 

They fell asleep for a half-hour or so, but the noisy exhaust of a passing 
truck awoke them, and minutes later they were kissing, feeling up each 
other, getting hot all over. 

It led to more fucking. She wanted to do it by the window. She wanted to see 
the street lights playing over their bodies, see and hear the squish-squash 
of his prick and her cunt, as the fuck went on and on and on. 

His capacity seemed endless on this magic night of sex and more sex. She 
stimulated him beyond the limits of credibility. She summoned a sexual drive 
from him and from herself that was total. And so there was another fuck by 
the window, one in front of the mirror, and a sixty-nine job to drain him 
completely. He was thoroughly exhausted then and fell asleep in her arms, 
his face pressed deeply into her breasts, and neither of them awoke until 
noon of the following day. 

To Jim's disappointment, Linda did not appear jealous or angry over Candy's 
presence or the fact they had slept together. When they were introduced over 
the morning coffee, Linda was as cordial as could be. And when she learned 
that Candy was going to Kent University, a common ground was established, 
the yak-yak began, and Jim couldn't get a word in edgewise. 

"Do you like Kent?" 

"I think it's great. There's so much community life." 

"I once thought about transferring there." 

"You should. You'd like it." 

And on and on. And all Jim could do was idly play with the coffee spoon, 
chain-smoke, read and re-read the morning paper. 

Ramsey came up from the store, saw that everyone was well-acquainted, and 
brought up the idea of the picnic: going up to his cabin. 

Predictably, Linda loved the suggestion. Homer was down at the motel, she'd 
pick him up, and she was sure he'd also like the idea. But first there was 
shopping she wanted to do, she said. She glanced at Candy. 

"Why don't you go with me?" she offered. 

Candy was delighted by the invitation. She smiled. "I think I will. I'd like 
to see the town and maybe there's something I need." 

Jim grimaced. He didn't want the girls being this friendly, for it could 
very well defeat his scheme-that is, if it wasn't already defeated. 

After the girls were gone and Ramsey had gone downstairs, Kathy-Mae bounced 
on the scene. She whizzed past him without speaking. He approached her at 
the sink and pinched her ass. 

She said, "Keep your hands to yourself." 

"What's wrong with you?" 

"You've got two girlfriends. You don't need me. 

He let out an exasperated sigh. Nothing ever worked out the way it was 
supposed to. Linda was the one who was supposed to get pissed; instead, it 
was little Kathy-Mae. 

He put his arms around her and kissed the lobe of her ear. "I don't want you 
to be mad at me," he said tenderly. "I want us to be friends." 

But Kathy-Mae was thoroughly incensed. She stiffened, pushed his hands away, 
then whirled away from him. 

"Kathy...." 

"Why don't you go fuck yourself!" she screamed, and then she went running to 
her bedroom. 

He stood silent. Her outburst unnerved him and he wondered if the rest of 
the day was going to be as disappointing as this. If it was, then his scheme 
was doomed to failure. 

It was nearly three-thirty before the foursome climbed into Homer's Toyota 
and started for' Ramsey's cabin. It had been earlier decided that they would 
drive as far as the terrain permitted, then hike the rest of the way. And 
Homer, as Linda predicted, was highly enthused by the idea. 

"Brings out the Boy Scout in me," he joked; and as Jim glanced at the 
sallow-faced youth beside him, heard his boyish laughter, it occurred to him 
that that's what Homer was: a Boy Scout! A slender bean-pole of a lad, whose 
cow-licked forehead and coltish manner branded him with immaturity. So it 
was understandable why old man Ramsey felt as he did. Homer and Linda were 
too young for marriage; it could only spell tragic consequences. 

So he had to do something, he reminded himself. Get Linda to make a play for 
him, throw a wrench in their lovebird thing before it was too late. 

When they finally reached the cabin, they were exhausted. The last mile of 
the trip had been on foot: a steep, uphill climb that none of them were used 
to. And, of course, there were provisions to be carried along-the steaks and 
potatoes and plates and six-packs and bourbon, not to mention several 
blankets-and that made their hike all the more arduous. 

But after they'd pitched off their packs, removed coats and muddy shoes, 
gathered around the fire that Jim started, squatted on the cabin's hardwood 
floor, refreshed with cold beer, their exhaustion was quickly forgotten. 
Communal laughter abounded in the tiny cabin, spirits ran high, and some of 
Jim's earlier confidence returned. 

They each drank two beers. Then the steaks were grilled over the fireplace, 
more beers were christened, and the laughter grew louder. Linda wrapped the 
potatoes individually in aluminum foil and packed them around the hearth. 
Candy, meanwhile, unpacked the plastic bags containing the salad 
ingredients. So there was a smell of broiling steak, the smell of fresh 
salad, and the smell of sex. And amid all this, laughter, loud music from 
Linda's record player: the ribaldry of youth. 

The steaks were succulent, tender morsels that needed little carving. The 
baked potatoes, overflowing with melted butter and sour cream, were a 
gourmet's delight. The salad, thick with tomatoes and radishes and bits of 
onion, generously bathed in Italian dressing, was surely a chef's pride. 

After the delicious meal was finished, Jim brought out the bourbon. 

"Bourbon on top of beer!" Linda shrieked. 

"Why not?" Jim answered boisterously. "Live dangerously, that's our motto. 
Right, Candy?" 

She was beside him, her arm around his waist. She looked up into his eyes. 
"Right, Jim. Live dangerously." She stretched, kissed him, then took the 
glass of bourbon that he'd handed her. 

Linda and Homer shrugged off their doubts and accepted the drinks that Jim 
passed to them. Linda said, "What're we going to use for a wash?" 

"The beer, you dope," Jim said. He opened four more cans of beer and passed 
them around. 

"Heaven bless my stomach," Linda said warily. 

"Don't be a chicken," Homer put in weakly. "Close your eyes and down the 
drain." 

And so this was how it started. Little chug-a-lugs: gulps of hundred-proof 
bourbon, chased by hasty swallows of half-cold beer. And it didn't take 
long, not in the glow of a warm fire, before the four of them were 
half-crocked. 

Jim managed to remain in control of his senses, however. He was silly and he 
knew it, staggering slightly and he knew that. But he also knew what he had 
to do: somehow incite Linda to make a play for him, thereby causing trouble 
between her and Homer. He whispered to Candy: 

"Let's go into our act." 

"Huh?" 

He compressed his lips in mock exasperation. "Start loving me up. You know, 
like we planned." 

She was a little thick from drink but she quickly remembered now. They were 
seated on the floor, in front of the fireplace, and she inched closer to 
him, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, pressing her breasts 
against his forearm. 

He kissed her warmly, rolling his lips against hers, turning slightly so 
that her breasts were crushed to his chest. Linda and Homer, who were 
dancing to something slow and dreamy, were also kissing 

At this point, Jim decided to become bolder. He snaked his hands under 
Candy's cotton pullover, reached upward, cupped her brassiere. He played 
with her tits for several minutes, all the while kissing and nipping at 
Candy's lips. He sensed that Linda and Homer were watching them, stealing 
glances as they danced from one side of the room to the other. But was this 
exhibition doing any good? That is, was it accomplishing its purpose: to 
make Linda green-eyed enough to make a move. 

"Keep it up," he whispered to Candy. "I think it's working." 

Candy nodded. She dropped her hand to his lap and fumbled for his penis. She 
didn't unzip his fly, but she gathered the material around his prick, 
shaping it to the cylinder it was, and then she slowly worked it back and 
forth. 

He was certain that Linda was watching the spectacle. And he was certain of 
something else: Candy's hand sure felt wonderful! 

Suddenly Linda and Homer stopped dancing. They squeezed into the arms of a 
wicker chair and began to neck. And Linda appeared to be the aggressor, 
wiggling her tongue between Homer's lips, squirming so that her breasts 
played on his chest, and doing some finger-walking on his thighs. 

Jim felt his fly go down. Seconds later, Candy had his prick exposed. She 
was playing with it, getting it good and hard, driving him slightly batty 
with thrills. 

Candy saw that he enjoyed it and ground her breasts against his hands. "Do 
something for me," she whispered. 

He did. He began pinching her nipples, not hard, but just firmly enough to 
produce a thrill in her and to make her nipples stiffen. 

"I like that," she cooed. "I like it a lot." 

He continued the caress. Meanwhile, Candy stroked his prick more 
meaningfully. 

Suddenly, Jim said, "Let's have another drink." 

Candy released his peter. He, in turn, drew his hands from under her 
sweater. Candy said: "I'm all for it." 

Jim climbed to his feet. They passed the bottle around, taking healthy 
gulps, doing it without wash. The effect was staggering. They'd already 
consumed an excess of drink, so that this, large gulps straight from the 
bottle, was like being hit with a bomb. 

But he knew he was a bit more experienced than the rest of them and would be 
able to keep his wits. And he was positive, now, that his plan was working. 
Linda was becoming jealous of Candy, and it was very apparent when she broke 
in on their necking session to suggest they have a drink. 

Linda re-affirmed his suspicions when she put on another record and asked 
him to dance. She glanced coolly at Candy. 

"You don't mind, do you, Candy?" she asked. 

"Heavens, no. He's all yours." 

Jim gloated. He saw a brief look of pain cross Homer's face when Linda swept 
into his arms, and he decided to make the most of it. He held Linda as close 
as he could. He ground her titties against his chest, molded his pelvis 
against hers, and made sure that she felt his rapidly hardening prick. 

"Boy, am I dizzy!" she exclaimed. "That stuff is wicked." 

"So are we," he said mischievously, and he nudged her suggestively, cradling 
his prick between her legs. 

"You know what I wish?" she said quietly. "What?" 

"I wish that thing in your pants was inside me. 

His prick throbbed. To hear a girl say that was vastly exciting. He 
answered: 

"I wish I was inside you, too." 

"I like it when yOu fuck me," she whispered in his ear. 

His face warmed. She was getting him worked up fast, a real bitch. And Homer 
was getting hot under the collar, no doubt about that. He was off in a 
corner, gabbing with Candy, swigging spasmodically from the bottle, and the 
sidelong glances mat he was shooting at Linda weren't pleasant ones. 

Jim decided to agitate Linda. He said, "Maybe we ought to cool it." 

"Why? Is your girl getting jealous?" 

"I wasn't worried about my girl. I was worried about your fianc." 

She gave him a blurry-eyed glance. The drinks had slowed her mind, 
apparently, so her rebuttal didn't come as quickly as he anticipated. She 
said: 

"You don't have to worry about Homer, my friend. Homer-Homer and I-we have 
an understanding. Do you know what I mean?" 

Jim shook his head. 

"Well. . . Homer and I ... we love each other. Not just a little bit, 
either." She had trouble phrasing her words. "Now just because-just because 
you and I, we swap off and dance together, that doesn't mean I stopped 
feeling the way I do about Homer. Am I right?" 

"Dancing and fucking aren't the same thing," he said reproachfully. "Homer'd 
be pissed if he knew you and I played house. And I think he's pissed right 
this minute. I mean, I got a big hard-on and it's pressed against your 
pussy, in case you didn't know it, and I don't think your boyfriend cares 
for that shit. Not one little bit. And that's the trouble with being 
engaged." 

She flashed a broad grin. Her eyes were having difficulty with focusing, and 
she was drunker than he had thought. She said: 

"You're wrong, Jimmy. You're so wrong you don't even know what you're 
saying." 

He let it go at that. She was stoned and he had accomplished what he'd set 
out to do: namely, agitate her into trying something, simply to prove him 
wrong. 

As they danced, she reached down and shook hands with his cock, jerking it 
as though she were milking a cow. 

He told her it felt good, which it did, but he again stuck the knife in, 
twisted it a little, and reminded her about Homer. You just couldn't do 
those things when you were engaged, he said, and that was the whole trouble 
with being engaged in the first place. 

The additional agitation he had offered provoked her all the more. He was 
stupid, she said. With all that she had told him, didn't he understand that 
sex and love didn't necessarily relate? 

"What do I have to do to get that through your thick skull, lover-boy? Fuck 
you right in front of Homer?" 

It was a delicious thought. His pecker responded to the suggestion with a 
little jump; and he was certain that Homer-boy wouldn't take such shit 
sitting down. He'd blow his cork and that would be the finish to his and 
Linda's love match. 

They danced into the darkness on the other side of the room. Linda said, 
"You didn't answer me." 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"That you want me to fuck you," she whispered huskily. 

"Nothing doing," he said with pretended reluctance. "I'm not going to be the 
cause of any trouble between you and your boyfriend. I'd never hear the end 
of it." 

"I guess there's only one way to prove anything to you," she said, sighing 
tiredly. "You're just a slow learner." 

He allowed her to open his fly and pull out his cock. And he made sure that 
their bodies were faced toward Homer. He wanted Homer to see that it was 
Linda, not himself, who was the aggressor. 

Homer grimaced slightly, but Jim couldn't be sure if he was grimacing 
because Linda was playing with his cock or because Candy was now doing the 
same thing to him. 

This last bit startled him. It was his intention to make Homer jealous and a 
full-scale swap was something he hadn't figured on. But that's the direction 
things were taking: Linda was jacking off his cock and Candy was doing the 
same thing to Homer. 

Unsure of what to do, he finally decided to go along with the act, simply to 
see How it ended. He let Linda draw him off to a comer. 

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was strictly French, 
with her clever tongue fucking him in the mouth: going in and out, in and 
out. 

At the same time, she hadn't forgotten to play with his dick. She gripped it 
lightly, having made a narrow vise with her fingernails. She applied just 
enough pressure to simulate a tight pussy, and then she held her hand rigid 
while he pistoned back and forth. 

Soon, he raised her sweater and began to play with her tits. 

"That's what I like. Mmmm!" She swayed slightly, pushing her breasts against 
the hot palms of his hands. "Only let's not waste time." 

She unfastened her slacks, slid them down her velvety legs, then stepped 
free of them. She peeled everything off except her peach-colored panties. 

"Those are for you to take off," she said, not the least bit embarrassed by 
Homer and Candy's presence. She wiggled back to his arms. 

He did not bridle. He'd consumed plenty of drink himself, which lessened 
whatever inhibitions he possessed, and his prick was a little bit too hard 
to say no. And, besides, what better opportunity to give Homer the shaft. 

He took off his pants and upper clothing, stripping to his shorts. His big 
stiff cock protruded from the fly of the shorts. Linda licked her lips. He, 
swooning from the cute bobble of her teenybopper breasts, licked his lips. 

They swayed toward each other. Linda rolled the elastic of her panties down 
below the bones of her hips. Her panties were reduced to a narrow strip of 
nylon. Her pubic hair peeped over the top. 

Jim clasped his hands behind his head and did a mock bump-and-grind. His 
cock leaped out at her. She caught on and did the same: a pumping motion 
that was not unlike the thrust that occurred during actual intercourse. 

They moved closer together, thrashing, pumping, almost touching one another, 
but holding back. Their warm giggles and drunken laughter added to the lewd 
ribaldry, but it did not deter the actions of Homer and Candy, who, when Jim 
glanced toward them, were happily exploring each other's nearly naked 
bodies. Homer had wedged a finger or two inside of Candy's cunt; she, in 
turn, was sampling the size of Homer's hairy balls: an act which brought a 
look of shivering pleasure to his face. 

The stops were pulled, apparently, and Jim decided to do whatever came 
naturally. He'd make Linda moan and scream and shudder with delight, he 
thought. And he'd make Homer so fucking jealous that he wouldn't be able to 
see. 

He grabbed Linda: a convulsive hug that swept her against him, crushing her 
bare breasts against his chest. Her red-hot nipples set his passions afire. 
Below, her nylon panties became the target of his stiffening cock. He rammed 
it against her. 

"Take 'em off," she pleaded. 

He rolled them over her ass. She shook herself and the panties puddled 
around her ankles. 

He drove his finger up her cunt. She moaned drunkenly, then kissed him. Her 
tongue was wired for sex. It was like a wet prick, just as stiff: hot, 
constantly probing. 

His senses went on a rampage. His hands flew over the dreamy, saucy contours 
of her young ass. He was a sculptor, she his model; and he had to feel her 
ass, test the sweet warmth and curvature of her flesh, tingle with joy, and 
then in all the creative talent that he might possess, transmit this lust to 
marble or granite or clay, or what-have-you. But, in this case, there was no 
statue to behold, and the lust that traveled wildly in his ringers was 
transmitted only to his cock. 

He jerked off his shorts. His big cock sprang free, ready for whatever orgy 
might evolve. Again, in a manner that was absolutely maddening, she licked 
her lips. 

Then, moved by some invisible thermostat of sex, she kneeled down in front 
of him, tilted her face, opened her mouth. He had only to step forward to 
feel her mouth enclose around his thick, fuck-mad cock, and what a hungry, 
encompassing mouth she had! 

Unfortunately, Homer did not immediately witness Linda blowing him; and the 
reason was all i too clear, for Candy had apparently decided to ape 
everything that he and Linda were doing. Now, Homer's back was to them, and 
Candy was busy sucking his cock. She, too, had removed her clothing, as had 
Homer. They were on a bear rug, living it up. 

It was great, he thought. Just great. But there was one thing wrong. He felt 
a deep, unmistakable jealousy. He didn't like to see Candy hung all over 
Homer, whatever their common motive. And it hadn't bothered him, this part 
of it, until he saw Candy sucking off the callow-faced beanpole. Then, his 
jealousy became unreasonable. 

But Linda's hands and mouth made him suddenly forget what was happening to 
Homer and Candy. The hot joys that her tongue brought to his cock were 
something else. 

He moaned. He dug his fingers into her forearms. 

. "Let's fuck," she said, removing his cock from her mouth. 

He didn't need a gold-plated invitation. He lowered himself to the floor, 
pulled her over on top of him. She worked his cock into her cunt. She again 
licked her lips. And then she began riding him. 

Her ass rubbed against his balls: joy of joys! And she rode slowly, a 
rotating movement that guaranteed every inch of his prick was deep inside 
her. 

Every sense in his body went to work. His eyes drank in the dizzying sight 
of her juicy, young breasts, bobbing in his face. His ears were alerted to 
the little gasping sounds that came from her throat, as well as the 
slip-slop of prick and cunt kissing hello. Too, there was the stimulating 
magic of smell; a musky-aroma that exuded from her pink cunt and told him 
how very, very hot she must be. But the most thrilling sensation of all was 
the one of touch: the exquisite joy that came from having your prick gripped 
by a teenager's hot, throbbing pussy. 

"What a wonderful feeling!" he choked. "Man!" He sucked in his breath. "Fuck 
me, babe! Fuck the shit out of me!" 

Her teeth clamped over her lower lip. Deep concentration was written on her 
face. She raised and lowered her pussy, gyrated in a small, tight circle, 
drove him crazy. 

Then she started to feel what he felt: a joyful madness. A delirium that 
threatened to make him faint. A series of thrills that was the zenith of all 
thrills. A fuck to beat them all. 

She began to ride him as though he was a wild bronco. And that he was. He 
raised, thrust his cock deeper and deeper, pistoned faster and faster. 

But she rode it out. Rode it out and fucked him in spades. 

"Who's fucking whom?" she grunted. 

"We're fucking each other." 

"Say that again." 

"We're fucking each other?" 

"Yes." 

"You get hot when you hear that word, don't you?" he asked. 

She was too carried away for words. She merely nodded and pumped faster. 

"We're fucking," he said, watching her face. "My cock is fucking your cunt. 
It's going in and out. We're fucking. Doesn't it feel good? Doesn't my big, 
stiff cock feel good when it's going in and out of your pussy like this? 
Doesn't it?" 

"OOhhh, Jim! Say it, honey! Say it! Ohhh, yes. Say it!" 

"Fuck me, Linda. Fuck my cock! Hurry! Harder!" 

She became a wildcat. She lurched drunkenly. Her pelvis pounded frantically. 
Her joy was desperate, heavenly. 

"I'm coming, honey! You're making me come, your cock is-ohhh! Ohhh, Jimmm!" 
She clutched his bare body. Her tits lunged against his chest. 

He surged deep inside her. Crazy thrills washed over him. His balls screamed 
with joy. He, too, was coming; and before he could put it into words, the 
hot cream of his cock was spurting into the teenybopper's snug little cunt. 

She moaned with ecstasy as spurt after spurt of jizz struck the velvety 
walls of her pussy. Unintelligible gasps came from her mouth. Moans of 
thrilling enjoyment came from deep in her throat. 

"Ohhh, Jim!" She cried his name over and over, so happy she thought she 
would faint. Up and down, she moved, in softer and softer undulations, 
seeking the last drop of his come, prolonging the thrills to the very last 
second. 

At last they were still. They cuddled, nip-kissed, and whispered words that 
expressed their mutual satisfaction. And it was terrific, he thought. 

But from the other side of the cabin, lit by the dying fire, he saw and 
heard that Candy and Homer were also enjoying themselves, which was, 
perhaps, an understatement of gross proportions. 

Homer was on top of Candy, pressed between her V'd thighs, dicking hell out 
of her. Her legs were balanced on his shoulders, enabling him to get the 
deepest penetration possible. 

Jim felt the return of jealousy. It bothered him that this string bean was 
fucking his girl, and as an afterthought, he wondered why he considered 
Candy his girl. Did his feelings for her run deeper than he supposed? And 
why? he asked himself. She was just another fuck, wasn't she? A girl who'd 
given him a lift. A fuck, a suck, just a broad. 

But this oversimplification didn't decrease his jealousy. He liked her a bit 
more than he cared to admit, and if his luck followed its usual course, she 
probably felt otherwise about him; in fact, hearing her gasp, seeing her 
wiggle her ass, seeing her thrill to the fuck that Homer was presently 
giving her, made him certain of this, and turning to Linda, he said: 

"Don't look now, girl, but I think you lost your boyfriend and I lost my 
girlfriend." 

Still very naked, nestled in his arms, Linda was unperturbed by the sight of 
Homer fucking Candy. She said: 

"Doesn't it get you excited, watching someone else?" 

He didn't know exactly what to say. It was exciting, seeing a teenybopper 
getting the hell fucked out of her, but not when the teenybopper happened to 
be a girl whom he liked so much. But Linda persisted that she didn't have to 
worry about Homer. She again repeated their "understanding." She could screw 
around, Homer could do likewise, and these illicit interludes with other 
mates would not jeopardize their forthcoming marriage. 

"Well, I guess that's that," he said dismally. 

"What do you mean?'' 

"Just talking to myself," he said, without explanation. And what it amounted 
to was a total failure in the attempt to break things up between Linda and 
Homer. Old man Ramsey would simply have to accept things as they were. 

 9 

It was hours before the crazy evening was over, and Jim finally got what he 
really wanted-Candy alone with him in his own bed. "To hell with Linda and 
Homer and ole man Ramsey," he said to himself as he cradled the young girl 
in his arms. "If they want to monkey around like a bunch of nuts, let them. 
This chick is for me. And he held Candy closer as she smiled, closed her 
eyes and fell asleep. 

In the morning Jim woke with a hard-on and began to worry. Ever since all 
that excitement yesterday his prick had been stiff and his mind full of sex 
thoughts. As though he hadn't had enough! 

He remembered how he had fucked Candy and how she had sucked his cock and he 
had eaten her. He thought he was going insane. Here it was only eight 
o'clock in the morning, and he was ready to start the whole gang-bang again. 
Maybe there was something to what Linda kept telling him-that watching other 
people enjoy sex was an excitement all its own. 

Jim remembered how he had licked Candy's cunt and loved every moment of it. 
It had been the softest, sweetest thing. He hoped that when he got around to 
working again-and they were legally married-he wouldn't fall asleep on the 
job dreaming about this dreamboat of a gal. 

Beside him he saw Candy sleeping on her stomach facing him. Her mouth was 
open slightly and he recalled how his prick had fit all the way inside. He 
pulled back the covers and saw his big hard-on and her round ass. At home he 
had dirty magazines and pictures that he looked at while he jerked off, and 
now, beside him was this beautiful girl who sucked his prick and acted as if 
she loved to fuck him. And on top of that there were Linda and her little 
sister. What in hell had he ever gotten into? Jim didn't know and he 
decided, then and there, not to think about it and enjoy it. There were 
three girls available for his pleasure-Candy was the best, the most 
beautiful, the one he really loved. So why not take her while the taking was 
good? 

Boy, what a piece of ass she was! And she was all his. His prick began to 
itch, and he reached down to stroke it. 

He wished he could stop fucking. He wished he could do something 
constructive like play tennis or go swimming, but here he was jerking off 
and looking at Candy's beautiful, young, fresh ass. His heart beat faster 
and he thought that if he were home alone he might go out and sexually 
molest some girl, maybe get sent to jail as a sex criminal. He wondered how 
many husbands would be in jail if they didn't have wives or girl friends to 
fuck. 

While silently jerking off a new dirty thought came to his mind. Last night 
Candy had sucked his cock while he was asleep. Didn't that give him the 
right to do something to her while she slept? He rose to his knees as he 
kissed her lightly at the base of her spine to see if she'd awaken. She 
didn't. 

Okay, where should he ram his ravenous cock? He rose to his knees and 
thought. He could spread her legs a bit and put it in her pussy or he could 
fuck her in the mouth. He like the second idea better, so walked on his 
knees and touched his prick to her lips. She twitched her nose and licked 
her lips, at the same time touching his cock with her tongue. A thrill 
bolted through Jim and just as he poised himself for the thrust to her 
throat, he realized she might awaken, become frightened and bite his prick 
off. That would be a disaster; he'd better take her pussy-it had no teeth. 

He crept down and carefully spread her legs. She said something in her sleep 
and moved her head to the other side. He looked at the blonde wool and pink 
floppy lips of her pussy and remembered how they had smelled and tasted last 
night. Her cunt had a strong, meaty taste and was delicious. He had to admit 
that last night's sex had been the most fantastic experience of his life. He 
would be very nice to this little girl and her pussy. He needed her like a 
junkie needed drugs. 

He held his cock in hand and advanced to her cunt, staring at the cheeks of 
her cute ripe ass. Just as his cock touched her dry pussy lips he had a 
thought so audacious that it stopped him cold. 

Why not fuck Candy in the ass? Why not? Didn't she blow him last night-and 
Homer too-she wasn't exactly a virgin. The one thing he wanted most at that 
moment was to break into her beautiful ass. 

He felt her asshole and his finger told him that it was very tiny, but he 
knew it would be possible to fuck her there because he had read that it was 
a custom among the Greek people to fuck wives in the ass. Not wives, really, 
but the women who would become their wives, their fiancs. 

Latin people, the Greeks, Italians and Spanish, place a high premium on 
virginity-especially the older folk. The men want their wives to be virgins 
when they go to the bridal bed. It is a kind of make-believe. A man engaged 
to a girl will fuck her in the ass for months, resisting the temptation to 
take her pussy in order to be sure that he will go to the altar with a 
virgin. It is an ancient custom that still persists in many countries. 

Jim wondered if he should grease up his cock first to help it in easier. He 
stepped out of bed, found his tube of sun tan lotion, squeezed a huge white 
gob on the palm of his hand and rubbed it all over his straining cock. The 
lotion smelled good-something like a field of flowers. He smeared an 
additional amount on the head of his cock because that part would have to do 
most of the work. The thought of fucking Candy in her beautiful ass made his 
mouth dry and mind feverish. 

He tip-toed to the bed, walked on his knees to a spot between her legs and 
bent over her. He rested one hand on the bed, held his greasy cock with the 
other and lowered it toward the crack in her ass. At first touch her ass 
felt soft, like marshmallow. His cock slipped into the crack and stopped 
abruptly at her asshole. His head pounded with lust. Candy moved her head on 
the pillow and there was only one thing left to do. 

Jim gritted his teeth and thrust his hips forward. Candy opened her eyes 
wide and screamed as his fat prick ripped into her. She tried to crawl away 
but he grabbed her underneath and his prick bore deeper until his peckerhead 
was in all the way. She shook and tried to toss him off, whimpered and tried 
somehow to burrow into the mattress, but he snorted and lunged forward. His 
prick tore in and he removed his hand so it would slide in all the way. 

Her hole was much tighter than Candy's pussy and offered his prick strong 
stimulation all along its length. Only about two inches remained outside of 
her. Jim concentrated all his weight and strength on her asshole and reamed 
in the rest of the way. When he felt the cheeks of her ass against his loins 
he stopped to rest, letting his prick soak inside her. 

"It's a helluva way to wake up in the morning," Candy wheezed. 

"I couldn't help it," Jim apologized. "I was horny and your ass looked so 
good I couldn't resist." 

He thrust his free hand underneath her and touched her pussy. It was damp 
now and he realized she had liked being fucked in the ass. She sure was some 
terrific lay! 

He stuck two fingers in her cunt, gave her tit a squeeze and began to 
withdraw his prick. The suction was terrific. He pulled back slowly and then 
jammed in again. He looked down and saw his prick sticking inside Candy's 
beautiful ass. With a heart full of passion he began to stoke her ass. He 
liked this hole because of its snugness and realized he now had the 
possibility of three different sex experiences with Candy; her mushy, maniac 
cunt, her mouth and her tight asshole. They ought to keep him occupied for 
the rest of his life. She was getting into it now, her ass meeting him 
stroke for stroke. Both of her hands were on the pillow, pushing her body 
back at his prick. Again and again he stormed into her asshole while her 
pussy juice was as thick as paste on his fingers. 

Candy closed her eyes and smiled into the pillow. She had been wondering how 
she could tempt Jim to fuck her in the ass, and before she had figured it 
out he had done it on his own. He was proving quite creative. 

She wiggled her ass as Jim thundered in again. Without removing his cock he 
maneuvered her to a kneeling position and fucked her like a dog. He pulled 
her to the edge of the bed. He stood on the floor, and then fucked her that 
way. Candy crouched on the bed, her ass high in the air. She reached behind 
her and caught his swinging balls. She let them tumble in her hand for a 
time, then felt for his prick. Wrapping her thumb and forefinger around it, 
she felt his balls slap against her palm and the prick impaled her again and 
again. They both had orgasms that way; Candy, on her fingers; Jim as he ate 
her ass like a water cannon. 

In the shower Candy washed Jim's prick and when she was finished she knelt 
down and gave him another blowjob. After he came in her mouth he made her 
lay down in the tub so he could eat her again. When his hunger for the taste 
of her pussy was finished, he crawled on top of her and fucked her again; 
his semi-soft cock rested in her lazy pussy. After a time they realized 
neither could come again, so they finished their shower and Jim shaved while 
Candy combed out her hair. It was time for lunch and since they had both 
missed breakfast they were starved, particularly in view of their spirited 
activities. 

They dressed as Candy watched slyly while Jim tucked his soft prick into his 
white jockey shorts. He realized that since they had been in this room they 
had been more often naked than dressed. They were becoming very familiar and 
casual with each other, but for Candy the familiarity in no way bred 
contempt. On the contrary she wished they could be naked always. As they 
left the room she regretted not being able to see his prick, ass and smooth 
hard stomach. She didn't know that he was hoping he could get a hard-on so 
they could go right back to bed and start fucking all over again. 

Ole Man Ramsey was standing at the foot of the steps as they came down. 
Candy and Jim took one look at the old man and started to laugh. He broke 
into a big smile. There was a big bulge in his pants. 

"Yep, kids, you're right. That's what it is. It's a hard-on. And with all 
the sex that's been going on in this place it's time I did something for 
myself. I'm going right over to see the widow Young this very minute. She's 
been dying to get into my drawers for years. It's now-or never. Yipee!" 

The kids laughed as Candy moved toward the stove to turn on the coffee pot 
while Jim hovered close behind her, his fingers busily engaged in feeling 
both her pussy and her twat. They felt a lot of happiness for the future. 


End
