Bitch-In-Heat Wife
by Les Bakin
(NB-108)


FOREWORD 

Joanne traveled through an oblivion of lust. Her mouth worked as if it had a 
mind of its own. She had done such things for so long they were now being 
done by rote. 

She felt his cock struggle in her mouth, as her lips went up and down, her 
mouth tireless. She could feel the veinlets and arteries grow thicker and 
more prominent with blood. His excitement causing his heart to pound faster. 

And she could feel each throb through his beating cock. 

She tried to breathe, but found it difficult with that much cock jammed into 
her mouth. Yet she tried her best, not wanting to give up the divine work 
she was now accomplishing on his madly throbbing cock. 

She sped up her pistoning of lips and teeth over passionately aroused meat. 
Her mind was mad with need for him now. In her speed she felt the fire in 
his groin. It grew hotter with every passing second. Her mouth was a fast 
moving blur, an oval of painted lips around a needing prong. 

Bissick's balls clenched in ruthless desire, coiling up into his body, his 
face shaking, his whole body joining in. The fire in his cockshaft filled 
his crotch, tripped up along his spine into his sizzling brain, and stirred 
up the erotic centers. 

Desire had made of him an envelope of flesh, totally in her power. Her lip 
work was perfect. Every scrape of her teeth made him more eager to push 
himself into her. He began to fuck up into her mouth in a steady cadence. 
She took him without any trouble, merely adjusting the rate of her mouth 
coming down, as he humped up hard into her. 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Joanne Sparger smiled to her partner in the dim gray light of the bedroom. 
But even in that pale lighting her features were clear and sharp to the eyes 
of her lover. 

Joanne was now in her late thirties, but clearly a woman who'd had it all 
when she was younger and even with aging had kept it. The years had been 
kind, as the saying goes. 

Especially kind to Joanne. 

Joanne had a smiling gypsy face, with an ample mouth, the lower lip being 
thicker than the upper and adding a bit of a pout to her mouth. She always 
wore pink lipstick, believing it gave her a sexier and more sultry 
appearance and in this she was right. 

Her hair was almost jet black, a bit fading now and long, to her shoulders. 
She wore a pink ribbon in it to make herself appear somewhat of a baby doll 
and a little bit different from other women her age. It did that, but it 
also made her look like what she was, an older woman hot for cock, younger 
cock, and older cock too, if the younger variety wasn't around. 

She had a medium-sized nose and two liquid brown eyes, which could smile 
very warmly at the male object of her attention. Her face was gypsyish, even 
though she had not a drop of gypsy blood in her. 

Looking at herself in the mirror she was proud of her figure. For a 
cock-hungry older bitch she had developed early and kept herself in shape as 
the years took their slow and steady toll. 

Her breasts hung down, but not too much. They were like well-fleshed 
grapefruits, about a thirty-seven. The long sweep of her body down to her 
pubic mount, revealed just a small, pleasant bulge at her abdomen. It was 
cut by a deeply indented navel, which many lovers liked to put their fingers 
in before they stuck their fingers deeper in places lower down. 

Her cunt was well-furred and black as the forests of night. Her pink pubic 
lips winked out between the wilderness of black. And Joanne liked when men 
pulled on the fur. It gave her a sort of masochistic pleasure. 

She had wide, well-fleshed thighs and good calves. When a man got her legs 
around him, he really felt the wonderful meat and muscle pull him into her 
hot fuck-hole. 

Turning around and showing herself off to men, revealed a sight in back as 
intriguing as the view from the front. She had a long smooth back and her 
thighs and calves were excellent from behind. Her rear, while not large and 
outward jutting, was well fleshed and when she bent it revealed a deep 
groove, with many dark hairs growing along it and then the brownish ring of 
her anus. She had known men here, too. Only those she really liked and 
wanted to treat extra well. 

Joanne's husband, Tom, was a traveling salesman and a drinker. He had women 
along his route. And when some men saw Joanne they wondered why. But some 
men are blind that way. 

Tom was a hulking tall man with wide shoulders and gray hair he combed to 
the side. 

Not that he was much older than Joanne, but he was prematurely gray. He 
liked to smoke and drink Southern Comfort and bowl and play the ponies. The 
kids missed their father. But after a while they did not miss him so much. 
The Spargers were not so much a family, as a bunch of people living together 
at the same address. 

Joanne had two daughters and a son, all in their middle teens. Dick was 
small for his age, with elfin features; a nice small nose, slightly outward 
jutting ears, black hair that was combed to the side and back. His sisters, 
Ellen and Hellene, were different. Ellen was taller than Dick, but still a 
short girl. Hellene was the large one. Hellene might best be described as a 
cow of a teenage girl. She had a fat, outward jutting backside, two thick, 
well fleshed and muscular thighs, fine calves, a good chest, and a dumb face 
with a brain to match. She wore the same pink lipstick her mother did, had 
hazel eyes, which always looked slitted, a small nose and nice lips. 

Ellen was more elegant, with a pretty face, distant light brown eyes, small 
breasts, a nice figure, a nice behind, good slim legs. A small mouth that 
was not quite rosebud, with a full lower lip; a small nose and a cat's 
smile. 

They all lived in a pleasant brick and green shingle six-room house with a 
low attic and basement on Merivale Lane in the town of Jasper near Napoleon 
Junction. Judging from the names it was an area that had been settled 
generations back and showed it in many of the landmarks identified by 
plaques. 

Joanne Sparger was a woman who liked life and the men it would bring to her 
doorway. There were three who brought endearment to her. Reginald Bissick, 
who was at the moment sharing her bed and charms; Barcelona Bob; and Harvey 
Mungerforth. 

Bissick was tall, in his late forties, with blackish hair, wavy and grayish 
in places. A small, trimmed mustache under his nose, a hard sparkle to his 
eyes, thin lips and a long, pointy nose. And when the passion had him by the 
gongs he certainly knew just where to point that sharp nose of his. 

Bissick owned a line of bookstores and at one time had owned a book club, 
selling mysteries, secret agents and such like novels in hard cover and soft 
cover. ., At the moment there was very little talk about his occupation. He 
was smiling at her and she was smiling back. Then his finger began to trace 
a path between her breasts down her plump tummy and to her black forest. He 
stopped there. 

His fingers formed into a claw and he began to tug at her hairs. She winced 
and the smile disappeared for brief seconds off her plump, painted lips, but 
then it reappeared again. His fingers let go of the hairs and then began to 
pull at them, lower down. 

She winced once again, but then the winces turned into lances of pleasure as 
they traveled down into her body. She began to wiggle her ass in tune to his 
tugs at her hairs. 

"Owww, you are hurting me, Reggie," she said with a smile and a smoldering 
fire in her eyes. 

"Some women like to be hurt, Joanne. Are you one of those women?" 

"Sometimes," her smile grew wider. He really gave her a tug this time. She 
bent double. 

Then he let go. Joanne moved back towards him and dropped a hand to massage 
her stinging pussy. 

He pushed her hand away. "Here, let me do that." 

And he began to rub, his rubs soon leaving the places of hurt and going to 
her pubic lips and tugging at them, after which he snaked a finger into her 
and soaked there in the hot wetness for a few seconds. He pushed it in to 
the second knuckle. 

Joanne closed her eyes. "Oh, Reggie, deeper, deeper." He shoved it in till 
his joints were aching. "Deeper, deeper." Her lust knew no reason. Her 
thighs closed around his hand, pulling him toward her. 

Bissick laughed and then grabbed her by the hair and pulled her face towards 
him. His lips touched hers and set Joanne on fire. She pressed her mouth 
harder to his and ground her face and lips against Bissick's mouth. His 
response came soon enough, as he pulled his finger from her needing, wet 
cunt and pulled her to him with both arms. 

Bissick rolled over on his back and then Joanne scrambled on top of him; her 
tits pressing down into his chest, her cunt over his semi-flaccid cock; her 
lips still glued to his. 

Bissick took the extra load with no strain. His mouth continued to kiss her, 
while his heart pumped extra blood to the needing parts of his body speeding 
up in the process. 

His cock was being pushed at by her fat and hairy mount and the scratchy 
hairs, plus her wiggles were setting off sensations that made his meat begin 
to grow more and more. 

Her legs parted and fell away to either side of him. His hands came down to 
her back and slid onto her buttocks and then dug into the meat, burying his 
fingers to the second knuckle. With that Bissick began to knead her ass, 
squeezing the meat between his fingers, enjoying the throb of blood through 
the fatty tissue. 

She wiggled her behind in response to his finger work and kissed on. Bissick 
was getting tired of this. And yet he did not dare to pull his lips away. 
This was a woman with insistence in her heart and a plump, scratchy cunt 
that was making him harder and longer. 

Finally, Joanne pulled her mouth off his. Bissick sucked air into his lungs. 
Before he could get enough in, her mouth was down on him once more and this 
time her tongue jabbed between his open lips and teeth into his mouth. 

He lifted his body up in response to this, finding himself greatly excited 
and his cock bursting with length and redness and heat. She straddled him 
and arching her back, she then rested her knees on the bed on either side of 
him and began to rotate her hips and cunt up and down, like a go-go dancer. 
Rubbing her cunt across his cock, the length of which pointed up his belly 
and was flattened down by her cunt and belly. 

The sensation of her pink, wet tongue dueling with his tongue and her 
scratchy, wet cunt rubbing up and down his meat, sent shivers through him. 
Bissick began to moan wordlessly. And his body started to lift off the bed. 
But it was held down by her body and her rubbing cunt was shoving his ass 
into the mattress. 

Bissick thought he would come then and there. But he was not yet ready, 
though heavily aroused. At the moment he had to contend with Joanne's fast, 
slick, wildly flailing tongue. 

She licked at, shoved, lifted, and pressed down on his tongue. Bissick 
replied, determined not to be pressed down. like primeval snakes, they 
slipped over, under, and around each other, amid the gasps and heavy 
breathing of two people in the throes of lust. 

At last she lifted her mouth from his. Bissick raised his mouth and his open 
mouth turned temporarily crooked as he sucked air into his fevered lungs. 
Joanne was not breathing as hard. She watched him, through slitted eyes, a 
smile of satisfaction on her sultry face, lust rolling about in her womb; 
her cunt lips quivering with need for him. Then she began to slide down his 
body, her mouth and face dropping lower and lower. Bissick watched her 
through slitted eyes, knowing that his big, red, swollen prong would soon 
rest between her hungering and knowledgeable lips. 

She said nothing as her face beamed, while she studied his cock, from the 
swollen veins bulging so blue all along the shaft, to the purple hooded 
cobra head, to the big, cream-filled balls in the wrinkled, hairy sack 
hanging down between his legs over his ass. 

Joanne lifted her mouth just over his cockhead to the gleaming drop of 
pre-cum dew in the slit of the head; resting there like a morning jewel 
before the sun comes up to dissipate the work of the night. 

Joanne took a deep breath, then opened her mouth wide and began to breathe 
hard over the head. The feel of that hot breeze across the head of his 
excited cock made him gasp and arch up. Joanne pulled her face away and 
smiled. Then she repeated the same maneuver. Again, his eyes closed, his 
head came up and his body arched before coming back down onto the bed again. 

Licking her lips to make them wet and smooth Joanne now opened her mouth and 
swallowed the knobbed head and one inch of the shaft and held them to let 
the meat soak in the hot, throbbing warmth of her mouth. She closed her eyes 
and absorbed the feel of his life force flowing through his meat. 

Then Joanne began to fill her mouth with saliva and swirled this in and 
around his shaft and the knobbed head. Bissick had his eyes closed and his 
feet spread wide, waiting for her to work her magic upon him. He knew from 
previous experience that he would not be disappointed. 

As soon as she had enough saliva to fill her mouth and start, Joanne did. 
She began to swing her head from side to side, rubbing the head of his cock 
against the smooth silkiness of the lining of her mouth. Each swish sent a 
gasp through him. A dozen suck strokes and his middle was moving about in 
bliss. 

Joanne stopped and swallowed another inch of shaft. Then she began to let 
him slip from her mouth, an inch at a time. Her lips smoothly slid over his 
cock and when she had him out to the tip, she swallowed back in. She 
repeated this a second time and then began to do it very fast. 

In a steady water-pump cadence Joanne swallowed him in and let him out, his 
meat flying swiftly through her mouth, before being allowed back out. 

Red needles of passion skipped up his hot prong into his crotch and down 
into his hanging, quivering balls. Joanne sloshed more saliva around to make 
the ride smoother and faster and friction-free. He rode across her smooth 
and moistened lips with no trouble, like an ice skater going across a frozen 
solid pond. 

The instant-to-instant change from outside to inside her mouth and the 
smooth slickness of wet flesh and lips and saliva-sloshed tongue and palate, 
drove him half-wild with the fires racing through his body and down from his 
crotch into his faster and faster quivering balls. 

Joanne now began to indent her cheeks, each time he was sucked in, she 
indented and forced more smooth silk against his flaming pole of manly lust. 
Bissick shuddered and hissed and sucked air into his fevered lungs. She was 
absolutely divine when she did this for him. 

Now Joanne sped up; she added a twist of her head and mouth to the left or 
right, every time she came down onto his pole. The last several sucks having 
sent him to a still higher plateau of arousal. 

His balls were now coiling up into his body, tensing, the sperm in them 
being raised to a moderate boil. Joanne worked relentlessly to make him long 
and strong. 

She added a suck using her lips, and also her teeth. Dropping her upper and 
lower teeth to his shaft, she lightly scraped him down and down, as if her 
were a meat sandwich, while continuing with her saliva sloshing and lip 
glides and fast piston-head movements. 

Joanne's eyes were tightly shut. Her mouth was a humming instrument on the 
launching pads of lust's glory. Her lips were numb, her tongue was tired, 
her mouth and face and neck and shoulders hurt. But like the good scout and 
all-around fuck she was, Joanne did not for one moment cease or slow down 
her good lip and mouth work. In fact, she sped up and worked all the parts 
faster, proving that years of experience in working with many cocks from 
many economic and social and age levels do make an expert sapsucker. And she 
worked his meat as if that was exactly what Joanne was trying to prove to 
one and all. Almost as if there were a judge and jury here to judge her like 
an entrant at a beauty contest. 

There was no one, but Joanne worked at all times and in all places as if 
there were. She was one woman who liked to excel and she was proving that 
she would and could excel at all times and in all places. 

Using only her lips and lower set of teeth, she scraped up and down his cock 
applying tongue, tooth and hp action. Bissick felt like flying. 

He kept rising up and falling back down onto the bed, setting it to shaking. 
Joanne began to hum deep down in her throat, the song of the contented 
cocksucker. It ululated through his plunging shaft. 

Bissick was speechless, his fingers continued to dig down into the mattress 
and his open mouth sucked more air to his hard-working lungs and feverish 
body. 

He tried to sit up, so great were the feelings passing through his head. But 
the energy was now being sapped by her mouth and all of it flowed down to 
his cock and madly quivering balls. 

She tried to breathe, but found it difficult with that much cock jammed into 
her mouth. Yet she tried her best, not wanting to give up the divine work 
she was now accomplishing on his madly throbbing cock. 

As her lips went up and down him, her mouth tireless, Joanne could feel the 
veinlets and arteries growing thicker and more prominent with blood. His 
excitement was making his heart pump faster. She could feel each throb of 
his heart pump through his beating cock. 

Bissick could no longer dig his fingers into the mattress. He just held onto 
the bed and allowed himself "to be worked, like an automaton under remote 
control. 

His face was like the death mask of a pale and sick man. He was a numb and 
distant figure now. Sweating like a ripped sieve. His skin tight. The blue, 
blood-thick veins bulging in hundreds of lines from his lust-enraptured 
face. Bissick's eyes were screwed shut and his face was covered by a thin 
film of sweat, so that it glistened like a pagan mask in the noonday sun. 

Joanne sped up her pistoning of lips and teeth over passionately-aroused 
meat. Her mind was mad with need for him now. And in her speed she felt the 
fire in his groin. It grew hotter with every passing second. Her mouth was a 
fast moving blur, an oval of painted lips around a stiff prong. 

Bissick's balls clenched in ruthless desire, coiling up into his body, his 
face shaking and his whole body joining in that exercise of lustful 
calesthenics every part of him was participating in. 

He was a man without ties to the earth. In his mind he flew over the high 
mountains. The fire in his cockhead filled his shaft. It traveled into his 
crotch, tripped up along his spine into his sizzling brain, stirred up the 
erotic centers, causing more signals to be sent down to his clenching and 
heaving balls, making his stomach ripple with the sensations now passing up 
and down his body. 

Desire had made of him an envelope of flesh totally in her power. He would 
have wanted it no other way at that moment. Her lip work was perfect. 

Each slosh of saliva. Every scrape of her teeth and sweep of her lips, made 
him hotter and more eager to push himself into her. He started to fuck up 
into her mouth in a steady cadence. She took him without any trouble, merely 
adjusting the rate of her mouth coming down, as he humped up hard into her. 

She hummed more deeply, total contentment filling her face. Her cunt a swirl 
of lusts and fires, her brain wild and growing wilder all the time. She was 
a consuming woman, needing and desiring nothing more than the goodly amount 
of cock she was getting now. Her sweet bitch-lips rode up and down the meat, 
driving him higher and higher on the plateau of erotic lusts. 

He wiggled on the bed like a stuck worm. Joanne put both her hands on his 
hips and allowed him to fuck higher and harder into her mouth. Her lips by 
now were like soft, swiftly drumming jelly across his man-flesh. 

His brain turned into a molten sizzle. He was gasping, his mouth a crooked 
'O.' His balls had begun spasming uncontrollably. She felt this and sped up 
her sucking, knowing that very soon his cum would shoot into her hot and 
needing orifice. 

Her lips were a mad whorl of activity at those last moments. And then he 
came with a rise and a shout. His entire brain turned into white hot mush 
and his scum bubbled up from his balls and thundered down his cockshaft into 
her mouth. She hissed and took the first white-hot bullets of cum. 

Joanne swallowed and sucked to make room for more. Her lips drummed like an 
efficient piston, not giving an inch, as she milked him of his manly 
essence. 

Bissick continued to hump up into her mouth, going harder and faster, his 
cock having grown during his come and excitement by at least a half-inch. 
And now it waved about wildly in her fast moving, milking mouth. 

Joanne took that movement, adjusted to it and sucked on, not even loosing 
him from her mouth, as would have been the case with a less experienced 
sucker. 

Bissick began to gasp out loud and convulsions passed up and down the length 
of his body, from top to bottom and back again. He felt as if all his. guts 
had been shot out of his lower abdomen into her hot and hungry mouth. Joanne 
knew nothing more at the moment. Her mind was an oblivion of whirling lust. 
She felt her own come exploding from her body, and running out of her. Her 
mouth worked as if it had a mind of its own. She had done such things for so 
long that now they were being done by rote, as her mouth worked on and her 
body convulsed with her own erotic reactions to the stimulus provided. 

She felt the cock now slowing its struggles and beginning to get softer as 
the flow of sperm slowed. Joanne never liked that and so she slowed speeding 
up her pistoning of mouth over shaft, her ovaled lips like greased lightning 
now, her mouth beginning a quick suckle of the heaving cock still shooting 
into her mouth. 

This slowed the shrinking and sped-up the flow of sperm, but soon that 
stopped too and was down to a trickle and then nothing. She had milked him 
dry. 

Joanne continued her mouth work, hoping to get some good joy still, even 
though he was dry and dead for the day. Bissick was no longer arching, but 
coming slowly down from his heaven and being washed by the warm waves of the 
erotic fire she was keeping burning in him as her mouth worked on and on. 

She smiled and licked his cock with her tongue on each up and down stroke. 
But that could not cease the shrinking and shrink he did, until she had to 
let him out of her mouth, merely a wrinkled and limp.rag, well-worked, but 
no longer of any use to her. 

Joanne raised her head, feeling the exhaustion and strain in her body. Sweat 
dripped from her wiggling tits. She smiled again as she swallowed, then 
licked her lips clean. His cock was lying lipstick-stained and crumpled in 
the matted hairs of his crotch. 

Joanne took his balls in her hand and raked her fingernails lightly over the 
wrinkled and hairy ball sac. He stirred and opened his eyes with a smile. 

"Thank you, Joanne darling. You were darling." 

"I'm always darling," she said, shifting her tits around so they would 
wiggle and entice him. 

"I wish you weren't married to that ass husband of yours," he exclaimed, 
"then I sure would like to take you with me and marry you. We'd go all 
over." 

"But darling, I am married. Happily married. Don't think just because I fuck 
around I am a bad person or an unhappy one." 

"Joanne, we all know that husband of yours has other women and is never 
home. You deserve better." 

"I am getting better, Reggie," she said, as her hand dipped and she cupped 
his balls. 

"No more," he said, holding up a hand. "I don't want to die here." 

"My purpose isn't to kill you, Reggie," she said with a loving smile, "but 
your happiness is my purpose." 

"I'll bet." Then he frowned. "Where are your kids?" 

"They're out on dates. Only Ellen is home, she's asleep." 

"Good, I'd hate for her to come in here and wake us up. It's bad enough I 
have to sneak in the back way." 

"Don't worry about her, Reggie. Think about us," Joanne answered smilingly. 

She began to rake her fingernails lightly over his cock and he gasped. Light 
stirrings of lust were already starting up in his crotch and he had assumed 
he was finished for the day with her. 

She bent her head and with her soft lips, began to kiss her belly and then 
lower down. 

"Oh Joanne, " he moaned. "You make me feel as if I'm twenty-five again." 

Upstairs, in her room, Ellen was sitting in her long nightgown. Her bedstand 
lamp was open, casting a pale yellow light across the shaded room that was 
her own. 

She was smiling at the boy she had snuck into the house. He was blonde, 
tousled-haired, fifteen, like herself and extremely nervous. 

"Are you sure this is okay, Ellen?" 

She smiled. "Mom is laying some guy downstairs. Don't worry. Just get your 
clothes off. You're groovy. I want to suck your cock." 

He undressed faster at that, his cock having grown long and strong. When he 
was out of his clothes, she stood up. Wiggling her fingers, she said, "Come 
kiss me." 

He came to her, embracing Ellen crudely, his lust making his movements 
jerky. Their lips met. His were on fire. With one hand she grabbed his cock, 
He almost arched. She pulled her mouth from his and smiled. 

"Easy now. You don't want to come in my hand. Remember, this is like M & 
M's. It's supposed to melt in my mouth and not in my hands." 

Ellen kissed him a few more times. But it was easy to see her mind was less 
on kissing, than on cock. She opened her mouth and let his hungry tongue 
search about and french her. 

Then she pulled her face away and went to sit on the bed. He sat down and 
parted his legs, his pecker sticking up from his pants crotch. He had a long 
cock with a violet colored hood and reddish-blonde shaft. His balls hung 
down below, not being particularly big, with light blonde hairs growing from 
the wrinkled ball sac. 

Ellen held them and then smiled into his face. "Like me?" 

"Uhuh." He nodded his head up and down dumbly. "How like a hick," she 
thought. 

Then she licked her lips and bent her head and took him into the velvet 
moistness of her mouth. "Like mother, like daughter," she thought, as she 
began to slurp on his meat. Immediately he threw his head back and shut his 
eyes and began to breathe raspingly through his mouth. 

Ellen ignored this. She swallowed two more inches of shaft, her lips soft 
and wet over his meat. She suckled it, closing her eyes, loving this meat in 
her mouth. 

"Mmmmm," she kept repeating. She swayed her head from side to side to swish 
his meat against the inner silkiness of her. Then she began to slowly piston 
her head up and down, letting him out two inches at a time and swallowing 
him back at the same rate. Her lips were wet and soft and loving, covering 
every inch going into and back out of her. 

She kept filling her mouth with saliva and slurping it around and around the 
shaft to make it wet. His long, glistening meat moved in and out of her 
mouth more rapidly. 

He fell back on the bed, his head and upper back resting against the wall 
behind him. His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth sucking more air in, small 
hisses escaping each time some sensation proved too great and he lifted his 
head up and let it fall back down. His hands were on the bed, forming into 
tight fists. 

Ellen felt the heat in her own core rising. She hoped she was doing this the 
way she had seen her mother with the various guys her mother brought home. 

Her hands dropped to his balls and she began to squeeze them. The boy gasped 
a few times and fell silent. She let go of his balls and continued to let 
her mouth glide up and down his cock. Feeling a bit bolder, Ellen now began 
to swallow another inch of shaft, allowing him to bury the tip right up to 
the back of her throat. She felt him stiffen and gasp some more with the 
effort. 

That made Ellen warmer between the legs. She shut her eyes still tighter and 
then began to hum lightly, the song of the contented cocksucker coming as 
easily to her as to her mother. 

The saliva sloshed around and around the glistening rod shooting in and out 
of her oval lips and the wetness also covered her lips and this made the 
ride of his rod in and out no bother at all. Her slicked wetness created a 
no-friction undertow that ran him in and out with swiftness and ease. 

As the heat in her crotch and belly blossomed and her nipples hardened with 
growing desire, Ellen sped up. her good lip work. She sloshed, slurped and 
licked at him. She rowed around his cock with her mouth and now began to let 
her upper and lower teeth ride the rod to create scraping sensations which 
sent him flying out over the hills around town. 

The boy was rising up again. She was causing him to shake. His whole body 
trembled with the fire in his crotch. His balls had now coiled menacingly 
and the sperm in them was being raised to a boil by her slicked licking and 
sucking. 

"Christ, shit, oh fuck," muttered the almost mindless and incoherent youth. 
His gasps and moans became one long series of sounds escaping from his 
mouth. His face by now having gone a deep color of red. The blue veins stood 
out prominently on his passion-changed face. 

Ellen was not even looking at him. She was caught up in a world of her own. 
A world in which all that counted was her need for his cock. The sounds of 
sloshing, slurping lips working his pounding meat, was music to her ears. 

Her brain was in high gear. A froth of lustful ideas and images had been 
sent charging through her brain by the sex she was having. Her whole body 
tingled with it. A wave of pink hot heat had filled her whole body, from the 
top of her head to the tips of her toes. 

Her black hair shook with the efforts of the blow and her body under the 
long nightgown, was glistening with a film of sweat. Her only 
half-developed, baby teenaged tits jiggled and jiggled with the ferocity of 
her oral work. 

Her head kept on bobbing, kept on taking and letting go of his cock. It was 
a work without end. She loved all he was giving her and hoped to do as much 
for him as was possible, before his sap was sent flying into her mouth by 
his overheated and overexcited cockshaft. 

And Ellen was doing her all to get that payment as soon as possible. Not 
being an older, more-experienced and fully--developed blower, she was being 
tired by this marathon suck job. Her unused muscles were tiring. And though 
the spirit may have been much more than willing, her muscles were not up to 
the task. Only by sheer effort did she keep up the advanced sucking she was 
doing. 

Her whole face felt stiff and strained. Her lips and mouth hurt. Her neck 
muscles were corded like ropes under a tarpaulin. Her hair hung in moist 
curls around the sides of her face. 

The boy was now growing wilder with what she was doing to him. He fucked up 
into her mouth. Not as experienced as her mother, Ellen almost choked and 
lost some of the fine bob of her head. But then she began to time herself 
and was able to take his fucking of her mouth, while still thrusting down 
with her ovaled lips around his hard and heaving manhood. 

The fiery delights of what she was doing to him sent shivers of lusting fire 
down her body and caused the heat in her crotch to become a furnace. Her 
nipples were hard as missile points with lust and her mind was a flaming 
fury of orange froth and green balls of exploding incandescence. 

The boy she was sucking off grew wilder with the passing moments. He gasped 
and thrust his head from side to side, still sucking air into his fevered 
lungs. 

His balls were coiled Tike hand grenades about to go off. It would not take 
much more to send him off over the edge into instant Nirvana. And his upward 
jabs into her down-coming mouth only added to the slicked friction fires 
along his shaking, shivering cockmeat. 

Massive jolts of electric pleasure sensations were being sent up his spine 
into his brain, from the fiery crucible his crotch had become due to her 
grand oral work. 

Events that took just milliseconds seemed like long minutes in the slowed 
down time-space reference of his erotically aroused and rapidly flying mind. 

He was mere putty in the hands of this hot, sap-sucking teenage fellatrice 
and future cock artiste. But enough time had now passed under her hot oral 
massage of his flayed manhood. He was ready to blast off into erotic outer 
space. His crotch felt as if hundreds of tongues had licked him everywhere, 
over and over again. 

It had pushed him to the edge. And now with an, 'eiioww," escaping his 
mouth, he went over into pure ecstasy. 

She heard this and it excited her to no end. Her cunt and heart began 
fluttering and then his melting cum raced through his penile shaft into her 
mouth. She knew this would happen as soon as he began moving about under her 
fast drumming lips, like a volcano about to blow. 

She steeled herself to take and swallow whatever he shot into her mouth and 
not to loosen his cock from her lips. And she succeeded admirably. 

The first white-hot bullets shot and were swallowed and when his cock grew 
an added half inch and began rowing around to all points of the compass, she 
held him and sucked, her mouth not losing one second of fine pistoning 
motion. She almost gagged for one second, when he rammed his raging 
tumescence into her throat. But like a true trooper she regained her 
composure and went on with the show. Suck and swallow, that was her family 
tradition. And she carried it off admirably. 

Every drop he shot into her mouth was swallowed and she milked his raging 
manhood, staying with it as he shot his big load and then as his cock began 
to come down from the maximum growth. 

Undeterred by any threat of growth loss, she continued to work him to keep 
him hard and long, in the process milking him of his last drop of cream and 
swallowing all that down. 

Her hair and tits really shook with the fury of his work. She felt the meat 
going flaccid. But by good teeth and tongue and lip work she managed to keep 
him hard and was even for a few moments able to reverse the shrinking. 

The boy was in heaven. He reeled through a snowy wonderland he lost sight of 
just as soon as it appeared on his feverish, flame-filled horizon. His mouth 
opened and shut like that of a beached fish and then he shook as a long 
spasm of purple flame passed from his head down to his toes. 

He was numb. He could feel himself coming down from the high and slowly 
becoming more aware of the sounds of the scene around him. He heard her 
still faithfully slurping away, enjoying his shrinking and softening meat. 
He could hear his own breathing and feel the sweat pouring out of his body. 

He was a shaken man. That had been one of the best blows he had had in his 
short sexual career. He just sighed now and leaned back to enjoy her work on 
his cock. 

Ellen continued to suck, not having come yet and afraid she would not get 
her own rocks off before his wonderful cock had to be dropped from between 
her well-worked and faithfully pistoning lips. The heat was just running 
around in her. She knew if she could keep this up just a little longer she 
would come long and strong. 

The fires were dancing everywhere and merging, but not fast enough. Ellen 
lusted for him to be long and strong again. She ground her thighs together 
and worked more faithfully on his meat. 

The boy opened his eyes and rested in that wonderful erotic after effect of 
a good blow, while gazing lovingly at her face. He even put his hand atop 
her head. 

The feel of his hand pressing like that down on her head was just what she 
had been needing. She was hit by a trip hammer series of blows which created 
in her the sexual shellshock needed to send her flying off into space. Her 
mind was reeling with the fires riding around inside. 

A sheet of red flame filled her horizon as Ellen was lifted off her sexual 
launching pad and sent reeling across the face of America and back. She 
almost stopped sucking and shivered as her body rippled to the effect and 
the copious flow erupted from between her legs. She shuddered again and then 
began to suck on. Her high had passed. She worked him and worked against the 
pressure of his hand on her head. 

She sucked just a bit longer. He had shrunk too far to hold in her mouth, so 
she let him out and licked her lips clean and swallowed. Then she looked him 
in the eye. 

"Hi, girl. You were great." 

"Why, thank you Roger Barstow. Glad you noticed and liked it." 

"I'd like to go steady," he. said. 

She smiled. He was not a guy to beat around the bush. And especially now 
that she'd given him a demonstration and shown him just how good her lips 
could be. 

"I'll have to think about it, Roger." 

His eyes showed sudden alarm. "But why?" 

She shrugged. "I'd like to get to know a bit more about you first." 

"Why do you have to know?" he asked, his voice a bit more under control now. 
"You have gotten to know me when you blew me." 

She shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. I just want to know more about you.. ' 

"I'm young, fifteen and free. I go to your school. You've known me for 
years. I have two hands, two feet, read, write and know the English 
language. I don't drink much, smoke to moderation and don't curse in front 
of older people. When I was seven I took tap dancing lessons. I also play 
the piano badly. My mother made me go for lessons for four years in a row, 
until I said, stop, no more of this crap. 

I'm not going to be Van Cliburn and I won't need this stuff for a job." 

He extended a hand." 

"There, I've told you all about myself. What more do you have to know?" 

She shrugged. "I don't know. I've got to think about it." 

"Okay." He looked a bit deflated, then his face brightened. "How about 
coming with me to the dance tomorrow night in Sayersville?" 

"Okay," she answered with a smile. 

Roger smiled. At least he would get blown again. Then he considered as how 
to best get her to go steady. Lips like that should be around only one cock 
at a time: his. This girl was oral dynamite. He did not want other guys to 
find out and stake this territory out for themselves. Guys with cars, better 
looks than his, money, ten-inch cocks. That kind. He had to lock up this 
deal while there was still time too. Girls like Ellen Starger did not grow 
on trees. Lips like that were good enough to be bronzed. And she was just a 
young cocksucker now. Later, as she got older and her technique improved, 
aided and abetted by experience she would improve even more and become a 
gem. 

Downstairs, in her mother's bedroom, Reginald Bissick was getting dressed. 
"You are a delight," he said bending forward to kiss her on the forehead. 

"Thank you, Reggie. And I hope I see you soon again." 

He looked back to the bed and smiled. 'As soon as my cock recovers." 

He finished lacing his shoes and tying the laces. Then he stood and went to 
the door. I'll call you, Joanne." 

"Sure," she said with a smile. "Watch yourself going out." 

"I will." He opened the door and looked out into the hall. It was clear. He 
went out and shut the door and started down the hall. 

Roger Barstow was dressing at about the same time. He kissed Ellen on. the 
forehead and went to the door to open it and go out. It was then he heard 
movement downstairs and pulled back. 

"What is it?" Ellen asked, with sudden concern in her voice. 

"I hear someone downstairs." 

"It must be the guy who's been fucking mom." She paused. "Wait a few minutes 
and then go down. I wouldn't want mom finding you here." 

"I wouldn't like her to find me here, either," Roger answered, faint concern 
marking his face. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Joanne had put a Taryton cigarette in her mouth and had just lit it when the 
phone by her bedside rang. She picked up the receiver. "Hello," she said 
into it in a sexy and contented voice. 

"You sound like you've just been fucked," the voice on the phone laughed. 

"Who is this?" she asked in sudden surprise. 

She was totally baffled. 

The rich voice on the other end said, "You don't recognize your old amigo, 
Barcelona Bob." 

She laughed in relief. Barcelona was an old fucker, she knew from two years 
back, having met him at a barn dance. He was a Mexican American of three 
generations with a French father. His real name was Robert Carboneau. He 
owned two filling stations along the main highway. Each separated by ten 
miles. His wife had died in a skiing accident three years ago. Ever since he 
enjoyed all the free pussy there was to find. Many widowers grieve after the 
passing of a loved one. Barcelona Bob had not suffered. He got over his 
sadness quickly by going with other women, Joanne Sparger in particular. 

Now he was calling to assuage the heat in his crotch. "I was wondering when 
you'd call me, Bob," she said. 

"Now you need wonder no more." 

"I suppose you have some hot and horny need you wish to tell me about." 

"How did you guess. Joanne sweetie?" 

"Do you have to refer to me in that corny way?" she asked with some 
irritation. "Can't you call me darling or honey, like other men?" 

He laughed. She liked that rich voice over the phone. The hoarse quality 
ripping over the line. "How about me calling you just plain fuck?" 

She grinned. "That sounds good. At least it's something I could live with." 

"Listen," he said cutting the fun talk off, "I want you to come out to my 
place for a drink. Or would you want me to come out to your place?" 

"No, your place sounds fine. But just for a drink?" 

"Well, naturally, I wasn't just thinking about a drink. I really want to 
fuck your cunt until it falls off. But you can't just say that straight 
out." 

"Why not?" 

"Okay," he answered, his voice getting an amused tone, "I want you to come 
out to my place because I've developed a ravishing hunger to put this 
third-generation French-Mexican cock into your wonderful, wet, furry 
cunthole. So could you hustle your darling ass over now, so that you can get 
her quick, then suck me up till I'm nice and hard and then we can do some 
sexy, sultry, all night fucking?" 

"Why, I'd be delighted to sir. It sounds just like the kind of evening I'd 
love having at your house. Only I can't stay the night. I must put up a 
front for the children." 

"Ah, the children," he exclaimed. "Those darling bastards your husband gave 
you by fucking you up your twitching, hungering cunt." 

"They're not bastards. I'll have you know each and every one is legit. I 
have the papers to prove it." 

"Well, then, maybe I can do the trick and give you a baby bastard. I've 
always wanted to be a father." 

She smiled. "Maybe, if that's the case, I shouldn't come over." 

"Scared?" 

"Yep." 

"Okay, Joanne, I relent. I'll just fuck you for pleasure and won't try and 
make you pregnant." 

"You couldn't. I'm protected." 

"Try and get over here in half an hour," he answered, then said goodbye and 
hung up. 

Joanne skipped out of bed and ran to the bathroom to take a shower. As she 
put on her shower cap and stepped under the jet of warm water, she wondered 
why Harley Mungerforth had not called her in over a week. Maybe he had found 
someone else. There was a knot in the pit of her stomach. She certainly did 
not want that. 

Harley Mungerforth had curly blonde hair and a mild face, but two steely 
blue eyes that told the world he was a man who would be trouble to go up 
against. 

And he was. A sharp dealer, he had a paper mill, two drugstores, a movie 
theater, a book store, and his own farm. He was a small town version of a 
success story. A boy who had never left Jasper, Wyoming and had made it big 
in small town terms. No one knew his true worth, but rumors were that he sat 
on an annual salary of over eighty-five thousand dollars per year. Which was 
hefty. That was six times the annual average for the people in Jasper. 

His success, his toughness, his money drew Joanne. A man's cock size was not 
the only parameter by which she judged the male of the species. 

Mungerforth rode around in a golden, black vinyl roof Lincoln Continental, 
like that detective Cannon on TV He had his own crest, with an intricate 'M' 
painted on the door. Of course, he did not come from royalty. But he had 
contacted one of those phony coat of arms places. And for his name the coat 
of arms was a head of a lion with two pikes crossed over it, a knight's 
helmet on one side and a fair damsel on the other. 

It might have been a bit gauche and pretentious, but in that place and with 
a man of his seeming wealth, Mungerforth not only got away with it, people 
looked up to him for living as he did. Fathers used to point him out to 
their sons as Mungerforth rode through town, his head high, his fine head of 
blonde curls glowing in the noonday sun, and the fathers would say, "There 
goes Harley Mungerforth. The most successful man in town. Just look at him 
ride, proud like a mandarin. I remember him when he was younger. Always a 
mover and doer. He came from poor stock. But no more. Now he'll be proud and 
rich. Take him as an example, and not your poor dad. Measure up to his 
standards. If you do only half as well as he did, you'll be living in 
style." 

The room at the top always looked so golden. But only if you were watching. 
For the man behind the wheel it was a different story. He had to live the 
so-called dream. And he saw it was tougher than one thought. It was no 
breeze and never had been. He kept that from people, especially the prying 
Joanne Sparger. But at least with her he could relax and forget himself in 
her arms. She was good for him. 

Joanne finished with her shower, toweled off, removed her cap and ran to 
dress. She was barely ready when the horn honked out front. Barcelona Bob 
then drove around the corner and down two blocks and stopped. 

Ellen listened at her door as her mother ran down the hall to the front 
door. Ellen now felt sorry she had let Roger go home. She had a hankering 
for his vibrant young cock again. 

But now that he was no longer here Ellen would have to seek satisfaction 
through fingering joy. 

She smiled at the thought of her next date with Roger and then shut her eyes 
and flopped down on the chair next to the door. She would daydream a bit 
about her younger years. 

Joanne left the house and went quickly down the block, her thick heeled 
wooden clogs clacking away at the sidewalk. She turned the corner and 
spotted his Camaro two blocks down on the other side of the street, opposite 
a wooded lot. 

She reached it quickly and then opened the door and slid in. Barcelona 
looked a bit surprised. But he slide over in the seat and kissed her. 
Barcelona had a rounded moon face, with broad cheekbones, thin almost-purple 
lips, a long, narrow nose, liquid brown eyes, silky black hair and stunning, 
winning-white-toothed smile. 

Joanne had taken to him from the first time they had met. He started the car 
without saying much and drove off. 

"Want to stop any place to eat?" he asked, the green dashboard dials adding 
a sickly greenish-yellow tint to his skin color. 

She patted his crotch. "There's only one thing I want to eat." Barcelona 
almost lost control of the car. 

"Watch it, Joanne. Not while I'm driving." She threw back her head and 
laughed. But she did not touch him till they got to his house. He turned 
into his brief driveway, hit the dashboard control and the motor in the 
garage lifted the door. Once inside, he hit the control again and the garage 
door came down. Joanne got out of the car, followed by him and they went 
into the house through a side door. 

Barcelona had a well kept and furnished house, carpeted, cozy, warm, the way 
Joanne liked for homes to be. He had a stereo and a large collection of 
records. She put on a Montovanni album and he mixed drinks. 

He brought her a dewy crystal glass and had one for himself. She tasted it. 
A frosted daiquiri. She drank. It was good. But then Barcelona always made 
good drinks. 

He sat down on his couch and was beginning to undo his clothes. She watched 
him with a sly smile. "And what do you think you are doing?" 

"Just stripping off. Why don't you begin?" 

"I think I'll finish my drink first," she answered, her smile as sly. 

'Okay." He continued to undress. He stopped when he was down to his 
underwear. She liked what she saw. He had a dark, hairy, masculine body. And 
Joanne was just wild about his fabulous French-Latin cock. 

She drank the last of her drink and felt the hot liquid running through her 
bloodstream adding to the natural fire that the sight of him undressing 
created within her. 

Starting again, after a pause to whet her appetite, he unlimbered his meat. 
It had already grown long and strong. She smiled. His cock was a muscular 
long, thick snake of a dark flesh, glimmering redder in the heat of his 
momentary needs. 

She licked her lips. He rubbed his cock and said, "It hurts so bad. The pain 
is so bad. I need someone who is an expert, who can help take the pain away 
and make it so much better. Where will I find such an expert?" 

She looked at him. "Search no farther. The expert you seek is here. And I 
will give you relief from your sorrow, sir." 

She went to him and knelt before him, putting the glass on the carpet, then 
smiling up into his face. She took his quivering organ with her hand and 
opened her hot and hungry mouth and then took him in. 

He hissed as the silky, wet, hotness engulfed him. She held till he settled 
down, the ripples ceasing in his stomach muscles. Then she clasped a ball in 
each hand and began to piston her mouth back and forth, swallowing four 
inches, letting it back out, using her lips to massage him, as he went in 
and out of her. 

The hot oral bath made his cock grow longer and harder and soon it had 
extended to its normal length of eight and one half inches of muscular 
prong. 

She let him flop from her mouth, then lifted him and began to use her soft 
tongue to lick up and down on the underside. From just under the hooded 
cobrahood to the hairy base, ending at the juncture of his ball sac, her 
educated and knowing tongue went. 

She did this three times, then dropped her mouth lower and began to work his 
balls with her licking tongue. He hissed and arched, opening his mouth, 
throwing back his head. 

Joanne decided that was enough. She'd had her daily ration of scum and now 
wanted some in her needing pussy. She dropped him, causing him to open his 
eyes in surprise and look at her. By then she was standing and removing Her 
blouse. 

"In a minute, honey," she said with a knowing smile. "You'll get it all." 

He watched her shuck off her garments until she stood just in her panties, 
her tits hanging free. She wore no bra. Joanne believed tits should be free 
and unfettered. 

She stood to look at him, before taking down her panties and stepping out of 
them. She threw them aside and went to him. Barcelona put his arms around 
her and crushed her to his chest. 

Joanne thrilled to the feel of a strong and younger man pulling her to his 
chest, his muscles tight around her body, his blood throbbing through him 
and his cock so hard and long and strong, pressing up against her cunt and 
belly. 

She pressed her face against his and began kissing him on the side of the 
face. He laughed and then let go of her. Barcelona went and lay down on the 
couch near where they'd stood and then parted his legs. He patted a spot 
near him. 

"Come, sit down. Show me how good your mouth can really be." 

She went and sat down and then before he could say a word more the smiling 
woman opened her mouth and swallowed him in and began to slurp wildly around 
his organ. 

His cock had shrunk somewhat since she had let it out of her mouth. Now, it 
began to grow again as she suckled and made believe his hood and shaft were 
part of a giant nipple. Her soft, slurping lips worked him up to a quick 
lather. He began to rise up from the couch and his cock trembled harder in 
her mouth. 

That brought a smile to her lips that she had done such good work and could 
easily arouse men and make them young again. 

With that thought in mind, she opened her mouth and dropped him out. 
Barcelona opened his eyes and looked down the long sweep of his body at her. 
There was a pout ot his lips. "Is that all?" 

"No, you devil, it isn't," she answered, as she rose and then swung over him 
and grabbed his cock, holding it up like a human leaning Tower of Pisa. She 
straddled his body and then aimed his cock and her wide and wet and 
hungering opening and then, very slowly, she lowered herself down, 
ensconcing the hood into her and letting her body slide down, down, down, as 
she completed the act of self-impalement. And for her no impalement could 
have been sweeter. 

She felt him fill her almost completely. She stayed this way to let him soak 
in her hot wetness and that proved to add a stir to his ravenous manhood. 

He sighed and his cock began to wiggle from side to side in her. Joanne's 
cunt responded by exerting pressures on his meat. At that point she began to 
lift up, her strong legs giving her the power to do so easily, and her hands 
on either side of the couch providing added push and balance. She rode up 
almost all the way off his glistening, bowed cock and then slid back down in 
a long sweep of swishing cunt sleeve over firm prong, that set up a gasp 
from his mouth. 

She repeated the procedure a bit faster and then sped it up and threw a 
wiggle into the whole process. That pole of hard meat slipping in and out of 
her made her gnash her teeth and sigh with the feel of good flesh sliding 
into and out of her. 

"Oh, oh my lord," she cried. 

Barcelona lifted his hips in joy at the feel of her cunt slipping down on 
him and sliding up again. He had to do nothing now and he would leave 
everything up to her. 

She wiggled more and in a wider circle now. This sent further thrills 
slipping down his shaft and down from his throbbing cock to his crotch and 
his bouncing balls. 

Her cunt clutched at his instrument, squeezing it on every down and up move. 
She added her own conscious squeezes, making him suck air into his mouth 
each time she did so. 

His eyes were still open, but glazed. She smiled his way, and he watched her 
go up and away and then come back down on each piston cycle of her body 
impaling itself on his firm prong. 

She moved like a demon on him, her shaking tits flopping up and down with 
the force of her movements. He reached up and took a tit into each hand and 
began to rhythmically clench at them. He felt the already hard nipples poke 
at his palms and he laughed with the sensations. 

His hands on her tits sent her into further spasms of delight. She could 
feel the fires of warmth fill her whole body. Her cunt was already frothing 
with the sensations that constant self-impalement created. The heat 
increased also in her twitching ass-hole and from there combined with the 
heat in other parts of her body. Her entire flesh was now a battle zone of 
ruthless delights. 

Joanne wanted him badly. She wanted him in her cunt. In her mouth. In her 
ass-hole too. Her mouth formed into a satisfied bitch smile and she sped up 
the level of the fuck to send the ripples and waves and flurries of the fire 
across her body faster to heat up her mind and cunt even more. Her eyes 
slowly closed. Her mouth broke into a warmer and warmer smile. Then, as the 
passion raced through her very blood and sent her heart to thumping ever 
faster, and the hum in her mind and body to grow stronger as she fell deeper 
into the vortex of racing sensations passing in and out of her body. 

She rode him up and down faster, the clench of her cunt around his cock 
strong. The power of his tool plunging towards her very womb; an 
overwhelming sensation for her. Each time Joanne came down she tried to go 
deeper as if to swallow his cock into her body and keep it there forever. 

Barcelona belonged to her body and soul now. Her shooting up and down on his 
stiff cock had produced a myriad of sensations in his cock and sent them 
flying up his spine into his frothing brain, as well as down into his 
coiling and tensing balls. 

She continued to dance up and down on his instrument, her hairy, and 
meat-lined, maw swallowing and stroking his cock, adding to the fever and 
the fire in his crotch. 

He was hissing, sucking air into his mouth, gasping, twisting about under 
her. He was trying to rise, but her body crashed down onto him each time and 
shoved his ass back down into the couch. She was pounding like mad at him 
and he was wild with her movements. 

In response to all that had been done to him he started to fuck up into her, 
and in fucking her cunt, as she came down, he rammed deeper into her hot maw 
that he ever had before. She gurgled in delight at this. Her mouth came 
open, her body wiggled more on his cock and rowed it roughly inside her 
downward plunging cunt sleeve. 

Barcelona gasped. His balls quivered. His hissing hissed and gasped. His 
brain turned to orange fire. His balls clenched tighter. He started to fuck 
up harder into her and she took every jab. 

They were two envelopes of flesh. Bodies bashing into one another. He, 
offering his penis; she, impaling herself, hopping up and down on his big 
dick, lovingly taking every jab of hard prong. 

"Vive la cock," she gasped in her ecstasy. 

Barcelona said nothing. He merely gnashed his teeth, set his feet flat on 
the couch and began to lift his body up, jabbing like a pile driver into her 
wet, squishing, clenching cunt. "Take that fuck," he muttered. "Take that 
and that." And she took it and bashed down harder still onto his jabbing 
prong. 

His balls were in a fast boil now with his sperm about to shoot. He wanted 
to get the maximum number of possible jabs in before that happened. 

She gasped her pleasure, feeling her own juices boiling, loving every second 
of what he was doing to her, wanting and needing and getting more. 

He shot on his last upward jab, as he felt her coming down to meet him. She 
felt the burst of sperm and the flood that followed. Her cunt clenched his 
meat. Joanne sped up her writhing and wiggling and dancing up and down on 
his meat as it reached its greatest length. 

She too wanted to get off before he lost that length and hardness and 
slowed, taken down by the twin monsters of exhaustion and drying up of his 
sperm flow. 

She felt herself rising to the point, moving to the edge of that great pit 
which would fling her into the eternal world of ecstasy and sexual bliss. 

Barcelona Bob already flowed through the world in his mind. Humping up into 
her, barely aware of her as he flowed out across the great unknown of the 
sexual universe, where the mind is the adventurer and the spasming body 
merely the receptacle of the pleasure and an unconscious instrument of love 
automatically performing, while the mind travels across untold and ever 
newer frontiers. 

like always, the trip did not last forever and was always too short. He felt 
himself slip downward, never a good sensation, and at the same time he 
became aware of a clenching in his guts and a heavy, hot maw still working 
his exhausted and still quite large manhood. 

Barcelona could hear her breathing, feel the sweat running from both their 
bodies, and feel the exhaustion exploding across his, along with the sleepy 
feeling in him and the feelings of peace and bright euphoria passing over 
him. 

It was then that she came and with an explosion of sensations that passed 
through her body like lightning bolts. She knew not what she was doing for 
long seconds as the madly fucking woman became one with the universe. 

Her mouth was an open pit of sucking lips, taking air down to fevered lungs. 
Her hair and tits jerked wildly left and right and up and down as her body 
flailed on around and around and up and down on his meat. 

Her efforts kept his shrinking down and his cock even had enough power to 
still jab hard up into her, even though his last sperm had been drained 
seconds before. 

In the time-space of their fuck-world, events were slowed down and every 
second became a long and eternal minute. They fucked on, but much slower, 
exhaustion having sapped their initial, wild strength, as it does that of 
all lovers. No more did they pound like wild stallions on the range. 

Eyes opened, mouths smiled with knowledge in common. Barcelona blew out a 
gust of air. "You're the girl for me, Joanne," he said. 

"And you're my kind of guy," she answered, giving his cock a little squeeze 
with her saturated pussy. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

Hellene Starger bit into her Big Mac. It was full of all the trimmings, just 
like she loved. She smiled across the small table to her boyfriend, Bobby 
Winslow. He was tall and thin, with blonde hair and a ready smile. 

Hellene loved his big and wonderful cock above all and nothing in the world 
could compare with that, not even a quarter pounder; unless it was a better 
quarter pounder than he had. 

They finished up their food and then went outside. There was a light drizzle 
on the land. Hellene tossed her brown hair, the same color as her father's, 
and said, "Let's go for a drive up to lover's lane." 

The Winslow boy smiled. "You are just the kind of girl I like, Hellene. You 
have that hunger for cock which is insatiable." 

"It runs in the family," she said with a smile. 

"Just who else in the family sucks?" Bobby wanted to know, a sudden fire in 
his eyes and a huskiness to his voice. 

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she replied, an amused smile on 
her face. 

They walked through the light rain and the dying glow from the hamburger 
place to his car out back, on the blacktop. There was faint illumination 
from two high-power rooftop lamps, throwing slanting beams across the 
parking lot. 

They got into his Dodge Charger. He started the motor and they turned out of 
the lot. He put his headlights on. They washed up across the building and 
other cars. 

"It's a nice car," she commented, while also listening to raindrops pound on 
the hood and roof. 

"Yeah. It's a seventy-two. But she rides like a whistle. Most cars start to 
give you some trouble after the first twenty-five thousand miles." 

"I have a cousin," she told him, "who has a Volkswagon with a hundred-thirty 
thousand miles on it." 

"You don't get many cars like that," he replied. They were moving up across 
the highway, into the higher hills above Jasper. The trees on both sides of 
the road were dark and grew down right to the gravel along the asphalt. They 
were dark green in the night air. And the wet roadway was glistening with 
the lights of the cars moving along it. 

"My cousin," she said after a minute, "told me a Volks' can give you from a 
hundred-twenty to a hundred-fifty thousand miles, depending on how you drive 
it." 

"A hundred-fifty thousand sounds like a lot of miles," Bobby Winslow 
commented. "Maybe in country driving. A hundred-twenty to thirty thousand 
sounds like more of what you'd get out of a car like that. I always heard 
them Kraut cars last." 

"The most you can get out of an American car is around eighty thousand 
miles, if you drive it till the wheels and everything are about to fall off. 
That's with the average car. Though I hear the higher priced spreads last 
longer, like ninety thousand or so miles. Oldsmobiles are good. A Cadillac 
will last you a hundred thousand miles, maybe more." 

They found a road leading off from the main highway and took it. They went 
slower. It was bumpy, a dirt track and full of curves, with the 
blackish-green sentries of tall pines all around. 

He laughed in the middle of their climb up the slippery dirt curves. "What's 
the trouble, Bobby?" she asked, looking at him. 

"I was just thinking. If your cousin bought himself a Checker Cab and 
painted it black, it might cost him six or seven thousand bucks. They don't 
last more than twenty years and you can get a quarter million miles out of 
them; almost twice what a Volks' will give you. They don't make many of them 
Checkers, maybe five or six thousand a year. But they sure last." 

"They haven't got any looks," Hellene told him. 

"That's true. But neither do the Volkswagens. Then again, they have the sort 
of look that is mildly fashionable. The Checker Cab looks like a box. But 
you can fuck more easily in it than in a Volks'" 

"More easily than in a Dodge Charger?" she asked with a smile. 

He grinned at her. "I wouldn't trade my car for a Checker just for fucking 
room." He took a bend in the road and went deeper and higher into the 
forest. 

"I still don't understand why they don't buy more Checkers in the cab 
business. Instead, they put out a grand or two grand less or even three 
grand less and buy Impalas or Darts or some such car. They have to last 
fourteen months and in that time these cars get a hundred thousand miles or 
more put on them. This destroys the cars. Many of them are moving death 
traps and have to be sold to the junk dealer at the end of that time. A 
Checker Cab could easily last them thirty-five months. On a month-for-month 
basis they'd wind up paying more money for cars and repairs and they'd have 
to keep on going through the bother of getting new cars more frequently." 

He stopped talking about taxis as they got to the top of the hill and came 
onto a large, grassy, rain and wind-swept field. He drove to the far end. 

"We'll be nice and cozy here," he said. 

He parked the car and killed the engine. Then he said, "Let's climb over in 
back." 

He climbed over the back of the seat and so did she. They even bonked heads 
lightly and laughed. They sat down in the back seat and looked out the rear 
window, beaded with rain. It was starting to come down faster. The pitter 
patter of it on the hood and roof was almost sleep-inducing. 

Winslow bowed his head and kissed Hellene lightly on her soft, parted lips. 
She responded, moaning beneath his warm demanding lips. Quickly, his kiss 
became urgent and demanding. He slipped his hand inside her sweater, over 
her naked belly and down into her jeans to slip beneath her bikini panties. 
Her legs parted. He probed at her warm, moist, cunt slit. And gently 
caressed the naked flesh. 

Then he shoved his middle finger into her cunt. She moved her legs further 
apart as he began a slow, thrusting movement, sliding his middle finger back 
and forth through the slippery heat of her cunt. 

She moaned more, their kiss turning into a long and unending clinch. Her 
knees fell open, spreading her vaginal slit wide. Hungrily, she kissed his 
lips, moaning with heated desire. Her cunt walls already soaked with 
tingling excitement. 

Winslow was almost ready to go out of his mind as his finger slid back and 
forth through her hot slit. He stared down at the bulge in his pants. 

"Ohh," she moaned, her widespread vagina lifting upward, his pleasure-giving 
finger sliding back and forth in her tingling slit. He finally pulled his 
finger out. 

"Come on and get those clothes off," he said, starting on his own clothing. 
She nodded dumbly as her eyes came open and she began to shuck out of her 
blouse and jeans. Winslow undressed as fast as he could, wild with the 
sight, scent and thought of her. He had trouble getting his clothes off in 
the car. And he kept poking at her and touching her over various parts of 
her body, stopping to pinch and pat. 

She laughed and pinched and patted him back. All this exertion and getting 
undressed in a hurry sent the blood rushing through his veins, and his heart 
to thumping faster. He was really randy by the time they were both naked and 
their clothes were either on the front seat or the bottom of the car. 

He looked at her fine, young tits, so white, so firm, so fully packed. He 
gazed at her big, plump thighs, at her fine, fat, fuckable ass. At her wide, 
plump, well-furred pussy and his fingering desires grew and expanded into 
other areas. 

His hungry mouth moved forward and then was on one naked breast and her tiny 
nipple was between his nibbling teeth. His hand returned to Hellenes 
wetly-heated cunt. He ground the tip of his finger inside her hole and his 
strokes became more rapid as she moaned. Her body began to vibrate. "Oh yes, 
harder. Do it harder. Harder." 

"Anything you say, baby!" Winslow chuckled, his hotly sucking mouth still 
nibbling on her lengthening and hardening nipple. 

Winslow viciously finger-fucked his beloved bitch, working her wetly-heated 
cuntal slit, trying to get as much of his finger into her as possible. 

He caressed her naked, trembling tits and then his naked arms crushed her to 
him as his mouth searched once again for her sweetly responding lips. 

Again, his outstretched finger returned to her cunt and plunged deep into 
her pulsing hole, exciting her more with his insistent caresses. 

Trapped now by his finger and his kissing mouth, she lay back against the 
seat and moaned as the warmth of his lips seemed to sear her, as tingling 
sensations rippled up her spine. 

He was like a wild stallion, and she was helpless to his desires and she 
loved every moment of that. The excitement continued to build up inside her 
body, as he continued stroking and caressing her sensitive flesh. Squeezing 
now and pinching at her already erected nipples. 

She wished to speak, but the words stuck in her lust tightened throat as he 
rolled her hardened nipples beneath the palm of his right hand. 

His outstretched middle finger massaged her wetly throbbing cunt and the 
heat of his breath blew against her breast as he moved his heated mouth down 
to lock on her reddened nipple. 

She moaned as he sucked her sensitive flesh inside his mouth. And her head 
began flailing as she felt the contagious excitement of his greedily sucking 
lips. Hellene began to moan harder and stronger. Her moaning and the 
response of her young body was driving him wild and sending him up the wall. 

Winslow pulled away from her. She opened her eyes to look and saw him 
leaning over the seat to get at the glove compartment in front. His naked 
ass was lying exposed over the back of the front seat. 

She laughed. Then, being playful, she reached over and pinched his ass. He 
wiggled and shook and look back. "Hey, cut that out." 

"What's the matter? You don't like it?" 

"No." He got the Trojan he had been looking for and shut the glove 
compartment. He sat back down in his seat. 

"Oh," she continued, "do you mean to say to me that only girls should be 
pinched on the ass?" 

"This is what I mean to say. Girls' asses are made for it and not boys' 
asses." 

Before she could answer, he was tearing the foil and putting the bag over 
his massive, bulbed head. "Here, let me do it," Hellene said, obscene fires 
already burning in her eyes. 

She took it and began rolling it down along his reddish-blonde skinned cock, 
till all of the Trojan had been rolled out. Then Hellene hugged him and with 
great passion began to kiss him hard on the lips. 

When her mouth parted from him, she found her lips quivering visibly, her 
nipples burning hot and hard, a fire through her cunt and belly and a froth 
of erotic sensations passing through the thought centers of her mind. 

"Come onto my lap," Winslow told her. 

"Oh Bobby," she moaned. 

He put his hands on her waist, as she rose and in a crouch went over his 
skinny thighs and then straddled him. 

Then he forced her trembling knees wide apart. Without pausing, he pushed 
her into a kneeling position over his up-thrust cock, her spread slit over 
his swollen cockhead. With one hand, he began to guide the thick and rubbery 
head of his rigid tool into the portals of her cunt. 

Hellene tossed her head, and closed her eyes with a shudder of lust pounding 
up through her. She stiffened at the first contact of his pulsing maledom 
against the quivering edges of her cunt. 

Winslow brought his hands behind her and dug his fingers into the ample 
white cheeks of her ass as he forced her tight, young, teenaged twat down 
onto his cock. It sank in and up. She moaned in delight as his rock hard 
manhood slipped up her tight, resilient passage. 

He got most of it in. "It's so tight," she moaned, her eyes shut, her head 
up and to the side, her open mouth gasping, the long sweep of her neck 
exposed. 

His arm muscles bulged as he tried to force her reluctant pussy further down 
on the upstanding spike of his malehood. 

"Please, Bobby," she moaned, "no more. I can't fit any more in. You'll kill 
me." 

"At least you'll be happy," he muttered from between clenched teeth. And 
then he said, "I am going to get this into you. All of it. I'm going to fuck 
you good. This won't hurt for long. It's just a little tight. But I can 
stretch it." 

She said nothing as he snorted with the effort and beads of sweat covered 
his forehead. And then he had her all the way down. Her tender pussy feeling 
as if it was filled to the gills. It was almost like a large loaf of bread 
having been forced down her throat. 

Her tight pussy had been stretched tighter still, his blue-veined prick 
having been forced all the way into her hair-fringed cunt. His face was now 
a mask of raw lust and sadistic pleasure. He held himself so that her pussy 
would get used to him. 

"My prick is driving me crazy. I have to fuck you now Hellene." 

The fires had been filling her too. "Yes, fuck me, fuck me. I need your 
cock," she exclaimed, her tits jiggling, her eyes wild with need. 

He grunted as he forcefully pulled her naked hips down and thrust his 
pulsating penis into her helplessly impaled, squirming pussy. Since he was 
already in her he could not get much more in. He pulled out and then rammed 
on up into her again, burying himself all the way inside her heated flesh 
with a vengeance. There was no stopping Winslow now as his long, thick shaft 
filled her cunt, and his heavy testicles pressed against her naked anal 
crevice. 

He sat immobile a moment, feeling her tight vaginal muscles nipping at him. 
With a guttural moan, he lifted her quivering breasts to his mouth and 
jumped his lips from breast to breast, sucking the soft flesh up into his 
mouth. 

He flexed his cock inside her and along with his sucking, it caused a 
tremor. She was getting used to the meat now. Her friends laughed when she 
told them how she reacted to extra large cock. For a big girl like her to 
have such a small opening was indeed a strange fate nature had dealt out to 
her, along with a lust for cock. 

Her tight cunt squeezed the pulsating presence of his rapacious cock. Then 
she groaned as he began to pull his lance outward till only the tip was 
buried inside her vaginal sheath. 

Then Winslow slammed his long, hard cock back into her quivering, clutching 
pussy once more. She wiggled under the force of his impalement. She put her 
hands on his chest, as his fingernails dug into her fleshy buttocks; wedging 
her between his rampaging cock and his hands. 

He again worked her shivering breasts and clamped his wet mouth over one of 
her quivering nipples, as he began a steady fuck rhythm in and out of her 
rippling cuntal sheath. 

"Oh," she moaned in pleasure. Each stroke of his cock had widened her 
resisting passage and her lubricant had further greased the way for him. Her 
kneeling position did make her legs ache some. But even that was beginning 
to fade now, as greater lust flowed through her hotter and hotter body. 

Her nakedly trembling body began to feel an alien pleasure at the fucking 
going on now. 

Flames of carnal excitement coursed through her veins. Her vaginal juices 
were copiously flowing, lubricating her widely stretched flesh accommodating 
his thick shaft sawing in and out of her widespread thighs. 

His rampaging penis was buried up inside her tightly clutching cuntal 
sheath, and his mouth was sucking at her trembling breast like a babe taking 
milk. 

Chills of lust flowed through her submissively kneeling body. 

She stared down at the slow, steady rhythm of his long, hard cock wetly 
skewering into her stretched cunt. It was the lewdest, most exciting thing 
she had ever seen. 

She began twisting her naked hips over his lap. She moaned incessantly, 
lifting her weight up on her knees, experimenting with up and down movements 
till she established a steady rhythmic bounce that caused his rigid shaft to 
friction across her sensitive clit. 

Faint mewling sounds bubbled up from her chest, her face contorted in 
passion. A light film of perspiration coated her forehead as her long brown 
hair swung back and forth across her face. 

"It is so tight, so good," Winslow moaned. The tightness of her cunt muscles 
almost made him come. "Shit. Oh, your cunt is fantastic," he exclaimed in 
ecstasy, as his eyes flew upward and then shut. 

"Oh, yes, more, harder, don't stop now," Hellene exclaimed. She rode his 
cock as if it were the best rodeo stallion and she an old, experienced 
bronco hand. 

"Ride it bitch. Ride that cock." He snorted. His face was covered by a lewd 
grin. "Oh, you are a great bitch." 

"Do it to me," she answered back, delighting in the fuck, riding that 
cock-stallion faster and harder. "Ball me. Fuck me. Stick it in harder," she 
gurgled in ecstatic glee. 

Her obscene words drove her to a higher peak. He was tensed and driven to 
pull her buttocks apart, spread her anal crevice and then shoved forward at 
her rectum and buried his finger into it. 

"Ooo," she moaned and then tightened and loosened her buttock muscles, 
feeling her anal ring nibbling at his probing fingertip. He pistoned his 
finger in and out to create a higher riding sensation in her. 

Then, when she was high enough, he pulled his finger out and grabbed tight 
hold of her fleshy ass-cheeks. He began lifting them high before jerking her 
cunt down on his thick cock. Her fire-filled cunt spread wider to receive 
his beaver retriever, as it plunged deeply into the secret flesh. 

A wanton pleasure had hold of her body. 

Her leg muscles were working freely, moving without volition, as she bounced 
up and down on his pulsating shaft in a race for satisfaction. 

She felt his mouth still on her fleshy, up-thrust breasts, moving from one 
to the other, and she closed her eyes as low moans of lewd delight rumbled 
in her throat. No other thought was in her mind except what pleasure she 
could gain from being impaled again and again on this delightful, long, and 
hard lance. 

Winslow stroked his hardness up and down, in and out of her pussy. He struck 
with the longer and harder strokes that took him nearly completely out of 
her sucking, heated little pussy. Then he plunged into that gaping gap until 
he felt her widespread anal crevice press into his sperm-bloated balls. With 
a guttural moan he lowered his right hand and touched the tightened flesh of 
her ass-cheeks till he found the small puckering mouth of her moistened 
rectum. 

Once more she experienced that strange sudden sensation and shortness of 
breath, as he penetrated her rectal opening with one sadistic thrust and 
felt the soft, rubbery flesh yield to his assault. 

She moaned deep down inside her submissive masochistic pleasure. Her anal 
muscles nibbled at his finger as if to pull it deep into her twitching 
teenage ass-hole. 

"Do it to me. Do it to me," she exclaimed, bounching up and down on his fine 
and hard manhood. Moans of delight erupted from her hoarse throat. Winslow 
smiled in satisfaction as his mouth again glued itself to her nipple. At the 
same time his long tumescence increased its tempo in and out of her heated 
cuntal sheath. 

She felt this and began to shamelessly grind her buttocks back onto his 
fingers. Winslow methodically explored inside her warm orifice, sending 
newer and stronger sensations of delight through her body. 

Hellene was hopelessly impaled between his pulsating prick deep into her 
quivering cunt and his fingers, shoved up inside her tightly clutching 
rectum. The thought made her squeal with lewd pleasure and Hellene began a 
faster twisting motion that rocked her back and forth, wantonly riding up 
and down on his long cock and hard, rigid finger. 

His mouth became more frantic on her already reddened nipples, as he brought 
his free hand around to where his cock was sliding in and out of her tightly 
bouncing pussy. 

She felt him fondle her soft, hair-lined lips, that were now milking his 
large shaft. She shivered with obscene ecstasy until her widening pussy 
seemed to gape in hungry desire, swallowing the entire length of his hotly 
throbbing cock, as he plunged up to the very core of her being. 

"Give me more. Stick it to me harder. Harder, I say." Hellene moaned, her 
entire body wracked with the need for cock-bred satisfaction. 

Her cunt was on fire, her ass-hole was shivering with the need and intensity 
of this ecstatic excitement. 

Suddenly, he quickened his thrusts, hotter and deeper now, and the 
tormenting agony of pleasure caused her to thrash above him. Then she felt 
him rip his fingers from her ass-hole with a wet, slurping sound. And then 
his hands were pressing under her cheeks again, pushing her body up and 
down, hard, against his spearing cock, with pile-driving thrusts, as he 
sadistically reamed out her cunt sleeve. 

"Oh. Fuck me harder. Sock it to me," she chanted, the insane passion driving 
her mind into an incandescent oblivion. 

Winslow intensified his fucking still more, grinding hard and deep, his 
long, hard lance boring up into the hidden recesses of the young girl's 
womb. 

His own lust was driving him crazy with the need to come. But she was not 
yet near her own climax. He did not want to blow his cool and shoot before 
she did, unless he could force her to orgasm. He began a deeper, convulsive 
thrusting, that only made his balls ache more. 

Hellene was a mass of ecstatic heat. Her cunt blazed with delight, 
overpowering all other thought except for the magnificent shaft buried up 
inside her boiling belly. 

She was only vaguely aware of his hand running over her buttocks like 
searing tongues of flame. His mouth working her tender titties. His 
frictioning cock reaming out her clenching insides. 

This was the life for her. This was what she dreamed of at night, in her 
bed, while her fingers thrust wildly in and out of her needing cunt. 

Then, suddenly, she heard his choked voice and felt his long, hard cock 
swelling even larger and heating up to a flaming high. The pleasure was more 
than she could stand. Her nerve-endings began shooting out a shower of fiery 
sparks. She was almost there, reaching for the screaming blaze of glory, 
when a surge of erotic energy sent her flying over the edge of sexual 
oblivion. She gasped and writhed on his swollen meat and then spent 
copiously, as her mind was treated to a series of phantasmagoric delights 
that came upon her in a sudden flood and cast her shivering into a deep 
ocean of sensual feelings, which were much too brief. 

Incandescent red and green and fire and heat and shivers of multitudinous 
delight passed through and through her flesh and mind. She shivered with the 
jolts of these many sensations. 

Winslow also came now. "Shit. Fuck. Scum. And fuck," he exclaimed, in that 
refreshing and varied vocabulary of youth. 

"I'm cummmiinnnggg. Oh you tight little bitch. I am coming." 

He snorted. like a horse and shoved his wildly ejaculating cock deep up 
inside her cunt. His thick gushing sperm spewed far up inside her still 
pulsing vagina until she was filled to overflowing, and a wet pool of 
blissful passion boiled down to her naked thighs. 

"Don't stop," she gasped. "Keep doing it harder." She writhed above him, 
trying to bounce up and down on his already wilting cock. 

"Oh," she moaned, as she still danced about on him as if she had an electric 
wire up her ass. 

Bobby Winslow was aware of this, though he still rode through the exploding 
green incandescence on a black and then a white background. All of these 
were dimly felt sensations that passed quickly before the eye or mind could 
register them sufficiently. 

The two of them stopped shaking as if demons were possessing their bodies, 
as they slowed their fucking bit by bit. They were aware of the exhaustion 
in their limbs and the sweat running from their skins in vast rivers. 

At last he opened his eyes and smiled at her exhausted face and disheveled 
hair. 

She started to rise and get off. Slowly, he pulled out of her, then faster, 
his deflated cock slipping down from her pussy with a lewd, wet noise. Then 
he leaned back as she got off and slipped down on the seat next to him. 

"That was a good fuck," he muttered. 

"Yeah," she answered. 

"Want something to drink?" 

"You got liquor, Bobby?" she asked, looking at him. 

"Yeah. There's Vodka in the pink lemonade." 

"Pink lemonade?" 

"Yep. My brother taught it to me. It's a drink he invented. He calls it 
Satan's Surprise. Two parts pink lemonade no, let me correct myself, two 
parts vodka to one part pink lemonade." 

She sat up. "Well, get it for me." 

He shook his head. "Sure." 

He got up and again leaned over the back of the front seat and opened the 
glove compartment. Hellene giggled and began to pinch his ass. 

He looked back and wiggled her hand off. Then he brought his right hand back 
to push her hand away before she could grab at him again. 

"Cut that out. I don't like it." She giggled. "I do." 

He had the bottle in his hand and sat back down, this time without even 
waiting to close the glove compartment. That could wait till later, when he 
was all dressed. 

He handed Hellene the bottle. She looked at the pale pinkish liquid in the 
pint jar. The emblem and label said Gallo Thunderbird. 

"This is a wine bottle," she said, looking at him, enquiring curiosity on 
her face. 

"What did you expect me to bring it in?" He paused. "I can't hold it in my 
hand. So I washed out an empty jar of T-bird and then filled it with Satan's 
Surprise. Unscrew the cap. Drink up and tell me how you like it." 

She smiled. "You put something in here." 

"Just like I told you: two parts vodka, one part pink lemonade." 

"Bullshit." 

"No bullshit. It's the truth." 

"You put something in here." 

"I did not. What do you think I am, John McNamara?" 

"He was a kid I knew in school a grade or so back. He would beat up on the 
younger kids or weaker kids his age and make them pay him protection money 
or bring him stuff to eat during the lunch period." 

"Well, there was this kid, Irving Flanz. He was friends with an Italian kid 
Steve Sylvester. So one day somebody thought he was Sylvester and asked him 
how he liked spaghetti as a joke. Well, Irv told him he wasn't Italian, 
Sylvester was. So we used to kid Irv and instead of calling him Flanz, we'd 
call him Flanzio. Then someone said that sounded like Anzio. So we call him 
the Beachhead at Flanzio. And then someone said it was the Bitchhead at 
Flanzio. And you know how kids draw such things out, so in short, he became 
known as Bitchhead." 

"Anyway," he had to stop himself from laughing, "Bitchhead had to bring 
McNamara things to eat for lunch. He would bring him a box of raisins every 
day and McNamara would sit there, like a gourmet, eating the raisins for 
lunch, while poor Bitchhead sat there and watched." 

"But then McNamara began getting sick and suffering from the shits. He was 
wondering why this was happening and finally traced it to the fact that he 
got the shits from eating the raisins. He wondered if he had allergies. So 
he stopped eating the raisins.-But dear old Bitchhead kept offering them to 
him." 

"John smelled a rat. So he checked with Bitchhead's friends and found out 
that dear Irv had been buying the raisins, putting them in a strainer, one 
of those hand-held small ones and lowered them into the toilet bowl to soak 
for a minute or two. Then he would bring them up, dry them out, put them 
back into the box, and bring them to McNamara the next day in school." 

"I tell you, that poor Bitchhead got his ass beaten good. He never gave 
anyone raisins anymore and McNamara took his protection in money from then 
on." 

.Hellene was laughing. She handed him the flask, "Here, drink and show me 
you aren't another Bitchhead." 

"Okay," he said and unscrewed the cap. "I hope you didn't think me that 
low.. ' 

He took a long swig and handed her the bottle. "Swallow," she said, a giggle 
lilting her throat. He swallowed. "Open your mouth and let me look." 

He opened his mouth and showed her. She took the bottle and wiped the 
mouthpiece. Then she put it to her mouth and began to reluctantly drink 
though she was surprised how good and strong it tasted. 

"See," he said, "I didn't use any toilet bowl water." She almost gagged on 
that. Laughter welled in her throat. She pulled the bottle from her mouth 
and some liquid ran down her chin. She coughed and said, "Don't make me 
laugh while I'm drinking." 

"Okay. I won't say anything." He averted his eyes. When she began to drink 
he looked at her again. She smiled around the bottle opening in her mouth. 

"I guess it wasn't toilet water. I guess that must be the bottle I spat in." 

She pulled it from her mouth. "Cut it out," she giggled, then she decided 
she'd had enough. 

"Here, I don't want no more." 

"You sure now," he entreated, with a smile. 

"Oh, I'm sure alright." 

Then he drank. She tried to make him laugh, but he just smiled around the 
rim of the bottle. Then he pulled it from his mouth. 

"I have to drive," he announced. "This will just make me mildly high, but 
not destroy my capacity any." 

He capped the bottle and bent over the back of the front seat to put it into 
the glove compartment, which he then closed. She began to giggle and pinch 
him on the ass again. This time he laughed and did not stop her, though he 
wiggled his ass some when she pinched and it stung. 

He sat back down and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his rumpled clothes on 
the front seat. He offered her a Marlboro. Then he lit it and lit one for 
himself. 

They sat there, smoking, filling the car with pungent smoke, watching the 
rain slant downward, needles of water cutting the night above the field. The 
drum on the roof and hood was almost hypnotic. It made them want to fall 
asleep and just nod off. But Bobby also felt erotic tinglings. He put out 
his cigarette in the door ashtray and said to her, "Hellene, darling of the 
sweet, soft lips, blow me." 

She smiled, put out her cigarette and said, "Sure, stranger of the tall 
shoulders and the blonde hair. I'd love too. These lips are made for 
sucking, and here they go," she said with a laugh and bent her face over his 
crotch and the steady tingle, tingle in his balls increased. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Joanne kissed Carboneau goodbye and then ran to her waiting cab. Passing her 
on the walk was old and grumpy Caleb Hall, an original elder citizen of the 
town of Jasper. He was also a gossip, a holder of old standards of morality, 
not a bad thing in itself, but in addition a meddler in things that should 
never have been his business. 

A totally grumpy old man. 

Joanne gave him a brief look, not bothering much with paying any attention 
to him. Hall noticed her. He had noticed her here before during his evening 
walks. And Caleb Hall of the sour and wrinkled face went for his evening 
walks, come what may. When it rained he had on his galoshes and carried his 
umbrella. Only the worst snow storms of winter kept him indoors. But when 
that snow plow came around, he was out, no matter how many degrees below the 
thermometer showed it to be. 

He was a hardy soul, known by all, liked by few, hated by many. It was not a 
reputation he had come by easily. He worked hard at it and did not mind it 
at all that he was thought to be cantankerous, crusty, an old fool and a 
busybody. Cursed in private by many and in public by a few, who were 
thick-skinned enough to take his return wrath and a quick catalogue of their 
faults, failings and affairs in front of everyone with an ear good enough to 
listen. And there were many, who would listen, sly smiles on their faces 
full of the wickedness of the world. 

She got into her cab and it drove away, without her thinking one second more 
of the things that had come to pass. She'd had some good cock today, and 
that was all that really mattered. 

Caleb Hall had seen her many times, with many men. He knew her husband was a 
traveling salesman. Well, someone should tell him his wife is a whore. A no 
good slut, spreading for everybody and anybody on the face of the planet. 

Caleb Hall inhaled the night air into his lungs. He loved it. The mission he 
now had to perform would bring him great credit in the eyes of the Lord, he 
was sure. 

He stroked his chin. It was good to tell on the sinful, to let them suffer 
for their wrongs. Then they would not enjoy their shining days. 

He thought a moment of the warning of his friend. Warren Olander, dead three 
summers now. Destined to spend the rest of his snowy winters, green springs, 
rainy summers, and dry leafy falls in the same hole until dust he became and 
to the earth he returned. 

Olander had warned him that his big mouth might one day cost Hall his neck. 
But Hall had shrugged that off with a laugh, as he did now. Still, an uneasy 
stirring occurred at his back. The kind that made him want to turn around 
and see if anything or anyone was there. But he told himself not to be 
foolish and look back. 

He thought instead of how he would call Mr. Starger and tell him all about 
what had gone on. He chuckled at the thought of how the man would react to 
the news that his wife was a whore. Maybe he knew already. 

Caleb Hall thought of her and her short skirt. From somewhere he felt a 
tingle in his long dead manhood. The sight of those thighs, that chest, that 
slut's face, gave him hunger and purpose. He shook with need for her. 

But he fought this down. That was evil. He wondered for a moment if that was 
the reason for his wanting to punish her. If he could not have good meat 
like that, then no one could. 

But he called himself a foolish old goat for believing such psychological 
crap. There was nothing to that drivel. He crossed the street and came to 
the block on which his home was located. He was already planning his 
approach on the phone, if he found Starger in. He might not be in tonight. 
But Caleb Hall would keep on trying periodically, till he struck dirt. In a 
man such as himself the predatory instinct had been highly developed and he 
would not let go so easily. 

As soon as the cab stopped in front of her house, she had money in her hand 
and paid off the driver, along with a generous tip. He thanked her, took a 
good look at her miniskirt covered legs and wished the hell he had something 
like that to come home to She would have fit just right in his bed. 

She left the cab, exaggeratedly swinging her thirty-seven year old ass. The 
driver rubbed his suddenly semi-hardened manhood and then started the cab 
and drove off. He hoped his next passenger looked as good. 

When Joanne unlocked the door and stepped inside, she heard sounds of 
laughing and horns and contestants on a local game show. She recognized it 
at once: The Object is Money, is what the show was called. The M.C. had a 
funny name, Jack Shimmerhorne. 

Joanne wondered who the hell could be home at this hour, watching the TV She 
wondered which of the girls it was. When she came into the living room, she 
saw in surprise that it was her husband Tom. 

His white-gray head of hair poked up above the back of the tan leather 
recliner in front of the television set. He had a cigarette in his hand and 
a beer on the coffee table to the side. It was an Olympic beer, the same 
brand he had been drinking for years. 

"Why Tom," she exclaimed, "I didn't expect to see you home." 

He leaned over the chair and swiveled his head around. His response was not 
very warm, considering that she had not seen him for nearly ten days. 

"I had to stop over for two days. The season wasn't too good down in Utah." 
He looked at her getup. "I guess you didn't expect me. Where were you, 
prowling the bars?" 

She lost her smile. "I don't like your tone of voice." 

"Why, because I'm suggesting my beloved wife is a slut." He stood, picked up 
his beer, and sipped from it. 

"I don't like your tone and of what you're accusing me. I'm no whore." 

"Bullshit, Joanne," he spat. Then glared at her. "We both know what you 
are." He looked around. "Where are the kids?" 

She was red in the face, hardly having heard what he'd said. His accusations 
were like sudden slaps. He repeated himself when she didn't answer. "Where 
are the kids, goddamit?" 

"I don't know, goddamit," she spit back. 

"That's just fine and dandy," he answered, setting the beer back on the 
coffee table too hard, sloshing some out. 

"Be careful, you'll ruin the coffee table," she said almost automatically. 

"Fuck the coffee table," he told her, getting angry. "What about this 
family, which you've ruined so nicely? The furniture means more to you than 
the kids." 

Now Joanne really got mad. She threw down her handbag and stepped up to him. 
"Me," she asked, pointing to herself, her features exaggerated, as if she 
did not really know. "What about you? What about your neglecting them and 
going off to all parts of the country?" 

His teeth clenched. "That's my job, goddam, whoring bitch." 

"What about being a father? Isn't that your job too?" 

"You're the mother. Your job is taking care of the kids." 

"I have been taking care of them," she spat at him. "I have done the damned 
best job I could with what I had. Where were you when I needed you?" 

"Working, that's where I was, you know bitch, making money. The green stuff 
you spend at the store. The green stuff that pays the bills and the rent and 
the food and the utilities." 

He took some money out of his pocket and pushed it at her as if to 
illustrate. Joanne slapped it out of his hands. It went flying in slow, 
twirling paths across the room. 

"Fuck you and your money. Money isn't everything. What about yourself? Can't 
you give of yourself? Those green pieces of paper," she pointed at the bills 
now on the floor, "they're your soul." 

He looked goggle-eyed from her to the money and back a few times, almost as 
if he couldn't believe this was occurring and happening to him. 

"You've run away from this family all the time. You've run away to work at 
road jobs. To be with other women. To not look at me." She bent forward at 
the waist, pointing to her chest as she emphasized the points. 

"That isn't the hell true. That never was the hell true!" 

"Sure it is. Where were you when we needed you? The Christmas Ellen broke 
her leg? The May when Hellene had troubles menstruating and we started to go 
from doctor to doctor? It started in May and went on and on. You just came 
home once and were hardly interested." 

His guilty eyes shot back and forth, then he answered, "I had troubles. 
Business troubles. I was thinking about where I could make my next buck. 
Just for you and the kids. See." He raised a hand as if it was all painted 
in the air and he the instructor to point at the illustration. 

"Bullshit," she spat, getting vicious, fire in her eyes. "You only cared 
about yourself. About the big, fat zero. About number one. Not us. Not me. 
Not the kids. No, never. You were the one. We were always second and third 
and in the end process last." 

"You call me a whore. Well, your life has been that of a roadside tramp. 
Sleeping in different motels every other night. Having women. I'm no whore," 
she said pointing at herself, "but you're the original whore. If you had a 
skirt I'd tell you to go out and strut your stuff along Main Street." 

He moved towards her and his hand rose and formed a crescent. Joanne moved 
back, her lower lip quivering, realizing that in her anger she had gone too 
damned far and that maybe now the chickens would come home to roost. 

But the phone rang. A saving moment. She was thinking of thanking the lord. 
Starger turned his head to the phone in the hall and hovered there in 
indecision about whether to slap her face silly or go for the phone. And 
then the insistent ringing of the phone changed his mind. 

He threw his hands down to his sides as if disgusted with her, his face 
mirroring the disgust. And as he did so, he turned towards the phone. She 
stood there watching his broad back go off. Once she had loved that back and 
that man. But no more. She wondered at how marriages can change from unions 
of love to vast tirades of hate and utter despair and sometimes even the 
ultimate act of murder. 

Starger picked up the phone. "Hello?" 

"Is this the residence of Mister Starger?" an older cracking voice asked. 
Starger could almost hear him cackle with malicious laughter. 

"This is the residence. And who are you?" 

Starger asked, a bit of impatience showing in his voice, in no mood now to 
chat or be pleasant. 

The man read this right away. And so old Caleb Hall sped it up, deciding not 
to stall and play, which in this case might result in the phone being hung 
up in his ear. And the resultant fun and games lost to him forever. 

"Is this Mister Starger I am talking with?" 

"You got it. What do you want?" 

"I'm afraid I can't give you my name, sir." 

"What is this? I think I'm going to hang up. I just got into town and I'm 
not in the mood for games. Call back sometime when my wife is home. She has 
more free time than I do. More patience. And maybe she'll want to play games 
with you." 

"It is about your wife." 

That was like a bolt from the blue. Starger was no longer blustery. He 
suddenly had all the patience in the world. "Go ahead, I'm listening." 

"I don't know how to put this ... " 

"I'm sure you'll think of a way." 

"Well, let me say that I know your wife by sight. I also know her 
reputation. I was passing by tonight, when I saw her come from the home of 
one of her lovers. A man named Carboneau. Do you know him?" 

"Yeah, Barcelona Bob." 

Joanne heard his voice and froze. Her heart started to beat very fast. 
Starger's back had risen. His fist was clenching and unclenching at his 
side. 

"Do you know about this man and my wife?" 

"Only what I saw and heard. There are others. I don't know who yet. But I'll 
be glad to find out and call you in the future. I don't like to see a hard 
working man's wife running around behind his back. It's bad for the 
development of the family." 

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks. Call me anytime." Starger hung up. He had listened to 
the voice long enough to know who it was. Old Caleb Hall., Busybody and 
troublemaker. But friend to many who need their coats pulled and set 
straight to the wicked ways of the world. And while Starger didn't like him, 
he had to admit he'd been of service tonight. 

At the other end of the now hung up line, Caleb Hall dry washed his hands. 
He'd done another good deed for the day. He wondered what was happening and 
tried to imagine the fighting now going on. He licked his lips. Oh, how he'd 
love to be there now. Maybe one day he would call from a booth and then 
sneak up to the window of the house to listen in and see if he could catch a 
look. 

Hall yawned contentedly. He'd go watch some TV now and then prepare for bed. 
It had been a good day all around. 

Back at the other house Starger walked away from the phone very cold, his 
poker face almost, but not quite hiding the tension going through his body. 
The muscles on his neck and at the side of his face corded and uncorded. 

Joanne instinctively knew something was wrong. She didn't expect it when the 
hand shot out and a stinging slap caught her in the face sending stars in 
front of her eyes. The blow made her stagger back and set off a ringing in 
her ears. 

"Whore. That phone call," he pointed to the phone behind him, "was from a 
man who has seen you going with that piece of shit known as Barcelona Bob. 
He saw you with him tonight. 

"It figures, bitch. You just came from seeing him. And maybe you thought 
you'd even get some cock from me. So I'd put my dick into a cunt that's 
probably still soaking in his sperm." 

"You traveling whore, you piece of shit!" He stepped up to her and slapped 
her face again. She went reeling back once more. This time shaking her head 
and trying to get herself together so that she could answer him. 

"No, it's not true," she stuttered. "I just went out for some fresh air. I 
swear it." 

"More like fresh cock was what you were out after." 

She began crying. "I swear that's some liar. Some malicious gossip monger." 

"I am afraid not my dear wife. This is the real thing. It smacks too much of 
truth to be a he. While I'm out working you're out fucking. Giving away for 
free, what I pay for and took as mine with a ring and a marriage 
certificate. 

"Well, I'm going to put a stop to it once and for all." 

"Where are you going?" she screamed after him. 

"I'm going to call your lover boy and warn him off. And he'll stay off. I 
mean that literally as well as figuratively. He'll stay off your case and 
off your belly. That is, if he values his balls." 

"No, no," she ran after him. "Don't embarrass me because of some lie." 

He shrugged her off and then when she went at him again, pushed her back, so 
that she went staggering onto the floor. 

"You'd believe a lying, anonymous scandal monger, hiding behind the mask of 
a telephone, not daring to confront you in the light of day. But you won't 
believe your wife, part of your family." 

"Bitch," he turned, with a mean snarl. "We haven't a family. We're just a 
bunch of people living under the same roof, coming and going as the spirit 
moves us." 

He turned and went for the phone book. She still ran after him. "I beg you. 
Don't embarrass me in front of strangers." 

"Bullshit! He's as much of a stranger to you as my cock is." 

She tried to pull the phone book from him, growing more hysterical with each 
passing moment, glowing stars floating in front of her eyes. 

"I'm not going to let you call." 

He tore the book from her, turned her around and gave her a kick in the ass 
that sent her flying almost ten feet before she fell onto the floor and 
stayed there sobbing, her back moving up and down with her crying. 

In disgust he threw the phone book down. "I need a drink," he said. "I can 
call this fuck a bit later on. He needs a rest after probably spending all 
day sticking it into every hole you have." 

Starger headed for the kitchen cabinet, where he had some bottles. On the 
way there he had to step over her to get to the kitchen. He did so without 
missing a step. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Hellene wasn't the only one to learn what life was about. At the home of 
Terry Schlesselberger, her sister Ellen was kissing madly on the couch in 
the living room, before a roaring fire, responding to the tongue in her 
mouth and also pushing away the hand that kept climbing up her leg and into 
her dress. She had decided one cock was not enough and snuck out of the 
house to see still another boy she knew. She was smiling, moaning deeply in 
her throat, and also fighting him off. 

But her hands were weakening and also her will, which had never been very 
strong to begin with. And as she weakened his hand climbed all the way up 
her dress. He found she wore no panties, and knew suddenly that her protests 
had been false ones. She had come here for one thing and now, he would give 
it to her. 

His fingers ran across her moist, scratchy hairs and pressed and pinched the 
plump mound meat beneath. His cock gave a little lurching growth. He 
shivered quite suddenly. Her legs came farther apart. Enough for him to feel 
her with no trouble at all. 

His hand began to finger her pubic lips and then pulled them apart and 
touched her inner wetness. One finger went into her into a slow left and 
right corkscrew motion. 

Ellen closed her eyes and a light smile covered her lips. This was so very 
good. She let him run a second finger up into her. Then her eyes closed and 
she sighed. 

Terry began finger fucking her. But he did not continue it for too long. 
Already his lips sought hers. They began to kiss. When he shoved his tongue 
into her mouth Ellen began to suck on it with her lips, while her own tongue 
dueled with the tip of his. 

His lips were glued to hers, till he pulled them away. His breath came fast 
and short. And his voice was hard and husky when he spoke to her. 

"Let me take off your sweater." 

She hesitated for a moment, without answering. He pulled his finger from her 
cunt, leaving a great emptiness, which made her sad. Ellen had allowed boys 
to take off her sweater before. But only special guys. People she admired 
and had dated more than a few times. 

This was only her second date with Terry. When she cared he said his folks 
were out for the evening and they could spend it at his house, playing 
records. Being adventurous she went and she certainly wasn't sorry. 

His fingers worked on her buttons and in no time he had them down and her 
sweater open to reveal small, but nice, braless tits. His mouth went to 
them. His lips began to kiss them hard, all around. He went from one to the 
other and back again. The feel of his hot, butterfly kisses caused Ellen to 
shut her eyes even harder and to turn her head from side to side on the 
couch. 

She brought her hands down and by feel, rather than by sight, she pressed 
the back of his head down onto her tits. Terry was thrilled that his hp work 
was getting such a response. He immediately went into his tongue act. 

The tip and sides of his tongue began to trace a wet circle around her right 
nipple and aureole. Ellen moaned at the sensation, tossing her head 
impatiently on the couch, wanting him to work the nipple itself. But Terry 
teased and traced tighter and tighter circles around her aureole and nipple, 
till he had covered the aureole with a tickling wetness and then started on 
the rapidly hardening nipple. 

His stabbing licks were setting her to twittering in joy. She groaned as he 
switched his tongue to her other nipple, and then back again, going from 
nipple to nipple, in his quest for true titty joy. 

At the same time his hands took hold of her nipples and he began to 
palpitate them in a rhythmic manner, which only added to the sensations 
flowing through her chest and setting her mind to vibrating with lust. 

He let go of her long enough to lift her up and pull the sweater off her 
body. Then he threw it to the side and began once more to work her tits. She 
gasped and began to lift and let down her shoulders, as the upper half of 
her body twisted to the effects of his labors on her well-worked and 
well-licked tits. 

Terry stopped this as he rose and with hunger in his teenage eyes, began to 
pull at her skirt. He had it open and asked her to lift her body, so he 
could pull it down and away. 

When he got it off her legs, he also threw it to the side. And there she 
was. Naked as the day she was born, as the popular cliche goes. Her entire 
womanhood exposed to the hungering eye of high school youth. The flames of 
the fire caressed her soft flesh with gentle orange fingers and made 
enticing mysteries of the dips, hollows and curves of her youthful frame. 

Opening her eyes she gazed at him, then at the fire. Her mussed hair lying 
piled about her head made her look like the princess of some fairy tale 
risen after a hundred year sleep from her cot of thorns. 

She spread her thighs to show him her feminine pulchritude and then the 
pinkish wetness of her inner self. Terry licked his lips in hungering, 
needing and wanting her very badly in that moment. 

He went and put on the radio. A local balladeer was singing his own 
creation. The haunting, "Rocky Mountain Misty Morning Dawn." As the music 
and words filled the air, echoing the dancing shadows across the living room 
walls and furniture, he went to her, shedding his clothing and exposing his 
fully risen quivering young manhood. 

At last he stood totally naked by the couch, his cock in his hand. He gazed 
at the gleaming gray of the whites of her eyes. She was looking at his cock 
and her tongue was flicking in and out of her mouth, as she licked her lips. 

He knelt down on the floor by her head. "Take me between your wonderful 
lips. Wet my whistle." 

Ellen smiled her little cat's smile and lifted her head and then turned on a 
side. Her head came forward. Her mouth opened. And his cock sank two inches 
into the throbbing, wet, silkiness. He hissed as her lips clamped shut on 
his pulsating manhood and held him prisoner. 

Without waiting he began to fuck forward and Ellen took the thrust of his 
cock and then moved her head back a bit before moving it forward to swallow 
his prick again. Then, as Terry held firm, her mouth began to piston, 
swallowing in and then letting him out. Her soft lips slipping over the 
heated flesh. She felt him growing longer and harder and thicker within her. 

Feeling that, she used her tongue to lick at him. And this sent a chill of 
delights through his belly and into his heart. Ellen began to slurp on his 
cock. 

That made him say, "Oh, oh," and throw back his head. His hands went to her 
head. He pulled it towards his cock, which she was so lovingly working with 
true high school enthusiasm. 

But Terry did not want her to go on. He had another idea entirely. He put 
his hands on her face and pushed back, and pulled his cock from her beloved 
mouth, much as he hated to do so. 

She opened her mouth, wondering why he was doing so, when both of them were 
enjoying this. She was hurt and was going to speak, when he said, "No more 
blowing. I want to fuck you." 

"Do you have bags?" 

"I don't need them," he said, bending to bring something out from under the 
couch. "I am going to fuck your ass," he proudly announced. 

At that she experienced a sudden fright, and quickening beat of the heart. 
"No, I've never done that with any one. My ass-hole is still virgin." 

When Terry heard that a thrill passed through him. "Oh boy, a virgin 
ass-hole. What a treat this is going to be." 

"Please, please," she struggled to sit up. "You can't." 

He looked at his hard cock and smiled. "I can. Now don't be a child. Sooner 
or later you're going to have to give up your anal cherry. Guys aren't going 
to go around taking no for an answer forever." 

"I don't know." She was hesitant. A burning fire of excitement raced around 
in her belly. She really wondered what it would be like to get reamed. 

Then she halting asked, "How ... do ... you ... do it?" 

"Get on your hands and knees, with your big, wonderful ass raised in the air 
and pull your cheeks apart, so I can see your virgin ass-hole." 

Ellen got up and turned and then bent, lifting her firm, plump cheeks apart 
to show him her shadowed groove, the darkish hairs growing along the whole 
length, her flaming slit below and then the puckered brownish rose of her 
ass-hole. 

Terry got on the couch behind her in a kneeling position. He fumbled off the 
cap of the vaseline jar and then took some onto his fingers. 

He began to rub it around and around on her anal opening. She closed her 
eyes and rested her face on the bed as Ellen felt a fire run though her 
ass-hole as the thought and feel of him working her this way excited her. 

The touch of her ass-hole against his burning fingers sent his heart to 
beating faster. He was nervously licking his lips, needing her so badly. 

He opened and shut his eyes and could hardly believe this was happening to 
him. He did not think it could be so easy with Ellen. But then, this is the 
way it goes. Sometimes the easiest things are the ones that seem the hardest 
to start with. 

He got some more vaseline on his fingers. But this time began to corkscrew 
his middle finger up her ass-hole. She felt him coming and it felt only 
slightly uncomfortable. 

Then his second finger was introduced into her, followed by his third. He 
repeated this and now had her well greased. He let the jar fall to the 
carpet and roll a foot or two. 

Using the remaining vaseline on his fingers to grease his cock, it was 
already throbbing with his need for her. When his cock was greased enough he 
then took it in hand and said to her, "Pull your ass-hole apart some more 
and force your ass-hole down. Push down as if you're voiding. Do it. You'll 
understand in a minute." 

Then he pressed his cockhead at the slight opening of her anal rose and 
pressed forward. She felt a funny sensation, as his cock pushed into her. He 
kept going till her ass-hole had swollen up around his cock and swallowed 
the head and part of the shaft. 

Then she began to say, "I feel as if you are choking me." He stopped then. 

"I am holding. You'll feel better in about twenty seconds." 

He impatiently counted off the time, his cock aching for her bowels, his 
balls throbbing with the need of her flesh. 

He barely waited out the twenty seconds and began to press forward, pushing 
his cock ever deeper into her. She hissed again, when he buried two more 
inches of hard shaft in her twitching ass-hole. He could feel her ass-hole 
rippling out and down in an attempt to press back the new and hard alien 
invader of this sanctified turf. It was this and the heat and the tight fit 
that added to the great sensations passing through his knobbed cockhead and 
his shaft into his crotch and down to his balls. But now her pains and 
uncomfortableness forced him to stop. 

"I'm holding girl. It'll pass." She said "nothing, just concentrating on the 
large object pushed so deeply into her and she was sure it would now be 
pushed even more deeply into her. 

As he delayed pressing forward the slight pain and the filling sensation 
left her body. It was replaced by the heat of a strange and new pleasure. 

It was then, as her ass wiggled in the new found delight of the moment, that 
Terry pushed forward burying all of himself to the hilt in her. The 
tightness of her hot ass-hole had even squeezed some of the vaseline out of 
her cunt. 

Her ass-hole was really working now, squeezing around and around him, as he 
pressed himself totally into her. She felt the heat in the ripple of her 
belly muscles. In the tingle of her tits. And the waves of delight pouring 
through her brain. She had never imagined so much delight could be held for 
one girl in one small moment, and was sure there would be more. 

When Terry felt he had stayed long enough, he put one hand on either side of 
her hips and then pulled out till his cock was naked to the head. And then 
he began to go back in. She felt the sudden emptiness as he pulled out, 
aided by the down and out ripple of her ass-hole and then the slide as he 
filled her again, this time pushing aside ass-hole walls closing in again. 

She gasped and brought her hands forward to hold onto the bed while her 
behind was reamed and she lost her anal cherry, and entered womanhood. 

He was going out again, but faster this time. She knew each jab was faster 
and harder. But Ellen was beginning to get with it. She let her ass-hole go 
slack so that he could gain easier entrance. And then pushed out and down, 
while he was jabbing back into her. 

His cock grew redder and harder. The gleam of grease and the slight 
browning, as the fuck progressed, were all the evidence of what was going on 
inside of her. She was on fire. 

Terry dropped a hand to her cunt and began playing with her clit. She was 
shaking as he worked her this way and than ran his fingers into her 
quivering, hair-lined gap. 

He stabbed harder still. She was moaning and throwing her head up. His 
stabbing became faster. A burning cock, ramming into and out of her madly 
rippling ass-hole. 

She began to wiggle her hips. This rowed him around and around in her. His 
cock touched all parts of her, distending her rectum and colon walls in the 
process. The sensations for him were exciting and for her, maddening. 

His head rotated left and right. Her head came up, her back rising some in 
the process. She twisted her face left and right. A gasping and a hissing 
escaping from her crooked, wetly gleaming mouth. 

He fucked on, his balls swinging like heavy pendulums, smashing into her 
cunt and bouncing back. He felt the fires rolling about in him and knew that 
soon his sap would flow hot and white into her no longer virginal ass-hole 
tunnel. He fucked harder. The speedup in piston-jabs into her ass, sending 
more fire along his shaft and making his balls quiver with need. 

The electric bursts of sexual sensations went up his belly into his spine 
and from there to his heating brain. Already, many colorful images danced on 
the dark screen behind his closed eyelids. 

Ellen felt her whole ass-hole all the way up into her belly. The whole 
length was not only being savagely reamed, but also worked with a rare 
expertise in so young a lad. The hotness set off in her bowels filled her 
belly and cunt and tits with the lava fire of forbidden practices. 

The temperature of her body was raised higher by the moment, as the fuck 
progressed. Her ass-hole continued to ripple down and fight with tightness 
and heat the advance of his hard lance and to aid the withdrawal. But it 
always lost the ground gained, as he rammed back in, harder and faster than 
before. 

Ellen really began to wiggle her ass. The sensation was so stunning that 
Terry had to suck more air into his lungs and wiggle his head harder and 
faster. His fingers dug into her soft ass-flesh. He felt his balls coiling 
like tense springs, about to let loose their load. He felt the hum in his 
flesh as saturated waves of electron currents moved through his body. 

The sperm in his balls began to boil. His body temperature rose and the 
sweat literally poured from him. His brain began to vibrate with the signals 
rushing up from his body. Incandescent clouds of yellow poured from some 
hidden source to flow before his eyes, disappear, and then be replaced. 

Ellen too was humming with sensations and felt the point of coming drawing 
ever closer under his savage, but beloved pounding. She had never dreamed 
she would so love the loss of her anal cherry. 

The scum now turned into a heavy boil in his balls. It flowed hotly around 
and then, as he pumped, he felt it rising, and rising. He was going to 
shoot! 

And, as the thought struck, the scum rushed up his tubes and into his 
cockshaft and down towards the red hot cockhead. It shot in fast bullets of 
white. Her ass-hole reacted as if being touched by acid. She began to wiggle 
her ass and gasp. 

"Fuck me harder. Fuck me. Fuck me." 

And fuck her he did. Each jab going harder and deeper. His cock grew and 
spurted into her. She twisted on his meat. And then her rectum began to 
squeeze his cock in a series of giant up and down rippling motions, that 
squeezed his pole of flesh like it was a long dishrag. 

She went over the brink in those spasms, her cunt giving forth with a mighty 
flow. And her mind traveled across the universe on the wings of pastel 
incandescent starbursts under her, over her, behind her, and in front of 
her, and then, as her sensations intensifies, through her. 

She swam and whirled head over heels at the same time. It was a sensation 
unlike many she had experienced before and yet similar. Each fuck having a 
separate identity of its own. 

Terry was not aware of her reactions. He was whirling and not even able to 
touch ground. His body was transfixed by the sensations of fire and sound 
that passed through him, over and over. 

like her, he felt himself coming down from the high universe he had till 
then inhabited. His body felt freer and lighter and so did his spirit. 

He was aware of her breathing and his cock still going in and out of her 
clutching body, almost as if by some magic control. 

He felt his cock getting softer and shrinking and was aware of the crackle 
and warm orange glow of the fire beyond, in whose circle this couch and 
their bodies were locked. 

He knew that very soon his mother and father were due to come home. He 
wondered with an amused smile and a shiver what they would think if they 
came in here now and saw this. 

Then he opened his eyes and looked down at her white, sweating back, his 
cock still coming in and out of her ass-hole, the sweat pouring from both of 
them and the romantic mellow glow of the firelight. This was the kind of 
light to always fuck by. 

Ellen slowly opened her eyes, blinking rapidly several times till the 
blurring in her field of vision died away. "How are you?" she asked him in a 
weak, staggering voice. 

"Fine," he answered, still fucking. Then he stopped. "Did you like it?" 

"Oh my, yes." He now told her he was going to take it out and for her to 
tighten up. 

As he got it out, she looked back over her shoulder at him. "Can we go 
steady, Terry?" she asked, a big smile on her lips; bright stealth in her 
eyes. 

For a guy who had just gotten one of the great fucks of his life and wanted 
more, there could be only one answer. "Of course, I'd love to." 

He knew as he answered that there was an expression for this. She'd grabbed 
him by the balls. In the spiritual sense now. And probably, in future times, 
in the physical sense as well. Not once, but many times. Not only here, but 
in many places. 

Or as another sage saying goes, the fucking you get isn't worth the fucking 
you get. 

Of the fact that she had just fucked him, after her fucked her, there was no 
doubt. 

Terry was just trying to figure out if it had been worth it. He had not yet 
reached a conclusion as she started to get up off the couch, and ask where 
the bathroom was. 

After that fucking, nature was calling. And like E.F. Hutton, when nature 
talks, everybody listens. 

Or as another great and nameless sage once said on an autumn long ago: when 
you gotta go, you gotta go. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Barcelona picked up the phone and was surprised to hear the voice of 
Joanne's husband. "What can I do for you, Mister Starger. A lube job?" 

"I'd like to do a lube job on your cock, with sulphuric acid, you goddam hot 
pants from south of the border." 

Mister Starger was beyond himself. 

"Mister Starger," Barcelona exclaimed in shock. 

"Mister Starger nothing, you goddam hot pants. You've been drilling my 
wife." 

"Mister Starger. . . " 

"Just shut up and listen," Starger cut in. "I've had a phone call about you 
and my missus. And if you don't take your hot little Latin hands off her hot 
little hometown pussy, I'll come after you. 

"You think I go outta town and you can have the run of the land. Well, 
forget it. 'Cause I am going to do a tattoo on your ass." He slurred his 
words. 

"Mister Starger," Barcelona said, "control yourself. You've had too much to 
drink. I suggest you take a snooze. And when that drunk is over, you'll feel 
better." 

Barcelona had handled this wrong. "Why you goddam Spic!" 

"Mister Starger. I do not like anyone call me that. I'm proud of my Spanish 
blood. My people have done a lot for the world." 

"The hell with you," Starger answered, not slurring his words any more. "We 
could do without chili and tacos." 

"Who told you this," Barcelona asked, trying to forget the slur, his heart 
beating, his cheeks burning. 

"A nice old man. A nice old man." 

"But Mister Starger, listen to me," he tried to say. Starger would not 
listen. 

"I am telling you to stay away from my-wife, you Frenchified baboon. Stay 
away, or I'll ship you back to your wetback cousins." 

"The hell with you, you souse," Barcelona answered, his temper now well 
stoked. "I didn't fuck your wife. My cock is only for the unmarried ladies." 

He paused to catch his breath. The other man was breathing hard too. It was 
almost like two matadors waiting to fight one another and each waiting for 
the other to make the first move by coming out of his corner. 

"I don't have to take such abuse Mister Starger," Barcelona finally said, 
coming out of his corner. 

"Abuse? What the hell do you think I've been taking?" 

"I sympathize with you, sir." 

"Oh, do you now?" Starger paused. "Do you have any idea of how a man feels 
to have come home and then find everyone and anyone has been fucking his 
wife?" 

"I assure you I wouldn't feel better. But how do you know it?" 

"I know it alright. I know it by the look on her face. By the character of 
the woman I've lived with for so many years. By the source who told it to 
me." 

"Who? Maybe he had the hots for her himself and when she refused to bed with 
him he decided to spoil you for her." 

"I highly doubt it. He's much too old. And he's the kind who'd gossip. And 
no matter what his reason he'd not say it unless there was truth to-it. And 
I wouldn't tell you who he is. He wouldn't give me his name. But I 
recognized his voice and his method. It was as good as his signature or even 
as good as seeing his face." 

Barcelona smiled. Starger did not have to tell him. He knew who it was. 

Then Barcelona said, "You've only yourself to blame for this. If it's true. 
You're always away all the time and a drunken souse to top it all." 

"Why you goddam sonofabitch. Who the hell are you to tell me this?" And then 
with a little thought, he asked, "How would you know all this-, unless 
you've been fucking my wife, and she told you?" 

"The whole town knows it, you fool." 

"How dare you call me a fool! You cocksucker!" 

"Well, if she is screwing for others," Barcelona finally answered, all 
irritated and hurt to the quick, "you deserve it. She's a good woman, a hell 
of a lot better than you deserve, you souse." 

"Oh, so you do have an urge for her in your crotch," Starger said, savoring 
some perverse satisfaction. 

Barcelona felt certain disgust and guilt and anger at himself for having 
lost his temper, and points to this ass, and perhaps in some way having hurt 
Joanne. . 

He banged the phone down and stalked off angrily. He went to get a beer. The 
phone started to ring. He ignored it. But when it became too insistent and 
wouldn't stop, he went on over. 

"Yes, what the fuck is it?" he asked, all tensed up for a new round of 
verbal warfare. And even fist warfare if it came to that. He was mad enough 
to fuck the world up the ass. 

But the voice on the line surprised him. "It's me, Joanne." 

"What're you doing on the line, honey? He'll hear you and it'll be hell to 
pay. Don't you have problems enough without calling me with him in the 
house?" 

"He's gone out in a huff. I'm just calling to ask what you said to him." 
Barcelona gave her a brief sample. 

"My God. That was hot talk." 

"What he said to me was pretty hot also." 

"You know who did that? Caleb Hall. I saw him on my way out of the house to 
the taxi." 

"That's what I figured. Someone ought to fix that old fuck's can, so that he 
never makes trouble for anyone anytime." 

"They ought to. But no one will." 

"Yeah, no one will," he echoed. "Listen babe, I gotta hang up. My head is 
swimming with ideas. I have to think all this over." 

"Sure, I understand. Me too. I'm really shocked." She made kissing noises 
over the phone. And then she hung it up. 

Barcelona kept thinking about Hall. He walked to and fro in his gas station, 
went out to fill a few tanks, came back. Got a beer. Was really steamed. 

Finally he decided on some action. This was good pussy. That old bastard had 
really messed him up and ruined his life. Barcelona owed him. 

"I'm going to kill that Caleb Hall bastard," Barcelona muttered. He brought 
his hand down hard on the countertop. Then he started to plan his assault. 
At first he wanted to use a knife on him or a gun. But he might get caught. 
Then again, he might get caught in other conditions also. Then he had an 
idea. He would torch the house. 

Licking his lips, he went and got a five gallon gasoline can. He went and 
got a roll of toilet paper and a pack of scotch tape. Now he would wait. He 
would wait for deeper night to fall. The cover of darkness would hide him 
from seeing eyes. People would sleep and he would creep. 

He went down the street and stepped into Pete Gondolfo's Diner for a steak 
and french fries. He had a beer with that. He ate quickly and forced himself 
to do so. He was not really hungry. But the thought of what he had to do 
made him nervous and when he was nervous enough, Bob Carboneau always ate 
and he ate well. 

He was done and went back home. Too many people were out on those streets. 
He just had to let that hunger and anger for blood gnaw at him a bit longer. 

He was like a wild man, not like a wild man, I should say, but a wild man. 
There were times when he thought of forgetting all about it. But then the 
burning for his enemy returned. The loss and wounds that had been inflicted 
were too great for Barcelona to forget or forgive and he was not a man to do 
so. 

His teeth and jaw hurt so great was the tension building in him. He watched 
the news, saw stuff about the Syrian army getting newer MIG-23's. He saw 
there was a fire in Wyoming. A new scandal on Capitol Hill. The same shit 
all over again, only told in different versions and variations. 

He took out a new pack of Kent filters, slit the cellophane and aluminum 
foil and stuck a cigarette in his mouth. He got himself a beer from the 
refrigerator and watched TV to kill time. He wanted to take a nap, figuring 
that would kill time best of all. But he was too keyed up to sleep. And he 
felt that if he went to bed, he might oversleep, not waking till morning. 

He watched a rerun of Bewitched and felt it had really aged in the ten years 
since the program was filmed. Then he watched a program of Crosswits and an 
old Bonanza. That still retained some of its old flavor. 

He looked at the wall clock. It was still much too early to act. How he 
hated the waiting. It drove him half mad. He had another beer, and then one 
more. He was starting to get dizzy. So he left the house to walk it off. He 
stepped into a bar to take a piss and stayed there for another drink. A rye 
this time. To steady his nerves. He was getting jittery. 

He came home around eleven thirty and watched Johnny Carson. He liked the 
monologue and the comedy bits Johnny did with Ed McMahon. Barcelona always 
dreamed of being someone like Carson. He read somewhere that Carson was 
getting thirty grand a week, and maybe even more. He had wondered why. Then 
he saw some of the substitute hosts and the Mike Douglas and Merv Griffin 
shows. Or the other local talk shows. They all put you to sleep. None had 
that special atmosphere and personality Carson delivered with ease, each 
time he was on. Barcelona would not even watch the show the nights Carson 
wasn't on, except for those times when Rickles or Shecky Greene came on to 
host. 

Yup, he realized, Carson was worth the money. Twenty million people watched 
him nightly. Jesus, that was nearly one in ten Americans. If he made each 
person laugh just twice or three times, that was worth a half penny a person 
at least. Multiplying that by twenty million people made him seem worth the 
inflated salaries he got. After all, he was a coast-to-coast star, doing an 
inflated job. 

He looked at the paper. The late show was another Kojak. God, he was on all 
over and at all hours. It seemed as if Savalas owned the network. 

Barcelona switched channels. There was a monster picture on. Some invaders 
from Mars. Twenty years old, with dated looking space suits, though they 
must have seemed the in thing when the picture was made. It was more like a 
comedy now. With no civilization having been found on Mars this picture 
seemed dated and irrelevant. At least if it had been made about some other 
planet there might have been some element of believability about it. But the 
solar systems secrets were now being probed and laid bare at an amazing 
rate. Though there was still decades of exploration ahead. 

Barcelona shut the TV He paced the floor, then picked up a mystery by 
Matthew Eden. It was called Conquest Before Autumn. He began to read. It was 
sort of boring. Barcelona did with it what he always did with books he did 
not like much. He began to skim, stopping just for the interesting parts. 
The story was more talk than action and the talk not as interesting as some 
of the talk he had read in books. In two hours he covered more than 
two-thirds of the book. The fact that he was nervous made him less 
interested in the story than he might have been. But nothing could have 
saved that story. Towards the end he got to the part about the Russians 
trying to get their defense minister from a farmhouse in France. Where he 
was being held after being kidnapped. 

The book started out with a resigned American Secretary of Defense being 
kidnapped and the Americans kidnapping his Russian counterpart. It had been 
a good idea. But badly developed. 

Barcelona looked and saw that it was an English book. Mostly from experience 
he knew the English were dull writers, even if good plotters with nice 
character studies. They had sunk a far pace from the days of Dickens and 

Thackery and Sir Walter Scott. 

Barcelona threw the book aside. He would finish it some other time or maybe 
not at all. He had another book he wanted to read, Desperate Dames, a fuck 
and suck story, or better said, a stick and dick adventure. 

He got the stuff, put it in the car, locked up the house and drove around. 
He liked it with the country air on his face like this, the feeling of a job 
running through the pit of his stomach. 

Around two o'clock he drove to a spot five blocks from the house of his 
enemy, parked, got out, locked up and took his stuff from the trunk. 

He had on plastic gloves, the kind you wear while painting and then throw 
away. He walked down deserted, tree-lined streets, with dark windows behind 
hedges and in some, lights. He came to the house he wanted. Opening the 
gate, he stepped inside and closed it. All very silently. He worked very 
well for a restless spirit. But the time he had been pressured into waiting 
for had calmed him down. There was a numbness inside, though there was 
behind it all a high electric hum in his ears; all his nerves telling him 
that he might be caught and they were waiting to explode into activity at 
the slightest signal of danger. 

Barcelona looked at the house, a darkened fortress sitting there in the 
green, pungent night, oblivious to all danger. He looked at the houses to 
both sides, then at the street behind him and the houses across it. All were 
black and dark. He was alone. This was in his hands now. He licked his lips. 
This would tell him how good he was. 

Barcelona felt a bit mad doing this. But he did not care. He had committed 
himself to it and would carry it through. He thought back for a second to 
his days in the army, when his captain had called him in and told Barcelona 
to go for officer's school. Barcelona had been reluctant to do so. His 
captain looked at his intelligence test and told him to reconsider. He said 
Barcelona was in that fifteen percentile of all recruits with the 
intelligence to make officer. Moreover, he had a stable personality, another 
thing needed along with intelligence and an ability to handle military 
matters, plus leadership qualities, all the things that separated men of the 
same intelligence and place Barcelona into a group, one out of every fifteen 
of all recruits, who could make it to second lieutenant. 

Barcelona now felt sorry he had not taken the offer. He might have made 
quite a career for himself. Even getting promoted to first louie and maybe 
even captain. 

He smiled and then went towards the house. 

He went right and down the narrow alley between the two houses, with a high 
wood slat fence separating them. Barcelona looked up at the walls of the 
house. He unscrewed the cap from the five gallon can of gasoline and put 
that in his left breast pocket. 

Walking down the side of the white frame house, he began to slosh gasoline 
out along the wall in an up and down slosh, going slow and steady. He came 
to the back of the house, stopping to adjust his eyes to the dimmer light, 
now that the streetlights out front were not illuminating back here. He saw 
a garden, neat and nice. He would even have liked to have rested there. But 
there was no time for that now. There was too much danger. He was a stranger 
preparing to create a orange tinted nightmare for this man. He smiled as he 
went around behind the house, sloshing his gasoline; his heart still beating 
evenly and a bit fast. But he was a man much in control. He liked this. How 
he would have enjoyed being a commando. 

He came to the slanted doors set into the ground, if the owner wanted to go 
into the cellar. Barcelona went around that and continued with his gasoline. 
He was very niggardly with its outflow and when he got to the corner of the 
house, so that he could go around and down the other side, he still had well 
over half the gasoline left. 

He went down the side a bit faster now. He listened to the night crickets in 
the bushes, going on madly as if there were danger about. They were 
beginning to bug him. They might not have any other night in any other 
place. 

He took a deep breath. The night air was too moist. He reached the front of 
the house and poured his gasoline there. He poured a lot over the front 
door. Then he went around to the side he started on. He found that about a 
quarter of the gasoline was still in the can. So he covered that side of the 
house and the picket fence too, splashing wider areas. 

He put the can down. He took the toilet paper and scotch tape from the side 
sack he carried. He unrolled the roll and laid it flat against the wall of 
the house, using the scotch tape to keep it in place. He unrolled ten feet 
at least. And then did the same lower down. He went toward the back and 
rolled out twenty more feet, stopping to scotch tape them. He was now 
running out of tape, but had plenty of toilet paper. It was rolled right 
over the areas that had been soaked with gasoline, it was time to set the 
fire and go. He licked his lips nervously. A car passed in the street. Its 
lights swept the houses on both sides of the street. 

His heart began to beat faster, but as the car past, it returned to its 
normal rate. He took a deep breath and moved back with the roll of toilet 
paper, letting it out on the ground, while it was still attached to the wall 
from which it hung. He let it out loosely, so it would lie like a white 
snake on the grass, the sides touching, adding to the amount of material 
that would burn. 

He did this out into the front yard, almost to the gate. He had let out 
about a quarter of the roll so far. He ripped it off and stuffed the roll 
and scotch tape he was holding back into his side canvas bag, that he had 
slung over one shoulder. 

Now his heart was really beating strongly. This was it. He had to avenge his 
lover and he had to make it out of here safely, without being caught. Or his 
ass was one cooked goose. 

His heart was speeding up. Barcelona blew out breath from his lungs. He was 
shaking like a madman now. The tension that had been building became a wild 
hum. 

He ran back to the alley for the gasoline can. He could not leave that. It 
was evidence. He picked it up. Took the cap from his pocket, and sealed it 
shut. No excess gasoline from inside would pour out onto the ground or his 
clothes, to be sniffed and followed by police hounds. 

He went over in a crouch and opened the gate and let it stay open. Then he 
went back to the toilet paper trail. He gazed around to make sure no lights 
had gone on in the houses on either side, put on by someone coming down for 
a drink of water or a look outside. 

This was the moment of truth, when he'd be either proven a man or a nothing. 
It also took an element of luck to make it fight. He pulled out his BIC 
lighter and hit the flame and watched it flicker bright orange in the 
darkness. Then he touched it to the toilet paper. 

It began to burn. In a wide, four inch swath. Slowly at first, then faster. 
The edges browning, the flames an inch and a half high. The flame 
orange-yellow. A sudden, small wind drove the flames down and across the 
paper. 

It was time to be heading home. Barcelona rose and went to the gate. Pulled 
it open and stepped out onto the sidewalk. His heart was really beating now. 
The kind of beating a heart does when you are very, very scared. He could 
feel the blood move through his veins with every thump of his heart. Even 
into his heart and behind his eyes; almost as if his blood would bash them 
out of his skull. 

He pulled the gate closed, but did not shut it, leaving it a few inches ajar 
and began to walk down the sidewalk, a little too rapidly, he told himself. 
He could hear his shoes on the sidewalk, each smack like thunder to his 
ears. 

It seemed to him that everyone could hear it. He went faster still. He did 
not want to break into a trot like some fool. He was less than fifty feet 
from the comer. All he had to do was go around it. From far off, he could 
hear a police siren wailing in the night. That was all he needed. He 
shivered a bit and walked towards the corner. 

He looked back. He could see the toilet paper still burning and the light, 
white smoke going up from it. The flames had almost reached the house. 

Barcelona knew that in perhaps seconds the flames would race up to the 
strands of toilet paper attached along the house walls. Then the gasoline 
would go up like gunpowder. If any police car came around a corner and saw 
him his goose was cooked. He was fried, fucked and forgotten. 

He had just gotten to the corner when he heard a light whoosh. He looked 
back and was shocked at the mammoth orange flames licking the sides of the 
house. He could just imagine them rushing along the alley and then around 
behind the house, down the second alley and to the front of the house. 

He gave a shiver and a shake as he went around the corner. He just had to go 
faster. He could hear the crackle of the flames now eating into the wood. 
This was going much faster than he had expected and he was too close to the 
scene for his liking. He began to walk much faster, bordering almost on a 
run. His heart was beating so loud and so wildly it was almost as if that 
organ was attempting to punch through his chest. His head seemed to expand 
outward with every push of his heart. 

He could almost not believe it was happening to him or that he had done such 
a thing. Barcelona never would have done this in the first place if he had 
known. 

But now was too late to think otherwise. The die had been cast, to quote a 
cliche. He walked faster still. 

Back at the house the flames burned in a circle along the stain of the 
gasoline. Old man Hall slept, in a second floor bedroom, unaware. But in the 
middle of this sleep, his dreams began to be disturbed. 

He started to dream of warm places. The tropics, young maidens in grass 
skirts, dancing, swinging their enticing, chocolate brown hips. He began to 
get a partial hard-on, the best a man of his age could get. He now felt a 
glow and then a sudden rumble. The girls were screaming and no longer 
dancing. They were fleeing. He wondered why. Then a volcano grew out of the 
ground and began to rumble and spew lava and smoke. The smoke was the worst 
part of it. 

With that he began to come to his senses. The smoke was still there. Then in 
shock, he sat up. Flames were lapping at his window. He shivered and went 
into a momentary numbness. Then he jumped from the bed, and with an 
incredible spryness for a man his age, started out the door and down the 
steps. 

Halfway down he remembered that he had forgotten his teeth, but said to hell 
with it. New teeth he could get. But he had just one neck to give. And that 
neck was not going to be given for his house or for his country. 

Across the street, a neighbor, Mrs. Lotte Pierce, could not sleep and had 
gone down to the kitchen for a past-midnight snack, though she knew this was 
not good for her digestion. 

She saw a brightness through her window and wondered what made it so. Since 
she was not sitting in front of the window she did not see it. But she got 
up and then saw the circle of flames around old man Hall's home. 

Her first reaction was to shriek, as her hands went up to her face. But she 
stifled this and rushed to the phone in the hall. Her slippers clip-clopping 
along. She put on the lights, shut her' eyes momentarily to avoid the 
searing brightness. And then opened one eye and then the other. 

They teared a bit, but she dialed the operator nonetheless, hoping she 
wasn't making any mistakes. She didn't. She got the operator, Ida Mae 
Monston. 

"Ida? This is Lotte Pierce. Fire over at old man Caleb Hall's place. Get the 
fireboys over here on the double quick." Before she could go on the phone 
line was disconnected. The dependable Ida Mae was hard at work getting those 
fireboys out. With their one truck hook and ladder company. 

Ida did not have to ring long. "Hello, 86th Truck & Ladder Company." 

She wondered a minute why if they were the only goddam truck and ladder unit 
in ten miles did they have to aggrandize themselves by giving it such a big 
name. They couldn't call themselves Unit I, she thought. But that wasn't 
what she said. 

"That you, Floyd McManus?" 

"Yup." 

"Well, there's a fire over at old man Caleb Hall's place. Get the lead outta 
your ass and move on over." 

"All the secrets he has must've gone up in flame," McManus laughed as he 
hung up. 

But even as he was doing so, he was yelling at the others to get their asses 
out of their bunks and to move it. Men slid down the railing bar from the 
second floor to the ground floor, where the fire engine sat in the open 
door, looking at the warm and peaceful night. 

It would not be so warm and so peaceful for long. 

Barcelona heard them coming from a long ways off. He had put a few blocks 
between himself and the fire since. And he had run the last block, no longer 
giving a damn, and too scared to care. He just had to get the hell away from 
there. That was all he knew. 

He had stopped himself as he crossed the street and let his 'tired lungs 
suck in enough air. Now he was coming to a block half covered by a bushy 
lot. It was here he would dump his gasoline can. It had been like an 
albatross around his neck, all the way here. 

He went off the sidewalk as he passed the last house on the block and into 
the lot and then disappeared into the bushes to find a good hiding place 
amid this greenery of blackness and thickness of chlorophyll scent and the 
stink of rotting refuse thrown away here by the careless citizenry. 

It was lucky for him he had started to go into the bushes. For the wail of 
the fire engine racing towards this street became very loud. He heard it 
coming onto the block and rushed deeper into the greenery, tripping over a 
fallen log, he went sprawling onto the dirt, letting go of the can, which 
went flying. He hit the leaves and branches and crumply, soft earth, hitting 
with his hands, his chest, his knees, and the side of his jaw. 

The air was pushed from him. And then the fire engine came down the block. 
He raised his head and turned it to look, as the fire engine swung onto the 
block. It sent a faint spray of yellow headlights across the lot, accenting 
and outlining the leaves in yellowish-green. And then, as the headlights 
passed, leaving the lot in darkness again. 

Barcelona got up. He would leave the can where it was. It had fallen in 
enough cover. Now he dusted himself off. Those clothes would have to be 
washed, he knew. 

He started out of the lot, noticing on the near horizon the rising flames. 
The sky above that spot shimmered in a vulcan red. 

He sighed, feeling a little better, then he walked from the lot, back to his 
car. 

Caleb Hall had rushed down the steps to the first floor and through the 
darkness, now shimmering with the reflected orange light of the flames all 
around, coming in through unshaded windows. 

He ran to the front door and pulled it opened and then fell back. The door 
was also on fire. He cringed, fear making his heart race faster, his eyes 
revolve wildly in his head. The flames licked at him. 

Neighbors were gathering in the street now. There were some shrieks of 
surprise and cries of anguish. Caleb Hall did not hear them. He rushed 
through the living room to the back door. Already smoke was filling the air. 
And in places the flames had burned through the outside walls and now 
exploded out of walls, through paint and around hanging pictures. 

Caleb Hall made it to the back door and pulling this open, also saw smoke 
and flames. He screamed, scared for the first time. He ran to a window and 
pulled it open and again flames lashed at him. The glass was hot and burned 
to the touch. The frame was beginning to burn. 

He ran from the back to the front. The living room was already filled with a 
thick cloud of smoke. He crouched and began to cough. He had not imagined it 
would be this way in a fire. 

Again, he stopped. The open door beckoned. It was now wreathed in flames, 
the flames licking at the doorway. His house was ruined. But that did not 
bother him so much as the threat to his life. 

He made one of those quick decisions. The kind we do not think ourselves 
capable of. But the kind we make every day when the times of crisis are upon 
us. 

Hall closed his eyes and gave a little shout and ran. He punched through the 
light wall of flames; feeling the searing heat suck at him, and even singe 
his hair. But he kept on running, away from the grasping fingers of flame, 
away from his house. Off his front doorstep and along his walk. 

He heard the cheer of his neighbors and their happiness that he had made it. 
He was halfway to the gate before he opened his eyes and stopped. He could 
not believe he had made it. He was so happy he could have kissed everyone 
and cried. 

Neighbors were opening the front gate and pulling at him and taking him out 
onto the sidewalk. People pressed all around him, patting him on the back, 
asking how he was. 

Those, who for years had just looked at him with a snigger, and thought him 
to be a meddling old bastard, now called him a good old boy. 

He looked from them to his house, now a bright blaze, turning the early 
morning sky into premature day. When he saw that the hardened old man burst 
into a sob. 

He had not cried since he was a boy. And now it poured from him and would 
not stop. Almost everything he had was in that house. The insurance would 
never cover his loss. It almost never did. He could just see himself living 
out his last years in a nursing home, burning away his money there, under 
control, no longer able to make trouble for anyone again. Being on the 
receiving end, like he was tonight. 

He wondered where the hell the fire department was. like the police, they 
were never there when you needed them. 

As if on cue he heard the approaching wail of the fire engine. He looked 
again at his house. They were too late to save it. Flames roared on the 
inside and outside. The old wood, now stripped of the protecting cover of 
paint, went up like dried paper. Flames shot from the roof. They shot from 
the celler too. There was a tearing sound, like old calico being ripped. 
Parts of the roof began to cave in. 

Then the fire engine turned onto the street. The people shouted at the 
firemen to get a move on. 

But Caleb Hall knew it was too late. Too late for him. He looked at the 
firemen. "Sonofabitches," he muttered under his breath, the tears continuing 
to fall across his wrinkled leather cheeks. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

The tinkle of glasses, light chatter and the scent of good foods filled the 
air in the roadside diner. There was in the air the electric romance of a 
good evening to come. But only for some people. 

The rest thought only of the long haul ahead. Long distance truckers have 
little else to think of. 

Those long trips use up the subjects for conversation. 

Harley Mungerforth and Joanne Starger sat at a booth in back, smoking, 
finishing their steak dinners, sipping their tall glasses of Olympic beer. 

They had discussed the fire yesterday that burned old man Hall's house. Both 
knew she and Barcelona Bob were the prime suspects. She knew the police had 
probably counted her out, but not Bob. He had not called her and she hadn't 
called him. 

He was probably afraid they might be tapping her line and she was afraid to 
call him for that reason or even to call from an outside booth, in case the 
police might be tapping his line. She had figured he was the one who did it 
and confided this to Mungerforth, who agreed. He called her earlier on to 
ask if she wanted to go out with him. Even if the police knew this, she 
decided to accept. They would find out about her anyway if they checked far 
enough and hard enough. And anyway, all they had to do was talk to old man 
Hall. 

She had discussed this with Harley long enough, now in the lull to their 
conversation, they fell silent and listened to the talk of the two men in 
the booth next to them, both long distance truckers. 

"Did you read the paper?" the man named Virgil asked his friend, called 
Kingston. 

"Yeah." 

"About Vietnamn?" 

"No, I missed that part, Virgil." 

"I read that there is lots of fighting there. The old government troops are 
in the jungles fighting with the old instruments from before the fall." 

"I cain't say I blame 'em, Virgil. I was in 'Nam. An' I hate them communist 
mo'fuckers." 

"Yeah, you ain't the only one. But I read the fighting is big. They say 
there are enough men in the jungles to equal two divisions and the 
communists got six divisions hunting for them and fighting with them. And 
two more to pacify the country and then they got two more to hold Laos and 
fourteen more in North Vietnam itself." 

"It's just Vietnam, Virgil. No more north and south." 

"Bullshit. That's just what them flunky politicans say. To me there is North 
Vietnam and occupied South Vietnam." 

"You call it what you want. Those other people will call it what they wants. 
But that country is gone for good. It ain't gonna get free no how." 

"Unless we help it." 

"Grow up, Virgil. We ain't going to help it. We're just a bunch of weakling 
asskissers. Our president does something strong, them gutless cocksuckers in 
the universities are going to revolt and get all high and mighty about it." 

"Come on, let's get out of here," Mungerforth said to Joanne, as he became 
suddenly tired of the diner. It seemed as if he had eaten too many meals in 
too many diners over his lifetime. He wondered if that ever happened to 
truckers. And if not, why it was hitting him all of a sudden. Maybe he was 
just temporarily sick of life. 

He dropped money on the table to pay for the check and a nice tip for the 
waitress. But Mungerforth always paid a nice tip to the waitress. He had 
been a busboy and then a waiter once, in the early spring of his years. It 
had been a hard and harrowing experience, one which he never forgot and one 
which he did not care for anyone to have to repeat ever. 

They went out to the blacktop lot at the side of the diner and got into his 
car and drove out to the highway. 

"You don't look too good," Joanne said, looking at him, some concern showing 
on her face. 

"I don't feel too good," he replied, showing her a rare honesty he showed to 
few others. 

"Mama will take care of that," she told him with a smile. 

"I certainly hope so." 

"Are you doubting my talents?" she asked, a coy smile on her lips. 

"I don't doubt them. Neither do I believe they can lift me out of my present 
slump." 

"The successful Harley Mungerforth?" she asked with some surprise, her 
eyebrows arching, perhaps a bit too dramatically. 

"Success is relative dear lady. When a man makes ten thousand dollars a year 
he compares himself with the men who make the same. He dreams of making 
twenty thousand and then looks, with something akin to awe at those making 
forty thousand a year." 

"Now the man making twenty looks at himself as equal with others making the 
same, superior to those making less and with some dreaming at those making 
forty and something akin to awe at those making more." 

"And when the man making eighty does badly he feels badly. He may be doing 
loads better than the man making twenty or ten, but for what he is used to 
it is nothing." 

He looked sideways at her a second, to see if she knew what he was talking 
about. And she nodded to give affirmation that she understood. He put his 
eyes back on the highway and went on. 

"Success, you see, is relative. It's whatever point a man says he is 
succeeding at. That depends on the man and where he is in life. 

You must also understand that as a man goes up in the world he goes down 
also." 

"I mean by this that when he makes twenty he may be a sudden success to all 
who are making ten and from whom he sprang. But when he makes twenty, he can 
suddenly buy better things. He moves to a new world, a strange new world. He 
suddenly makes new friends. He lives in a better, more expensive house or 
apartment, drives a better car, eats steak more often. He finds twenty is no 
big deal in his new surroundings." 

"Suddenly he is mister average again, only at a higher level. He finds that 
though he makes and spends twice as much he is not twice as happy. He does 
not have twice as much." 

"It's like with a car. You can spend twenty-five hundred or five thousand. 
If you spend twice the money it doesn't mean you're getting twice the car. 
Or twice the luxury features or looks or size and it won't last twice as 
long. You may be getting thirty or forty percent more, but not twice." It's 
the same with a salary. You find your rent may double. You are living in a 
newer building, the rooms are nicer, but not twice as much. You are in a 
higher income bracket and in a higher bracket you also pay more taxes." 

"So you start to dream and you go up again. You make thirty grand a year, 
provided you are able to get that. And again you find yourself boxed in. 
It's nice money. But you can't buy a Caddy every year. You can't go to the 
Riviera every summer. You can't own a yacht. You're too rich to be poor, but 
too poor to be rich." 

"I know I make more than that. I know the level at which a man is declared 
to be part of the upper classes by the IRS, starts at thirty-five thousand a 
year. But I am still not doing that great." 

"If my farm gives me trouble, and it does, my income dips. If my book store 
is giving me trouble, and it is, my income dips. Luckily I have other 
businesses to put it into and my income does not suffer drastically. But 
there are times when it dips below that beloved figure of eight-five 
thousand; which folks around here believe I make. And around which they 
measure themselves. There are times when it will dip below eighty thousand." 

"Oh," she said, suddenly a bit surprised, and shifting nervously in the 
seat, her estimate of him going down somewhat. But then he added. 

"Not by much." Her estimate of him rose somewhat. And she also wondered a 
moment why all her heroes were troubled ones, but then he went on. 

"And then, on top of all, things, come taxes. They generally take a third or 
more of my income." He gritted his teeth and did not speak, his face 
somewhat tense in the lights of the pale dashboard dials.' 

They did not speak again till they got to his house, a palatial one-story, 
nine room structure on two acres of ground. It was reputed to have cost him 
over one hundred thousand dollars when he bought it and to be worthy over 
one hundred-ninety thousand now. 

As they went up the driveway, he extended his left arm in a sweep of the 
house and grounds. "Real estate taxes on this place cost me over eight 
thousand dollars a year. Then there are water bills and all the rest. It 
just drives me up the walls sometimes." 

She just listened without saying a thing. Harley Mungerforth was a man 
consumed by money. When he hit the automatic control and a motor arm began 
lifting the garage door, he said, "The gas bill on this car alone cost me 
over half a grand a year. Repairs, insurance and all the rest of that hell 
cost me another grand. I'm being stripped bare." 

For a man being stripped bare he sure looked fully dressed to Joanne. She 
wouldn't have minded being Mrs. Harley Mungerforth and helping strip some of 
the money from his bank account into clothes for her and jewels for her 
fingers and bells for her toes, as the popular jingle has it. 

They drove into the garage. He hit the switch, the door came down and they 
left the car and entered the house. She had been here often before. The 
thick carpeting, fine furniture, heavy chandeliers, thick with crystal, fine 
lamps, wall paintings and such did not make her think this was a man pursued 
by money problems. 

They walked into the bedroom without speaking, knowing this was where they 
had to go, almost as if by some secret code. She began undressing as soon as 
she got into the bedroom and he did the same. They folded their clothes 
neatly over sitting chairs, going rapidly, but not too hurriedly, till they 
were naked. 

Joanne went to the bed, pulled down the covers and got onto it. Mungerforth 
just stared at her awhile, with a wan smile on his lips. 

"Don't worry hon," she said. "I'm going to make you happy. Very happy." 

He nodded up and down, his shut lips wrinkling in a brief smile. Then he 
said, "Why don't I put on some music? You'll like it." 

"Fine, why don't you?" . 

He went over the record rack and looked around, taking out records, putting 
them back, till he had what he wanted. Then he turned to stare at her and 
licked his lips at her wonderful sexiness, before he turned back to the 
stereo and took the record out of its jacket and put it on the player. 

Harley Mungerforth put on the stereo. He played a series of selections by Al 
Caiola and his magical guitar. He turned back to Joanne, lying on his bed in 
garter belt, stockings and nothing else. 

"It's good to have you here like this, Joanne," he said, sitting down on the 
edge of the bed and looking so very tired. 

"I'm glad to come whenever you call, Harley." 

She sat up with a smile, her knowing hand going to his cock so she could 
grab his still flaccid manhood and bring it to tumescence. 

Her knowing, glowing touch was all that was needed to bring a heat to his 
crotch. 

She made her circled fingers and palm into a tube that stroked his hardening 
meat in an up and down, waving, motion. Mungerforth sighed. Joanne was such 
a lovely person when one got to really know her. He hoped he would never 
lose her and her knowing touch. 

Joanne smiled and sat up. He saw she was going to blow him. Before she did 
that he wanted to kiss her. He would not do so after she blew him. 

Grabbing her hair, he pulled her face towards him. Joanne smile a wet, 
open-mouthed smile his way. He felt her still working his cock, not letting 
go, being good to him while his lips glued themselves to hers and her tongue 
shot into his mouth to explore and probed. He jabbed at her tongue with his, 
then laved her mouth, as his tongue pushed hers back out of her mouth and 
began to slap hers left and right. The wet, slippery snakes slid and slipped 
off one another. 

Then he pulled his mouth from her and looked down at his crotch, then at 
her. Joanne knew what he wanted and set about providing him with it. 

Her head dipped and her hair fell forward over both sides of her face, as 
her soft, pink painted lips took him into her. He sucked air into his mouth 
when that happened. Then she swallowed two more inches and he had to again 
suck air into his lungs. 

He pulled her hair away and lifted it up and threw it over so it would hang 
from the other side of her face and he could see her mouth and face as she 
worked his cock in and out of her mouth. 

She opened an eye and looked at him, then a smile formed on the lips swollen 
wide around his cock. She gave him fast, hissing suckles and Mungerforth 
rose upward with a hiss and then settled down. As he did she again repeated 
the maneuver and he went up into the air with a hiss. 

When he came down Joanne salivated to fill her mouth with slick liquid and 
began to run her lips up and down his tube of manhood in a steady pace, 
stopping at each downward jab to use her tongue to run around and around the 
head of his cock in her mouth. 

Mungerforth began to exclaim, "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Christ," as he wiggled 
around on the balls of his ass. It was a stunning beginning. Joanne loved 
his reaction to her mouth work. Her nipples were lengthening and she felt 
the warming glow between her legs. 

Her hands did not move away from the cock they so lovingly held. One hand 
dropped to his balls though and she began to tug at the single, kinky hairs 
that grew from the wrinkled ball sac. Each pull sent a sting through his 
nuts and up into his cock. But in the state she had by then placed him in, 
each sting was transmuted into a wince of pleasure that served only to send 
him one level higher, at the same time making his cock harder, longer, 
redder, hotter. 

Joanne felt the warm glow from her crotch rise into her belly and also race 
up and down her spine. It was a warmth that grew with the passing moments 
and did not go away. 

The need for his cock, deep in her wanting cunt, was great. She vowed to 
give him thirty seconds more of oral happiness and then to let him out of 
her mouth. 

With that in mind she began some vigorous sucking, speeding up, to get him 
larger, slowing down, so that he might not shoot all of a sudden. She 
suckled, twisted her mouth around it, used her tongue to flick at the end of 
his cock and to lick the pre-cum dew from the slit in the head. 

And then she let him fall from her puffed, swollen, saliva-slicked mouth. He 
felt himself touching only empty air and her rising and getting onto the bed 
farther up, near the headboards. 

As the pleasant cocoon of pleasure she had created for him, began to fade, 
he opened his eyes and looked down at his glistened, quivering cock, then at 
her. He knew now what she wanted, lying there with her legs spread and her 
gash glistening brightly and beckoning the weary traveler to enter between 
the portals and find joy and fulfillment in the slimy tunnel within. 

Mungerforth got up on the bed and then on his knees advanced so that he was 
between her fleshy and ample thighs. Finding himself in position, he took 
his cock and moved forward bury the head within. She practically sucked him 
into her body when he did so. 

Mungerforth was urged by her needing, grasping cunt to push in deeper, and 
did so, shoving three inches into her without stopping, and seeing she took 
this, giving her all the rest in a slipping slide. 

He stayed a second to soak in the clutching, wet, heat of her meat and then 
began to pull out. 

But her legs closed around him, her heels coming to rest on his cheeks. He 
was now in a cocoon of flesh, clutched at by her cunt, buried to the hilt in 
her meat, his balls resting against her twitching ass-hole. 

Now he began to pull out, out, till only the tip of his cock was in her and 
returned in a long slide into her. She made a slight, "ooof," and took him. 
Then he did the same before beginning his steady piston-jab into her 
trembling and clutching body. 

She took the jabs into her, sucking at his cock with her cunt, forcing her 
cunt muscles to squeeze at him and then let him out, still clutching with 
need. 

He pulled out and then rammed back on in. Each time the slip and slide of 
his cock out of and back into her was like going through hot, clutching 
jelly. He felt her heels push in at him, as he slid back into her and then 
hold him, as he tried to get it all out of her. 

Joanne put her hands on his back and pressed her fingers tightly into him. 
At the same time she began to wiggle her hips and a smile appeared on her 
lips pressed so tight. 

He felt her wiggles and fucked up harder into her. He tried to spear as much 
cunt as possible in every jab. She loved it, her cunt clutching more 
frantically at his needing manhood. 

His cock grew a bit longer and harder, quivering more. He felt a strong 
electric hum through his whole body. Mungerforth fucked on, eyes shut tight, 
his senses ultra-alert, listening to her breathing, feeling her cunt working 
him, and his cock spearing her crotch on each inward plunge. His fucking 
became faster. Her thighs clutching him into her, holding him and fighting 
his outward plunge and the unsheathing of his lethal and most beloved tool. 
He blasted back into her harder. 

Mungerforth began to add a wiggle to his movements to row his cock around in 
her as he plunged in and out. She tightened her hold around him by clenching 
harder around his waist, crossing her ankles. 

Her legs rowed up and down his back, leaving great red swaths. Her fingers 
dug into his flesh. Her hands rowed up and down his back. It was a moment of 
great and growing excitement for her. She began to throw her head left and 
right. Her belly rippled with the desires racing about in her. 

Joanne began to come up as he plunged down, thus swallowing his shaft 
faster, adding to the friction of flesh rubbing against flesh, clutching 
even harder at him with her cunt. Wanting all of him in her. 

She shivered with need. And Mungerforth breathed harder with the effort 
required to keep her body dancing on his cock, as it was. He was jamming 
that prick in and out as fast as his body and lungs would carry him. It was 
a hard and fast pace that took a strong toll of his body. 

He felt her tits mashing up against his chest, flattening out, her hot, hard 
nipples burning through his flesh like hot coals. He was being squeezed into 
her body. Clutched by her flesh. Dug into by her fingers. 

She kept on bashing into him, sucking his cock in all the way, and rowing 
those big, wonderful legs up and down his body, leaving swaths of red along 
his back. His balls were bouncing like mad against her ass-hole. They were 
rolling with hot scum, ready to charge up his tubes and into her needing, 
clutching cunt. 

His brain was being raised to a high fever. The scum kept on reaching a 
boiling point within him. He was now going half mad with the sensations 
dancing in his brain. Mungerforth just had to shoot. He could feel the scum 
boiling now. About to let go. He pounded harder into her, wanting to end it 
once and for all. 

Great, salty streams of sweat shot up from his glistening wet body and ran 
down his skin and across her digging fingers. She too was glistening with 
sweat. But Joanne felt nothing now. She was bashing and swallowing. 

She wanted as much cock as she could get. Her temperature was rising and 
rising ever upward. It was like a great tidal wave of heated sensations. 

She was starting to shake and shake. Her brain was in a purple froth now. 
She was throwing her head from side to side, sending her hair flying in 
every which way. Her face had turned into a rictus of passion. It was a 
passion which knew no end. 

She was bashing herself up against his down coming body in a very hard and 
fast manner by this point. She was using her hands and arms to almost pull 
herself up into him. It was a passion that was wild and needing and 
consuming, which had her in its control. 

She could have gone higher if not for the body that came down onto hers in 
the great periodic strokes of his fucking and threw her back onto the bed. 

Her mouth opened and shut with the needs that passed through and through the 
both of them. Each sucking as much air into their lungs as they could get. 

With a suddenness, like an unexpected bolt of lightning, his sperm exploded 
in a sudden ejaculation from his cockhead along the length of her cunt 
tunnel. It struck hard, fracturing into many ricocheting drops that sent her 
into a paroxym of furious grinding of her pelvis up against him. She had to 
get to the top and over now. His cock had grown inside her in that moment of 
spurting. And as it grew, her cunt wildly gripped and let go, gripped and 
let go. 

She twisted like a demon on his cock and then in those moments of great 
wildness, came herself. She shot her load and covered his cock and danced 
ever more wildly, as flashes of incandescent purple and white alternated in 
sudden, swift explosions inside her skull. 

She rose and fell back and rose and fell back. Her whole body was jolted by 
electric spasms. She moaned about the goodness of it, went speechless, then 
uttered a list of expletives. Then her head fell to the side. She stopped 
throwing herself about. Her legs opened like lotus petals, falling to the 
sides, letting go 'of him. 

He felt a loosening of pressure, his prick shrunk some more. He slowed his 
fucking. His brain stopped whirling so much. Mungerforth became more aware 
of this world and less involved in the world he had been in. 

At last his eyes fluttered open. Hers were still shut. He pulled himself 
from her. Then lay down next to her and watched and listened to Joanne, 
breathe. Her chest was going up and down with her flattened out tits the 
most eye catching part of her. Her face was serene after fucking, her hair 
mussed, in a dark halo around her head. 

In a minute her eyes came open and she smiled to him. "Did you enjoy it, 
Harley?" 

"Very much. And you?" 

She said, "Mmmmm," then closed her eyes. "Very much." 

"You're good for me Joanne. Sometimes I wish you were married to me and not 
to that guy who doesn't appreciate you." 

She smiled. "Don't talk about such foolishness." 

"Yeah," he mused wryly, his face going sad, "I guess that's all it'll ever 
be." 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

Barcelona hit the table in Chief Lavarr Stronge's office again. "Goddammit," 
he spat, "I wasn't there. I didn't do it. I don't know nothing about this 
old fuck." He pointed at Caleb Hall. 

"Don't get so goddam excitable," Chief Strange told him. 

Barcelona was quite angry. "And what is this about me and that Starger 
woman?" 

"Her husband says you're the man. He says she's a hussy. But that's common 
knowledge. I confirmed what he'd been told by Caleb here," Stronge said it 
with a nod at the old man who seemed to have aged a lot in the past few 
days. 

"I guess," Stronge philosophized, "that the deadliest trap a man sets is the 
one he sets for himself." He turned to look at Hall. "You remind me of a kid 
in a book I read when I was young. Of course you're no kid. "The Bad Boy of 
Babkins Ridge," it was called. It must be old hat by now. But then I loved 
it. That was a long time ago." 

Stronge rose. "Listen, amigo. I am letting you go now. Be lucky this old 
coot didn't burn. What he lost though was most of his life savings. I guess 
you could say the Lord works slowly, but in strange ways. This man here has 
cost folks a lot over the years. I suppose many of them would have loved 
nothing better than to string him up by the hide." 

"And then you came along one night and paid him for everybody. All the 
accumulated accounts settled in one night. Sort of a heavenly judge 
assessing him tens of thousands in damages." 

"If I was one of them poetic believers I'd say you were the Lord's tool, and 
this was justice and you were possessed. But I'm not. 

Being this is a small town and I'm dispensing small-town justice I'm going 
to level with you." 

"I can't find a thing against you. If you don't slip up or confess and I 
can't come up with better than I have, then you're home free." 

"But between you and me and the peppermint tree, we know you did it." 
Strange gave him a conspiratorial grin. Barcelona looked at him hard-eyed. 

"And the folks out there know it too," the sheriff nodded up and down. "But 
they don't like this old fuck," he nodded at Hall, who sat and numbly 
watched, as if he'd gone suddenly senile and knew none of this. 

"So you won't be too hated. Your life will go on. But be careful in your 
whoring with that Starger woman. Her husband is liable to buy a rifle and 
come get you. And that'll be for keeps." 

Barcelona did not answer. "Is that all?" he finally asked. 

"Yeah, that's finally all." 

Barcelona walked from the sheriffs office, shot a look of deep hate at Hall. 
So deep, the old man winced. The Chief watched Barcelona leave. 

"You going to let him get away with that." 

"You bet, old man," the Chief said. 

"Nothing to catch him on. Or the woman. As far as I can see she had nothing 
to do with this." The Chief paused a moment. "I guess you're just fucked, 
old man. Fucked and fingered." 

Joanne Starger watched her son leave the house. "Where are you going?" she 
asked. "Out to see my girl." 

"Will you be long?" 

He shrugged, looking back. "Four or five hours." 

"Then I shouldn't prepare lunch?" 

"No, we'll be eating out." 

Joanne shook her head up and down. "Good, fine." As her son walked off, she 
thought of how her husband had just walked off this morning, stalking away 
from the breakfast table and going off to get his packed bags and leave for 
another of his junkets. She couldn't say she was sorry to see him go. 

The girls were now gone. Their boyfriends had come early for them. The house 
was free. She called up Bissick. He could come over. He asked her to make 
him a tall, cool lemonade. She had it waiting when he arrived. 

He sat down on the living room couch, kissed her on the cheek, took off his 
shoes, put his feet on the coffee table and picked up his drink. 

He sipped from it. Said, "aaah," kissed her again and said she made great 
lemonade. "What's with you and old man Hall?" he asked, glancing sideways at 
her. 

She told him all about it. When she was done, he smiled. "What's new in the 
book business?" she asked, no longer willing to talk about herself. 

He smiled, "Let me tell you about my line. When you hear about it your 
troubles will no longer sound as bad." He sipped again from his drink. 

"Things stink. I used to own a mystery book club and so I tried to move hard 
and soft-cover mysteries. Secret agents, and that sort of shit. It was no go 
from the beginning." 

"It was a disaster. Almost as much of a disaster as the gothics. All the 
genre categories are in bad shape. And no one knows why. I used to have a 
salesman who told me you can't go wrong with mysteries. They never die." 

"That wasn't true with secret agent books. They became popular in the middle 
sixties with James Bond. But by sixty-eight, with all the crappy series on 
the market, they were beginning to die. And by nineteen seventy they were a 
dead issue on the market. Unless it was a secret agent story by a top writer 
you could not sell it to a publisher. I think that's when the market 
troubles started. 

"Hope you don't mind my telling you all this. You're my shoulder to cry on." 

"Not at all," she answered, knowing and realizing now, that as different as 
all these men were they used her to fuck and to cry on. The world of men was 
as confusing to her sometimes as the world of women had to be for men. 

"In fact I think I've pinpointed the troubles of the market. It started with 
gothics. They were like a drug on the market. Women could not get enough of 
them. Then in sixty-seven they died. They just died. You couldn't sell them 
for three years. Then in seventy they suddenly came back. That Was the same 
year secret agent books died out." 

"When the secret agent books came on the market the first time in strength, 
they knocked detective books for a loop. The detective books recovered, as 
the secret agents went down." 

"I was selling my mystery book club about then. We didn't see the things as 
trends, just as seasonal fluctuations." 

"Then, in seventy-one war books began to die. The stronger secret agent 
series began to die and the detective books too. It grew slowly, like a 
plague." 

"By the winter of seventy-two detectives in hardcover were dying and this 
went for the big-timers too. Book clubs held back printings. You couldn't 
sell a detective novel. But you could still sell suspense. Then, in the 
summer of that year, it got better. Secret agents recovered. But not war 
books. I guess people were tired of Vietnam. That must have done it." 

"In seventy-three you got a new phenomenon, mafia-avenger series. Every 
publisher must have done these clown books. You got all sorts of series. 
When the market for detective books, but not suspense, began to collapse 
again in the fall of that year, the series ' just ate into it." 

"But these series, like the secret agent series of the sixties, were pure 
shit. They started to die slowly. You started to get an interest in books of 
the occult. Then historical novels." 

"I think the detectives began to come back, when suddenly, the whole 
publishing business began to go on the blink. It began with hardcover. It 
usually does. I saw it in my store. It started in the spring of 
seventy-four. Then, by summer, it started to touch paperbacks. Neither I, 
nor anyone concerned with the matter gave it much thought. We're basically 
an entertainment line with highs and lows. I assumed like any trend it would 
last from a minimum of nine months to a maximum of eighteen." 

"It was a funny line. Historical novels were flourishing. So was occult. 
Stuff on flying saucers, bestsellers. But then, they flourish in the worst 
of times. There was a surge in books about movie stars. The mafia books were 
still going strong. You could sell a lot of suspense. Quality sex novels 
were selling. But even here the fall was coming." 

"By the fall of seventy-five hardcover should have been coming back. It 
wasn't. And then in the summer of seventy-five, all those horrible series 
began to die. I was sure it would have a bad effect on any recovery of the 
market. I expected a recovery in the beginning of seventy-six. Maybe it 
would be delayed a few months." 

"But then hardcover did not get better. The market for series was totally 
dead. Suspense novels began dying. Paperback houses like Lancer, Award, 
Manor, Pyramid, and others floundered on the market." 

"I found out the people I'd sold my mystery book club to, went under. My 
book stores sold less and less. I kept making excuses. It would be better 
the next year. It wasn't. There was a surge in science fiction. Then that 
died. It seems that when something gets popular in the movies or TV, it dies 
on the stands." 

"I still don't understand you," she said, "I see books on the stands and 
people buying them." 

The books you see on the stand are there maybe fouf weeks or more. They are 
weeded out and sent back to the warehouse. And then shipped someplace else. 
They're just not selling them. And if they're not selling, I'm not selling. 
And they don't buy from the authors, who suffer as much, if not more than 
the owners of the book stores." 

"How long can you hold on?" 

"Six, nine months. A lot of places are dying. A lot. Life ain't what it used 
to be." 

"How about opening a grocery store?" 

"They die too. And after being in the line I'm in, I can't see myself behind 
some counter selling pumpernickel." 

"You've got a point there." 

He bent towards her. "Hey listen, Joannie, I didn't come here for bullshit. 
I came because I know you're a chick I dig and want to be with to forget the 
cruel world." 

She stood up and began to take her clothes off. "So let's start forgetting," 
she said with a smile. 

He rose, a visible hard-on tenting his pants, drank the last of his 
lemonade. Then he put it on the coffee table and began to undress. He proved 
slower than she was. When his clothes were off, she was already naked, 
taking his clothes and putting them on the side, neatly folded. 

Then he went to her, looking her body up and down. "I want you. Joanne. I 
want you on the couch." 

"Okay," she said with a smile. He pulled her to him, kissed her on the lips 
and then his hand went to her cunt and touched it around and around, before 
he introduced two fingers up into her. 

She knew he was hungry for her and liked that. She liked it that he was 
always after her and wanted to have a lot of sex. He was a hot blooded stud. 
The fact that she was making him so, only served to make her happier and 
randier for his cock. 

"Love me, please," she said in a little girl voice. He smiled at her, almost 
in a fatherly way, she thought. 

Then he said, "Lie down on the couch and spread those legs. I've got the 
strength of ten demons in my tongue and should be able to do a nice job 
there." 

She lay down and spread her limbs, as he rose off the couch. One leg she put 
to the side so that it was half on the couch, half on the floor. The other 
leg she put on top of the back of the couch. 

This left her raging red eye naked to his glance. The demons in her soul 
were already dancing. She felt a fine tremor down to her toes. It was a 
tremor she could not kick. It rose and fell like a barometer in her stomach, 
cunt and ass-hole. Her nipples tingled with the desire of the moment. 

He sat on the couch, then bent sideways, resting an arm on the couch seat 
and letting his face fall between her limbs right above her muff. She saw 
only the top of his head and nose. 

Then his tongue touched her. She shivered just at the thought of it. She 
shook like a dervish in heat. His tongue began to work her soft, furry cunt. 
His tongue licked around and around her pubic lips, matting down the hairs, 
making them thick and wet and glossy with the saliva of his good tongue. 

She had her eyes shut. She was already humming with the tension of the 
moment. This was the best work she had ever gotten from Bissick. 

He ceased his licking quickly enough and turned towards the better points of 
her gaping, red, eager cunt. His tongue now started on her pubic lips. They 
were plump and hot to the touch. She felt the sensations traveling through 
them and then the increase in sensations as his tongue began to lick up and 
down the length of her lips, first one, then the other. His tongue was like 
quicksilver, long and soft and hot. She gasped, opening her soft, moist 
mouth and throwing her head from side to' side. She wasn't even thinking any 
more, but merely reacting to the efforts of her lover. 

From hp-to-lip he went, then back again. He continued to vary his movements 
to add a multiplicity of sensations to those traveling up through her cunt 
roots and into her brain to tickle her erotic enters. Bissick was wise 
enough to know that one movement against one point would deaden the center 
somewhat and result in a lower level of erotic pleasure sensations. So he 
varied and thereby reinforced the sensations traveling into her brain from 
other sex centers. 

After a minute of this he stopped his licking. She' felt it and assumed his 
tongue muscles had started to give out. And he had stopped to give his 
tongue a rest. But he did not stop for long. 

He was back at her pubic lips. He now began to nibble on the soft, 
succulent, pink flesh, nibbling on them the way a man would nibble on the 
earlobes of his beloved. Gently, yet with some sharpness and passion. 

She loved it more than she loved the quicksilver licking of his tongue among 
her lotus petals of fleshy lustfulness. Joanne hissed. She gasped and 
twisted her body up and then fell back down. She felt him start now on her 
other pubic hp. 

She began to make kissing noises as her lips kissed the air. She needed his 
cock so very much now, so very, very much. He was nibbling in small, light 
strokes from the top of her pubic lips on down. He was working her but good. 

Joanne began to shiver with the waves of lust pounding and dancing through 
her. When he reached the bottom of her pubic lips Bissick began to climb 
back up with his fast working, experienced teeth. 

He quickly changed his style to hp sucks. He would put his lips around her 
pubic lips and suck, then let go, suck, then let go, then move his lips down 
a bit lower. 

The sensations, the sensations. She was shivering more and more. Her spasms 
moved outward from her cunt in concentric circles. They moved into her 
ass-hole and up into her belly. They touched her nipples and then her face. 
Joanne felt both her ass-hole and cunt sleeve undulate with the flames of 
satanic fire. She couldn't move and even felt breathing a bit difficult, so 
strong were the sensations passing through her body. 

Bissick stopped these motions almost as soon as she reached this new stage. 
He lifted his face from her and seemed for a moment to be gazing into her 
loveliness, before he began to use his thumbnails on her soft, pink, pubic 
lips. He used them ever so gently, as so not to harm and cut her. 

Moving along the edges of her now lust-swollen pubic lips, he scraped them 
lightly downwards with the broad edge of his thumbnails. 

These sharp, thin lances of sensation that he stabbed into her tender flesh, 
made Joanne gasp and wiggle her hips. She groaned. She shuddered. She shook. 

"Fuck me, fuck me, please," she begged. 

But he was merciless. She would have to wait a while longer for his cock. 
Begging would do her spirit no harm. His nails now began to rake her pubic 
lip in an upward motion. 

Going back over ground that had already been disturbed, made her shake even 
more. She had never known such delights as these. They were overwhelming. It 
was too much to behold. Never had she even imagined such things could be 
done to a woman or girl by a man. 

Her flesh was more sensitive, the second time. She kept her hips grinding up 
and down, up and down. She was shaking like a leaf. It was almost as if she 
were drowning in a sea of pleasure, after some giant erotic dam had burst. 

Bissick transferred his thumbnail to her other pubic lip. This was fresh 
territory. The sensations ripped into her with the power of a hundred trip 
hammer blows. 

She tried to rise off the couch. She felt his hands pushing her down. The 
pressure was on her belly. It was a pressure without end. She went back 
down. But it wasn't over yet. This was a man hungry for nookie, a man who 
wouldn't take no for an answer. 

His thumbnail reached the bottom of her twitching pubic lip. Now, he began 
to go upward. She gasped and sighed and hissed. But there was no end. It was 
a roller-coaster of sensual lust without limits. 

Truly, not even the greatest sluts in history could have experienced such 
sensations, she thought to herself. The multiplicity of sensations, the 
unending flow, was almost too much. She was really getting out of breath 
now. 

Now he pulled his face from her muff. It was time to work her tits. She was 
like putty in his hands. He may have had no more financial power. But he had 
power over her body. And that was all he wanted and needed. It was an urge 
almost as strong for him as sex itself. 

His tongue began to lick her left nipple in back and forth slapping motions. 
He smiled as she responded. Then his face moved to her right nipple. He 
smiled as she responded. Then his face moved to her right nipple. He began 
to lick this too in a left and right flurry of motions. 

He smiled as she seemed almost to lift up from the couch. But his hands 
pressed her firmly back. Now was the time to work her some more. 

He put his lips around her nipple and began to deliver soft and suckling 
sucks to the nipple to make it longer and harder and to send even more 
sensations passing through her. 

Her chest quivered with what he was doing. His mouth worked harder and 
delivered the sucks in flurries that came in waves. He transferred his mouth 
from her nipple to her other nipple and, after twenty seconds there, 
returned to the first nipple. 

His hands moved up to her breasts and he began to squeeze them like 
palpitating timers working dough. He suckled and squeezed and then moved his 
mouth from breast to breast at the same time. It was exhausting work. But 
passion drove him on and on. There was no end to his lusting needs. 

His hot lips now delivered flurries of butterfly kisses to her nipples, 
aureoles, and the rest of her breasts, sending fires through her chest. 

Causing her to rotate her needing hips. He was making her good and hot. And 
he vowed to throw one of his best fucks into her. 

Then Bissick stopped this too. Joanne sighed. She loved what he was doing, 
but it was becoming overwhelming, unmanageable, almost. She felt him 
positioning himself on the couch. 

She was too far gone to open her eyes to look. But she knew when he laid his 
face down on her muff and put the palms of both hands, one on each inner 
thigh, down on her. She was being held open, wide open. The old lapper would 
now go to work and do his thing. 

She felt his hot, experienced tongue go into her and lick the opening to her 
vaginal tunnel. Around and around his tongue went, rimming her. She hissed. 
His wetness and her inner wetness made it all so wonderful! Joanne loved 
this. His tongue was like his cock and a snake, all in one. It held the 
promise moreover, of moving deeper into her clutching, needing cunt tunnel. 

The vision of his cock had been fading in her fevered mind, while he worked 
her cunt with mouth, nails, and hands. Now it was rising again in her 
star-studded heaven of visual delights. 

Thousands of lights and shapes grew and died in the fervid, fevered field of 
her passionately aroused brain in milliseconds; too small to be recorded. 
She was barely aware of one set of sensations, when they died to be replaced 
by others. 

It went on and on without end. She hungered for and needed more than she was 
getting. But his tongue kept on going round and round on the inner surface 
of her outer vaginal tunnel. 

Joanne tried to rise, but was held down by the power of his hands on her 
inner thighs and by the power of his face over her trembling muff. 

His tongue traveled from her cuntal tunnel to the trembling sentinel of her 
randy, stiffened clit. The man in the boat shivered as his tongue began to 
lash it left and right, up and down, bottom to top, sideways left and right. 

She hissed and hissed. Her hips pushed up. He pushed down. Again, she pushed 
up. Again, he pushed down. She had not felt joy such as this in a long, 
long, time. 

He kept on with his work. That tongue was so like quicksilver, she realized 
in those moments of great heat and need. It was so good it was fantastic. 

Lashes of long, narrow, brilliant blue flew through her brain. They broke 
into twos and threes and disappeared off the dark screen of her erotic mind 
to be replaced by other lashes of brilliant blue and then by starbursts of 
blues and more starbursts. 

The colors changed and changed again. The brilliant blues became washed out 
to be replaced by the throb of red and then dusky orange. The flames in her 
cunt became the brilliantly hued flames penetrating and rippling through her 
brain. 

Then his mouth was lifted up and away from her cunt. It was no longer 
working her soft, sweet clit. His cock was hard and eager. Ready to go in 
her. 

Joanne shivered with anticipation and delight. Fucking, sweet fucking! It 
was all so wonderful, so marvelous! So truly remarkable and lovely. 

She imagined in her mind his hard, swaying member. Then, she felt him start 
to change position. He was going to plunge it into her. Her cunt began to 
shiver in response. This was the moment she had waited and lusted after. 

The shaking began to get worse. Only now she couldn't hold it in anymore. 
She felt Bissick get over her. Her arms reached for him. Joanne pulled him 
to her also, opening her legs wide, making of her cunt art easy target, one 
that couldn't be missed, even by a blind man. 

Her fingernails dug into his back. She felt him start to insert himself. The 
passion inside her was like a raging lion. She needed this cock, she needed 
it badly. It wasn't something she couldn't do without. If he died, she 
thought for one shocked moment, she would not be able to go on living, not 
without his cock inside her. 

His cockhead touched the inside of her cunt. She shook like a spastic. Then 
he made a movement and three inches of sausage was buried inside her. Joanne 
could no longer wait. She heaved up, and all of him was buried within her. 
Her hungry, needing cunt had him in one plunge. 

Now, she squeezed at him with her excited cunt muscles. His cock was caught 
in a tight fit. Her swollen pussy had him and held him. He began to pull out 
and back so he could plunge right back into her. She couldn't bear to see 
his beloved cock leave her hot, demanding hole. 

She rose up with him. But Bissick was able to pull out faster than she could 
keep swallowing his hard meat. 

Before she could feel a sense of disappointment, Bissick plunged back into 
her hard, needing pussy. She shook like a dervish. It was a damned feeling 
she had never experienced. 

He pulled out again. She swung her legs around his waist to hold him in a 
clamp of steel. He was able to pull back, even with this. 

His next plunge into her dripping, heated quim, was like a jolt from a 
mighty battering ram. It was the cannon of his cock enjoying her charms. 

She shook like a stuck pig with his rammings. It was delightful. Her 
hungering cunt clutched and clutched at his firm manhood. She loved that 
hot, meat straightening out her insides. 

His cock rammed up right into her very womb opening. It seemed about to 
smash through and plunge into her womb. But it never quite did. Instead, he 
continued his piston-jabbing into her frothing, fluttering cunt. Her cunt 
sleeve clutched and clutched at him like a hungry mouth without teeth. She 
chewed at that big hard cock, without ever stopping. His fine cock rammed 
through all opposition, plumbing the depths of her cranny and sailing on out 
again. 

like a big brass arm striking a bell in a high tower, so did his cock plunge 
in and out of her, trying to strike the bell of her womb opening. 

He was fucking the cunt out of her. Joanne thrilled to the fact that this 
was one of the finest cocks she had ever experienced. Fine cock, was great 
cock. She wanted him to fuck the living guts out of her. To keep fucking her 
wet, steaming cunt for the rest of her life. She knew it was impossible, but 
women can dream and lust for the cocks of tomorrow; at least she had his 
cock today. 

Her legs around his waist pumped up and down, bashing her up into him. She 
was leaving big red marks all up and down his back. This did not matter. All 
that mattered was riding that big, red cock to glory and true fulfillment. 
So she rode it like a rider on a mighty steed, plunging home to win the 
Kentucky Derby. 

She twisted, twitched, and fed on that cock. Her soul was filled with cock 
hunger. She knew then she was just a slut at heart. But that did not matter. 
All that mattered was getting that big cock in and out of her' as fast and 
hard as possible. It was cock she wanted and cock she was getting. Big and 
hard and hairy; always ready to run into her mouth, her cunt or her 
twitching, hungering, ass-hole. 

Joanne began to heave up into him, as he came down into her. Their bodies 
smashed into one another, again and again. The mutual friction doubled by 
this action, created a greater heat in her cunt and in his cock. She felt 
his meat grow because of this. 

She now thrilled to the feel of two bodies crashing into one another like 
rams butting heads. She felt his sweaty belly slap hers and slapped back. 

She added a wiggle to her hips, going first this way and then that way. She 
was really moving that meat. He was beginning to breathe very heavily. 

She was aware of the fact that her stud was being taxed very heavily by this 
fucking. Normally, she would have let up. But not this time. She put more 
heart and effort into the thing. She did not give an inch in her good work. 

Her cunt was a hot sleeve that gripped and twisted and swallowed. She wanted 
him badly. That cock was so good. She wanted him to shoot his load into her. 
She wanted to get her rocks off. But she was not near her peak yet. 

Joanne just concentrated on the hard pounding of his cock, thinking only of 
that and nothing more. She tried to envision it inside of her. A hard ram, 
smashing in, sliding out. Smashing in, sliding out. 

It pounded up into her. It rode hard and fast, greased by the cunt juices 
flowing from her. She needed that big cock more than she had ever needed 
anything before in all her life. At that moment it was her entire reason for 
living. 

She shook with fine tremors as the heat rose by several notches. It was now 
keeping her brain in a low boil. She sweated with the fever of this potent 
thing. 

Suffering from fuck fever, her head whirled round and round. The colored 
lights appeared again and again. They were flashes at first, red and yellow; 
then, purple and white; then, single colors alone. 

Her cunt was beginning to ripple around his cock. To massage like a 
whirlpool of flesh. In sideways and up and down motions. She squeezed her 
cunt muscles together, squeezing at the cock plowing furrows in and out of 
her randy cunt. She made it harder for his cock to move. But his instrument 
proved a mighty battering ram and one she could not hold for long. 

She was wiggling her hips from side to side and pounding up and down, into 
him, meeting his incoming strokes. Gladly, she accepted the plunges of his 
bare hard tool, rippling and squeezing as it entered, and doing the same as 
it left. She slid down the pole of flesh on her backward strokes, off his 
cock. This again sent a counter friction along his cock and through her 
cunt. 

Each of the inward and outward strokes irritated slicked flesh by the force 
of objects, each going in differing directions. Each stroke sent a fresh 
burst of electron-like energy into her cunt, and from there into her 
ass-hole. Both were burning up with desire and lust. 

The desires and lusts of fucking machines. Of men and women who live for the 
day, but forget tomorrow. She knew now she was destined to be no more than a 
living penis receptacle for men. One who sucked and fucked her life away. 

With a husband who was no husband, but merely a stopover stud. And a son who 
lived for pussy. And two daughters who probably also did the same; and who 
would one day also grow up to be very like their mother. 

She wondered one second about Barcelona Bob and where he was and what his 
thoughts were. But then she forgot all about him, as the passions got her 
hotter and higher. 

"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she shouted, as she was brought close to the 
edge of eternity by his good stroking.
