A Vacationing Wife
by Kitty Spencer
(LLP-523)


FOREWORD 

The realm of sexual expression has remained one of controversy for many 
centuries, and undoubtedly will remain so for many more. There is no answer 
for the individual considering any particular form of sexual outlet, except 
that he must be true to himself. The mature individual who has achieved this 
sort of self-honesty and completeness will be little harmed or affected by 
the illogical or irrational opinions of others. 

In this exceptionally well written novel the author has cleverly woven this 
truth like an unseen thread throughout the entire work. Had the characters 
faced up to their unusual desires instead of trying to repress them, much of 
the anguish they suffered would logically have been avoided. 

The author does not claim this concept of opinion to be solely his own, nor 
a revolutionary thought. To the contrary, it has been expressed by the 
wisest thinkers through the ages. "This above all: to thine own self be 
true, " was Shakespeare's way of saying the same thing; but it comes to us 
from still an earlier source, and one which not even the most rigid moralist 
can contest . . . "Happy is he that condemneth not himself for that which he 
alloweth himself. But he that doubteth is damned if he eat." Those who deny 
others sexual pleasures by quoting the Scriptures would be well advised to 
consider this quote from Romans. 

No doubt this era could be called the age of sexual enlightenment. That this 
ultimately will be for the benefit of all mankind is obvious merely by 
looking at the past and previous ages of enlightenment. But even a brief 
glance backwards will also reveal that, in such times, honored traditions 
and concepts were re-examined, and many times discarded. What was considered 
fact was found to be fancy. In short, the excuse that "it isn't done" or 
"it's shameful" will no longer suffice in denying man a specific form of 
pleasure. 

The author has published many volumes of contemporary fiction with us. We 
offer no further comment, except our extreme pleasure in presenting this 
timely work. We now suggest that you read it and draw your own conclusions. 
A work of art, no matter how contemporary, should speak for itself. 

-The Publisher 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Ocean fog slithered in long graceful fingers over the top boughs of the 
redwood trees, their haughty stature shrouded by the translucent veil of 
misty air that wafted in, announced only by nature's time clock, from the 
California coast line. Nearer the ground, where the air still hung heavy 
with morning mist dotting manzantia berries with jewels of red, blue jays 
cackled and hungry squirrels chattered noisily in victory chants for the 
sunshine dueling with the fog, creating patchwork of sun-conquered spots of 
hallowed verdant ground. Morning in the mountains . . . 

Inside the one-story rustic summer cabin nestling on the side of the 
mountain, the death-rattle of rusty pipes coming to life, reborn once more 
by unexpected use, sluiced the ethereal silence, and a gravel-grey metal 
coffee pot gushed heavily to the brim with spring water fresh from the 
melted spring snows. Dottie Thompson, hunched against the cold morning air, 
clutched her peach-colored fleecy robe tightly around her lithe young body, 
crossed her arms over her firm young breasts, hugging her own shivering body 
to warmth. She sat on the wooden bench, hand hewn by some forgotten 
carpenter - maybe the same man who built the cabin, perhaps for his family, 
long, long ago when country living was a necessity - and waited for the 
water to boil, staring sleepy-eyed at the swirls of steam slowly rising with 
an unearthly life from the spout of the coffee pot. 

Must be about fifty degrees in here, she shuddered with cold, thinking, and 
rising to her slippered feet bent over the deep double sink to gaze through 
the window, squinting against the morning sun, now but a brightening globe 
of light. Yup, sure enough is, she told herself and lingered there for a 
moment drinking in the primeval splendor of the forest, its freshness 
sparkling back at her in smiles as if to say, "you will love it here, my 
lady, you will love it here." 

Had it not been for her husband's ceaseless neglect of late, perhaps those 
words might have rung true. Dottie squinted again, but not against the sun 
this time. Tears of misery welled up in her clear blue eyes as she stared 
unseeing over the mountain. A heavy sigh and her shoulders dropped, 
releasing some of the pent up, unspoken agony that had lingered there for 
the past two months - since the time her husband started actively working on 
his book. As any wife, she beamed with pride when the advance came in the 
mail marked "Special Delivery"; they'd celebrated with champagne and he'd 
bought her a dozen red roses. All peaches and cream - then. But when the 
reality of the task settled on their lives, twisting and changing every 
aspect, every habit, and every dependency into a tight rope of uncertainty, 
Aron had suggested they rent a summer cabin for her as an escape from his 
ponderous work. 

"Sure!" she's said at first. "That would be wonderful, darling!" She kissed 
him long and hard, thankful for the time alone, time when she too, could 
develop her talents, express and create. So they had made arrangements and 
promises to each other that no matter what, this summer of separation - 
except for weekends - would not create a chasm in their marriage. A tactful 
and diplomatic man, older than she, Aron explained to her the necessity of 
the self-imposed separation, how his book on the history and techniques of 
contraception from the earliest civilization to 1975, would involve 
intensive research and having lived with his professorial temperament for 
the past five years of marriage, she'd agreed with a nod. Yes, it would be 
best. That was before she'd found out he'd hired a research assistant - a 
twenty one year old divorcee, ex-wife of a visiting professor at the 
university; and if the reports, some admittedly conjured by green-eyed 
wives, stood unattested, she had to admit, however, that this solitude was 
teaching her, her likes and dislikes, and she knew what kind of research he 
was up to. After the initial shock of sleeping alone abated, she was 
beginning to truly enjoy her freedom. 

The boiling water hissed and spit from the swan-neck spout, breaking 
Dottie's grieving daydream. Yes, she thought, bolstering her spirits, the 
week end will soon be here and Aron and I will hike in the mountains if he 
feels up to it, maybe try to find that secret path to the stream where she'd 
heard everyone went skinny-dipping and no one cared. A warped drawer pulled 
open and she drew a coffee filter from a box, her gaze lingering long enough 
to spy a baby spider darting across the raw wood. So much to do, she 
reflected, plenty to keep my mind off Aron. Have to get this place in order, 
and that means getting rid of you and your friends, little spider. 

Slowly sipping the hot black liquid, her body warmed and her soul did too. 
Pencil in hand, she drooped over the table and making a list of errands: 
bird seed for the feeder, Windex, paper towels . . . Two fingers thumped in 
rhythm as she stared out the window. Maybe some garden seed . . . but no, on 
reconsideration; that required heavy-duty manual labor and she had neither 
the tools nor the strength to till the heavy mountain silty soil. But if I 
had some help, somebody strong and willing who wouldn't charge me a fortune 
for labor, it would be wonderful picking my own vegetables and drying my own 
herbs and I could prove to Aron I don't depend on him as he says I do. Again 
she reminded herself that if Aron was there with her, he'd disapprove of her 
attempts at self-liberation, labeling them childish and insignificant. 

Taking her half-empty cup of coffee with her, she went to the bedroom, a 
heaven, she sighed, if only Aron were there to share it in the early morning 
before the sun rose in the sky to stare blindingly through the many latched 
windows that swung open to emit the cooling air. She'd bought a brass bed at 
one of the local auctions and it glimmered in the sun light as if alive. 
With one swoop of the arm, she pulled the patchwork quilt over the thick, 
still warm mattress that she shared with her cat, and plumped up the pillows 
with a joyful, carefree motion. 

With little consideration, from a growing habit perhaps, she drew a pair of 
Levis from the bottom drawer of the antique dresser, grateful that she lived 
in the country where clothing was selected for function rather than 
impression and, with goose bumps scaling her body, she endured the cold 
before a plaid blouse and sweater clothed her nakedness. A gold hoop earring 
slipped easily through each pierced ear accentuating her honey blonde wealth 
of hair that hung loosely down her back. Just to try a different style, to 
become another, happier Dottie Thompson, she yanked her hair straight back 
from her face, twisting it into a rope before securing it with a tortoise 
shell barren. There! Her hands hung loosely at her sides as she stepped back 
two paces anxious to study the new image. Experimentally, she pulled two 
strands of hair from behind her ear, and with her manicure scissors she 
whisked them shorter, wetting her finger to curl them into flirtatious 
little spit curls that tickled the high cheek bones of her flawless 
complexion. With a grin of approval she stared unbelieving. She looked 
eighteen again - well, maybe twenty one. 

Stepping close then to lean over the feminine litter of her dresser top, she 
smiled at the reflection greeting her. Living in the country had been good 
for her. None of the strain she'd been feeling seemed to show on the face of 
the woman reflected in the glass. Why, her expression was as clear and 
untroubled as that of a child - blue eyes, round and innocent, in a sweet 
pixy's face. She had always had a little girl's face, and that, combined 
with her five foot four stature, had made her the butt of teasing from the 
youngsters she had grown up with. But no more. She'd married young, at 
twenty years, and for some unexplainable reason, in those five years her 
body had blossomed into that of a voluptuous woman. And staring back at her 
image, she felt truly lovely and desirable. 

Yes, she mused, as she stared at her reflection, she certainly did not look 
like a child anymore. Even in her faded Levis and heavy sweater, her figure 
looked perfect, proud, full breasts above an impossibly tiny waist that 
sloped faultlessly into trim, but well-rounded hips and buttocks. 

One last gaze at the shiny youthful face and she slammed the kitchen door 
shut not bothering to lock it; there was no need in the mountains for such 
privacy, for on that mile long road that rutted and twisted down the 
mountain side, only three houses marred the verdant landscape. 

Her size five tennis shoe firmly jarred against the clutch, she coasted down 
the impassible dirt road, clouds of dust billowing in the fresh crisp air 
darkening the red raspberry bushes hanging in gasping clutters, heavy with 
the uncalled for litter of human intrusion that dirtied their virgin leaves. 
Around the curve . . . she slowed waiting with a smile on her face for the 
lazy German shepherd to lift his head and climb somnambulantly to his feet 
only to plunk down in the shade of a crab apple tree. Barely moving then, 
she studied the small house nestled in a man-planted forest of fruit trees, 
looking for any sign of life. A matronly-looking woman, apron accentuating 
her trim countryish figure emerged from the side of the house, a wash basket 
piled high with wet heavy clothes making her stoop with the burden of its 
weight. 

I almost feel embarrassed, thought Dottie. I've been here for three weeks 
and I haven't even tried to meet my neighbors yet. This is as good a chance 
as any she reasoned, and braked her Volkswagen to a halt, feet away from the 
sleeping dog who didn't even bother to raise his head or bark in warning of 
this intruder. 

Dottie waved a tiny hand in friendly acquaintance, calling out her welcome: 
"Hello, I'm your neighbor. Live up the hill a ways," she said, pointing to 
the snake-like path nearly invisible now, hidden by the unsettled dust of 
her traveled path. 

The woman picked another clothespin out of the apron pocket and, securing 
the corner of a bleached white sheet, paused, wiping her hands on her apron 
that bulged with its load of clothespins making her otherwise trim figure 
look as if she were eight months pregnant. She extended a hand, smiling. 
"I'm so glad you stopped. I've seen your little VW cuttin' up and down this 
road and I said to Bill, that's my husband ..." she added in an aside with a 
meaningless tilt of her head, "... I've just got to climb that hill and make 
friends with our neighbors. Just don't seem right for people to stay so far 
away from each other when there's so few of us." 

Suddenly Dottie found herself at a loss for words, wondering why she had 
stopped knowing full well she had no message to convey, but realizing after 
a seconds pause that loneliness was her unadmitted reason. After listening 
to the radio and watching a blurry television screen every night it felt 
good to hear another's voice, especially a woman's. She flushed then, 
realizing she hadn't introduced herself. 

"I'm Dottie. Dottie Thompson and I'm living here for the summer and if I'm 
brave enough, part of the autumn." 

The tall woman gestured her toward the screen door of the house and she 
followed the other's footsteps in slow, measured paces. "My name is Dora 
Simpson," she announced over her shoulder at the same time untying the heavy 
equipped apron with long graceful, well-manicured fingers, an observation 
which Dottie soaked in with surprise. Country women were supposed to be 
careless about such things. 

They stepped over a mother cat nursing three baby kittens lazily stretched 
out on the bottom step. "Scuze the mess," Dora tittered with a friendly 
woman-to-woman look in her clear brown eyes, "but country people get so used 
to bein' outdoors they sometimes forget the inside needs tendin' too." 

"Oh, don't worry about that," chimed Dottie, relieved to know there existed 
a common thread of communication here, "you should see my place. It's a 
dump! I don't think anybody's cleaned it for years. It took me a whole day 
just to clean the kitchen and get rid of the bugs." 

Dora turned the burner on high and motioned for her neighbor to have a seat 
at the kitchen table where a plate of homemade caramel rolls, straight out 
of Betty Crocker, decorated the red and white checked table cloth decorated 
with a spray of fleshy cut spring flowers. 

Pot holder in hand, Dora poured a cup of black coffee and set both the cup 
and the pot on the table. "So you're living in the old Homer's place?" She 
rested her head in the upturned palm of her hand, elbow on the table. Dottie 
winced at the first sip; far too hot yet, so she blew over the steaming 
liquid watching the ripples gently splash against the rim of the cup. 

"That's right." She rested the cup in the saucer and gazed up into Dora's 
face, a soft feminine, yet not motherly face that seemed to say, "I'm glad 
you're here; I get damned lonely living here with nothing but cats and dogs 
and a grumpy husband." Her chestnut brown hair with just a hint of red, 
pulled straight back from her head and tied with a blue ribbon at the nape 
of her neck accentuated her high cheek bones and straight perfect nose with 
slanted nostrils. She wore little makeup, Dottie noticed, yet did not need 
it, so clear and vibrant was her complexion. In other clothing and perhaps 
with just a bit of the right makeup Dottie guessed this woman would be a 
knockout . . . with her hair hanging loosely and some gold earrings similar 
to her own. An earthy, solid quality to her - maybe her cheek bones and 
brown eyes - hinted at a few Indian or Mexican genes in her blood. 

"My husband is still living in the city." She tried the coffee again, 
cutting her sentence short with a loud slurp that embarrassed her. Dora 
noticed this and with a half-smile on her lips, looked the other way. 

"... He's working on a project and we thought it best that he work in the 
city at home and I stay in the country ''til it's finished." Dora's dark 
eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to tell Dottie her explanation somehow 
reeked of nonsense and the young blonde quickly explained the situation in 
full, starting from the book project and ending with their decision - 
"mutually agreed," she added with a nod of quiet acquiescence, then quickly 
put the subject to rest. 

They talked on and on, and they seemed to share a warm glow of friendship 
that accompanies spontaneous communication. After another cup of coffee and 
a sweet roll the subject turned to husbands, living in the country and the 
seemingly small, things in life that either put a smile on your face or a 
tear in your eye. 

It was obvious to Dottie that Dora was not completely happy, perhaps lonely 
and a bit frustrated like herself, and she promised herself that she would 
make a habit of stopping by twice a week to help fill the gap in both their 
lives. 

Dora walked her to the car just in time to hear the roar of a motorcycle 
grinding its gears up the rutted mountain road. 

"Bikers," added Dora, appending her farewell. "Just boys but they do cause 
trouble - especially with my husband." Dottie thought she spied a smile on 
Dora's face, but she ignored it. 

The door of her blue Volkswagen shut with an empty thud and she turned on 
the motor, waving good- bye to Dora who stood under the apple tree, arms 
crossing her full breasts. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

One more bend and three more pot-holes and the blue Volkswagen was half-way 
to the country road that led to the coastal town where the only supply depot 
within miles was her destination. Dottie realized that talking about Aron 
and their new living arrangement had undammed the pool of suspicion and 
loneliness that had plagued her since last weekend when she'd called to say 
she couldn't make it, that chapter eight was nearly finished, researched and 
proof-read, but not quite . . . 

No, she promised herself, she wouldn't think about him. 

Automatically, and without thought, she stopped at the junction of Country 
Trunk M, the narrow road that led to the coastal highway connecting Elm 
Ridge with the rest of the world. She braked the car and walked across to 
the wooded clump of manzanita bushes where a line of battered and scratched 
mailboxes sat lined up like birds on a telephone wire. Second from the end 
... it was becoming a habit. A churning sensation in her stomach startled 
her for a moment, blaming it on the two cups of black coffee she drank on an 
empty stomach; but had she been more honest with herself, she would have 
admitted the anticipation of a letter from Aron as the true cause of her 
nervousness. 

With a sense of relief, she closed the metal box shut: ten-past-ten; it was 
too early for the mailman. Well, okay, she thought; it's such a beautiful 
morning I think I'll go for a walk and wait for the mailman, and with the 
anticipation of a teenager waiting for her boyfriend to pick her up for her 
first dance, she gingerly climbed the wooden gate leading to the creek 
below. It was a heaven of tranquility - she'd hiked down there several times 
before. 

On the creek bank path shrouded with wild lilacs heavy with blossoms, she 
picked her way along until a noise in the bushes, a low moan, made Dottie 
jump and stop, her hand to her mouth. It sounded like . . . she listened 
again . . . like a moan, like somebody was hurt. The small figure stood 
still, still and silent as the hawk watching her from the lofty bough of a 
pine tree on the other side of the creek bank. 

She knew that several high school and even grade school children fished and 
played; no cause for worry, she assured herself and continued 'til she got 
to the small clearing, a crevice between a rock and a tree and slowly parted 
the bushes and looked in. She gazed down on a little fairyland-like 
clearing, with the sound of water flowing nearby with rocks forming walls 
and a thick carpet of grass and moss on the ground. The trees completely hid 
it from view except for where Dottie was looking. 

She held her breath, for in the shadows, she could see figures moving 
although she couldn't make anything out. There was a quiet throaty laugh and 
one figure broke away from the other and emerged into the sunlight, followed 
by another figure. Dottie gasped. It was a young boy and girl, naked and 
embracing! She looked at the girl's figure as she laughingly pulled away. 
She was tan and young and her breasts jiggled as she pulled away. The young 
man seized her and Dottie saw his lean naked young body with is cock rigidly 
erect, standing up against his stomach. With a lunge, they fell to the soft 
earth, the man kissing her mouth with his mouth wide open and the girl 
writhing half under him as one free hand massaged her breasts, seeking great 
handfuls and pinching the girl's willing flesh. 

Stunned, Dottie watched as still another form came from the side of the 
little dell. Another young man, older looking with long shaggy hair, 
appeared. He stood watching the two figures at his feet while his hand 
stroked his own ramrod hard prick in a slow and tantalizing manner. Opening 
her eyes, the girl on the ground saw the figure standing over them. 

Wantonly, lewdly, freely, she spread her legs, revealing her sparsely 
covered young pubic area. The boy fell to his knees then lay flat on the 
grass, his head buried in the girl's rotating groin. The figures writhed on 
the grass before Dottie's astounded eyes, the two boys with the girl. 

Gathering her senses and realizing the carnal scene below was real, Dottie 
jumped back only to fall over an unseen rock half buried in the ground. 
Stumbling to her feet, unbelieving, she could do nothing but gape at the 
scene below. It was unbelievable to her. Never, in her wildest dreams did 
she think a thing like this went on. She watched, wanting to yell out, to 
stop them in some way. Yet, she couldn't move. It was too unbelievable, too 
insane, too embarrassing for her to be able to do anything but watch with 
wide open eyes. 

The boy on top rolled off and lay in the grass, stroking his cock, watching 
the other two. The girl let her hands slide down her belly and tangle 
themselves in the hair of the young boy who was greedily licking and sucking 
her cunt. The girl moaned, her head held back in abandon as she spread her 
legs still wider, her knees doubled up and crushing her breasts as she 
desperately tried to spread her legs wider and allow the poker-hot tongue to 
probe deeper into her cunt. "Oooohhh," she moaned. "Do it, lick it, oh, do 
it harder, don't ever stop licking my cunt, I love it!" the girl exclaimed 
in a rush as her buttocks began pumping a regular deep thrust up to the 
boy's hungry mouth. "Please, don't stop, I love it so!" she squealed, 
gritting her teeth. 

Her head flailed around in sexual ecstasy and she saw the boy lying beside 
her. One hand flew out and began stroking his cock. The older boy edged 
closer and Dottie found her breath coming fast as she saw the girl squirm 
into position, her red mouth open, her tongue greedily licking the hard 
rounded head of the cock she held in her hand. 

The boy thrust his hips forward and the girl slowly took the full length of 
his hardened male flesh in her mouth. Dottie could see her lips lock tightly 
around the thick cock, could see the girl sucking, squeezing her lips tight 
then relaxing just a second before squeezing again and again. Slowly, her 
hips now moving in time with the boy sucking at the clitoris in her cunt, 
she began sucking the prick in and out of her mouth. Slowly, tantalizingly, 
she did it, her whole body moving in a lewd, lascivious manner as she sucked 
the prick out of her mouth the full length, clear down to the bulging head 
then slowly back into her mouth again. 

The boy smiled down at her sucking his cock and slowly began to pump with 
his hips, reaching down at the same time and slowly massaged her breasts 
with his hands, catching her tight nipples between his fingers. 

Dottie's mind reeled. She actually felt dizzy, as if she was going to faint. 
She shifted her position to try to put a hand to her eyes. The scene was the 
most erotic thing Dottie had ever seen and she couldn't, no matter what, 
admit to herself that she was aroused. 

And yet she was aroused. Never, back in San Francisco, even with her husband 
had she felt this way. It was horrible, it was degrading, it was perverted 
and nothing but raw animal lust; and yet, in spite of her revulsion, it was 
fascinating. Some feeling, some little guilty feeling, some trickle and 
delight in a feeling she had always had in the city when she had worked as a 
volunteer tutor to young boys . . . how she had flirted with them, that 
delicious excitement that made her want to tease boys and prolong the 
teasing, was now coursing through her body as if on wires. Every nerve in 
her tingled the same way it used to on those evenings in she and Aron's 
study when she would look up from a book and see young boys staring at her 
breasts with a moustache of perspiration on their upper lips. She loved to 
laugh at their coltish reactions when she accidentally-on-purpose brushed up 
against them. 

And now she was watching a scene that she could never even admit existed. 
Slowly, down below them, so near yet so unaware that they were being watched 
as the trio increased their tempo, writhing slowly across the grass nearer 
and nearer to her as Dottie's breathing came harder and faster and she could 
feel her body breaking out in a fine sweat. Her nipples strained against her 
shirt as she watched the girl sucking, her lips compressed tightly around 
the young pulsating cock in her mouth, her eyes closed. Dottie unconsciously 
began to imitate her rhythmic pulsations, pushing back with her buttocks in 
lewd little circles of voyeuristic pleasure. 

God, she told herself, it was evil, it was sinful, but it was wicked and 
exciting. The thought rushed through her brain: if only once she could do 
such a thing, do it with a young . . . She caught her breath and shut her 
eyes. How could she think such a thing! How could she allow herself to think 
such a wicked thing. 

A low moan rising into an animal sound Dottie had never heard before, 
stopped her and she opened unwilling eyes to look. She fell forward again, 
wedged deeper between the rocks, her buttocks only spread wider. In an 
excited helplessness Dottie could feel the lips of her cunt swelling and 
straining achingly against the band of her panties. Her cunt felt warm and 
moist and spreading open as her clitoris swelled. A lewd excitement, a 
desire to give in to the most wanton and sexual thoughts, flooded over her, 
warming her body and making her nerves tingle as if she had taken some 
powerful drug. 

Below her, the boy with his prick in the girl's mouth, was moaning, his body 
writhing faster and faster, Dottie watched, her eyes glazed as the boy went 
wild, fucking the girl in the mouth now with all his might, tossing her head 
around as the girl sucked harder, her hands reaching for the boy's driving 
buttocks and pulling him forward with each stroke, deeper in her throat as 
she sucked with all her strength. With a long moaning sound, the boy's body 
went rigid then shook in violent spasms as he suddenly ejaculated like a 
young bull in the girl's desperately sucking mouth. Dottie watched as the 
girl's cheeks and neck bulged as the boy filled her gullet with hot cum 
again and again and the girl swallowed hungrily each time. 

The boy sucking on the girl's voraciously gyrating cunt crawled up and on 
top of the girl, driving his prick home into her waiting cunt and at the 
same time the girl let the spent cock slide slowly out of her tight lips, 
still sucking, strands of cum like liquid rubber between her lips and the 
cock as the boy moaned and rolled over. The girl turned all her attention to 
the boy wrapping her legs and arms around his body and taking his hardened 
cock fucking into her with delighted groans, thrusting her own hips up to 
meet his. 

Dottie wanted to scream out. Never had she felt so hot or so lewd as she was 
this minute. Slowly, she screwed her buttocks up and wiggled her upturned 
loins hard against the tree trunk in back of her. With a low moan she 
relaxed her buttocks and anus, let it spread ever so slightly open. Her 
excitement and lewdness grew and she found herself smiling, smirking, as she 
rubbed her hands over the pubic mound of her Levi's. She pressed harder 
against the tree, pretending it was that young stud male, sending a hot 
thrill of pleasure up her spine and causing her cunt to moisten even more, 
staining the band of her panties. A hand slipped under the now open zipper 
and slithered under the elastic band of her bikini panties that were forced 
up into her cuntal slit, pressing harder against her clitoris and exciting 
her more; the lips of her cunt with soft fine pubic hair, bursting free of 
the narrowing and on either side. God, how she wanted a man ... a boy. . . 

From the angle she was watching, she could see the girl's split buttocks, 
and the boy's hard cock fucking in and out of her cunt in a frenzied way; 
disappearing from sight only to appear again as they fucked and the girl 
moaned and cried, "Oh yes, fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me hard while Bob 
watches." 

Yes, fuck her, Dottie wanted to scream, fuck her and someone fuck me too! 
She closed her eyes for a second and tried to catch her breath as her free 
hand slipped inside her blouse and her fingers found her hardening nipples 
and teasingly began to caress them. The thought, the wonderful wild thought 
of a young, not yet mature boy doing obscene sexual things to her danced in 
her mind like an insane flame. Christ, how she wished one of the boys would 
see her so desperately clinging to that edge of wanton insanity, grinding 
her buttocks into the tree behind her. 

Watching the other couple fucking furiously and seeing the boy getting 
aroused again and beginning to stroke his cock hard and huge again, Dottie 
let herself get to the point of madness before sluicing two then three 
fingers into her wetly seeping pussy. She stroked her pussy lips making them 
swell even more, then removing her fingers from her cuntal opening and 
tweaking her clitoris with wracking sobs emanating from her throat. Dottie's 
groan of frustration and lewdness was covered by the roar of the boy below 
as his back suddenly arched and he came, the girl crying, "No, wait for me, 
no!" and gripping the boy harder and pumping her buttocks up furiously at 
his spewing cock. 

Now in a lewd dream world, mindless of everything but the fact she wanted a 
tender young boy to do the things to her that her own fingers were doing, 
she watched as the boy in front of her rolled off the girl. The girl 
scrambled to her knees and, with one hand feeling for his cock, she slowly 
crouched, his renewed hardness sliding readily up into her sperm-lubricated 
cunt. 

Dottie watched as he began pumping up and down and Bob lay spread-eagle on 
the grass, his eyes closed. Behind the young girl and the boy, far, perhaps 
from the other side of the creek, they all heard a loud voice booming 
threateningly as someone crashed through the bushes. "Goddamn you kids, get 
the hell off my land or I'll shoot. I told ya before I didn't wan' no high 
school bikers on my mountain!" 

A shotgun ran over their heads, searing the still skies - and three naked 
bodies ran for the protection of a glen, not even bothering with their 
clothes that lay scattered over the creek bank in lewd piles of lust. 

With the agility of a fifteen-year-old, Dottie jumped the fence and found 
her way to her car, still running, motor on. She turned off the purring 
engine, legs stretched out laxly in front of her, finished zipping up her 
Levi's and, adjusting the mirror, picked the bark shavings from her honey 
hair. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

"Hello, is this Bob Welsh?" asked Dottie in her soft, little-girl voice. 

"Yes it is," a teenager's voice cracked on the other end of the phone. 

"My name is Dottie Thompson. I found your want ad on the bulletin board at 
Dennison's saying you'd be interested in doing yard work." 

"Yeah." He droned in a monotone voice typical of adolescence. 

She paused for a moment, staring out the window over the pink sky, the 
evening fog returning once more to claim its place among the nighttime 
silhouettes darkening the valley below. "Uh," she brought herself back to 
reality with a jolt. "Sorry, I was just looking for something," she lied 
with a childish giggle, clutching the phone still tighter in her tiny hand. 
"I have a garden I need tilled and I'm wondering if you would be 
interested." 

"Sure. How much you pay?" 

"Let's discuss that when you see what's to be done," she suggested, making 
her soft voice even softer for a reason she could not explain. "Could you 
stop by tomorrow . . . say around four o'clock? Or would that interfere with 
your school work?" 

He laughed hoarsely. "I'm not one for schoolin' . . . tell me where you 
live." 

"In the old Homer's place up on the mountain road off Country Trunk M." 

"See ya tomorrow. What you say your name was, lady?" 

"Dottie. I live alone." She spoke those words slowly, softly and then hung 
up. 

Thursday passed slowly, minutes ticking by like two ships lulled in the 
windless, seaweed clutches of the Sargasso Sea. Silliness overcame her in 
waves of giggles and she experimented with her hair, each time studying her 
profile in the mirror. Should she wear it up or down? The blue ribbon or the 
pink one? Was the tie-died tee shirt too revealing? Why this mood had 
overcome her, she did not associate, but a vague tingling in her belly told 
her it might have something to do with what happened yesterday down by the 
creek. 

Five to four and the unmistakable roar of a motorcycle grinding its gears up 
the eroded mountain road told her young Bob Welsh was on his way ... or was 
it one of those awful bikers Dora had warned her about? 

Quickly tying a ribbon around each perk pigtail growing like sprouts from 
her pixy face, she heard the din grind to a halt, then die, outside her 
door. Straightening her posture so that her braless breasts poked out 
proudly from her tight tee-shirt, she answered the knock on the door, 
followed by heavy boots pacing back and forth on the wooden porch. 

"Hello ..." she began. Her beaming smile faded into a wan grimace of a woman 
met with her consciousness. 

"Dottie?" he asked, towering above her through the mesh screen separating 
their bodies. 

She gulped and nodded her head. How could this be? My God how humiliating! 
She stared again, just to make sure. No doubt about it ... it was Bob, Bob 
Welsh, the same Bob she'd seen down on the creek bank yesterday. That same 
young hard body so ripe and virile that had fucked the girl in the mouth, 
then stroked back to life to fuck her in the cunt . . . Oh, my God! 

"Come . . . come in," she faltered, holding the screen door open. 

Hands thrust deep in his Levi pockets, and her gaze started at his cowboy 
booted feet nervously shuffling right then left, followed up to slim hips 
where a most obvious bulge in his Levi's told her she wasn't the only one 
with tingles up her spine. His work shirt was open nearly to the waist 
revealing a forest of pubescent fuzz on a deeply tanned chest. Her eyes 
halted there, too embarrassed to travel the full route to his face, smiling 
unabashedly down at her. 

There in the last of the day's sunlight that filtered through the window he 
reminded her somewhat of the young men she had dated before she met Aron. 
Against her parents advice, she'd willfully eloped with Aron, fifteen years 
her elder and now, for the first time she was beginning to realize the 
immensity of that error. Not even admitting it to herself, she had already 
begun to hope Bob might feel the same way her boyfriends had felt - that she 
was beautiful and desirable, yet someone to be worshipped and respected. 

"Nice place ya got here, Dottie." He looked around and scratched his head. 
"Gotta admit when I first seen ya I thought maybe you was Dottie's daughter. 
How old are you? . . . God you don't look any older than Margie, my 
girlfriend . . . she's eighteen." 

She grinned impishly, flailing her head provocatively so that her pigtails 
swayed softly from side to side. "I'm a little older than that," she 
giggled. And then abruptly - nervously: "Come outside and I'll show you what 
has to be done, then we can settle on a fee." She motioned for him to 
follow, straightening her posture again so that her buttocks wiggled 
salaciously in her skin-tight Levi's. "This is the garden ... or was the 
garden should I say," she began with a twitter of her mascara-darkened 
eyelashes with just a hint of blue eye shadow clouding her lids. Gesturing 
with her hands, she turned her head, expecting a nod, a groan or some 
response. Instead he just stared at her. 

"You told me on the phone you live alone. Ain't you scared livin' up here 
all by yerself. You got a husband?" 

She cleared her throat. "Yes, I do have a husband and he's living in the 
city. This is just a summer time home for me. We've made arrangements," she 
said softly, wetting her pouty lips with a slow salaciously slithering 
tongue that just peeked through her full red lips. Her proud breasts with 
the hardened berry-like nipples created circles of their own through her 
tie-died tee-shirt. Dottie turned her attention to the garden once more, 
hand resting on a fence post, she flashed a perfect profile, cameo-like as 
she gazed over the valley below. "I love it here," she began, pointing to a 
squirrel who'd stolen an apple core from her compost heap and struggled up 
the rough bark of a tall tree with his precious treasure. 

"Me too, Dottie. Real romantic like." 

"Now how much would you like for this job?" She enunciated carefully so that 
her dimples deepened with the o's and w's. A practiced gesture, learned 
through hours staring at a mirror. 

He looked down at her for a long time, a deep warmth smoldering in his brown 
eyes. Then, as he gently pulled her closer to him, he asked in reply: "Maybe 
we can work out some other arrangements, you think? I mean you bein' alone 
and all ... " Suddenly, he gathered her into his strong fifteen year old 
arms, her warm flesh pressing tightly against his, and kissed her with fury, 
flattening and spreading her lips open until his tongue jabbed deep into her 
mouth. 

A frightened hollowness came alive in the pit of Dottie's stomach as she 
realized for the first time just what she wanted, of him - the same thing 
she'd wanted yesterday and God knows how long before that. She knew that 
this was wrong, that she had no right to accept this kind of kiss from any 
man but her husband. Yet, she couldn't remember the last time she'd been 
kissed so passionately, so fiercely. It was beautiful and virile, expectant 
and wild. Everything a kiss should be, so unlike her husband's forty year 
old lifeless nibbles that always left her frustrated. Impulsively, she 
wondered just what would happen if she decided not to stop him, just to see 
what would happen. Besides, she was older and more experienced than he and 
she could call an end to these foolish odysseys any time she chose. 

Dottie parted her soft, moist lips to meet his next kiss, wrapping her arms 
around his broad back and shoulders to draw him even closer to her. Except 
for the lewd moments yesterday, she'd been left abandoned sexually, having 
seen her husband only once in the last month, and then he paced the floor 
all night scratching his head, mulling over theories, of what kind of leaves 
the women of Tanzania used to brew contraceptive teas or what spell medicine 
men cast for abortions. She resolved to enjoy these few stolen moments of 
delicious passion, even though she would soon have to end it and make sure 
that it would never have to happen again. After all, her curiosity was now 
satisfied as well as her ego: she was still young-looking and attractive 
even to young men . . . boys . . . such as Bob Welsh. 

Some time later, and she was not certain just how long, she was shaken from 
the reverie of the moment by the insistent pressure of his fingertips along 
the delicate line of her throat, his fingers dropping even lower as his hand 
circled in a seemingly innocent movement that brought him dangerously close 
to the covered cleavage of her breasts. The closeness of his gentle touch 
sent sharp electric thrills running through her breasts, centering magically 
at the distended nipples, and she instinctively pressed forward to thrust 
the tender, swelling mounds further into his palms. 

"Dear God," she moaned, knowing she had to stop him soon before it was too 
late. Yet, she had never felt anything so exciting as the maddening teasing 
of his strong young hands that had now moved down to her nipples, pressing 
and pinching them through the thin cotton material of her tee-shirt until 
the tiny bud-like tips throbbed in pleasure. 

Then, to her surprise and disappointment, he suddenly stopped his 
manipulations and stepped back away from her, nearly falling over a rusty 
garden rake in his trembling nervousness. She noticed for the first time 
that his breathing had become ragged and husky, and when she looked up to 
see his face, she could tell that he was making a. concentrated effort to 
bring his overwrought emotions back under control. Thank God, he had been 
able to hold himself in check, she thought gratefully, as she quickly 
straightened her clothing which had become slightly disheveled in the ardent 
embrace of youth. 

"Don't you think you should show me where the garden tools are kept?" she 
suddenly heard him ask in a voice that was still a little breathless and 
harsh with passion. 

"Y-yes ... all right ..." she murmured, trying desperately to ignore the 
tingling sensation that was still burning deep in her loins and in the 
exquisitely throbbing tips of her breasts. Yes, yes, she thought, let's do 
anything, except don't touch me again or I'll never be able to stop. She 
turned, heading for the house, down the dirt path. 

Ahead of him now, she heard panting and then strong arms enfolded her lithe 
body. She could feel Bob's prick again under his clothing rubbing against 
her buttocks. It felt good, it felt evil, it felt delicious. She stood stock 
still, knowing she should run . . . but didn't. Bob spun her around his 
groin against hers and then slowly ran his wet tongue in her ear, bathing it 
in hot swirls. 

Dottie shivered all over. Aron had never been like this. Aron usually 
pleaded for her to go to bed with him and then revealed his flabby and aging 
naked figure. He needed exercise badly; he spent too much time with his nose 
in books. The thought and sight had always frightened her a little, seeing 
herself as an aging woman, behaving the same lifeless way. Bob was young and 
slim and hard, and more than anything, he was young! "D . . . don't do 
that," she whispered. 

"You're a great cock teaser," Bob whispered in her ear. "I'd like to fuck 
your brains out!" 

Dottie almost fainted, and she leaned up against something hard and 
supportive. Her body sagged against the fence post, her knees feeling light 
as balloons. Yes! Yes, she would like that! It was insane, it was evil, it 
was not something she should ever think of, let alone do, but it was 
exciting! "Oh," she sighed, "I feel funny." 

With a gentleness that amazed her, Bob helped her down to the path to the 
house and through the kitchen to the living room where he helped her down 
onto the couch where she sprawled limply and helplessly before him. 

She looked up at Bob, standing over her with smoky, half-closed eyes. This 
couldn't be happening to her! Aron had done nothing to excite her for the 
last year, and the few sexually satisfying moments she'd had with him had 
made Dottie think herself frigid or only mildly interested in sex. Now she 
felt like a hungry female animal; now she felt her body tingling alive with 
a million nerve ends all crying for satisfaction. 

Above her, Bob was swiftly undressing. "I had you figured from the first 
when I saw you hiding down there in the bushes watching us yesterday. Then 
when you called and told me where you lived, I knew I had you pegged." He 
stood above her, straddling her body, Dottie looking up in amazement at the 
size of the boyish cock and testicles. He looked so firm, so filled with 
vitality. "But you kept flirting so now here it is." 

Dottie tried to rise on her elbows, but Bob was on top of her with all his 
weight and hot body. She fell back and let out a moan. She teetered on the 
edge of giving in completely. She could barely resist as he fumbled then 
tore at her clothing, ripping the front of her tee-shirt in one jerk, and 
while her hands fluttered, trying to keep her shirt together, his hand tore 
at her Levi zipper, one strong pull and they were at her knees. 

Her head swimming, unable to rise against his weight, she felt him pulling 
her Levi's down, and she tried to kick her legs, only succeeding in 
spreading them and allowing him to get a knee between her thighs. With a 
grunt, he tore the Levi's away and flung it across the room. "No, Bob," she 
panted. "This isn't right." 

Bob raised her head with both hands and kissed her on the mouth, his own 
mouth wide open and his tongue probing her sealed lips and teeth. She 
resisted as long as she could, but then Bob struck a finger in her ear and 
licked her lips. This was not a kiss of tenderness of love, this was an open 
invitation to lust! She felt her lips parting, forced back, and then her 
mouth opened and Bob's tongue shot in and wormed around hungrily like some 
wanton animal, and Dottie found her body responding, equally abandoned, her 
tongue burrowing into his fresh young mouth. 

Finally, allowing her to catch her breath, Bob stopped kissing her, and his 
fingers toyed with the elastic waistband of her panties. He moved his head 
to whisper in her ear. "If I had a party and made you strip, I'd be sure you 
wore a pair of bikinis. I'll bet you'd like getting fucked by a couple guys 
at once wouldn't ya?" Bob teased in a low, insinuating voice, his fingers 
rolling her panties down until they were like a pair of bikinis on her. "You 
could walk in front of my friends and let them look at your body, let them 
touch you. Touch you like this." 

Bob cupped his hand over her cunt, feeling it warm and furry and moist under 
his touch. Dottie let out a low moan and let him do what he wanted. 

He went on. "Then you'd take your bra off, real slow and teasing, and we'd 
watch you and then you'd stand there with your breasts out, and we'd all 
watch the nipples get hard. Bet you'd like making love with three of us, 
wouldn't you?" 

"Oh, God, please don't touch me and say those awful things!" 

Dottie could only moan again, her eyes shut, his hand now stroking the soft 
curls of her pussy under the crotch band of her panties, her body 
involuntarily beginning to move in rhythm to his stroking. "Answer me!" he 
insisted. 

"No, I can't," Dottie breathed, her voice barely audible. 

Bob licked her ear again with his tongue then said, "We'd make you scream 
when we licked and sucked your breasts." 

A long low moan escaped Dottie's lips and her body relaxed completely. It 
didn't seem as if she would ever stop moaning, the salaciousness building 
like a growing fire down between her limply spread legs. 

"And we'd all suck you . . . everywhere," Bob went on, pausing a moment 
before he asked in a whisper. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" 

It came out of her in a rush, it came like a mighty unstoppable wave. "Yes! 
Yes, I'd like that! I'd love it! Oh, God, with those young boys!" 

Above her, Bob smirked, taking his hand away and putting his full weight on 
her, his hot hard cock cushioned on her smooth, white belly. 

As if in a dream, Bob's boyish young face swimming before her, the thought 
flashing in her mind; he hasn't even begun to shave yet! And then her brain 
whirled and her mouth opened involuntarily and murmured, purred, "You can do 
anything you like to me, Bob." 

Bob seized her shoulders and kissed her on the mouth with Dottie responding 
instantly. Tearing himself free, he said, "Say you want me to fuck you!" 

"I want you to fuck me, fuck me all night!" she groaned huskily, the words 
setting her afire. Every moral was gone now, every shred of decency. She 
spread her legs and tilted her cunt up to him. "Fuck me all you want!" she 
cried hoarsely. 

Bob lifted her and reached down and tore off the rest of her tee-shirt; she 
lay back and shivered and moaned while his tongue snaked across her breasts, 
flicked at the tips of her hardening breasts, then his whole mouth closed 
over her nipples and sucked hard while Dottie moaned and writhed. Then his 
teeth nibbled and pinched each full rounded globe, the nipples responding 
and sending spasms of pleasure down to Dottie's groin where her cunt swelled 
and moistened the tight crotch band of her panties. 

Bob pulled away and jerked her to a sitting position, her eyes only 
half-focused and smoky with passion. "First, I want you to suck it." 

He stood up and roughly took her head in his hands, his fingers entwining in 
her hair. "Come on, suck it. Say you want to suck it." 

With trembling fingers, Dottie reached forward and took the erect young cock 
in her hands, and felt its hardness, its ramrod rigidity. Aron had never 
looked this excited, his body was flabby with age and worry. This cock she 
fondled in her hands a few inches from her face was beautiful and hard and 
young. "Say it!" Bob demanded. 

"I want to suck it," she crooned. "I want to suck your beautiful prick." The 
thrill of hearing herself use such language coursed through her body. She 
really meant it, and the fact that she really meant it was all the more 
thrilling. 

Gently, she pulled it toward her mouth, on her knees now with Bob needlessly 
forcing her mouth forward. His cock seemed huge and red in front of her 
passion-dimmed eyes, and she could see he was excited because there was a 
tiny droplet of cum on the mushroom end of the prick. Slowly, gently, her 
eyes shining, she pulled his foreskin back, his prick seeming to bulge 
bigger. It felt so big and fierce and strong in her hands. Slowly, the tip 
of her tongue licked the droplet off his cock, and Dottie slowly licked her 
lips and tasted the cum. It tasted good! Perhaps he would cum in her mouth 
if she did it to him really good! 

She couldn't help moaning, her body writhing. This was the way it should 
always be! She hoped he would cream in her mouth a hundred times! No a 
thousand times! Forever! 

Eagerly, she opened her lips and let his hard, youthful cock slide slowly 
in, filling her mouth, sliding forever in until she thought she'd gag and 
choke. Then slowly pulling out to the very tip. 

It tasted delicious. Almost moaning, Dottie wished all his young friends 
were here so that she could suck all their cocks. Slowly, Bob began fucking 
in and out of her mouth while Dottie alternately sucked and ran her tongue 
around the hard wet prick. Bob fucked her face faster, gasping, "Suck 
harder!" 

Dottie obeyed, abandoning all reason, sucking as hard as she could, not 
caring or believing she could hurt him. It was too strong, too big! 

With a cry, Bob pulled free and pushed her back on the floor, gasping, 
"Spread your legs, I want to lick your cunt while you suck my cock!" 

Instantly, Dottie obeyed, lying spread-eagled, naked on the floor, as Bob 
tore her panties free between her thighs, the elastic band still around her 
waist with wisps of cloth still hanging from it, somehow making Dottie feel 
more naked and wanton. She watched as Bob kneeled upside down above her, 
knees to either side of her head, his gorgeous young cock directly in front 
of her eyes. Eagerly she took it and stroked it in her hands, her tongue 
reaching for it. Bob leaned down over her body, and Dottie leaped when his 
tongue found her open cunt, moist and seeping. She let his cock slide into 
her mouth, her lips tight around it and her hands reaching up and cupping 
the cheeks, the firm strong cheeks of his buttocks and tried to pull him 
down into her face as his tongue wormed around inside and probed at the 
smooth wet walls of her cunt. 

She pulled her knees back up as far as she could and spread her legs like 
she had seen the girl back at the creek do as Bob's insistent tongue found 
her tiny throbbing clitoris and began licking at it. 

She was no longer the same person. All sense of identity or role in life 
washed away. She was only an animal, an animal in heat, and she hoped that 
it would never stop, that the young prick she was so avidly sucking and 
tasting would never grow soft. 

With a muffled cry, she felt the onrush of a coming orgasm, and she only 
sucked harder, her buttocks twisting up and rotating madly around as Bob 
clung tenaciously, sucking on her clitoris, forcing it into his mouth where 
his tongue licked. Rockets exploded in Dottie's head as she came, bucking 
upward, her body held rigid in trembling spasms as she came again and again 
with Bob hanging on, sucking and licking as though his mouth were glued 
tightly between her legs. 

With a cry she fell back limp, Bob's hard pulsating cock falling from her 
mouth while her head lolled and her eyes rolled back in her head, and she 
almost fainted, so complete and utter was her pleasure. Bob scurried around 
and crawled between her legs, breathing hard, kissing her full on the mouth 
again, with Dottie tasting her cunt juices while his hand held his cock and 
guided it into her saliva moistened cunt. 

It slipped in slow, spreading and stretching the tight unused walls of her 
cunt, deliciously, Dottie wincing under the pleasure-pain. It seemed to 
slide malevolently in forever, filling her up and stretching her cunt beyond 
belief. 

A thrill ran through her. She kicked out in the air and locked her arms and 
legs around his tense young body and pulled him close. The thrill of 
gratifying so young a boy, of bringing him to a climax was overpowering. 
Lewdly - thinking she must look like a slut, was indeed a slut, a whore, 
willing to fuck forever - she began moving her buttocks in the most 
provocative manner she knew how. She'd give this boy something he would 
never forget. She'd give him anything his young body desired! 

The youth began fucking her hard, his cock slipping with a wet, sluicing 
noise in and out of her cunt with Dottie holding tight to his cock, 
determined never to let it go, holding tight by clenching the soft 
hair-lined lips of her pussy as hard as she could. Nothing mattered, nothing 
at all; she could get tired, exhausted, and still she would fuck this boy. 
She could go insane and still she would fuck him forever if he wanted her 
to! " 

In abandoning self, in giving in to the feeling of only satisfying the boy, 
Dottie found a freedom she never knew existed. She found herself growing 
aroused again, growing more lewd and obscene by the second, by each hard 
stroke of his stiff cock in her hot willing cunt. She felt another hot 
orgasm coming on her, and it exploded with twice the force of the first one, 
and she opened her mouth and screamed, "Aaaaagggghhhh!'' 

Above her, Bob fucked on, his face twisted, increasing the pace as their 
bodies slid down onto the floor. He didn't care if they fucked out the door 
and into the grass. This was no teeny-bopper, no giggling little girl he 
had, this was a full grown woman who had been married, must have fucked with 
a lot of men, and he was going to fuck her like she'd never been fucked 
before! 

They were both covered with sweat now, despite the cold draft wafting in 
through the open window; they were breathing hard, their mouths open and 
Dottie's wet hair matted in fine wisps across her face, her hair no longer 
in pigtails, but wild strands of hair, liberated and free. They clung 
together, slipping and sliding in the sweat which somehow made it all the 
more exciting. 

Half-conscious, half-delirious, Dottie felt herself cumming still again, 
thinking in her mind, I've got a fucking machine on top of me, and it won't 
stop until I'm dead. 

She started to moan, couldn't stop herself from moaning as it rose into a 
wail like a plane dive-bombing down and heard Bob above her, beginning to 
moan and felt his cock swelling, straining the walls of her cunt until they 
both yelled and locked mouths and Dottie felt herself coming for the fourth 
time, floating in space on red hot lava, every nerve in her on fire as Bob's 
cock seemed to burst at the head and pump white hot sperm deep into her 
ravaged cunt again and again until she lost consciousness with Bob's eager 
young cock still cumming in her cunt like an unleashed fire hose. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

When Dottie awoke, it was with a dreamy smile that soon vanished, and she 
sat bolt upright in bed. It was morning and she was in her own bed, her cat 
at her feet digging his claws, eyes closed, into the colorful patchwork 
coverlet. She put her hands to her face and uttered a low moan. 

She stumbled out of bed, holding her fleecy robe to her and went forward in 
the house to the living room. There was her clothing, thrown around on the 
floor. And there, on the floor, were the telltale spots of sperm. Dottie 
closed her eyes and moaned again. How could she have ever done such an evil 
thing? Oh, God? She knew she was not like that! 

Stumbling forward, her body aching and her eyes still smudged with sleep, 
she saw the kitchen door was still open. Bob must have put her to bed and 
then left. How could she ever face him again? What would people say if they 
knew she was going to bed with a young boy? How could she ever look another 
boy in the face? She had not been brought up that manner and hadn't ever 
thought of such things. But there was no denying last night. He had been 
right, the half child, barely sixteen had known things about herself that 
she had never suspected. It was true, her flirting was her true nature! It 
had to be! She held her hand to her head and hurried back to her bedroom. 

She rummaged through her closet and pulled out a sundress; the late morning 
sun now high in the sky shone mercilessly, its piercing unbending fingers of 
light streaking through the crystal clear window panes stung her eyes. 

She choked down a cup of instant coffee, forcing the drink down and holding 
her breath and was out the door. The fresh morning air soothed her anguish 
and in her bare feet she chose to walk the mile long path to the mailbox 
where maybe a letter from Aron would be waiting. 

Aron. The remembrance of her husband stung her heart. How would he feel if 
he knew she'd made love to a sixteen year-old boy? Tears sprang to her eyes 
and she bit her lips. Something moved in the raspberry bushes along the 
wooded path; she jumped in alarm, her hand flew to her mouth as a black and 
white animal poked his black, wet nose out of the underbrush. A skunk! Oh 
God, her heart pounded. That's what I deserve, she thought in self-loathing, 
I'm no better than a skunk for doing what I did. And if he sprays me, it'll 
be my own fault. I deserve it. 

The sun warmed her naked back, its warm hands massaged her aching muscles. 
Ten toes dug into the loose dirt of the dusty road, smooth and powdery 
between her toes. Despite herself, Dottie began to laugh. She began to laugh 
and cry at the same time, choking, her hands to her mouth. This is crazy! 
How can a sixteen year old body do this to me - a twenty-five year old 
woman! Then despite her firm resolve to forget the whole mess, her mind 
wandered off, relishing over the events of the night before, of Bob's hard 
cock in her mouth. Her tongue peeked out from laxly parted lips and licked 
salaciously in mocking motions of the night before. She did! She wanted it 
again . . . and again! She couldn't help it! No! Another part of her 
berated. You can't: you're a happily married woman; this is ridiculous. 
You're getting senile and old. You're just afraid of getting old and that's 
why you're clinging to youth. 

"Hello there!" called a woman's voice from behind the grape vine covered 
fence of the Simpson's. A chestnut colored head peeked up. 

"Why, hello Dora," stammered Dottie, lost in her daydreams. Her face flushed 
crimson for a second. Was it embarrassment I feel? Shoes still in hand she 
gingerly tip-toed over to the fence and peeked over. Dora pulled at the crab 
grass choking the tiny green lines of vegetables barely poking out of the 
aromatic earth. 

"Jest pullin' a few weeds," smiled the woman. Then standing erect, her hand 
on the small of her back to ease the discomfort of the task, said, "I got 
kinda worried about you late yesterday. Saw that Welsh kid roarin' up toward 
your house on his motorcycle and then he didn't come back for a long time. 
Thought maybe I shoulda gone up there and checked up on you. That's why the 
other couple that used to live there moved up - we heard there was a case of 
rape up there, but then you can't always go by what people say ..." 

"Uh, no, I didn't see anybody, Dora." She flushed again and transferred her 
shoes to the other hand, a nervous gesture. Anything to ease the growing 
tightness that was gradually screwing her body to the ground. "Well," she 
stammered, "I better get on down the road. I'm waiting for a letter from my 
husband." She turned her head and headed on down the road, walking faster 
now, her heart thudding in the dirt with each step. 

Oh, God! she thought guiltily, why did I have to act so suspiciously? Why 
didn't I just say I've hired Bob Welsh to cultivate my garden? . . . 

With a gasp of surprise she tore open the letter from Aron. The first two 
paragraphs were nothing but a synopsis of his book, but paragraph three drew 
a smile on her taut lips. He does miss me! He really does love me! Here 
shoulders relaxed the tightness in her chest as she read each word, savoring 
the sweetness of his words. She held the letter tightly to her breasts and 
swirled, her skirt flaring out in dancing ripples, the sun shining down on 
her golden hair. 

An idea hit. Why not spare Aron the time of coming down here? Even if it is 
only Wednesday it's not more than a three hour drive to the city. I could 
surprise him. It would please him so much. 

It didn't take long for Dottie to climb the mile road back to her cabin. She 
bathed herself and dressed in slacks and shirt. After scenting herself, she 
seated herself in the car and started the engine, coasting down the bumpy 
road fast to the country highway where she turned and sped along, reckless, 
going back the way she came, heading back home to her husband. 

She amazed herself with the strength and stamina she had. She was so calm it 
was frightening. Despite her lack of sleep and food - not to mention the 
brutal rape she'd been subjected to last night. For that's what it was, 
wasn't it? Hadn't he forced her to kiss him, then made her suck his thing, 
and finally sticking it in her as hard as he could 'til she screamed . . . 
wasn't that how it happened? Aron would have to know about it. He must be 
told. 

She drove for two hours and then stopped at a way side to take a short nap. 
She could feel nothing when she awoke and forced herself to concentrate on 
driving with a cold kind of determination. Above all, she could not let 
herself think of Bob or anything that had happened to her, anymore. 

She reached the freeway outside the city at three o'clock in the afternoon, 
stopping off at a liquor store to buy a bottle of burgundy. Aron would be so 
happy to spend an evening alone with his wife. She'd convince him to set his 
work aside and they'd drink the wine - the whole bottle - and then she would 
slip into one of her sexy robes, maybe the pink one with the slits up the 
thighs, and they'd make love all night and she'd teach him a thing or two, 
things that nasty Bob Welsh had taught her. 

En route she went over and over in her mind, tried to think of how she would 
tell her husband, it all seemed so unreal. How could he believe such a story 
if she told it to him just as it had happened? Such a thing would sound 
crazy, and worse, if she was going to be honest, she'd sound like some kind 
of pathetic pervert. If she were going to be honest, she would have to admit 
that she unknowingly egged the young boy on until it was too late. By the 
time she realized what she was doing, it was too late, and . . . she loved 
every minute of it! 

Dottie Thompson turned to the right, watching the street signs flip by in 
recognizable order, wondering if there were other people who wake up one day 
and find their whole world changed, their whole life up to that point a lie? 
There must be others, she told herself, there had to be others! 

What was she going to do? Should she move back to the city and pretend none 
of this had ever happened? Maybe find a doctor who was qualified and was 
willing to help her get over this perverted desire of hers. 

Her house key slipped easily into the latch and with a beaming smile, 
perhaps out of nervousness, she flung the door open and boomed: "Aron. I'm 
home. It's me darling!" 

No response. 

Out of instinct she headed for his study, littered with books open to pages 
heavily underlined in yellow magic marker, the waste basket was overflowing 
with crumbled up sheets of paper, and a cold cup of coffee sat untouched 
next to his calendar. 

She feigned a smile and patiently went to her bedroom to change into 
something more city-ish, combed her hair and strolled from room to room 
checking to see if the plants had been properly watered. Three weeks in the 
country's really changed me, she thought. For some reason I feel awfully 
nervous and fidgety . . . almost claustrophobic. So she opened every window 
that wasn't painted shut, but it did no good. The tightness wouldn't leave. 

She waited and watched the Wednesday night at the movies on television. She 
waited and opened the bottle of wine. She waited and drank the last dregs of 
the burgundy. Still no sign of Aron. She went to bed, but did not sleep. 

In the morning at ten o'clock she was on the highway heading back, tears 
springing to her eyes and a half-empty box of Kleenex at her side. It was a 
glorious morning, not too hot yet and, despite all she had been through, she 
felt like she was a new person and glad to be alive. For somehow, the guilt 
she'd been harboring had magically lifted. Why should she feel bad about Bob 
when her husband was out all night? 

She turned on the radio and sang as she headed down the coastal highway, the 
ocean breeze filtering in through her half-opened window, slapping her in 
the face with its vibrancy and separate, ethereal life. Oh, it was good to 
be back in the country. 

At the crook in the road she stopped by to say hello to Dora, maybe share a 
few minutes of conversation before heading home to her little cabin where 
her cat would be hungry and cranky. It was then that Dora informed her that 
her husband had chased the young bikers off the mountain road again, 
shooting high over their heads to scare them off. The news was meaningless 
to Dottie who shrugged it off with a tilt of the head and climbed back into 
her car to go home. 

' She had just reached the crest of the hill when she spied a silhouette 
hunched over in the garden. And for a second she'd forgotten about Bob, that 
she'd hired him for this job, that he was now technically her employee. 

Resolved to forget about the night before, she lifted her heavy sack of 
groceries from the back seat of her car and strolled over to the wooden 
fence, nervous but not obviously so, as long as he maintained his distance 
he couldn't hear her heart thumping like an African congo drum. 

"Hello ..." she called. His head turned and he set down his rake and stepped 
over to the fence, leaning against a post. 

"Howdy ..." he smiled knowingly. 

"Aren't . . . aren't you supposed to be in school?" 

"Yup." He snapped off piece of crab grass and chewed on it, his pearly white 
teeth contrasting sharply with his deep tan. 

Dottie looked incredulous. "What does your mother think about that?" 

"She don' care. I'm jus' gonna be a farmer like my ol' man, anyway." He spit 
out the pulpy chlorophyll and smiled. "Guess I better get back to work. Got 
it all dug up and now I gotta rake it to make the soil nice and moist. Lots 
of earthworms in there," he added, narrowing his eyes in concentration. 
"That's damn good for the soil, aerates it so's the organic matter can break 
up. Learned that in agriculture class." 

"Very good," she nodded approvingly. 

He finished his work by six o'clock and without so much as a request for a 
glass of water, he jumped in his Harley Davidson and headed on down the 
hill. That was the last she saw of him that night. 

See, she told herself, peeking through the kitchen window admiring the clean 
raked, weedless garden ready for seed, I knew there's nothing to worry 
about. It's just one of those things that happens once and is then 
forgotten. 

She opened a can of beef stew and settled down for a meal in front of the 
television set, promising herself that tomorrow for sure she'd start on the 
macrame wall hang that lay among the small mountain of boxes piled next to 
the space heater in the living room. Her worries now over, she'd settle down 
to her art, one of the reasons she'd moved to the country for the summer. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Dottie awoke early the next morning, stretching her petite arm over the 
empty expanse of cool sheet. Two blue eyes opened slowly, squinting against 
the morning sunshine peeking over the ridge beyond. Although she knew she 
should be adjusted to it by now, the shock of waking up alone in bed brought 
a frown to her pixy face. Then the remembrance of Aron set in, the lurid 
memory of yesterday and how he had stayed out all night. As if to counter 
that misery, she jumped to her feet, not bothering with her robe and padded 
in slippered feet to the kitchen and turned on the water. 

Without waiting for the water to boil she went back to her bedroom Dottie 
stood before the dresser mirror, inspecting her body in the pale morning 
light as she pulled her nightgown over her lithe body and carelessly threw 
it on the bed. As she had hoped, it looked the same as it had yesterday 
morning - lush, youthful, almost pristine. Her ivory skin was still as 
smooth and unflawed as before, her face showing no wrinkle or sign of 
stress. She smiled slightly, thinking of the silly fear that had gnawed at 
her mind only a moment before: that Aron was having an affair with another 
woman. And now that Bob Welsh had finished his gardening job, she would be 
left alone with no worries or doubts. 

Suddenly, she heard a noise that grew louder with each second. Her hair 
brush crackled against the dresser top as she set it down, listening 
intently. How silly, she smiled at herself in the mirror, for a second there 
I was sure it was a motorcycle. But wait a minute ... it is. It's Bob! 
Although she didn't want to admit the ridiculous truth to herself, although 
she knew it was insane, she felt a small tingling in the soft flesh of her 
inner thighs. Probably coming to pick up his check, she assured herself, 
brushing aside the insinuating fingers of remembrance. I'm sure that's what 
he wants; he did a fine job and deserves to be paid well for it. I wonder if 
three dollars an hour would be enough . . . well, I'll have to ask. She 
pulled a blouse over her lacy bra and inspected her image once more before 
rushing to the door. 

Heavy foot steps in the kitchen told her he'd made himself welcome and, at 
the last moment before confronting her young boy lover, curling her eye 
lashes with a dampened finger, she greeted him with a warm smile. All was 
forgotten and now they could be friends ... the way it should be. 

"Did you come for your check, Bob?" She asked, heading for her purse to draw 
out her checkbook. 

"Aw, I wasn't worried about that, none. I figured you was a good enough 
risk." He smiled knowingly at her, his hands thrust deep in his Levi pockets 
and Dottie couldn't help but stare at his fuzzy chest so young, virile and 
strong. Her eyes refused to meet his and she nervously dumped the entire 
contents of her purse on the kitchen table. 

"So silly, you know how women are stuffin' their bags with all this debris," 
she tittered nervously, "So senseless, really . . . " Would he really just 
take the check and leave? . . . "Seems I never have a pen when I need it." 
Eyes to the floor she accidentally-on-purpose brushed pass him, his furry 
chest tickling her nose as they collided into each other. 

Dottie could feel her body coming alive under that mere brush with youth, 
and her body began to throb and burn with growing excitement. Oh God, get 
him out of here before I go crazy! 

"Mrs. Thompson," and it was the first time he called her by her married name 
which strangely excited her ... it was adulteress and evil and it made her 
feel deliciously sinful. Dottie pivoted, temporarily abandoned her task of 
finding a pen in the junked desk drawer, and stared at him, fully and 
penetratingly. 

"Yes ..." she asked expectantly. 

"I didn't come here to get paid, really." He shifted weight and began taking 
off his Levi jacket. 

"Then . . . why?" Her hand went to her mouth and she gasped. Oh, God, he was 
going to do it to her again! 

"We're gonna have a little party, you and me, and then maybe somebody 
else'll show up and we'll have a bigger party." His jacket lay in a heap on 
the floor and he made himself comfortable on the wooden bench pulling off 
his cowboy boots with a hefty tug, letting them fall from his hand with a 
heavy thud, the only sound in the room at the moment. 

"What do you think you're doing, Bob Welsh?" Her hands on her hips, she 
stood in a militant stance, almost comical looking, the tiny figure trying 
to appear seriously angry as she shook a finger at him. 

"Anybody ever tell you you're cute when you're mad," he laughed. "Now calm 
down, there ain't nothin' to worry about. You sure as hell liked it the 
other day and I promise you it'll be even better this time. Now come here 
and sit on my lap." 

"You've got to be out of your mind! I'm not going to sit ... " 

He rose to his stocking feet and stepped toward her, a smile of victory 
brightening his young handsome face. 

"Leave me alone, you bastard!" she screamed as he picked her up effortlessly 
and slung her over his shoulder, her tiny fists pounding on his back in a 
steady staccato rhythm. "Let me go, you . . . you brute! I'll have the cops 
on you . . . you brute! I'm not kidding . . . my husband will kill you!" 
Dottie's face was red with rage, every muscle in her body taut and fighting. 

He answered her with a laugh and opened the bedroom door where he threw her 
down on the bed. "Get naked," he smiled down at her, as he started 
unbuttoning his shirt. "We gotta get goin' - sorry I ain't got much time 
today." 

Dottie watched in silence as the high school boy began removing his clothes. 
When he turned away from her to pull down his Levis, she used the 
opportunity to try to sneak off the bed, but it was no use. He caught her 
and threw her down on the bed, hurting nothing but her pride. She realized 
she was completely at the mercy of this strong young boy. 

"Got 'em off yet?" Her train of thought screeched to a halt as Bob Welsh 
turned around, completely naked, to walk back to the bed. She could see that 
his young long thick cock was only partially erect, but it was even bigger, 
more powerful looking than she remembered. Just the sight of it started that 
involuntary churning between her legs and, though she hated herself for the 
obscene thought, she had to admit that it would be wonderful to have his 
huge pulsating hardness, so young and hard in her warm hungry cunt. Oh, God, 
just the idea made her shiver with anticipation and, in spite of herself, 
she found that she was smiling up at the handsome boy. 

"Let me help you with that," he said, bending down and pulling each arm out 
of her shirt sleeve. The warmth of his virile young body touching hers sent 
shivers up and down her spine and seeing her goose bumps, he laughed 
teasingly. 

Soon she was naked and as she felt the weight of his body lowering onto the 
bed beside her, she closed her eyes in delicious expectation of the exciting 
touch of his fingers on her tingling body, his warm lips pressing hard on 
hers so untamed and free, so wanting, so . . . young! 

To her surprise, though, she felt him lifting her head and she opened her 
eyes to see him gathering up both the pillows from the bed. A moment later, 
he had wedged the pillows down under her head and neck, propping them up 
until she felt her chin almost resting against her chest. She looked up to 
see his face wreathed in a grin of salacious amusement. 

"What . . . what are you going to do?" she questioned, truly puzzled by his 
arrangement of the pillows under her head. 

"Well, Mrs. Thompson, ma'm, I think it's about time you took the initiative, 
you know. Now Margie my girl friend always says how she loves the taste of 
my cock and I don' wanna deprive you, Mrs. Thompson." 

Oh, God, no, her mind screamed. He couldn't mean that. Why couldn't he be 
satisfied with just fucking her and letting her go. Why did he have to play 
on her weakness? She watched in disbelief as he lifted a leg over her torso 
and positioned himself with his buttocks above her breasts, his knees snug 
into her armpits, his throbbing prick dangling before her face. 

"No-no, Bob, please," she whined, knowing already that she wanted it more 
than anything else in the world right then. 

He answered by shaking his long, blood-engorged young cock before her eyes. 
"Now kiss my cock, woman." 

Dottie closed her eyes; this was even worse than she imagined. The 
humiliation, the debasement she was going to suffer today simply was beyond 
belief. She had been certain it was over, that she'd had her silly little 
fling and that it was over, a mistake not to be repeated. Yet something 
within her made her forget those promises to herself and she opened her 
mouth; her lips were trembling from desire. 

"Now put your lips around the head of my cock," he commanded, "just like you 
saw that girl down at the creek do." 

Oh, God, thought Dottie. Why does he have to bring that up? So he'd seen her 
peeking out from behind that rock while she fingered herself. 

Moaning with mortification, Dottie reluctantly did as he directed, closing 
her lips hesitantly around the blunt, distended tip of his fleshy staff. To 
her surprise, it was not unpleasant at all, and she could taste the 
bittersweet piquancy of a clear, sticky substance already oozing from the 
tiny opening at the end. In spite of herself she felt an unmistakable tremor 
of excitement at the spicy, pungent taste of the warm, young male semen on 
her tongue. She swirled her tongue over the thick, purplish head and her 
efforts were rewarded by her young lover. 

"Ooooooh, that's it, baby. Now lick it." he breathed, panting slightly from 
the excitement of seeing this older woman sucking his young hard cock. "Lick 
it like a lollipop, baby. Lick it all over and keep your eyes open so you 
can see what you're doing," he instructed. "That's the way Margie does it." 

Oh, God, it tastes so good, thought Dottie and following his directions, 
Dottie stared at the long, rigid pole that rose before her face. It was 
hard, so hard that the skin stretched tautly over its surface shone as if it 
were polished and the thick veins that covered it pulsed madly against the 
tightly drawn skin. Below, his two huge balls hung in their soft, swaying 
sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled within their young balls. 

So young, so young, she thought as she ran her tongue down his sixteen year 
old cock, daintily licking it all the way, lavishing her tongue over its 
base, along its thick underside to the dark ridges sticky and protruding 
from the thick foreskin, playing and caressing it with every lapping stroke. 
Then, as she licked at the hardness of the young boy's cock, Dottie began to 
feel a strange perverse excitement growing in her body at the thought of 
being used this way, as a woman slave to a young and strong boy, being 
forced to suck his long lovely cock. Deep in her belly she could feel a fire 
kindling and she suddenly thought that she would like to take the whole 
thing into her mouth, just to see how far it would go. 

Above her, Bob trembled slightly from the exquisite sensation of her pointed 
tongue slaving over her master's balls, the giant rigid cock he held before 
her face. As if he could read her thoughts, the young boy moaned and 
growled. "Now suck it! Suck my prick!" 

Quickly, Dottie trailed her tongue back over the heavy cock and then ovalled 
her soft lips and slipped them gently over the smooth, rubbery head. Bob 
groaned loudly and flicked his hips forward, sliding the lust engorged rod 
into the warm, wet cavern of her mouth and down the full length of her 
tongue until the tip banged against the back of her throat. She panicked for 
a second, so big was it, but Dottie quickly remembered what he had told her 
to do and began to suck, simultaneously slipping her tongue up and down the 
rock-hard lance, nibbling softly at the base with her teeth. 

"Aaaaggghhh!" he gasped. "That's good, so gooooood! Oh, suck it, baby, suck 
it!" 

Slowly, the sixteen year-old boy began to rock his hips back and forth, 
fucking into her mouth as if it were a smoothly shaved cunt. Obediently, 
Dottie tried to suck on the hot throbbing cock, but she could barely get a 
breath before he had fucked it down into her throat again. Her cheeks 
hollowed on each outstroke, then bloated like balloons each time he fucked 
back in, grazing her tonsils and almost choking her. 

By now Dottie had completely forgotten her humiliation, her promises to 
herself that it would never happen again, that no sixteen year old boy could 
do this to her, a twenty-five year old woman. She was in another world where 
all there was, was this huge young prick fucking into her mouth, banging 
against her throat. Yet, in a way, it thrilled her to know that she had no 
choice, she could not move her head; she had to suck on this huge, excitedly 
vibrating cock. As if to demonstrate her complete subservience to his will, 
Dottie managed to raise her head enough to bob it up and down in cooperation 
with the boy's fucking thrusts into her mouth. 

Bob Welsh was out of his mind with the ecstasy of the moment. Looking down, 
he could see the lovely oval of the woman's lipstick rimmed lips stretched 
tightly around the thick base of his cock, then fucked forward even harder, 
trying to make her take it all into her mouth. He could see tiny ridges of 
soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking lips that 
disappeared back inside as he slid it forward again even deeper into the 
tightly confining depths of her throat. His eyes widened as he saw his pubic 
hair brush against the sides of her mouth as she all but swallowed the full 
length of this fleshy male hardness. 

God, but he tastes so good, she thought. If only her husband could please 
her like this. Her young lover began a rhythmic fucking, back and forth, 
never quite drawing it all the way out but leaving the tip just inside the 
warm moistness of her mouth, then fucking further, deep, deep into her 
throat. He felt her gag beneath him, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered 
but shooting his white, hot cum into the warm, sucking hole in her beautiful 
face. 

"It's here! Oh, suck it, suck harder!" Bob screamed, locking his hand around 
the back of Dottie's bobbing head, drawing it over his rigidity until all he 
could see was a small bit at the base protruding wet and glistening from her 
wildly sucking lips. He watched in animal delight as his balls erupted and 
her throat tightened and loosened, swallowing in great desperate gulps the 
hot, sticky fluid he was spewing into her mouth. Her cheeks expanded and 
hollowed as she greedily gulped at the warm flooding gushes to keep from 
choking. She went on sucking as he emptied his sperm into the wetness of her 
mouth. Finally, he moaned his last and grunted in complete fulfillment. 
Slowly, his cock deflated in her mouth but she continued the gentle sucking, 
drawing every last drop of the warm sticky sperm from his softening cock. 

At last Bob Welsh's thick flaccid prick slipped from her mouth and he 
collapsed on the bed beside her. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"What's the matter now?" Bill Simpson leaned on his rake and wiped his 
perspiration dotted forehead with the back of his gloved hand. He knew it 
had to be something of significance to bring over his wife hopping over wire 
fences and trotting at such a speed over the rough clunks of earth in the 
apple orchard, waving her checkered apron at him in alarm. 

Breathlessly, holding her right hand over her heart to stop its thudding and 
pounding, she licked her lips, parched from the horse-like gallop she'd 
sustained for the last fifty yards. 

"Come on, come on, woman, what is it?" He grew impatient with her displays 
of exhaustion. 

"It's those bikers again, Bill. They . . . " she choked, her throat parched 
and she swallowed hard trying to regain her strength at the same time 
pointing toward the small cabin up the hill where at that moment Dottie 
Thompson lay exhausted in splendorous ecstasy: a woman fulfilled. "... there 
were three of 'em all together and they headed for Dottie's place. I told 
her the other day when she was down for coffee that she oughtta watch out 
for 'em. Remember all too well what they done to Mrs. Homer, tyin' her up to 
the bedpost with her husband's neckties and doin' those awful things to 
her." 

Bill's expression changed to one of mock amusement. "Well, if she got a 
brain in her head she's got a gun. Ain't nobody lives in these parts without 
a gun or a dog. Now why don't you mind your own business for a change and 
leave me alone." 

Dora fought down her impulse to grab his rake from his hand and bang it over 
his head. Ever since they'd moved to the country after he'd lost his job at 
the greenhouse-nursery fifty miles south, he'd become anti-social, a gentle 
description for a man who hadn't even kissed his wife for the past three 
years. Dora had been patient at first, understanding how his ego had been 
shattered after being supervisor for so long, but enough was enough. She was 
getting tired of being treated like his servant, a necessary but not 
particularly well-liked housekeeper. Well, at least he has his damned 
orchard, she thought. If he gave me half the attention he's giving these 
sapling apple trees, I wouldn't feel like a washed out dishrag. 

She knew she was still a beautiful, desirable woman, but he didn't seem to 
notice. If she were just a bit younger she'd leave him, in fact, she wished 
she had when she was still young enough to find another husband. 

She stared at her husband in disbelief, hoping against hope he'd show a sign 
of compassion for feeling for something alive like a human being. He shooed 
her off with a flick of the wrist like she was a dog lifting its leg on the 
trunk of his apple tree and hunched over, resumed his work, chopping into 
the ground with angry motions. 

Dora's eyes filled with tears as she hiked back toward the house. He 
wouldn't have been so mindless of three bikers, the ones Bill found such 
pleasure in shooting at, if he'd known that Bob Welsh had been paying visits 
to their young neighbor, a fact that was difficult to ignore when she'd seen 
his motorcycle whizzing up and down that crooked road for the past three 
days. Dora shook her head violently to clear her mind of the vile, but 
exciting thought - Dottie Thompson had found pleasure in that young boy's 
visits. It all added up: a young woman living alone away from her husband, 
used to being with a man every night; those bike rides up the mountain, with 
a smiling, gloating Bob Welsh coasting back down hours later. Something was 
amiss. 

It was intriguing to imagine such a fascinating scandal in the house up the 
hill. Thoughtfully, Dora ran her hands over her own still perfect body. Even 
through her light cotton dress, the sensation of her warm palms following 
the smooth, full curves of her voluptuous form sent unusually sensuous 
thoughts flooding into her mind and she wondered for a moment how Bill would 
respond if she really did find a lover. Pensively, she lifted the wire 
careful not to rip her dress on the barbs, and slipped beneath the wires. 
Pensively she walked back to the house and sat down at the kitchen table, 
her favorite vantage point where she could watch the seldom-passing traffic 
dust its way up the mountain road. 

* * * 

Aron Thompson sat in his office desk, struggling over the closing summary to 
chapter ten. His shirt unbuttoned to the third button revealing a dark 
forest of chest hair, eyes blurred and blood-shot from the exhaustion of 
overwork. Hand pressed into the small of his back, he leaned back in his 
chair, fingers digging into the taut muscles of his back, trying to release 
some of the tension harbored there. He'd been sitting for four hours without 
moving, pouring over facts and figures. In disgust over the enormity of his 
fatiguing task of finishing his book by the end of the summer, he threw down 
his pencil. He'd had enough for one day. At four o'clock in the morning he'd 
awakened to the buzz of his alarm clock and started at his work. Now it was 
nearing ten and time for a break; time to turn to other things. 

Like his wife for instance. Hands on his hips, he stood before the open 
window of his office, overlooking the back yard. He was troubled by her 
behavior; it was obvious she'd come to visit. That was plain to see from the 
plants, wilted and drying from neglect, that now stood perky once again as 
if blessed by the magic hand of someone. Other evidence - an empty wine 
bottle and one lipstick smeared glass - left on the living room end table 
all pointed to an unexpected visit. 

Too bad, he thought, rubbing his temples with his fingertips, too bad I 
spent the night with my assistant. A smile came to his lips. Well, it wasn't 
for naught, that's for sure, we finished all of that chapter and completed 
the outline, too. In fact, ironically enough, she was the one who warned him 
he'd lose his wife if he didn't start paying more attention to her. He 
sighed and crossed his arms across his chest, staring blindly at a rabbit 
poking its pink nose out from under the low-growing hedge. 

He had neglected his wife just as he'd neglected everything else in the 
house since he'd started on this damnable book Not only had he neglected 
her, he realized, but he'd done nothing to promote her happiness, spending 
all of his spare time with his assistant doing research . . . Well, that 
game was over with now and it was time to start playing husband again. He 
hadn't really thought about it before, but perhaps he'd been a little too 
wrapped up in his work lately, been ignoring her for too long. Though he may 
not have shown it over the past two months, he did love her and a beautiful 
woman like her might not wait forever for a little love and affection. 

Yessir, he decided suddenly, he owed it to the both of them to start doing 
his part to make their marriage more close and joyful. By God, starting 
right now! 

And he rushed to the bedroom, rummaging through his closet for the overnight 
bag. He'd surprise her, bring her flowers, and make love to her in the light 
of the setting sun. 

He smiled in self-satisfaction as he yanked out a fresh set of clothes from 
the still-swinging hangers and hastily folded them, taking only a second to 
check the time on the digital clock near the bed. Let's see . . . three 
hours driving will get me there just in time for the afternoon. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

So enrapt had young Dottie Thompson been in the sexually exciting minutes 
when young sixteen year old Bob Welsh had knelt above her, pillows 
cushioning her head, that she hadn't even heard the roar of two motorcycles 
grinding their way up the hill. 

Now the sounds of a small commotion, whispered voices, startled Dottie, 
parting the clouds of ecstatic slumber. With a start, she sat up, abruptly 
remembering everything that had happened that morning. Licking her parched 
lips, she found the saline taste of young Bob's sperm still on them. The 
pungent taste brought back other memories of what it had been like to lie 
helpless under the hard cock fucking in and out of her mouth. Though she 
knew she should feel revulsion and shame, little pangs of raw uninvited 
pleasure began to nibble again at her nerve-ends, peaking in her nipples, 
and budding into full flower in her throbbing clitoris. Stop it, stop it, 
her mind screamed as her faithless body responded to the mere thought of the 
degrading act which young Bob Welsh had subjected her to. 

Next to her lay Bob, eyes open and smiling as they both heard footsteps 
creaking through the kitchen, slowly approaching. 

Abruptly, the struggle of Dottie against her body was halted as a young boy 
walked into the room, a stranger almost. 

Dottie flushed hotly as she lay naked and unable to cover her body from the 
young boy's gleaming eyes, but the tall powerful looking boy just chuckled 
at her discomfiture, smirking. "Jesus, Bob, you ain't jus' a kiddin'. She's 
a hot little piece all right." 

Suddenly determined not to show her alarm, Dottie smiled back. They weren't 
going to intimidate her, these young boys who thought they knew it all, no 
way. She would not submit again to the outrageous indecency they had planned 
and she knew they had something planned. She could tell by their salacious 
smirks. Well, two of them she could handle. They might conquer her body, but 
they would never conquer her spirit again. 

The young tow-headed boy walked up to the side of the bed and Dottie closed 
her eyes tightly as she felt the humiliation of his hands moving over her 
body. She gritted her teeth, determined not to get carried away . . . this 
time. How could she ever face her husband again after being made to feel 
like a common whore by two young boys? She had no idea what to expect, but 
her imagination ran wild. What would they do to her? What would they expect 
her to do? 

"Don't you touch me!" she wailed, opening her eyes and staring directly at 
the young boy standing over her. "Get away from me, you, you little kid!" 

"Come on, lady," he said slowly, gazing back with blue sparkling eyes. "We 
ain't gonna hurt you none. We're jus' gonna have ourselves a good noon hour 
lunch that's all. Be back in time for English." He calmly began unbuttoning 
his shirt, watching her from the corner of his eyes as he did so. Dottie 
stared back at him arrogantly, refusing to drop her eyes from his almost 
amused gaze. 

"You ever had a sixteen year old cock, lady?" he asked suddenly. "Well, it's 
time we get to know one another. I'm Dan." He smiled over at his friend Bob 
who lay leaning his head on his hand. "You ever had anything so good and so 
hard up in that white belly of yours?" He smiled, flickering his eyes over 
the blonde girl's prone body. 

Dropping his shirt on the floor the young boy placed his hand on one of her 
full naked thighs, moving it slowly upward to the soft, curling vee at the 
junction of her legs. Dottie lay quietly beneath his touch in a temporary 
state of disbelief, but suddenly, her body reacted when she focused on his 
hairless chest, so young and hard. Her leg drew back then flashed out. 

"Hey, now what kinda way is that to treat a house guest?" But before she 
could kick out and try to get out of that house, his strong young hand was 
wrapped around her slender ankle, pushing it back, back until her knee was 
bent and pressed tightly against her chest. Her other leg he pulled over 
until her foot hung over the edge of the bed and her crotch was presented to 
his view, wide open and defenseless. 

"Let me go!" snapped Dottie. "You can't just come into somebody's house and 
rape them!" She wiggled, trying to pry loose of her hapless position. He 
only grinned down at her. Making love to Bob had been enough, that in itself 
was humiliation to occupy her conscience for the rest of her life, but two 
of them? No, she couldn't go through with it. 

She could see the muscles rippling ominously beneath his gleaming white skin 
as he reached down and firmly grasped her full white thighs, then suddenly 
she was turned over on her stomach, held in place by a huge young palm 
pressed into the small of her back like a twenty-pound weight. She cringed 
down into the mattress like a small dog cowering before his master. Small 
pleading sounds leaked out around the cloth of the soft bed quilt. 

"You're gonna like this good, lady. You're gonna be beggin' for more," he 
laughed. 

Suddenly she felt a tingling softness running up and down the back of her 
naked body, starting at her toes and slithering its way up to the nape of 
her neck where it nibbled at her ear, only to trace a path back down again. 
With that titillating gesture, any ideas of defiance she might have harbored 
had been soothed out of her. There was no further sense in postponing the 
inevitable for these young boys seemed to know what to do when it came to 
making a female submit. She clenched her teeth, promising herself she would 
not be conquered. Her spirit would remain free no matter what they did to 
her. 

Suddenly, she felt the young boy's hands moving over her shoulders and back, 
rubbing softly as if to ease her fear-born tenseness. 

"Okay, Dottie," she heard him murmur. "Now, I want you to take a good long 
look at my little kid cock, as you called it. Pretty soon it's gonna be 
buried deep up where nobody's gonna be able to see it. Ain't that so, Bob?" 
They laughed in a chorus of lewdness. 

She wearily raised her head again and stared at the long, young cock he held 
over her head. It was gigantic and hard as stone with the lust he had worked 
up during his salacious tongue-flicking up and down her spine. 

Her blue eyes traced a slow path up his shining young body to his grinning 
face. Her eyes housed a final, futile plea for mercy, to let her go before 
she lost control staring at these young cocks. 

"Ain't I got a pretty cock, lady?" he tormented with a chuckle. 

She tried to find the breath to speak, but nothing came out of her mouth but 
hoarse gasps. God, she wanted to scream. God, it is; it's beautiful! 

"Ain't it," he tormented her, a useless remark for he knew full well that 
Dottie Thompson was another one of the typical lonely young women who lived 
in the country, needing a man, a young boy such as himself to keep her happy 
while her husband was gone, doing whatever it was he did. She was not the 
first and would not be the last, he knew. 

"It's . . . it's beautiful," she faltered at last through her clenched 
teeth. It was no lie. 

"Why, I'm so glad you think so, Dottie," he drawled above her, "'cause this 
little cock is gonna fill you so full of sixteen year old cum, you gonna 
have to swim around in it." 

As Dottie's head dropped back down on the bed, she heard laughter from 
behind her at the young boy's lewd remark. What was going on now, she 
thought. Certainly there can't be more! 

"Hey, Dan!" she heard a strange voice say. "I thought you just wanted to 
prepare the lady for us. She don't look like she got anything left for the 
rest of us." 

"Don't worry man," the young Dan laughed. "I just cleaned some of the doubt 
out of her. She'll be ready and begging to fuck in a minute or two." 

They were talking about her as though she were a dog being trained to do 
tricks, Dottie thought. If only ... if only . . . but she knew it was no use 
anymore. The moment of truth had come. These young boys had guessed her 
character correctly; they knew she had a penchant for young boys, there was 
no doubt about that anymore. Even she could not deny it. 

She felt a body drop to the bed and roll against the full length of her 
back. She looked up to see someone's hands touching her. They knew she 
wouldn't run now, there were too many of them and besides, she wouldn't want 
to. Someone's hands were slowly and relentlessly forcing her knees apart. 

She fought with all her will power to keep her legs closed, but it was a 
hopeless struggle. The boy lying beside her, rolled over and dropped between 
her long shapely limbs as they were stretched wide across the mattress until 
her toes hung either side of the rumpled bedclothes. A tiny, despairing moan 
escaped her as she felt the rubbery hardness of an erect male cock, young 
and juicy, rubbing into the soft flesh of her thigh, just below her 
sensitive cuntal opening. He wiggled forward, easing the huge cock along 
soft, vulnerable crevice of her buttocks. In silent protest, she desperately 
writhed her hips to free her body but her only reward was the sound of the 
young boy's harsh breathing as her struggles incited his lust. 

"Get up on your knees, Dottie," she heard a young boy say. 

It was Dan, she realized. She closed her eyes again, seeing sparkles of 
light flash before her. 

No, she promised herself a final time, I'm not going to like it, I'm not! I 
can't! They're so young, so young! But her thoughts only added to the 
confusion of her mind challenging her body - one wanting, the other denying 
that want. 

That stone-hard cock of the sixteen year old pressed into the bottom of her 
spine like a flagpole and it was obvious that he wanted to fuck her from 
behind - like an animal. Hot streams of undefined feelings rushed through 
her as she pictured herself there on the bed kneeling over like a bitch in 
heat, panting, waiting for the young stud male behind her to fuck her from 
behind. Oh God, it was so wicked, so evil, so wonderful! Her mind raged as 
she thought of the young boy's skin pressed against her own velvety flesh. 

Dan couldn't put it off any longer. They all had to get back to school 
before somebody ratted on them; that's what had happened with Mrs. Homer and 
it resulted in the expelling of all three, just because of one jealous guy 
who'd overheard them discussing their plans in the men's room. Best to get 
on with it, he told himself as he gripped her hips, pulling them up from the 
bed, another hand firmly behind her neck to keep her breasts and face down 
on the mattress. She groaned in helplessness, not sure if it was her mind or 
her body talking as she thought of the full moons of her buttocks waving in 
the air, offering up her moist, warm cuntal passage to the first taker. She 
knew there was no use in trying to dispel the pleasure it would bring and 
she decided to let them carry out their every young whim. She was nothing to 
them but an object to use for their own selfish vengeance against society 
and then to be used again to satisfy their base animal instincts. Well, let 
them, she thought. 

Behind her, the young Dan stared at the exciting spectacle of Dottie's 
perfect white ass, offered up to him like a gift to a visiting monarch. For 
a few seconds, he scraped his young hard cock within the warm valley of her 
buttocks, squeezing the trembling flesh to form a luscious, tantalizing 
pocket around his sixteen year old prick. Then, suddenly he moved away and 
gently he slid his fingers down to the thin red folds of flesh that covered 
her cunt, softly caressing the delicate tissues. Under the careful 
manipulations of his experienced fingertips, the young boy could feel a 
slight moisture forming on the soft insides of her thighs as, in response to 
the unexpected tenderness, she let her backside slip wider and wider apart. 

The blonde woman fought to hold back a rising moan she felt growing from 
deep in her chest. The sudden and unexpected gentleness of the young boy's 
touch, her own desires all were taking their toll of her will to resist. 
Despite the humiliation of being held captive in her own home and being 
forced to make love to this stranger, she felt a searing hot flame suddenly 
lick at her bowels. Pinpricks of glorious sensation danced madly under her 
skin, following the course of the young boy's fingers teasing up and down 
between her thighs. Around her body, she could hear the fevered breathing of 
the other two boys as they watched, mesmerized by the spectacle of their 
young school mate playing this beautiful young woman's body like some kind 
of musical instrument. Oh, God, she thought, please, please fuck me now! All 
these young cock are driving me insane! I can't stand him just playing with 
me like this. 

"Ooooooh, God, ooooooh," she moaned joyfully as she felt one thick young 
finger carefully insinuating itself into the burning hungry folds of her 
throbbing cunt. She could feel hot and cold flashes making her body weak and 
aching for the young stud poised in back of her. Her resistance was 
completely shattered now and she wantonly pressed her hips backward to 
gather even more of the exquisite sensation carried by that insolently 
invading finger, so young and sure of itself. 

Above her, the young boy grinned triumphantly as the smooth rounded cheeks 
of her ass relaxed before his hotly gleaming eyes. Gleefully, he ran his 
middle finger all the way into the depths of her cunt and smiled wider as 
she instantly responded, screwing back on his hand and releasing a deep sigh 
of involuntary satisfaction. Her breath was coming in small, muffled gasps 
as he flicked his finger in and out of her wildly jerking buttocks. Her 
cuntal passage was contracting opening and closing tightly around the long, 
knuckled length of his finger sunk deep inside her. Her cries were one long, 
continuous moan now as he suddenly withdrew his finger from the warmth of 
her moist channel and began massaging her hard, throbbing clitoris. Pulling 
and teasing at it without respite, he watched delightedly as her buttocks 
churned and writhed before him in a lewd dance of desire. 

Dottie suddenly realized shamefully that she was almost ready to cum. She 
could feel her cunt, against her will, blossoming wider and wider until warm 
trickles of her lubrication ran down the insides of her wide-stretched legs. 
The thought, wicked and evil, of these young boys watching as their friend 
finger-fucked her from behind made her pant all the harder, bringing her 
closer and closer to orgasm. " Dan, too, could sense the impending climax 
from the frenzied agitation of her body and knew that it was finally time to 
fuck his cock into her waiting chasm. He wanted to share in the moment that 
was so near now, wanted to feel her smooth muscles tightening around his 
cock as she reached that climax. He'd show this pretty young woman that 
young cock was just as good, no better, than anything her husband could ever 
give her. She'd never be satisfied with anything else but young cock again 
once he fucked it to her, he gloated to himself, lifting his head to watch 
the awed expression on his young friends' faces. 

Suddenly, he moved up against her and began grinding his hips into the now 
wet and glistening crevice between Dottie's thighs. His large young cock 
tingled and ached with the frustration of waiting. 

"Hey, man, watch this," she heard Bob Welsh whisper excitedly to the over 
friend who held her. "He's going to fuck her now!" 

"Yeah, he'd better hurry up," the young David's voice answered hoarsely. "I 
don't know if I can wait for my turn." 

Dan was kneeling behind her now, the fat swollen head of his huge sixteen 
year old cock pressing against the tight, elastic opening of her cunt. 
Dottie felt it begin a slow prodding and working against the warm, soft 
folds, parting them and forcing its way past the ring of flesh that guarded 
the entrance to her secret passage. 

"Ooooooh," she gasped as she felt the tender lips of her cunt being 
stretched apart and he fucked into her, like a great bull on top of a young 
heifer. The sudden motion had taken her completely by surprise, clearing her 
mind of the cloudy daze that had fogged her since the torturing slowness 
with which he'd brought her nearly to orgasm earlier. Now, her body trembled 
in a new world of complete ecstasy. Her cunt walls throbbed and burned from 
the unaccustomed size of the huge young cock imbedded in her belly, but a 
new kind of arousal was taking hold of her body and mind. 

She knew all too well the degrading reality that she was hopelessly trapped 
on the bed between the hands of the young teenage boys in front and the 
thick, fiery cock impaling her from behind, but suddenly the realization of 
her humiliation made her feel a strange kind of pleasure. It wasn't 
masochistic, it was far too wanton for that - it was more of a screaming 
demanding lust building to a crescendo in her body and she knew that after 
they were finished with her, she would be a different woman, more 
knowledgeable than the old Dottie Thompson. Unfamiliar thrills of wicked 
excitement coursed through her body as she understood that this was her 
punishment. Some divine power was testing her to see just how far she would 
go. She had no choice but to accept these feelings, the young woman thought, 
and began to undulate her buttocks lasciviously in circles in rhythmic 
movements to the long, thick cock that had slowly begun to fuck her from 
behind. 

"Sheeeit, man," David whooped, "that little pussy looks as tight as a 
heifer's. Hump her, Dan, hump her!" 

Biting her lip to hold back the tears of wonderful lust Dottie pressured 
back. To her shocked surprise, he fucked toward her again, forcing another 
inch of hard flesh into her cunt that already felt stuffed to bursting. He's 
not even all the way in yet, she thought in delight, clenching the muscles 
of her buttocks tightly together to keep the huge staff from fucking into 
her further. It would take time, she knew, before she could accept all of 
it. 

"Please, please, it's so big," she moaned. 

"Gal, you ain't got but half of what little Dan is gonna fuck to ya. Now 
hump, baby, hump back, cuz I'm gonna give you the ride of your life." 

Her struggles incited him more, and the young boy fucked forward again, 
crashing into her with all his strength until the huge rubbery head of his 
cock banged against her cervix and his balls slammed down against her 
throbbing clitoris. 

God, it was monstrous! Delicious. 

Dottie felt as though her buttocks had been stretched beyond human 
endurance. That huge young boy cock he had waved before her face was not 
fucked all the way into her. She felt someone's hand softly stroking the 
white globes of her quivering buttocks. Other hands kneaded and squeezed at 
her breasts, nipping at her bud-like nipples until they stood out in 
tingling erection. Within her, the huge young prick flexed like a clenching 
fist, stretching and soothing her ravaged cunt as she gradually became 
accustomed to the unbelievable size of Dan's cock. 

"Isn't that good, Mrs. Thompson?" Bob Welsh's voice taunted. "How do you 
like young cock?" 

Before she could gather her wits about her enough to answer, another hand 
coursed over her spine, following the bony ridges down to the split of her 
ass where, without warning, a finger dug deep into the confines of her 
tight, unused anus. 

"Aaaaaaggggghhhhh ..." she groaned at the pain-pleasure then forced herself 
to relax the muscles to ease the discomfort. The pressure passed quickly as 
her back passage became accustomed to the unnatural impalement, and in its 
stead was a strange new kind of pleasure that melted with the now-wonderful 
sensation of Dan's huge, hardened cock fucked deep up in her helplessly 
exposed cunt. 

Kneeling behind her bent form, the young boy began fucking in and out of her 
with long, lunging strokes. A feeling of absolute power rippled through him 
as he held her hips down in total subjection to the rock hard cock fucking 
into her. He could feel the soft fleshy ridges deep inside her giving way 
before the relentless onslaught of his fucking cock. 

He stretched the quivering moons of her buttocks wide with her fingers, 
watching in the afternoon light the pink folds of wet glistening flesh 
clinging tightly around his rampant instrument. Higher up in the crevice of 
her ass, Bob's finger ground and twisted deeper, circling and expanding her 
anal passage. His hands buried deep beneath her quivering torso, the 
teenager named David squeezed at her naked breasts, teasing and pulling at 
every part of her naked young round firmness, his breath coming in harsh 
gasps as his own passion mounted beyond endurance. With his every forward 
lunge, Dan's thick cock filled her cunt to the bursting point and flung her 
hard forward against David's thighs. 

He fucked into her with lustful fervor, incited by the sight of the hand 
working at her every sensual part. Her breath had become one long, 
continuous sigh, her face turned sideways so she could breathe freely. Her 
face contorted in passion, cries of ecstasy forced through her tightly 
clenched teeth. 

"Hey, man, I can't wait any longer," Dottie heard the young boy gasp. "Let's 
get her from both ends." 

There was a movement around her head and she felt the mattress dropping in 
front of her as a heavy weight descended on it. Strong hands lifted her 
shoulder until she rested on her hands and knees and then something spongy 
and wet pressed against her mouth. Dottie's eyes flew open and she saw a 
long hard cock poised at her, in front of her face. She looked up at the 
boy's swarthy smirking face and opened her mouth to beg for mercy. Another 
hard lunge from behind drove her forward, her lips slipping forcefully over 
the cock in front of her. 

The boy was kneeling on the bed before her and he grasped both sides of her 
head vice-like between his palms, fucking forward into her gaping mouth. She 
could feel the rubbery bluntness of the head sliding the length of her 
tongue, lifting momentarily her concentration on the huge cock fucking into 
her body from behind. The stranger immediately began fucking into her face 
like it was a second delicious cunt. Dottie gagged as he fucked halfway down 
into her throat, his huge prick disappearing into her ovaled lips almost up 
to the hilt. The blonde woman closed her eyes tightly to block out the sight 
of the tightly-curled black pubic hairs growing at the thick base. Moisture 
filled her mouth, puffing her cheeks wide as she fucked forward, cramming 
the shaft deep in her throat, keeping pace with the cock fucking into her 
from behind. 

Dottie tried not to think about what she was doing but it was impossible not 
to. The boy's hairy young testicles bouncing against her chin and an odor of 
sexual juices filled her nostrils with a constant reminder of the lustful 
sensations coursing through her body. She struggled to breathe, catching 
small gasps of air on the outstroke. Suddenly she felt a rising tide from 
deep in her belly. The very helplessness of her position flashed through her 
mind of the evil and licentiousness of her situation and she thrilled at the 
thought. Two wildly excited boys, nearly ten years her junior, were using 
her body as a receptacle into which they would fuck their hot boiling sperm 
and the depraved mental picture of her helpless body being fucked between 
them, strangely excited her. 

She began to swing her buttocks in tiny circles, teasing hotly at the 
mammoth fleshy staff that was fucking into her cunt. She licked and sucked 
at the hardened prick rhythmically fucking into her mouth, her cheeks 
hollowing and filling with his thrusts. She wanted them to cum, to shoot 
their young boy sperm into her cunt and her mouth. She wanted to swallow 
that young liquid so juicy and virile and full of life and feel it running 
down her thighs. She wanted it to run through her very veins in great hot 
floods. Sucking and fucking back like a mad woman, she felt her own orgasm 
building until she thought she would explode. 

Suddenly, she felt the cock fucking into her cunt inflate and erupt, spewing 
its white hot stream into her hungrily clasping belly. The tall young boy 
jerked convulsively forward, triggering Dottie's orgasm and she groaned 
around the cock fucking into her mouth as her body exploded in great sensual 
waves of cum around the quivering, squirting cock in her cunt. At the same 
time, the young teenager crushed his loins into her face, sinking the full 
length of his cock deep in her gasping throat. A soul-searing groan 
shattered the air and Dottie's mouth was flooded with his hot, thick liquid. 
She gulped unthinkingly savoring the sweet, salty taste of the sixteen year 
old's sperm and reveled in the lewd, animal-like debasement she felt. There 
was nothing in the world but those two spewing pricks and her own wildly 
quivering body, a mere vessel to be used to satisfy them both. Small, liquid 
droplets ran from the corners of her mouth as the boy called, David, 
collapsed in front of her and his limp cock slithered wetly from her still 
sucking mouth. 

Her strength suddenly gone, Dottie collapsed to the bed as the boy's prick 
slipped limply from her stretched and ravished pussy and gushes of air 
rushed in to cool the unplugged opening. She lay panting in utter exhaustion 
as weary sighs of satiation slipped from her sperm-coated lips. Above her, 
Bob Welsh, smiling impishly, stroked his swollen and ready cock. 

"Oh, God, Bob. Not more ... I don't think I could take any more cock right 
now," she half-begged, shamed in spite of her satiation, at the spectacle 
she knew she must present to these immature youths. 

But she was not paying attention. Even while his prick jerked from his own 
manipulations, his head cocked to one side as though he were listening to 
something. Dottie tried to still her own ragged breathing and listen too. 

She jerked up on the bed in horror and amazement as she recognized a similar 
sound of heavy breathing in the living room, just around the corner from the 
bedroom where the twenty-five year old woman and the three teenage boys all 
listened. Oh, dear God, who could that be? 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Dora Simpson tidied up the kitchen, washing the morning coffee cups and 
saucers and watered the houseplants that lined the curtained window 
overlooking the mountain road. Despite her natural curiosity and concern for 
her friend up on the hill, she soon grew weary of that concern and decided 
to make some cookies to take her mind off the harsh, curt words her husband 
had flung at her that morning. 

She stood at the counter then, breaking eggs into the cookie batter; the 
three bikers that had roared up the mountain road that morning and the 
remembrance of the hot scandal that had rocked the mountain community last 
year - claiming Mrs. Homer had willfully allowed three teenage boys, the 
same three boys whom Dora had spied winding their way to Dottie's cabin - 
was now well behind her as she cracked the walnuts and broke them into the 
buttery batter. 

Smooth spoonfuls of batter in symmetrical rows rose and browned in the oven 
while Dora had walked out of the kitchen to the bedroom to change the sheets 
on her bed. Another cookie pan of raw batter transformed into chewy morsels 
of rich goodness and she settled down to the latest Ladies Home Journal; for 
several minutes, she had sat, staring at the printed pages, reading the 
recipes and clipping out a few choice formulas, but it did not satisfy her. 
She had not been able to concentrate on the articles. 

No matter how she tried to dispel her worries, the same strange mental 
images of her friend Dottie Thompson being tied to a bedpost and forced to 
submit to three burly teenage boys had kept returning to bother her. Bill 
had told her to stop worrying, that the woman could take care of herself, 
but what if those boys were up to no good? 

The pretty woman took the last batch of cookies out of the oven and slipped 
them off with a spatula, lining them up on wax paper to cool. As she did so, 
her instincts - pure intuition - took over again and she fidgeted, dropping 
two of the cookies on the floor in her nervousness. There was no use, this 
concern would not leave her alone. She couldn't live with herself if her 
friend was being raped up there all alone with no one to protect her while 
she, Dora, sat down here uselessly thumping her fingers on the kitchen 
table. She would bring Dottie a batch of cookies, still warm from the oven, 
and that way, in case there was no problem amiss, it would not appear as 
though she was being nosey. 

There was another motive, too, alongside the first; one that Dora Simpson 
could not consciously admit to herself, even though it was as real as her 
friendly concern. Just out of idle curiosity ... if by chance those boys 
were making Dottie do awful things . . . how would Dottie react? Would she 
scream and scratch at those nasty boys who probably stood all around her, 
their young hard organs hanging lewdly out of their pants? Would she submit? 
Except for accidental glimpses, Dora Simpson had not seen a man's genitals 
for three years and it had a strange effect on her, leaving her with the 
curiosity of a child, always expectant and wanting to see more. 

It didn't take as long as she thought to climb the quarter mile to the crest 
of the hill and when she saw the three Harley-Davidson's lined up outside of 
the old Homer's place, she knew she'd been right all along. A moment later, 
she stood outside the kitchen door, knuckles poised for rapping, but 
something halted her for a moment before she rapped on the door. There was 
no use in announcing her presence when she knew those nasty boys were in 
there, so setting her aluminum foil covered plate of cookies on the front 
step, she circled around the cabin to the front where she knew the bedroom 
to be. But the vantage point was too high and she couldn't hear anything 
without climbing the low branches of the pine tree. With the agility born of 
curiosity, she pulled herself up on that bough, bracing her weight against 
the tree trunk with the strength of her well-developed legs, and peered in, 
just a peek before letting her body fall to the ground. 

For what she saw inside that house was so shocking she lost all strength in 
her body, and her arms felt like balloons. Three boys were in Dottie's 
bedroom, all naked. That was as much as her brief peek revealed. 

A flash of doubt: should she go back home and get her husband's gun to chase 
these boys away? Oh, God, somebody had to do something to save that poor 
woman surrounded with those three hard, young boys with their big things 
down there between their legs standing straight out like red hot pokers. She 
listened intently for the sound of a telltale scream or groan of desperate 
pain that would instantly answer her query, telling her that Dottie 
desperately needed help to save the sanctity of her marriage. All she could 
hear were muffled, rhythmic sounds that she had been unable to identify. 

Reconsidering her position, she decided it senseless to go bursting in on 
Dottie if she didn't need her help. Just a peek, she told herself, to see 
what was going on in there. Sneaking around to the front of the house, she 
entered through the kitchen door, taking off her shoes so as to be as silent 
as possible. There was nothing else for her to do, she had decided; her 
curiosity would drive her mad unless she found out for herself exactly what 
was happening in there. 

* * * 

A moment later, she was dragged from her vantage point by young Bob Welsh. 

"My God!" screamed Dottie when she recognized her friend. 

Dora stared in fascinated horror at the trio who lay panting on the bed in 
the bedroom. A moment ago, she had seen them all involved in something she 
had never even dreamed could exist - even in her wildest sexual fantasies 
over the past three years. She could see, couldn't keep her eyes off those 
hard young cocks on those virile confident young boys, a slight hint of fuzz 
darkening their upper lips. There was young Mrs. Thompson kneeling on her 
hands and knees with two boys using her mouth and cunt at the same time and 
another, the third boy, plunging his finger in and out of her anus! 

Oh, my God! her mind screamed silently, how long has it been since I've had 
someone even touch me down there! Oh, my God! Somebody, help me, please! Her 
horror had lasted only until she realized that the fantastic spectacle was 
arousing her violently. Then, moving back into the darkness of the unlit 
living room, she had begun to try to satisfy herself, peering every few 
minutes around the doorway to make sure it was really happening. She had 
been nearing a climax when Bob Welsh had heard her heavy panting. 

Now, she stood blushing in chagrined embarrassment before the three naked 
boys and Dottie. The slim skirt of Dora's dress was still wrapped high 
around her full hips where she had pulled it up in the heat of her 
excitement. Satisfying herself was no mystery to her over the past years. 

"Look what I found outside the door," 

Bob Welsh announced to the exhausted threesome on the bed. "I've seen her 
peekin' in on us before. She's old man Simpson's wife, ain't she? She's been 
out there in the living room fingering her cunt like it was goin' out of 
style." 

"Wahl, God all mawghty," mocked David. "Yesssireeee, that's ol' Bill 
Simpson's ol' lady, awright." 

"That son of a bitch who was shooting at us the other day, huh?" asked Dan, 
propping his sweat-shiny body up on one elbow. 

Dora smiled nervously, not sure of what to say, not sure she even wanted to 
escape from what was obviously going on. Her body still raged with the fires 
of passion and she knew that her husband certainly would not have the desire 
to put them out. And the sight of these young boys, so confident and 
attentive, so strong and virile and naked, was too much for her to ignore. 

"Oh, God, Dora, I'm so sorry," Dottie moaned from where she lay sprawled on 
the sheets. "These boys . . . th-they're crazy . . . they made me ... " 

"Oh, be quiet, Mrs. Thompson," the swarthy-faced David growled. "You weren't 
complainin' a minute ago and Mrs. Simpson don't look like a little cock 
would hurt any either." 

Dora shivered with excitement, the boy's lewd words flustering her. 
Something told her that she should run, try to escape from these crazy boys, 
but she held back. It had been forever since she had been so aroused. She 
could not help but admit to herself that she wished it had been her instead 
of Dottie between those two cute boys. 

"Sheeitt! We gonna do a hundred years of probation," growled Dan. "That is 
... if they tell. Maybe if we give it to her real hard she'll keep her mouth 
shut." 

It was David who struck on the idea. "Why don't we give ourself a rest and 
let these two little ladies take over. Let's get these two married women 
together, playing with each other and sucking and fucking." 

As she heard the teenager's words, the look of happy anticipation faded from 
Dora's face. Fearfully, she searched the three boys' eyes for some sign that 
they were only joking. 

"Oh, no," she faltered. "I . . . can't do ... I mean, I've never ..." 

Dora's eyes came last to Dottie who met her gaze with a look of quiet 
despair. 

"You'd better do as they say, Dora," Dottie calmly stated. "They'll tell 
your husband and then there'll be more trouble for you." 

Dora gulped and nodded. It was all too apparent that Dottie had been 
persuaded by something. The ivory flesh of her thighs was smeared with cum 
and a trickle drooled from the side of her chin. Slowly, as if in some kind 
of trance, Dora reached behind her and pulled down the zipper of her dress. 
Slipping the garment off her shoulders, she let it drop to the floor, 
revealing that she wore nothing beneath it but panties and a low-cut bra. 

The boys in the room gasped in amazement and appreciation. One of them 
whistled loudly. "Boy, if I'd a known ol' man Simpson had such a fine ol' 
lady back here in the hills, we wouldn't have missed paying her a visit long 
ago. Ain't that right, guys?" They all nodded and grinned in agreement. 

Dora's flesh was as firm and smooth as that of a teenager. The bounteous 
swell of her large breasts all but overflowed the scanty lace bra she wore 
and her waist narrowed breathtakingly above her full, beautifully 
proportioned hips and thighs. Even Dottie gazed admiringly at the 
marble-white flesh of the woman's body. The young blonde had not yet 
completely calmed down from the earlier lust session and now she found 
herself becoming unexpectedly aroused at the sight of the older woman's 
body. 

"Come here, Dora," Dottie whispered throatily. "Let me help you." 

The farmer's wife hesitated for a moment, then walked over to stand beside 
the bed. Dottie slowly rose and stood beside the taller woman, her eyes 
roving hungrily over her full-rounded body. The young girl could not 
understand what was happening to her, but suddenly she realized that she was 
unfastening the clasp of Dora's brassiere, gently pulling the garment away 
from her shoulders. Dottie dropped the flimsy lace under things to the 
floor, then reached out to tentatively touch the pale gleaming skin of her 
neighbor's breasts. They jutted proudly from the woman's body like full ripe 
melons, their large nipples the ruddy-beige color of doeskin. As though in 
humble homage to their dramatic perfection, Dottie's fingers traced a 
trembling path over the smooth swell of Dora's breasts, circling and finally 
coming to rest on the sensitive tips. The young woman felt a strange new 
arousal at her own bravery and she looked boldly into Dora's face to 
register the effect as she began to squeeze and pinch the rosy 
protuberances. To her delight, she saw the older woman's eyes close in 
ecstatic though involuntary reaction as beneath her busy fingers the soft 
flesh contracted and tightened under her insistent touch. 

Her mind alight with joy at her power to control another woman's body, 
Dottie slipped her hands down Dora's torso and began to tug gently at her 
filmy panties. 

"Oh, no," Dora breathed. "Please don't . . . no more ... I can't." 

"Relax, Dora," the blonde woman murmured. "I won't hurt you. Relax." 

Oh, my God, thought Dora. It feels so wonderful being touched, oh, my God, 
why doesn't Bill ever do this to me anymore? 

Around the two women, the trio of boys stared with eyes ablaze with lust. 
Despite their "worldliness" none of them had ever seen anything like this 
happening before. The sight of the beautiful Mrs. Thompson seducing the 
older woman was arousing them beyond belief and the boys stared at each 
other in delightful disbelief. 

Bob Welsh stroked his still-rampant prick and moaned in frustration. But he 
did not want to interrupt this unbelievable performance, not yet. Dottie's 
ragged breathing broke through the stillness of the afternoon as she slid 
Dora's panties down over her rounded hips and thighs, then gently lifted one 
ankle then the other to remove the underclothing. She tossed away Dora's 
last vestige of protection, then crouched beside her. Caressingly, she wound 
her arms around Dora's legs, then slowly began to run her palms up the 
inside of the woman's thighs. Above her, Dora trembled and groaned in an 
agony of conflicting emotion. 

"P-please, dear, don't do anymore," Dora gasped. "I can't stand it . . . 
it's been so long . . . please, don't torment me like this, Dottie." 

Dottie just smiled smugly and moved her hands upward until her fingers 
grazed the soft sparse hairs that framed Dora's pussy. Something had 
happened to her that day, she knew, something that had snapped something 
inside of her, somehow releasing all her inhibitions. Now, she could not 
calm her body down. It was blazing again with need, screaming for release. 
For some reason she could not yet fathom the sight and the feel of Dora's 
body which was arousing her even more until she could not care less about 
the uncertainty and fear she sensed in the other woman. In fact, the idea 
that she was forcing Dora to become excited against her will aroused in 
Dottie a new sense of freedom. Rising from her squatting position, she began 
to nudge Dora back against the bed. 

Dora's mind was a confused jumble of agonizing indecision and mounting 
passion that was straining at what was left of her control. She knew she 
wasn't a lesbian, yet this young woman's touch was driving her mad and she 
almost thought she'd like nothing more than to have this innocent-faced 
young blonde sucking and licking at her burning cuntal slit. Hesitantly, she 
allowed her body to be muscled back against the bed, then forced down onto 
the mattress where Dottie sat down beside her. 

Dora's eyes were riveted on the other woman's face. There was a queasy 
feeling in the pit of her stomach and she apprehensively tightened her 
buttocks. Dottie's blue eyes gleamed as she gently pushed Dora down on her 
back, then lay down herself, stretching her body against the older woman's. 
Dora could feel the heat of the young blonde's body next to her own, thigh 
against thigh, smooth belly against hip, her breasts crushed against Dora's 
ribcage with each of the hard pink nipples jabbing into her soft flesh. 

Both women had completely forgotten the three boys who stood around them, 
staring in wide-eyed innocent fascination at the scene being enacted before 
them. 

Slowly, Dottie took Dora's face in her hands. Dora felt Dottie's lips on her 
own, soft and warm at first. It was done so gently that Dora wasn't even 
aware of the exact moment that Dottie's tongue floated into her mouth. The 
older woman was breathing in short gasps now, excited by the idea that she 
was doing the forbidden, and more so, that she was being touched in an 
exciting way, something denied her for the past thousand days, and that was 
an eternity. Her objecting conscience was completely overruled by the 
thrills of delicious feeling between her legs as her cuntal muscles expanded 
and contracted in delightful anticipation. 

Almost without knowing what she was doing, Dora began to lick and suck 
greedily at the strange tongue swirling in her mouth. When Dottie pulled it 
back, Dora's tongue quickly followed it into the other woman's warm sucking 
cavern. 

Dottie slipped one leg over Dora's firm upper thighs, rubbing her swollen 
clitoris over Dora's hip bone. Dora felt an electric shock course through 
her at the contact, shuddering as she realized that Dottie's hand was moving 
up toward her breasts again stroking and massaging at Dora's snow-white skin 
with an exciting knowledge, born of this strange new lust that had captured 
the young girl's mind. 

"Oooooooohhh," Dora moaned in sheer delight as Dottie's lips left her own 
and began kissing and nibbling their way down to the breast she now held 
tightly in her grasp. Dottie's hands had become suddenly aggressive, locking 
and squeezing on both snowy mounds, pushing them high up on Dora's chest to 
ease the blonde's access to Dora's throbbing nipples, which she sucked on 
alternately like a starving child. 

Dora was trembling with passion by the time Dottie reluctantly released her 
hold on one of the older woman's breasts to reach down and tangle her 
fingers in Dora's dark pubic hair. A moment later, Dottie's long middle 
finger began carefully sliding up and down the damp, secret crevice between 
Dora's thighs, maddeningly avoiding all contact with the distended clitoris, 
even though Dora was helplessly undulating her hips with frustrated desire. 

A strangely exciting idea popped into Dottie's lust-inflamed brain as she 
felt the narrow crack becoming more and more lubricated from the overflow of 
Dora's cuntal lubrications. Why not let Dora experience the same oddly 
sensual pleasure that she, Dottie, had felt for the first time today, she 
thought eagerly. Following her inclination, Dottie's fingers slid further 
and further back in the damp crevice until it reached the tiny anal ring. 
Here, it began an unrelenting pressure to break into the forbidden opening. 

Suddenly frightened, Dora raised her hips to get away from the uncomfortable 
pressure, but the slender finger was moistened and slippery enough to 
penetrate with a slight pop into the hot twitching cavity. 

"Noooo, please, noooo," Dora suddenly screamed. "That . . . that hurts." 

In answer to the complaint, Dottie sank her teeth into the tender flesh of 
the neighbor's wife's breast, seemingly trying to cram the whole thing into 
her sucking mouth. The pain, she knew, would fade quickly and become an 
exquisite sensation. Dottie began to move her finger back and forth in the 
tiny quivering rectum, trying to gain more depth, but she could not get it 
in any deeper than the first joint. The puckered ring had so tightly 
clenched on Dottie's knuckle that it followed each movement of the blonde's 
squirming finger. 

Dora moaned from deep in her chest. The pressured sensation had changed into 
something else - something fantastically exciting. Suddenly, she began to 
move the muscles of her naked buttocks in a frantic effort to pull the 
invading finger in further. Flexing and relaxing desperately, she found 
herself building toward a climax. Her body quickly worked toward the badly 
needed peak of sensation. She wanted more and more of that finger shoving in 
and out of her pulsating anal passage, she wanted something fucked in her 
cunt . . . something big and hard . . . something she'd been needing for a 
long, long time. 

Suddenly, Dottie was pulling away from Dora's frantically churning buttocks. 
Both women groaned with growing frustration as they were separated. She had 
been so close, so close . . . but, then, Dora looked up. 

Before her stood Bob Welsh, grinning salaciously and lewdly massaging his 
young inflamed cock. Beside her, Dora heard the bed squeak as the boy 
climbed between Dottie's widespread legs. 

"That was some show, Mrs. Simpson," the handsome sixteen year-old boy 
purred, "but we just can't wait any longer." 

"Oh, God, hurry," Dora fairly screamed in the agony of her need. She 
stretched her legs wide apart. "Fuck me now! Somebody hurry and put one of 
those young hard cocks in my cunt!" 

The young boy knelt beside the bed, his huge, blood-engorged prick resting 
against the side of the mattress. Grasping her hips, he jerked Dora toward 
him until her buttocks hung slightly over the edge of the bed and her legs 
were splayed on either side of his panting form. Grabbing his cock, he aimed 
it at her gaping hole and lunged forward with a violent thrust. 

The young seven-inch prick was fucked in hard like a battering ram until the 
two sperm-filled balls slapped hard down against the sensitive ring of 
Dora's rectum. 

"Aaaaaaiiiiieeeee ..." she screamed in ecstasy. The thin, soft edged of her 
cunt clung lovingly to the cock as it slowly withdrew and she screwed her 
ass down into the mattress. Then the thrusts - the fiery entry that brought 
her body to blazing life - pushed the soft fleshy fold back into her. The 
glistening young cock, like a never-ending all consuming thing, disappeared 
into the warm dark depths of her welcoming cuntal passage. 

For just a moment and no more, Dora thought of her husband, feeling a brief 
spasm of guilt, but then she remembered how long it had been he'd denied her 
this ... the very thing a sixteen year-old boy was giving her. If it had not 
been for his constant neglect she would not be here now and the centers of 
her reason and sanity shorted out in a shower of delicious sparks. 

The bed jiggled wildly from the action of Dottie and the young boy fucking 
into her and Dora realized she had never been so excited in her life. Her 
eyes rolled and she saw someone behind her, unhappily stroking his huge 
rampant erection as he waited for someone to finish. A new and exciting idea 
struck her and she grasped her own huge breasts, pushing them together 
invitingly and glancing significantly at the tall tow-headed boy smiling at 
her. His eyes lit up as he caught her thought. 

Bob Welsh stopped his rhythmic stroking for a moment as the other boy 
climbed over Dora's body until he was kneeling over her chest. Lubricating 
his bone-hard cock with a drop of spittle, he wedged the massive hardness of 
his youth between her pair of tightly-pressed tits as he'd seen done in 
French girlie magazines his father stored in his underwear drawer, and found 
the narrow, warm tunnel between them. The two boys using Dora's body began 
stroking again, this time in rhythmic unison. 

Dora looked down and sighed in ecstatic contentment as she saw the head of 
the young boy's cock peeking through the valley of her cleavage at the same 
time the young prick battered excitedly against her tingling cervix. 

"Harder ..." she moaned. "Fuck harder you boys." 

The bed quivered and shook as the three boys fucked their young cocks harder 
and harder into the two women humping on the mattress. Dottie's legs were 
pushed higher and higher by David until her ankles were pressed over her 
quivering shoulders. Dora, too, was in a position where she could not do 
much but take what the two boys were fucking into her body. Still, both 
women screamed and moaned with the force of their approaching orgasms. 

Dottie felt the first scalding spurt as David's ejaculation began to pour 
into her. Her cunt instinctively contracted and squeezed around his spurting 
cock, sucking at it to pull all of it into her. His orgasm triggered her own 
and her body began to twitch uncontrollably, her feet and legs dancing in 
time to some unheard wild abandoned music. The boy's life-giving white hot 
cum filled her quivering belly and when the cum continued to erupt, the flow 
spilled out of her pink quivering cunt and cascaded down the smooth white 
crevice across the white mounds of her still-twitching buttocks. She was too 
exhausted to notice or care when David's prick slipped out of her and he 
sank beside her on the bed. 

A moment later, though, both their heads lifted at the sounds coming from 
the other side of the bed and they turned to watch the spectacle before 
them. 

Dottie gasped in amazement as she saw Bob riding Dora's ribcage, his huge 
prick sliding in and out of the deep furrow between her breasts that the 
woman held so tightly together that bloodless ridges of flesh bulged between 
her pressing fingers. At the same time, automatic rhythm with the young 
boy's lunging, fucking strokes, Bob Welsh was fucking his own visibly 
growing cock in and out of the hungrily sucking hole between Dora's legs. 

"Ooooooh, fuck harder, both of you," Dora suddenly screamed as her body 
began to twitch and hump against them. "I'm cummmmmmming, oh God, I'm 
cummming!" 

The two boys began fucking with renewed fury and the sound of their three 
damp bodies slapping against each other could be clearly heard. Dora's back 
arched from the bed and she savagely used her heels as spurs to drive Bob 
even further. The young man gave one mighty lunge and his buttocks began 
twitching as he reached his climax as the same time. Then, suddenly, all 
three were groaning and panting happily. Later, when they began to feel more 
energy, the momentary embarrassment between the two women was quickly 
dispelled as they both realized that it would be silly at that point, to 
start acting shy and innocent before one another. 

Predictably, it was Dora - whose husband had shown her so little attention 
for so long - who initiated the idea of one more bout of fucking and sucking 
before the party broke up an hour later. It was five o'clock, a mere half 
hour before her husband would be in growling like a hungry dog for his 
supper. The boys too, realized with chagrin that their parents would be 
looking for them if they didn't get home before the school bus dropped off 
their brothers and sisters. A few minutes later, the five happily bid each 
other adieu in gleeful anticipation of another day's fun. Tomorrow would be 
just another school day for them. 

Not one of them had noticed or heard the quiet footsteps in the kitchen 
forty-five minutes earlier or the heavy-hearted trudging steps of a man 
walking, eyes downcast, down the mountain road. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Aron Thompson, hunched and broken, sauntered through the verdant forested 
path back down the mountain to where he'd left his car hidden in the bushes. 
The golden sunlight that had smiled on his expectant face two hours before 
now mocked him cruelly. 

When he had arrived at the mountain cabin, complete with a bottle of her 
favorite burgundy that he'd paid handsomely for to celebrate the rebirth of 
their marriage, she didn't answer his subtle rap on the screen door. He 
knew, however, that somebody was in the cabin from the telltale plate of 
cookies left on the doorstep, not to mention the three Harley Davidsons 
painted with red devils on the sides. 

He'd gone to the front of the cabin, keeping a low profile and all but 
crawling on his hands and knees. It was there under the open window to her 
bedroom he'd heard a familiar voice screaming: Fuck harder you boys!" 

Aron had walked back to the kitchen door and with shoes in hand 
surreptitiously slipped into the kitchen, peeking around the corners just 
enough to catch a glimpse of one, two, oh my God, three naked young boys. 
But what was that? A woman . . . yes, it certainly was, but not Dottie 
nearly crying: "Please, Dottie, don't torment me like this." Then later: 
"Oh, my God, hurry, fuck me now!" 

Like a man in the throes of a nightmare, he daringly slipped unnoticed into 
the living room for a better view and it was there that he spied his wife in 
the middle of an orgy! 

He couldn't stand the sight so terrifying and horrifying was it: he walked 
back to the kitchen, picked up his shoes and headed on down the mountain 
road taking a hidden side path that dipped through bushes of raspberry 
bushes and poison oak. He didn't notice. The only reality for Aron Thompson 
at that moment was the abandoned breathing and heaving on his wife's bed, 
the wild shrieks and moaning and, after a few miserable minutes, he had 
decided to go back to his car. It had been painful enough to listen, but he 
had known he might lose control of himself if he tried to just watch his 
wife being fucked by three young boys! 

White faced and trembling, he had slipped on slippery rock near the creek 
bed. The ultimate humiliation for a mature man who'd seen forty summers and 
he just lay there on the ground with tears blinding his vision, oblivious to 
anything but the gruesome mental pictures of his wife in various poses of 
intercourse with three young boys. But the woman, my God, what was she doing 
with the woman? 

The pain had soon diminished though, followed by a calm rage that frightened 
him by its intensity. Forgotten was the guilt he had felt for neglecting his 
wife and his intentions to rebuild their relationship. He had to know more, 
had to know the facts. 

Rising to his knees and bracing his weight on a rock, he slowly rose to his 
feet and brushed off his trousers. The other woman . . . who was she? 

He judged himself to be only about a quarter of a mile from the scene of the 
lewd tableau. Strength renewed by the red hot adrenalin coursing through his 
body, he traced his steps back up the road, thankful that he'd taken the 
short cut where he would not be seen and sat and waited for the guilty to 
pour out of the house and spill down the road. 

The bikers were first, the tall one still zipping up his Levi's with a wild 
shriek, head turned to the sky. Three wild banshees climbed on motorcycles, 
yelping a victory cry and roared down the mountain road, dusty clouds 
shrouding their forms. 

Aron stood there in a clump of trees digging his nails into the bark. The 
woman, where was she? A loud crackle ... a gun shot perhaps rang over his 
head. Instinctively, he fell to the ground in one swift movement and lay 
there trembling. Jesus Christ, what kind of a nightmare is this? First I 
hear my wife fucking three high school boys and maybe a woman too, and then 
somebody starts shootin' at me. 

Bushes parted behind him and a form approached with the intensity of an 
angry bear. Aron peeked his head up and cried out a small whimper of warning 
just as a heavily booted foot was about to step on his back. 

"Now, what we got here?" the frail overall covered man growled above him. 
His eyes were dark and piercing with anger. "Who the hell are you? We got 
'nough stinkers on this mountain without strangers pryin' aroun' these 
parts." 

"Listen, mister, I happen to be the husband of a woman who lives in that 
cabin and I'd thank you to quit shootin' at me." Aron pulled the hair out of 
his eyes and stood erect before the farmer in a stance of defiance. "Now 
would you mind tellin' me who it was you were taking such careful aim at?" 

A calloused finger pointed at the cloud of dust and the trio of sixteen year 
old boys shrieking their way down the mountain. "Them bastards. Catch 'em on 
my property all the time. From the looks of things, they been on yer 
property too, mister. My wife tells me they been payin' visits to yer little 
honey." 

"What?" Aron's eyes narrowed as he stared incredulously into the colorless 
pool of the farmer's mocking orbs. No, he thought to himself, not my wife. 
Not Dottie. "Well if I'm not mistaken, there's another woman in there too, 
mister. It must be some kind of joke." 

"Joke, hell!" blurted Bill Simpson. "I don' call it no joke when innocent 
women get raped by young boys. But they don' dare touch my woman, no siree. 
Dora can take care of herself." He stared hard at the cabin, his eyes 
growing even wider in disbelief then horror. His mouth hung open and he 
rubbed his eyes. No, it couldn't be Dora! Dora! 

"Something wrong, farmer!" 

"Dora ..." he mouthed the words. "Dora was in there. In there with them 
young boys ..." 

"Your wife?" Aron turned to look too, just as she emerged from the house, 
running a comb through her hair and buttoning her dress. 

The farmer nodded, paling. 

"Looks like we're two cuckolded men, pal." And Aron patted the stooped 
figure on the back. 

The two men parted ways then: Aron returned to his car for a quick trip to 
the nearest bar. Anything to soothe his tattered nerves. He would return 
later so as not to embarrass Dottie; she had enough to be embarrassed about 
already. 

Trudging trough the bushes all the farmer could think about was his wife's 
audacity in daring to criticize him for his coldness to her - while she was 
probably anticipating meeting her young lovers the next day. He would make 
her pay, he decided, and not only Dora, but that bitch-wife of that city 
slicker. He had never had any doubts about his wife's fidelity until that 
city woman came to live up there. So that's why she kept comin' down to 
visit Dora, heh? To convert her, just like those damned Mormons that kept 
pestering them all last summer. 

The beginnings of a plan started to crystallize in his tortured, angry mind. 

He arrived at the house just as Dora emerged from the bathroom, a fresh 
layer of lipstick covering her swollen lips. She had changed somehow in that 
afternoon - more color in her cheeks and happier. He felt his anger rise at 
the sight of her contented expression, but he fought it, forcing himself to 
stay calm. 

"Hello," he greeted her, smiling coolly, at the same time thinking: Come on, 
you lousy bitch, let's hear your lies. "Where's supper? Don' you know it's 
nigh five o'clock, woman?" 

Dora's jaw dropped at the sound of his words, but she quickly regained her 
composure and answered him, side-stepping him on the way to the refrigerator 
where she pulled out a bowl of cold boiled potatoes and cut them up into a 
sizzling pan of hot butter. 

She turned to him and said confidently, "Supper'll be on the table in five 
minutes, dear." 

Dear? Christ, she ain't called me dear for the past five year. What the hell 
kinda plan is she up to now. His eyes narrowed and he squinted at her, using 
all the willpower in his body to keep from slapping her when he noticed 
she'd buttoned her house dress wrong and a great gap between the second and 
third buttons from the top revealed her full luscious breasts. She'd 
forgotten her brassiere in the melee of dressing - five excited people 
dressing at the same time. 

"I was thinkin', Dora ..." 

She turned her head abruptly, nearly nicking her finger with the wildly 
slicing paring knife. He hadn't called her anything but 'hey you,' or 
'woman' for so long. Something was astir. 

"... was wonderin' if you'd like to go visit yer mother up in the city 
tomorrow. Bus comes through at ten o'clock in the mornin'." 

Dora stared at him in astonishment. Did he somehow find out about what 
happened today, she wondered fearfully. Was this some kind of a trick to 
make her feel guilty? She studied her husband's expression, but could find 
nothing more than the expansive grin he wore on the infrequent occasions 
when he had a plan in mind. That happened about once every two years. 

Why, he is trying to get rid of me, she thought in rising anger. He feels 
badly about something . . . maybe about the lousy way he's been treating me 
for the past three years, so he is trying to get me out of the way. "But you 
know how I get sick from the exhaust fumes on that damned bus. Maybe I'll 
ask Dottie Thompson if she'd like to go along with me. I'm sure she wouldn't 
mind driving, in fact, jes' yesterday she mentioned something about us goin' 
to the city." 

"Naw, Dora, I don' want you hanging around with no city folk. They're sneaky 
and mean. Naw, you take yer pills for car sickness and you get on that bus." 

Smiling to himself, Bill strolled into the living room and settled down in 
an easy chair and petted the dog. Ah, yes, he thought to himself, tomorrow 
will be a day to remember. That little snip on the hill is gonna learn 
something no city life ever taught her. Ya gotta have lived in the country 
to learn what I'm gonna teach her. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Blind rage directed Aron Thompson down the winding, twisting road that had 
once seemed like a Utopia in its total lack of sophistication and raw 
earthiness. Now it transformed from a beautiful butterfly to an ugly hungry 
moth that preyed on the goodness of the earth, chewing up the purity only to 
turn itself an uncomely brown, dirty color. Empty crates and wagons lined 
the sides of the road, left there for the next day of hard manual labor in a 
country where brains were honored as a gift, but nothing deemed worthy of 
development. Muscles, calloused hands and hardship was the path to survival 
here. No doubt that was the fate of those three young boys, so hardy and 
confident. 

But where would they be ten years from now when their future was bleak and 
determined by the fates of nature's forces and youth would be but a memory? 

Aron Thompson opened the window just a crack, enough to emit a wafting 
breeze of fresh air. He needed it, badly. Thoughts, ideas, excuses for his 
wife's behavior clogged his mind. With the benefit of a good education and 
the maturity of reasoning on his side, he struggled to forgive those young 
boys, struggled to find one reason for their actions and develop it in his 
typical logical professorial way. Forgiving was the thing, that he knew, but 
to believe in that conviction was another matter entirely, especially since 
his wife was the spider who'd spun the web. 

He leaned his elbow on the window and scratched his head wearily, tears 
stinging his eyes as he glanced down on the car seat to see the bottle of 
burgundy glaring up at him and the card written in his own hand, that read: 
"to bring a little freshness into our lives, All my love, Aron." 

Oh, damn, damn, damn! He pounded his fists on the steering wheel in a 
childish tantrum of anger. Why did this have to happen. Oh, God, why? He 
implored the foggy skies for an answer. None came. 

Approaching the junction in the road, he automatically turned right, for no 
explainable reason. Habit, perhaps. 

Her father was right, he admitted heavily to himself, we never should have 
gotten married. Fifteen years difference in age can create more damned 
problem than I wanted to admit. Could she really be that frustrated that 
she'd have to turn to young boys? Oh, God, it hurts so bad knowing that I 
can't satisfy her anymore! Oh, Christ! How much can one man bear? 

A drink. I need a drink, he thought, turning into a small rustic looking 
restaurant-bar with a picture of a tilted martini glass with an olive in the 
bottom painted on a rusted sign. Give me a chance to get my head back 
together again. 

The interior was dark and clouded with a blue haze of cigarette smoke. Still 
early in the day it was uncrowded, with only a few farm workers perched on 
bar stools sipping away at foamy glasses of beer, laughing raucously, 
probably exchanging stories with the bartender, a swarthy looking fellow 
with a mustache and unusually white teeth. 

Aron chose a stool at the end of the bar, as far away from everyone as 
possible. It suited his mood well. He ordered a martini from the bartender 
who leaned over the wooden bar studying his customer with steady dark eyes. 
The man was in turmoil, that was plain to see by the deep furrows in his 
forehead, thought the bartender who'd seen many a similar expression in his 
years there at the U-Drop-In. 

Quarters, dimes, and nickels tinkled out of Aron's hand onto the bar and the 
bartender counted out eighty-five cents and snuck an extra quarter as Aron 
stared blankly out the window. The man's from the city, rationalized the 
bartender, he can damned well afford it. 

A bitter sip of the alcohol and his mind cleared one degree. Another, this 
time longer sip, and some of the pain lifted to be replaced with an empty 
feeling of nothing definable. 

The door opened, he realized from a cold draft of wind, and he turned to see 
a dark haired woman, buxom and very made up in darkly penciled eyes and 
bright red lipstick. Unlike most women dressed in a tight fitting dress, 
this woman did not look cheap, mysteriously enough. Aron looked at her, 
unable to take his eyes off of her. Something akin to his torment reflected 
in her dark sloe eyes: for her it was poverty, for him age. 

She caught this eyeing him closely and slithered forward ignoring the cat 
calls and whistles from the few farm workers whose beer-bellies and paunchy 
figures drooped over the edges of the bar stools. They had no money, she 
knew. They looked once, stared twice, and then went back to shooting craps 
at the bar, the rattling of the dice now mingling with the sound of Walter 
Cronkite from overhead. 

Nobody in those parts of the country watch the news: living it is bad 
enough. 

"What's yer name, honey?" the black haired vixen seated herself announced 
only by the tinkle, crinkle of her dime store jewelry lining her tanned arms 
with silver sparkles. 

"Aron," he answered with an air of dignity, perhaps even a bit haughtily; he 
was not a local and he wanted that known immediately. 

"I'm Joy." She offered a well-manicured hand, soft and unaccustomed to 
housework; hers was a less domestic profession, a fact that Aron detected, 
but chose to ignore. 

"Could I buy you a drink?" His ego now pasting itself back together again, 
slowly, with some residues of misgivings still evident in his high-toned 
voice, strained from the emotion that wouldn't choke out or down. 

"Sure can, honey. I'll have a glass of wine, Alfred." She beamed up at the 
bartender and he returned her smile with a knowing grin. He'd seen her at 
work before and if his guess proved right, she'd have this city-slicker 
emptying out his pockets in five minutes ... or three more drinks, however 
one chose to measure such things. 

"How 'bout you, mister," inquired the bartender, "you want another?" The 
customer nodded, as Alfred knew he would, and another martini found its way 
to Aron's lips, going down more smoothly this time, by passing the lump in 
his throat, dissolving it with careless fantasies. 

They fell into easy conversation, far easier than Aron had thought possible. 
Joy was witty, intelligent with an earthy sense of living, divorced, the 
whole bit. She didn't talk about her work, preferring to talk about what 
Aron did. There was another round, then another, and still another. 

His suspicions were aroused when Alfred slipped Joy a key along with the 
change for her dollar bill for a pack of cigarettes. Aron had paid no heed 
to the meaningless maneuver until he looked at the flashing eyes and 
enticing young all-woman next to him. What the hell, he reasoned in his 
drunken mind, Dottie's up there fuckin' young guys, why the hell can't I 
have a little fun. Christ, it's been long enough, that I am sure of. 

There was one more round and then Joy said, "Well, want to come for a walk, 
honey?" 

At first Aron thought that meant it was time for them to break up their 
illicit rendezvous and both go about their business, of whatever nature that 
might be. But he was wrong, oh so wrong. Joy led him out the door, showing 
no signs of the five glasses of wine she'd consumed, and led him to the back 
of the bar and slipped a key in the door. It opened easily and she flicked a 
switch on the wall. The lights came on, dim despite the naked light bulb 
that glared from the ceiling above. 

"How about a little private party, Aron? It sounds from what you told me, 
that what you need more 'n anything is a little love. You're a deprived man, 
Aron." 

He hung his head, her words opening up a valve of despair plugged for so 
long. She was right and he knew it; there was no denying the fact. Pulling 
his limp body, yielding and pliable, close to her and he could smell fresh 
gardenias between the tumescent swell of her melon-like breasts. 

With that, Aron was propelled inside the small damp smelling room and Joy 
shut the door, latching the lock on the inside then pulling the curtains to 
shut out the glaring pink neon lights that spelled out "U-Drop-In" in eye 
piercing brightness. 

A shudder ran up the back of his spine. He was alone ... in a strange room 
with a whore! 

But as he sat on the bed, staring weakly up at this beautiful prostitute, 
Aron had to admit that she was one hell of a woman. A little lacking in 
education perhaps, but then he could tell that formalities impressed her 
none anyway. She exuded pure animal sex, and he had to admit it would be 
sort of tempting to take her in his arms and kiss her, love her up a bit . . 
. oh, nothing more. Just enough to satisfy that need of having a warm body 
next to his, perhaps to cuddle him and soothe over the raw sand-paper edges 
of his tortured mind. He wouldn't fuck her or anything, but Lord, it would 
be nice to kiss those cherry-red lips, caress her breasts to hardness . . . 

He felt his cock jerk into instant rigidity as if it were alive and 
independent of him. He tried to will it limp again, to banish the lewd 
thoughts swirling in his martini-filled head, but it remained throbbingly 
swollen. Guiltily, he looked away. He couldn't let himself get carried away. 
Oh, no! 

Joy chuckled. "Aron's got a hard-on." She was smiling at his bulging pants. 
"Aron's got a great big hard-on because he knows he's going to fuck me ..." 

Aron had never heard a woman talk in such lascivious language. "Joy . . . 
cut it out, for Christ's sake!" he snapped, offended by her language. Dottie 
would never talk like that . . . or would she? With that thought, his head 
lifted to stare at the voluptuous breasts inches from his face. 

"You're going to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me ... " She came to him, and her 
breath was like white-hot firebrands stinging his cold cheeks. She touched 
his knee lightly, her fingers almost searing the cloth, and then she reached 
higher, higher . . . and touched the throbbing protuberance down between his 
legs! 

"Oooooh, God!" he managed to breathe, almost leaping off the single bed 
mattress covered with a rough Indian blanket of multi-colors. He could feel 
his testicles ache with a sudden pressure of sperm, and will as he may, he 
couldn't pull away from her caresses. Her tongue trailed over his cheek, 
searching for his mouth, and her hand continued to rub his uncomfortably 
swollen cock. 

"It's purely physical," she droned on, mesmerically, hypnotically. "You want 
to get your big cock into my wet pussy, and I want it, too . . . " 

"I ... I love my wife," he protested weakly. 

"Sure you do, but where is she now?" 

Her words stung his consciousness like an angry hornet. As much as he hated 
to admit it, this uneducated woman knew more about the affairs of the heart 
than, he, a college professor. 

" ... All of them do," she continued. "But that doesn't have anything to do 
with us, with here and now, with fucking." 

This is wrong! his tortured mind screamed. 

I'm a married man . . . what would Dottie say? 

I can't go through with it! He wrenched himself off the bed, his heart 
hammering, and he was aware that his prick was still granite-hard and 
seeping hot droplets of excited lubrication. He had to compose himself! To 
somehow make an excuse to leave. 

Joy's husky voice whispered: "Aron-baby..." 

He turned, gathering the courage to reject her, but then the words froze in 
his throat. His mouth hinged open and his eyes blurred. 

She stood before him, stripped completely naked! 

The lovely prostitute had unhooked the one article of clothing, her dress, 
and it lay puddled at her feet. Neither panties nor bra were evident, and as 
he gazed transfixed at her white sculpted body, he could see she didn't need 
any artificial supports. She smiled at him, the tip of her wet, pink tongue 
showing. The hair-lined lips of her cuntal valley were displayed for him 
like an Aztec sacrifice, the black down glistening lusciously in the pale 
glow of the neon lights outside the window. Her high, perfectly rounded 
breasts, startlingly alabaster white against the tan of her other parts, 
jutted out like ruby-crested mountains, and her long, slender legs seemingly 
trembled with desires. 

""Well, lover? You like what you see? Would you like to kiss me? Here?" Her 
hands had moved to her black triangle, and when she said, "here," her 
fingers blazed a trail down through the soft, pink lips of her cunt and 
spread them slowly, slowly apart, revealing the tiny trembling bud of her 
erect clitoris. She began to stroke it back and forth, round and round. 

It was a lust maddening sight to Aron. The thought of kissing, of licking 
her sweet young pussy set his prick into a wild dance. It had been so long 
since he and his wife had made love, and longer still since they'd indulged 
in anything except an on-again-off-again kind of love making. "Please, Joy, 
please," he moaned, his breath all but stopped. 

"And I'll kiss your cock, Aron, I want to kiss and suck your cock ... I love 
to suck cock, did you know that?" On and on she went, and the one sure way 
of building Aron to a point where he couldn't say no, couldn't leave this 
whore, had been used. He'd been denied oral love by his wife the last time 
he saw her . . . and he had wanted to feel the soft down of a woman's pussy 
as it opened to his mouth with lusting desire ... if ony his wife understood 
that he wanted to better their sexual relationship, that that's why he'd 
come here for the weekend, that he wanted his kisses, his tongue, his cock 
in her mouth . . . Oh, God! he could feel his swollen cock palpitate wildly. 

He had to have her! He suddenly didn't care about Dottie and her little boys 
any more, about his adulterousness with a whore, about anything! The only 
important thing was the billowing heat in his genitals, and the desire to 
suck and be sucked! Yes, he had to have her! Yes, Yes! 

As if somehow spirit-free from his body he watched himself unfasten his belt 
and remove his clothing, dumping them wherever they happened to fall. He 
stood before her as she stood before him, his thick, bursting cock standing 
out at right angles. 

"Oh, it's lovely," Joy crooned in ecstasy. "Just as I knew it would be." She 
walked to the bed, the very motion a sensual experience and lay down on the 
cover. "Come here, Aron," the voluptuous young whore purred, "let me suck 
you off!" 

Aron came to her, and the next thing he knew he was writhing beside her, 
feet-to-head, and Joy's fingers scratching lightly over his cock, her expert 
lips kissing his legs, belly, and inner thighs, building him to still higher 
a fever pitch. 

"God! Hurry!" Aron groaned, not sure he could keep the boiling semen inside 
his testicles another moment. "Hurry!" 

As if in obeyance, Joy plunged her head forward and Aron felt the incredible 
hot moistness of her lips close butter-like over the sensitive head of his 
cock, felt her searing tongue licking tiny circle of fire around it. 
Sighing, completely enraptured in the exquisite manipulations, Aron moved 
toward her, and buried his face in her cunt. There was a sudden jerk of 
contracted muscles in the excited prostitute's body, and she pressed closer 
to his mouth. The very abandonment, the complete capitulation to sensuality 
by this whore overwhelmed him and blotted out all thoughts except the 
delicious debauchery of which he was a willing partner. 

Joy, the practiced professional that she was, tasted the piquancy of his 
fevered secretions hungrily, twirling her tongue faster and faster. Then she 
began to suck him rhythmically, with full expertise of a woman in love with 
her work. He tasted good clean, that was the most important thing, she 
thought. Not like those dirty farm worker's who've been out in the field all 
day. Better yet, he's got money. No more IOU's for Joy. 

Aron looked up once and watched her convoluted lipstick-rimmed lips ripple 
up the down his hardened cock, watched the soft skin of her mouth pucker 
outward and then back in as she sawed the full entirety of his cock. Never 
had he envisioned such an erotic sight! And he was aroused still more and 
his loins tensed and jerked upwards into her face, all the fleshy expanse 
disappearing with each hard forward thrust so that only a small stretch of 
it showed white and glistening with the saliva between her lips. 

He returned to her soft, hair fringed cunt and drew her firm rounded 
buttocks down over his mouth so that he was sunk nose-deep in the 
soft-rimmed cunt. He held her tightly with both hands on her buttocks, 
thrusting his own tongue up teasingly between the tender fleshy folds. He 
heard her gasp and renew her nibbling with frenzied motion. Her pussy 
contracted and opened around his mouth and then he moved his hands down and 
opened her still wider and began to curl and flick his tongue at the 
smoothness of her pearl-white back side. He sucked and licked while she 
swayed above him, completely out of control, her cunt flowering open wider 
and her secretions mingling with his saliva and rivuleting down his cheeks. 

He could feel her muscles cord as he worked slave-like, and then he plunged 
to her clitoris, sucking and biting it tenderly, his tongue reaming the 
sensuous little button while she churned and writhed in a lewd dance of 
desire above him. Aron sensed she was straining to cum, her mouth and cheeks 
sucking wildly at his cock as she bucked and arched both her back and head 
in an uncontrollable quaking of body. Her breasts danced as she sucked 
voraciously, her pumping mouth making the pressure spiraling to a final, 
huge release of his building semen. 

"And then - "Uuuuummmmmmmm!'' came the irrefutable cry of her climax and the 
warm, pungent milk of her softly pulsating pussy spread hotly across his 
face. She screamed out her orgasm, though her mouth was still sucking 
hungrily at his deep-thrust cock, and she snaked her heels against his 
shoulders and rubbed her fervently heaving cunt in an uncontrolled, 
tormented surge. Then - All at once he too felt the eruption of fire leap 
along his cock. He gasped as though in agony, and then his cock began a 
wild, convulsive jerking that flooded without advance warning the vivacious 
whore's maddening bobbing mouth with rush after rush of boiling sperm, 
bloating her cheeks and forcing her to swallow wildly to keep from choking. 
Then as quickly as it had started, there was one final spurt and he lay 
back, half unconscious over the power of his release. 

Still the girl sucked ravenously at his lust juices, milking every last drop 
of the hot gushing male ambrosia until at last, his cock jerked softly and 
slowly deflated in the warm, sperm-filled cavern of her mouth. She slid her 
lips from his cock with one last swallow, and cradled her face to his still 
throbbing groin. 

"How was that, lover?" she murmured appreciatively. 

He could only sigh in contentment for an answer. He knew that he should feel 
guilty now, but the stirrings of remorse and shame were not forthcoming. He 
only felt like a satisfied, virile man, one who had satisfied a woman as 
well. He felt a certain power, a certain pride. 

His wife. The thought of Dottie echoed in his mind, and a small part of his 
brain tried to make the self-deprecation come; but he fought the thoughts 
away and he simply lay there, taking in the musk of the young prostitute's 
body perfume and the permeating odor of their consummated lust. 

He felt her stir then, and suddenly she was on all fours and beside him, 
smiling down in his face. She said, "How was that professor? I'm gonna teach 
you things you never could learn from no books." She leaned down and kissed 
him tenderly, the taste of his semen still on her mouth. "Would you like 
that?" 

He ran his tongue across his lips. Already there was faint stirrings in his 
limp cock, displacing any fears of not being able to get another erection. 
"Yes . . . yes, I'd like that!" 

"Good," she stretched out and snuggled in the protection of his arms. "It'll 
be wonderful and we have all night ..." 

Aron had the strong, erotic sensation that she was good at keeping her word. 
He wasn't wrong . . . 

Hours later, they slept together on the small bed, cuddled under the Indian 
blanket, a space heater the only source of heat against the dampness of the 
coastal air. 

He awoke to an empty bed, his head pounding from the foray of the night 
before, his loins still sticky from lust. 

Got to get dressed, he told himself, got to get out of her and back to the 
cabin. One leg in each hole and the zip of a metallic sound and he was on 
his way. Checking his pockets, he was delighted to see that his wallet was 
still intact. But wait, there was something foreign in there. Digging into 
his pockets he drew out a piece of paper and read the poorly written note 
written on one of his blank checks: "Thanx a lot, mister. Couldn't sleep 
last nite cuz you hogged the hole dam blankit and didn't leave me no money. 
Who the hell you city people think you are anyhow paying with checks?" 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Dottie turned the rusted faucet until the rattling pipes ceased their 
vibrating noises then slipped into the warm bath water, sighing at the much 
needed comfort only hot water can bring. She'd slept late that day, much 
later than she'd planned, and now all her body muscles relaxed happily in 
the bubble bath as she looked unseeing out the window. 

She remembered the day before, an incident difficult to forget and her guilt 
returned with a new more vital force. She had to empty her soul to someone, 
had to tell somebody about what had happened. This morning, though, she had 
discovered that the daylight made it much easier for her to think 
rationally, to put things in their proper perspective. Dottie Thompson had 
realized after several minutes in the soapy water that everything that had 
happened was a one time incident, never to be repeated again. If necessary, 
should those boys return, she would buy a dog, a big dog, well-trained in 
the art of protecting a master and if that was not sufficient, she'd move to 
a different part of the country side. God knows there must be thousands of 
little cabins out here in the forests. There she could start her summer all 
over again. Nothing wasted, she told herself, and sponged her back with 
delicious suds. 

She languidly soaked for what seemed like hours, until her smooth skin 
puckered like a dried prune. She rose from the tub, smoothing talcum powder 
over her body and slipped into her robe. A hearty breakfast of bacon and 
eggs with juice and the world would smile for Dottie Thompson once again. 

Two broken eggs swirled and whipped with the rapid motion of a fork and then 
dribbled into the slow heating pan. She'd eaten nearly nothing in the past 
couple of days and a good man would help her spirits out, too, she knew. 

No, she wouldn't feel guilty about those boys ... or Dora, either, for that 
matter . . . everybody makes mistakes once in a while and what could she 
have done to protect herself? Nothing! she reassured her conscience and sat 
down to her breakfast, her cat purring next to her on the bench. 

She'd just finished the last of her juice when she heard a scratch at the 
screen door. Oh, God, she wondered, who could that be? Certainly not Bob 
Welsh again. Oh, God, please no! 

"Hello?" she called, getting up from the table and wiping her mouth with a 
paper napkin. Whoever it was they could at least have the courtesy to 
announce their presence instead of sneaking around like this. 

A hunched man in overalls smiled amiably through the screen door at her. 
Must be a salesman? she thought. 

"Hello," his voice droned. "I'm Dora's husband, Bill." He took off his straw 
hat and muscled past her, looking around as if in search of something. 

"I'm . . . glad to meet you Bill. I've gotten to know Dora quite well, but I 
haven't had the pleasure of meeting you before." What in the world does he 
want? Does he know about yesterday? Did Dora tell him? 

"I'll bet you have," he muttered over his shoulder before seating himself on 
the sofa in the living room. 

Although a small man, Bill Simpson carried an undeniably powerful presence 
as if to say, "everybody out of my way." Dottie couldn't define his 
expression; it was deep and mysterious and left her with cold chills up and 
down her spine. No wonder Dora's bored to death of her husband, she thought 
empathetically. If I had to go to bed with that twit every night I'd enjoy a 
little youthful company once in a while myself. 

"Call me Bill," he stated coldly. His eyes virtually stripped the young 
woman of the fuzzy peach bathrobe she wore. Weakly, she slumped into the 
overstuffed chair. Something was amiss, her instincts told her. 

"You and I are gonna get to know each other real good. Even better than you 
and those young boys I seen roarin' up and down this road." 

Dottie's heart leapt almost into her throat as her mind tried to digest what 
the man had just said. It was too much to believe that Dora, her trusted 
friend, had told him what had happened yesterday, yet he seemed to be 
obliquely aware of her activities of late. No, she reassured herself, Dora 
wouldn't tell; hadn't she been warned about Bob Welsh and his friends? 
Didn't everybody around know about them and their tricks? 

"Mr. Simpson," she daringly started, crossing her legs in a defensive 
posture, "I hired Bob Welsh as a gardener, nothing more. He did and 
excellent job of tilling my garden. If you'd care to look for yourself," she 
pointed toward the garden, knowing there was no way to prove her point 
without getting up to see, but not wanting to risk any further contact with 
this weasily looking man than she could help. 

He answered with a lewd laugh, thinking, Jesus, it's been a long time since 
I've had a piece like that and it's gonna be good, real good. Shit, those 
female ewes ain't gonna be nothin' compared to this city ass. " Jes' came to 
tell ya I seen a man up here yesterday sneakin' around in the bushes. Tall 
dark fella, good looking, guess ya might say. From the looks of his clothes 
I'd say he was from the city. Claims he knows you ..." 

Aron . . . she mouthed the words. 

"Saw him right after I got a real good look at the orgy you all had goin' 
here and then . . . " 

"Where is that man now?" she nearly screamed. "Aron ..." she was on her feet 
now. "Where is Aron?" 

Bill gestured with his hand as if to calm her. "Now don' you go gettin' all 
excited, Dottie. He'll be back I'm sure." 

Dottie gasped audibly. Was Bill spying on her? God, how many times before 
had he seen Bob Welsh there? But her rational mind took over and the 
important point, she realized, was why was Bill Simpson there? 

As if reading her mind, the farmer grinned slyly and said, "'Spose you 
wonder why I'm here?" He drew out a can of Prince Alberts and stuffed a wad 
of ugly looking brown tobacco in his mouth and then Dottie realized what 
that smell was and why his teeth were so dark and rotten looking. "What you 
say we make a little bargain, Dottie?" 

Oh, God, no, not him, too, she thought. When is this thing every going to 
end? "What do you mean?" she asked calmly, praying that it would not be what 
she thought, the same thing that everyone else seemed to want of her. 

"Well ..." he chewed on the tobacco, a dark line of spittle running down his 
whiskered chin. "... Dora and me," he stopped to wipe the brown saliva on 
the back of his hand, "we ain't been havin' such a good time of it lately. 
Seems neither of us cin git loose in bed." He stared coldly at her, waiting 
for her expression to contort. "To tell ya the truth, I'm gittin' a little 
bored with the woman and ever since the law come in and said I didn't have 
fittin' grazin' land for my ewes, I ain' had much to satisfy my maleness, ya 
know. Now, way I got it figured, Dottie." He sat forward on the couch 
staring directly into her tortured blue watery eyes, "... You and me kin 
help each other out every once in a while. You ain' got no husban' to keep 
yer feet warm at night and I ain' got no wife gonna let me do what I like." 

The blonde woman stared at him aghast. Hadn't she been through enough 
already? she wondered. "I can't, oh God, no, I can't!" she shrieked, hiding 
her face in her hands. 

"Hey, you!" snapped Bill Simpson as if condemning the bad taste of her 
outburst, then leaned back in the couch and spit the tobacco into his hand 
in one awful wad, looking for somewhere to dispose of it and finally eyeing 
a potted plant reached over and dumped the finely chewed tobacco into the 
dirt. "There it is, pure and simple, Mrs. Thompson. Now I know who yer 
husban' is, it won't be no problem lettin' him know what you been up to all 
along, that it weren't no rape took place up here yesterday." 

Completely shaken by the unexpected turn of the vicious cycle in which she 
was involved, Dottie broke down into tearful pleadings. She knew that if 
Aron found out about she and Bob Welsh, that it was not a case of rape, he 
might never forgive her. "A-all right, Mr. S-Simpson, I'll do . . . anything 
..." she sobbed brokenly, "anything y-you tell me ... " 

"First of all, please quit that damned cryin'. Sounds like a hurt dog," he 
snapped. 

"Yes, of course," Dottie said, trying desperately to pull herself together. 
If she had to act like a tramp for these men, at least she could preserve 
her dignity, she told herself. Brightening, she realized that Bill Simpson 
looked like an absolutely inept lover. There would be some consolation, at 
least. If nothing else, she could preserve the tattered remains of her 
self-respect. Nothing this repulsive little man could do would make her 
enjoy sex with him. Then, someday, when this nightmare was all over, she 
would make sure that he knew that she was laughing at him all the time. 

"Now, Dottie, I want you to take off your clothes and sit down on the rug." 
Bill was feeling very proud of himself. Things were going even more smoothly 
than he had planned and the little bitch was a pretty little thing. He only 
hoped her body was as good as it appeared through that thick robe. If so, 
this would be a real pleasure. There was only one thing that would hurt Dora 
more than his fucking another woman and that was his fucking a beautiful 
girl who was at least ten years younger than she. Yes, old Dora was going to 
be sorry she had played around, but, first - first, he would have the 
enjoyable task of paying back the little cunt who led his wife astray. 

A gasp of admiration whistled through Bill's lips as Dottie dropped the 
robe, revealing that she had worn nothing beneath it. She felt as much as 
she saw his eyes lustfully lingering over her ripe young curves. Suddenly 
embarrassment over came her and she suddenly sat back down on the rug, 
curling her legs and arms tightly around herself to protect her body from 
his gleaming eyes. 

"Quite a little heifer, Dottie," he chuckled. "Don't go gettin' shy on me 
now. Cain' tell me yer a modest one after what I seen yesterday." His 
expression suddenly turned sinister. "Now, do as I say and don' try no more 
silly tricks. Spread yer legs! Wide, so I cin see yer cunt." 

No, no, she silently protested. I was forced to do everything I did; I had 
no choice. But the expression of determination on the farmer's face killed 
any thought of explanation. He would believe only what he wanted to believe 
and he had already called her a heifer. He's too bright; she shuddered with 
repulsion. Slowly, Dottie swallowed her pride and spread her legs apart. 
When she could see by his eyes that the coral slit of her cunt was visible 
to him, she stopped and leaned back against the chair she'd been sitting in, 
closing her eyes to the humiliating leer that twisted his thin features. 

"I said, spread your legs, you little slut," he suddenly bellowed. Dottie's 
eyes flew open and she saw him gesticulating wildly with his hands, his face 
almost purple with rage. "I want one foot up on that chair and the other one 
touching the floor. Now, do as I say!" 

Numbly, she did as she was told, splaying her legs wide open and positioning 
them as he had directed. She found herself leaning back into the corner of 
the room, her thighs spread so far apart that it almost hurt the taut 
muscles. Shuddering in revulsion, she saw a drop of spittle form at the 
corner of the man's mouth and trickle down his chin as he stared hungrily at 
her helplessly exposed crevice. Her humiliation was heightened by the fact 
that the man still sat there, completely dressed as she posed naked before 
him, presenting up her open cunt a slit to his devouring eyes. 

"Now," he growled hoarsely, "start playing with yerself." 

"Oh, no, I can't do that," she gasped in horror. "I've never done anything 
like that." 

"My dear, I've been quite patient with you ..." he began, an evil light 
shining from his eyes. "But if you don't start cooperatin', I'll be mad." 
His baleful gaze sent chills up Dottie's spine and she nodded wordlessly to 
indicate that she understood. "Very good, I'm glad ya know I mean business. 
Now play with yerself." 

Hesitantly, Dottie lifted her trembling hands to her full luscious breasts, 
commencing to pull and tweak at the aureoles and nipples until her body 
began to respond to her manipulations. She was certain that she was never so 
mortified in her whole life, but she forced herself to go on, rolling the 
nipples between her thumbs and forefingers until they became erect, standing 
out from the smooth swell of her breasts like tiny, hard cocks. After being 
roughly used by so many men in the past few days, boys, she corrected 
herself with a grimace, Dottie found it oddly pleasurable to just be able to 
touch herself, without fear of harm of further unexpected humiliations. 

"Enough of that," she heard the farmer suddenly command. "Yer cunt. Touch 
yer cunt. I want to see you make yerself real hot." His hand now resting on 
his trousers below his belt and Dottie could see the rising protuberance 
under his stubby fingers. 

You stupid old fool Dottie silently fumed. I can't make myself hot, and it 
would certainly take a lot more of a man that you are to arouse me. Catching 
the vulgar thought as soon as she had formed it, Dottie chastised herself 
for sinking to his level and began to concentrate on the task he had set for 
her. Even if she could not satisfy herself, perhaps she could pretend enough 
excitement to appease him. Maybe, she mused to herself, maybe he just wants 
to watch me. 

Encouraged by the idea, she let her hands drop downward and flutter like 
pale birds over the golden thatch of her pubic hair. Slowly and dramatically 
she ran the tips of her fingers over the smooth, sensitive outer lips of her 
cuntal opening, experiencing an electric shock of surprise as a startling 
shock of exquisite pleasure resulted from her first tentative touch. 

Inquisitively, she stroked her forefinger over the tiny rosebud of her 
clitoris, softly at first, then with more and more vigor as a delicious 
tingling sensation radiated out around the tiny swollen peak. It was good, 
almost as good as a man, she realized joyfully as, forgetting the presence 
of her audience, she furiously fingered her clitoris, feeling her whole 
torso quivering in response to her fevered manipulations. 

A tortured groan slipped from between her lips as she suddenly plunged one 
finger into her hot waiting passage. She wiggled it experimentally inside of 
herself until her impaled cunt became accustomed to the invading finger 
probing at the lubricated softness of its tender walls. She could feel its 
moisture covering the palm of her hand as it ground erotically into the 
fiery knot of her clitoris. She moved her finger in tiny circles, expanding 
the tight hole with each teasing rotation. 

Realizing that two fingers would probably be even better than one, she 
quickly added another and began to frantically finger herself as she started 
to fight for an orgasm. 

Bill Simpson watched the depraved drama before him in undisguised delight, 
his belly, nearly invisible under his overalls, heaving up and down as he 
felt himself becoming more and more aroused. His eyes were glued to the 
fascinating spectacle of this lovely, young blonde woman trying desperately 
to bring herself to a climax, and, almost involuntarily, he had begun to 
stoke his rapidly rising member. "That's it, give it hell," he growled 
hoarsely as beads of perspiration began to break out on his forehead and 
upper lip. "Go ahead, whole, fuck it, Fuck yerself!" 

Oblivious to his obscene words, Dottie was almost out of her mind with 
excitement. She was ready to crawl the wall to quench the fire raging in her 
clenching cunt. Her two long, slender fingers dipped wildly in and out of 
the swollen, deep pink lips of her cuntal passage, the outer surface of 
which was pearled by glistening droplets of her lubricating fluids. Tiny 
rivulets of perspiration coursed down her trembling thighs as she began to 
heave her buttocks upward, trying to get more and more of her skewering 
fingers. A deep growl of frustration rose from deep in her chest, then 
changed to a whine of ecstasy as she added one more finger to the two with 
which she was punishing herself. 

Dottie drove herself on, three fingers now in her wide-stretched, liquid 
drenched cuntal channel, trying insanely to break out of his plateau of 
passion on which she found herself stranded. But, she could not do anymore. 
She had turned herself on, and now she found that she was driving herself 
mad because she could not come to a climax. 

At last, there was nothing to do but give it up. She allowed her hand to 
fall away from her throbbing, aching slit and moaned despairingly. Suddenly, 
her gleaming eyes fell on the man who had started this. 

"Oh, God, Mr. Simpson, help me, fuck me." 

"I thought you'd never ask, Dottie," he grinned lopsidedly and rose to tear 
down his trousers. 

A moment later, Bill Simpson, stood before her, completely naked, his great, 
heavy cock standing out from beneath his smooth hairy belly like a thick 
ramrod. His weighty sagging balls swayed ominously between his thin thighs 
as he stroked the thick uncircumcised foreskin back and forth over the 
bulbous head of his shaft. 

He moved closer to the rug on which she sat and she sensed unwanted flames 
of desire burning furiously in her loins. Staring in horror and disgust at 
the unattractive middle-aged man, so unlike the young virile boys she'd 
spent a glorious afternoon with yesterday, she wondered again, what had 
happened to her in the last few days that she could feel desire for someone 
like him. A lifetime of chastity and now she was reduced to this! 

The farmer reached down and ran his hand over the awakened mounds of her 
breasts and down over her belly to the soft, fleshy folds of her cunt below. 
"Oooooh," she moaned as his touch sent new waves of pleasure over her body 
until her nerve ends felt scorched and frazzled from the heat of her desire. 
A rash of goose bumps arose over the ivory paleness of her sensitive skin. 

Yes . . . she wanted him. She wanted him! She wanted him to crawl up inside 
of her, to possess her, to quiet the thunder that was building up deep, once 
more, from his maddening fingertips, playing over her defenselessness. "Yes, 
please touch me like that. Fuck me . . . now!" she pleaded piteously. 

"Shut up, whore," the farmer rasped, enjoying his hold on the beautiful slut 
who had introduced his wife to other men. "You'll get cock when I decide to 
give it to you!" 

His greedy eyes feasting on her squirming nakedness, the farmer lowered his 
bulk onto the floor, then crouched on all fours over the white moving body, 
resting his palms hard on the inside of her wide-spread thighs. His mouth 
watered as his eyes fastened onto the hair-framed slit of her open crotch, 
rotating sensuously, expectantly, a scant few inches from his lips. Saliva 
drizzled down his chin to mingle obscenely with the lubricating juices 
oozing from the narrow passage at the bottom of her smooth white belly. 

Through half open eyes, Dottie gazed down at the man crouched between her 
parted thighs and suddenly she wished she could widen them even further for 
him. She was no better than a whore now, a slave to his lewd desires, bought 
and paid for! 

"Aaaaaagggghhhhh!" she groaned piteously, jerking upward as she felt his hot 
lips clamp down over the pulsating opening of her cunt. She felt his lips 
suck, drawing the warm, soft folds deep into the hot cavern of his mouth, 
while his tongue began a maddening licking against the straining pink bud of 
her hot, excited pussy. She wriggled her buttocks unashamedly against him as 
the hot, probing tip worked its way up and down the length of the narrow, 
wet slit, then worked its way into her straining cunt like a racing lizard. 
Her hips ground wildly into the rug, soft mewling animal sounds of pleasure 
escaping from between her passion-clenched teeth. 

Then, suddenly, he stopped, raising his head to grin up at her through her 
heaving thighs. 

"Go on! Don't stop!" she pleaded. "Oh, God, don't stop now! Lick my cunt! 
Lick it! Lick it!" 

But, in response, she merely received his salacious grin and the words: 
"Turn over, woman. I've got a real surprise fer ya. The ewes sure did like 
it." 

Unthinking, willing to do anything for the release she needed so badly, she 
twisted around on the rug, changing position until she was kneeling with her 
body resting on the back of the chair. She felt the farmer rise from the 
floor and stand up behind her, his hands suddenly resting on the smooth oval 
globes of her buttocks. Then, she felt him kissing the ivory cheeks of her 
ass, biting into them with sharp little knives. 

Through the haze of her passion, she felt him opening her buttocks, drawing 
the cheeks wide apart, then licking the crevice between them. He pulled and 
stretched at her asshole and she could feel the strain on the tight, rubbery 
ring of her anus. Suddenly, she felt obscenely naked and exposed as the 
panting form leaned over her buttocks and sloberingly kissed the tiny, brown 
puckered hole. But she didn't really care now. Nothing seemed to matter any 
more as long as he could give her some kind of release from this agony of 
arousal. 

Then, she felt the tip of his finger again at the entrance, of her naked 
rectum and she jerked automatically away from the strange sensation. 

"Relax," the man rasped, jabbing again at the tightly clenched opening. 
"Open your ass." She gasped, then relaxed to be used as the man behind her 
desired. He probed for a moment longer at the outer edges of the small 
elastic circle, then shoved forward, sadistically sinking the finger up to 
the first knuckle. To her surprise, the pain was not nearly as keen as she 
had thought it would be. The farmer dug into the tight, expanding hole, 
insinuating his finger slowly and methodically into the velvety depths of 
her rectum. 

She began to relax slightly until suddenly she felt the extra pressure of 
another finger ram unexpectedly in alongside the first. She winced with pain 
and tried to cringe away from him, but he followed; pinning her upper torso 
to the back of the couch with the palm of his hand. 

"Oh, stop it, please. It hurts." Tears of pain and humiliation streamed down 
her cheeks as she realized for the first time what he was going to do to 
her. He was going to shove his long, thick cock up into her rectum in an 
unnatural act of love she did not even know existed before. This is what he 
had meant when he said "the ewes like it." No wonder poor Dora had refused, 
Dottie thought in disbelief. God, it's so unnatural. 

As if in cruel answer to her plea, his fingers began to work together inside 
of her clinging rectum, grinding down into her tightly contracting anal 
passage, expanding it mercilessly as he twisted and turned his fingers in 
the narrow hole, preparing it for his coming entry. She tried to jerk her 
buttocks away, but her quivers only drove the probing deeper and deeper into 
her ravaged depths. 

"Ya know I ain't never fucked a woman in the ass hole like this before," the 
farmer said softly, as if talking to himself. "But if they behave anythin' 
like those sheep, boy, oh boy!" She could hear him smack his lips and then 
say: "Ya got a pretty ass, Dottie, nice and hairless." 

"No, please don't do it to me," Dottie pleaded, knowing already that it was 
futile. 

As suddenly as he had worked the fingers in, he pulled them out of her. They 
seemed to come out reluctantly, the rubbery skin of her anus clinging to 
them and making a sucking, hissing noise. Climbing onto the chair behind 
her, he forced her legs wide apart with his knees, then moistened the tiny 
hole with a drop of spittle, preparing it for the greater entry. She was 
held wide, and helpless, completely at his mercy and she bit down on her 
lower lip to keep back to tears of fear and frustration brimming to her 
eyes. She couldn't bear it: this was just too horrible. 

His hands grasped harshly at her hips, holding them firmly in the air as she 
felt the excitedly pulsating head of his cock resting within her split 
crevice. She gasped in surprise at the first contact. It was huge! As big as 
Bob's. She hadn't expected it from an old man like him. She would never be 
able to accept that into her back passageway. It would certainly rip 
something! Desperately, she tried to pull away from him but he held her 
tight and began to probe at the tight, hairless opening of her backside. 

His hands coursed down over her buttocks, his thumbs pressing on either side 
of her tiny, puckered anus, stretching it wide. The gentle probing grew into 
a hard, unresisting bluntness. 

"Oooooh! No! Pleasssseeeee!" she shrieked as the tight resisting ring gave 
way before the unyielding pressure, the tip popping into her with a slight 
jerk. 

The pressure was easing a little but she twisted and screamed, again, and 
again, trying with all her strength to get away. Her buttocks were moving 
wildly, but her thrashing only allowed him to drive his huge cock deeper and 
deeper inside her. There was no escape from the horror and degradation of 
her defenseless body. Filling her backside ceaselessly as if she were being 
impaled on a tree trunk, pushing the soft rubbery flesh inside of her 
widely-stretched anal passage in great waves of pressure before it. 

"Please stop. Take it out! It's too tight!" she cried, her eyes open wide. 

But he ignored her pleas, forcing inch after inch up into her vainly 
resisting rectal passage as he hugged her hips tightly in his barbarian 
attack and growled, "Push back, damn you. Shove back, you fucking cunt. Open 
your ass!" 

With a mind-reeling effort, she forced herself to move back against him, 
then gasped in agony as his prick slid smoothly into her rectum, not 
stopping until she felt her buttocks flatten to her hipbones and his pubic 
hair slap hard against her ass. The excitement she had felt before was 
ripped away by the reality and overpowering presence of that hot, pulsating 
staff sunk deep in her rectum. 

The farmer chuckled lewdly and throbbed his long, hard prick deep within the 
confines of Dottie's rectum. "How do ya like that?" 

Dottie heard him snicker again and she groaned in anguish as he began to saw 
rhythmically and without mercy deep into the soft depths of her back 
passage, bringing further sobs of pain and misery to her tortured lips. She 
had never felt so soiled and degraded in her life, she thought miserably as 
the farmer began to fuck the full length of his cock into her with long 
smooth strokes. 

He could see tiny ridges of her pink, clasping flesh pull out with the base 
of his cock every time it withdrew for another vicious lunge inside. This 
was it, this was his revenge. He had conquered the little bitch and was 
ass-fucking her. Now, he thought triumphantly, he would make her like it, 
whether she liked it or not! 

A moment later, Dottie felt the farmer's arms reaching down under her 
heaving belly and his fingers stroking her clitoris, fondling the knobby 
protrusion until the familiar sensations of pleasure again began to radiate 
out around it. To her amazement, she also began to feel a change in her 
rectum; the momentary pain was becoming oddly pleasurable. She was beginning 
to experience some enjoyment from his thrusts and she instinctively knew she 
would enjoy it even more if she reared back to meet those thrusts. She began 
to shove backwards with vigor, in tempo to meet the forward movement of his 
loins. 

The farmer groaned again and surged into her with renewed power. She too was 
groaning and twisting and waving the whiteness of her ass back at him in a 
lewd invitation to fuck harder and deeper. Her buttocks were swinging in 
tiny, rotating circles, clenching tightly around his cock with a slight 
throb of her rectum on each outstroke. 

Sweat poured down the face of Bill Simpson. He stared in delight at the 
sight of his balls smacking resoundingly against her tight cunt each time he 
sunk his prick to the hilt in her wide-split crevice. He had stopped 
fondling her clitoris and still she bucked before him like a mare in heat. 
He knew she was his to do as he wished now. She was kneeling like a slave 
before him, prepared to follow his every whim and demand. He would give it 
to her now as she had never had it before and she would love it - hell, she 
was loving it, he realized as he watched the wiggling of her buttocks and 
the golden curls bouncing around her head and neck as she worked frantically 
in front of him. 

"Aaaaaahhhh," she moaned and grunted beneath him as he pressed forward as 
far as he could, pulling the soft cheeks of her ass wide apart to allow him 
to go deeper, and just holding it there. "Oh, God, yes, fuck it like that," 
she gasped, rotating her buttocks around the giant blood-filled head deep in 
her asshole. 

With long, unending thrusts, he began to batter into her quivering ass. His 
balls had commenced to throb almost painfully and his prick felt as though 
it were charged with a thousand volts each time he plunged into her. Dottie 
was moaning like a crazy woman, her face flushed, her eyes rolling in her 
head as she sought her final fulfillment. He had always wanted to fuck a 
beautiful woman in the ass and now he had one. And she was his to do as he 
liked, just as he was doing - digging his cock into her ass and leaving it 
there, hearing her cry and beg while he pushed and probed, moving it inside 
her any way he liked and not having to worry about facing her over the 
breakfast table the next morning. 

"Oh, yes, fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck harder," she gasped as he fucked into her 
with a mighty thrust that seared up her roundly stretched anus. He did it 
again, pulling her back over his cock, causing her to half-scream in the 
exquisite sensation of mixed pleasure and pain. She whined in ecstasy as he 
increased the vigor and power of his strokes. 

And then the boiling lava began to churn in his balls. His prick tingled and 
he knew it was time. 

Dottie, beneath his battering attack, felt his giant cock begin to grow and 
expand until she thought it would not stop. "Oh, God, cum, cum!" she 
screamed in pleasure and fucked back against him in wild abandon. 

He gasped above her and fucked forward with a mighty thrust that almost tore 
through the walls of her quivering belly and shot the hot torrents of his 
thick, white cream deep up into the welcoming depths of her rectum. It 
surged through her body like a volcanic eruption, warming her belly like a 
hot soothing bath. He cried out and his strangled voice set off her own 
experience. 

Dottie screamed as a great gush of pleasure rippled through her. Her body 
tensed and shuddered as the long awaited peak of sensations was finally 
achieved, then gasped as she felt his deflated and limp cock slowly 
withdrawn from her flooded behind. There was a slight, wet, sucking noise as 
it slipped out from between the full white moons of her buttocks with a lewd 
slurping sounds. Then a sudden rush of cool air into the wetness of her 
loins as she remained kneeling with her buttocks waving high in the air for 
a moment and then collapsed off the back of the chair. 

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked across the room. She saw that Bill 
Simpson drying his limp, deflated cock with a corner of her bath robe. She 
stared at him for a long time, her vision still somewhat glazed by the 
ordeal to which she had been subjected, but reality was slowly returning, 
bringing with it all the harsh ugliness of her situation. 

She hung her head and cried, great tears of grief and loneliness flowing 
down the tumescence of her melon-like breasts. She didn't see him, only 
heard him leave by the slamming of the kitchen screen door . . . 

* * * 

How long she cowered there against the chair, weeping in never-ending sobs 
that wracked her body at the remembrance of the week's horrors, she did not 
know. 

All she knew was that when she finally stopped sobbing enough so that her 
vision had cleared, there was a man standing there, then kneeling, then 
stroking her matted hair. 

"We're going home, baby," he purred with a gentleness she'd never 
experienced before. "Come on, let's go." 

Great sad blue eyes looked up at Aron. 

"Come on, get dressed," he urged again. "I'm taking you home with me." 

* * * 

The ride back to the city was a slow one, punctuated by frequent stops at 
rest areas-and an occasional pullover to the side of the road for a view of 
the ocean and a much needed stretch for the physical torment Dottie Thompson 
had experienced in the past few days had left her muscles taut and aching. 

"Don't worry, honey," Aron's strong protective arms assured her. 
"Everything's gonna be alright from now on." 

"Oh, Aron," she wailed, wiping her pixy face on the corner of his shirt 
tail, choking back the tears. "But you don't know ..." 

Stroking her baby soft hair, he looked down at her youthful features, her 
perky upturned nose and innocent blue eyes, thinking, she's such a child 
sometimes it amuses me. I can't even stay angry at her for all the 
frolicking she's been doing down here in the country. "There are things that 
are going to take a long time to iron out, honey, but I realize now more 
than ever that we need each other: me to help you grow up, and you to keep 
me young." 

"I hope you mean that, honey," she purred, resting her head in his lap. 

 CHAPTER TWELVE 

Months later, around Christmas time, Dottie came back from the mailbox, a 
beaming smile brightening her youthful face. 

"Guess what, honey!" she burst into his study where he sat slouched over his 
desk, glasses slipping to his nose. "I got a letter from my friend, Dora, 
you remember her? Says she's finally left that old grouch of a husband and 
she is coming to the city to look for work and find a place to live. What ya 
say we hire her for a maid for awhile until she can find a job?" Her mouth 
pouted, making her freckles stand out all the more and her small frame all 
but shivered with expectancy. "Please, honey, please, Aron, Please? Can we, 
can we, can we?" 

Aron dropped his pencil on the desk and rested his head on his upturned 
hand. How could he resist a plea like that? "Come here and let's talk about 
it," he said, motioning with a crooked finger. Her Levi clad buttocks 
slumped on his lap, tennis shoes kicking into his desk with a playful thud 
and a short arm wrapped around his neck. What could he say? And for a brief 
second he realized she could do anything short of burning down his house and 
he'd always take her back. She was irresistible. 

That's when she leaned down and whispered in his ear: "Is it okay, honey, if 
she brings a friend? He's a real good gardener and I'm sure we could find 
some use for a boy around the house for a while. Huh? Please . . . oh, 
please, Aron?" She nibbled on his ear, the whipped cream on the hot fudge 
sundae, and wriggled her buttocks into his fast-growing protuberance. 

"Anything you want, baby." And then on second thought: "Just remember, 
you're sleeping with me." 


End
