The Boy, The Beauty, The Beast
by Rachel Maseta
(SC-075)


FOREWORD 

Reports of liberalized divorce laws are to be seen regularly in the news 
media. No longer is it necessary to prove adultery or complete 
incompatability before husband and wife can be legally relieved of their 
marriage vows. A serious argument, a fleeting infidelity, boredom, any of 
these are enough to dissolve the bonds of matrimony in many States now, and 
the divorce rate is understandably increasing. Some may argue that these 
liberalized divorce laws promote closer marriages, that more care and 
respect is given to the marital partner when it is known how easy it is to 
lose that partner permanently. Others argue that times have changed, that it 
is no longer so necessary to treat marriage with the respect of by-gone 
years, and that the ending of a doomed marriage should not be delayed by a 
long legal battle and heavy attorney's fees. On either side of the argument, 
when all is said and done, there is a larger population of divorcees in 
America now than ever before in its history. 

And what do these divorcees do with themselves, just coming out of an 
emotionally exhausting end of a long relationship, bitter in some cases and 
relieved in others, but with a degree of personal freedom that they have not 
known in years? This tautly written novel tells what some of them do. It 
tells the story of a divorcee of several years standing, of a battle-scarred 
veteran of more than one divorce court, and of a newcomer to ranks of 
passionate but manless women of today. 

And who do they turn to for comfort, companionship, sex, these bitter, 
manless women? Having been cast aside by their men, they seek elsewhere for 
fulfillment of their needs, not realizing just how great these needs can be 
for a woman suffering from such an emotional shock as losing her provider, 
her bed-mate, her man. Their brains tell them that the last thing they want 
is another man, but their bodies tell them otherwise. In homo sapiens, the 
thinking animal, the brain most usually wins out, and thus unnatural 
relationships spring up with the divorcee, relationships that would have 
shocked and appalled them when first they married. Lesbian explorations are 
not uncommon. Oedipus-oriented affairs with men who are little more than 
boys are even less uncommon, according to statistics. But the sexual 
relationships which are so forbidden that they rarely break into the columns 
of the statisticians are those between homo sapiens and canus domesticus, or 
more specifically, between divorcees and dogs. 

This novel examines all these relationships and more with the candor and 
frankness needed to understand the plight of the troubled new divorcee and 
the hardening older one. While the reader of the scant newspaper article 
telling of a woman's shocking sexual behavior might think that she is 
nymphomaniacally deranged, the reader of this worthwhile novel can fully 
understand why she is driven to having excessive and unnatural sexual 
relations. While it is a study suitable for the serious psycho-sexologist, 
it is written for the layman, in contemporary fictional style, suspense, and 
pacing. It is not, however, for the squeamish. While the concept of sexual 
prudery is an integral part of this novel, the destruction of that prudery 
is described with such impact that it could well have an effect on the 
prudishness of the reader himself. 

But, read on. Read about the divorcees, their dogs, their delivery boys-and 
make up your own mind about what the current plethora of gay, liberated 
divorcees is having upon this country. 

Fresh, sparkling new titles in the Surrey Collectors' Series reach your 
favorite news dealer or adult book store at the same time every month. We 
will be there waiting for you, along with the Surrey Collectors' Series 
companions, the Rated X books and the HIS 69 gay titles. Serious collectors 
of strictly adult reading will want them all, side by side on their private 
book shelves for definite re-reading and ready reference. 

-THE PUBLISHERS 

 CHAPTER ONE 

A big black dog and a big blonde woman, that was the only audience for Mary 
Stewart's maiden performance as a stripper. Her husband had often tried to 
get her to take off her clothes to the strains of such thumping music as 
this, but Mary had always refused him. Henry might still be faithful to her 
if she had complied with his wishes and strip-teased for him and catered to 
some of his other filthy bedroom whims. As it was, Henry had left her, and 
she was peeling out of her sweat-dampened clothes before the languorously 
interested eyes of her girlfriend, Claire Eaton, and Claire's Labrador 
retriever, Argo. 

Mary was a thirty-six-year-old ex-housewife, and she was putting on a pretty 
good show, now that Claire had at last talked her into it. She couldn't have 
done it without the whiskey and Cokes they'd had on that hot summer 
afternoon in Claire's little tract house. She still didn't know if she'd be 
able to completely bare her breasts, for their great size had always been a 
source of embarrassment to her, and she couldn't quite see herself swinging 
and bouncing a pair of big globes like hers without any covering on them at 
all. Her audience seemed to be enjoying her dance well enough as it was. 
Dumb Argo's long, pink tongue lolled with his pantings as he lay under the 
broken air-conditioner. He was breathing fast and this caused his shaggy 
belly to shake and the long, furry foreskin that covered his penis to 
quiver. If he was a man, his prick would be poking out of that foreskin. He 
would be aroused if she was a bitch in heat, too, instead of a diminutive 
but top-heavy brunette, dancing along in bra, panties, and partially-opened 
pants. And Claire was enjoying this diversion from their talk about the 
unfaithful ways of men. She sat with her long legs curled up under her on 
the couch, dressed for the heat in bright red shorts and a slightly soiled 
white halter top. With her drink on the end table, she clapped her 
lacquer-tipped hands in time to the music, occasionally reaching back to 
move her thick blonde hair from the sweaty nape of her neck. She had a slow 
smile on her red-rouged lips, and her brown eyes were half closed as she 
watched Mary's moves. Even on that hot weekday afternoon, her eyes were 
shadowed with green, her eyebrows thickened with pencil, and gold earrings 
dangled from her ears. When Mary danced close to her, she could smell her 
perfume through the scent of perspiration. Claire frankly stated that she 
kept herself looking and acting as attractive as she could at all times, for 
a girl never knew when the next available man might show up. At thirty-eight 
years of age, Claire wasn't exactly a girl any longer, but she had 
apparently found the right way of life for a divorcee. Mary wondered if she 
herself would be living like that soon, either here or in the house she and 
Henry had bought, less tidy than it was now, with a dog like Argo for 
protection and companionship, waiting for the next man to come along and 
quell the cock itch between her legs for a little while, hoping that he'd 
marry her but knowing he wouldn't once she let him fuck her. But now was not 
the time to think of such things. She and Henry might get back together 
again, and until she knew that for sure, the thing to do was to have a good 
time and not even think about the future. She danced to the television set 
and picked up her drink from its dusty top, standing in profile to Claire as 
she drank from it, still moving her hips to the music. 

Mary Stewart was just five-foot one-inch tall and weighed but a hundred and 
ten pounds. At least ten of those pounds, however, were in her bosom, the 
lushly creamy mounds that bulged together at the confines of her tight pink 
brassiere, deeply cleaved, with large pink areolas and nipples which poked 
at the nylon cups of her only garment above the waist. The straps bit deeply 
into her narrow shoulders, and the elasticized chest band was darkened with 
sweat. Mary's big breasts invariably drew attention from her girlishly 
pretty face. She had green eyes that in the past had been noted for their 
merry sparkle, but that were now somewhat glazed with the grief of 
separation from her husband, and with the drinks she'd had. Her nose was 
small and uptilted so that her nostrils showed clearly when faced full on. 
Her mouth was small, her lips protuberant, so that they looked too large for 
her heart-shaped face, as if they had to be held in position for a kiss at 
all times, just to make space for them. Her hair was a rich, auburn brown, 
slightly waved. That morning it had reached down nearly to her waist, but 
now it was in a fluffy cap of curls. It was more becoming that way, Claire 
had said, and it was certainly cooler, and so Mary had let her friend cut 
it. Mary had a small waist, unthickened by any past pregnancies, and a tummy 
that was very nearly flat. Her hips were slim, covered by only her pink 
nylon panties now as her green cotton pants had slipped down to mid-thigh. 
Her fanny was small, but it was very nicely rounded, creating interesting 
little folds in the clinging pink panties as it back-thrust over her sagging 
green pants. What could be seen of her legs was very good, proportionately 
dainty, quite shapely. Her feet were bare, her sandals having been kicked 
into a corner of the unkempt living room of Claire's house. They had been 
easy to remove, the rest of her clothing more difficult, but with the help 
of the whiskey, she knew she'd at least get her pants off. 

"You ever think about being a real stripper?" 

Claire asked. "With a figure like yours, you could sure do it. Especially 
those tits." 

Mary winced and set down her empty glass. Just yesterday, she'd have ignored 
the remark. But things had changed since yesterday. Her husband had run off 
with his little slut, and she was already getting into the life of a 
divorcee. She was no longer a protected housewife, but instead a woman who 
had to make it on her own, dependent only on single friends like Claire. And 
if she was going to start a new life successfully, it was high time she was 
honest with her friends and with herself. She decided to speak up. 

"I hate that word. Tits," she said, crossing her wrists before them. "Ish 
... it's so vulgar." 

"I think it's a cute word. Very descriptive," said Claire, hefting her 
little breasts with both hands. "Tits and titties have a good sound to them. 
Breasts or bosoms, those are Victorian words. Jugs, knockers, boobs, tits, 
even udders, I wouldn't mind any of those words being applied to me if I had 
a pair like you do, Mary-honey." 

"Boobs," said Mary, opening her fingers over those heavy globes of hers, and 
opening her legs to prevent the further descent of her pants. "That's what 
Henry used to call them when he wanted to make me mad." 

"Oh, forget about him. He's gone for good, no matter what he said. Forget 
about him and think about the future. Maybe you could be a stripper. There's 
good money in it. I'd do it myself if I didn't have titties like a 
teenybopper and hips like a water buffalo. Better yet, think about right 
now. Have fun. Pretend Argo and I are auditioning you for a job as a 
stripper, and that as soon as you're done stripping, your handsome lover 
with his twelve-inch cock is going to come in and eat your cunt and fuck you 
till you're nothing but a puddle of melted butter." 

"Where is he? Lead me to him," said Mary, bumping her pelvis across the 
room, letting her breasts sway, following her itching, thrusting, 
cock-hungry cunt toward the door, easily letting herself get caught up in 
the horny mood of the afternoon. 

Claire clapped her approval, saying, "I'm afraid the only cock we've got is 
Argo's. That and his tongue." 

Mary turned to face the dog. His tail thumped as her hips bumped, pants down 
around her ankles now, pretty legs spread at the knees as far as they would 
go, hands held out to the dumb brute. Rivulets of sweat tickled and trickled 
down her small, constantly moving body. She was smiling and her limbs felt 
heavy, her belly full, her vagina empty, save for its wetness. Continuing in 
the carefree mood, she said, "Argo, if I kissed you, would you turn into a 
handsome movie producer, one with a twelve-inch thing?" 

"You might do better," Claire said, "if you reached down and gave his pecker 
a little squeeze or two. I've seen it when it's hard. It isn't a foot long, 
but it looks like he could do a lot of good with it." 

The words shocked Mary, but she couldn't help looking at the elongated furry 
ridge on the dog's exposed loins. A tiny tip of pink protruded, and she felt 
sick at her stomach as she had to wonder how much more of it would come 
sneaking out if she put her soft little hand on its protective sheath. She 
knew Claire was only joking, but she had to speculate' on what she might do 
if she was alone with the dog, horny and drunk as she was, with a curiosity 
about his member burning in her. If she was alone with him, she might indeed 
touch it. She might scratch his ears and speak soothing words to him, and 
stealthily run one petting hand down over his belly until she could at least 
feel how firm was that part of his penis which was concealed by the black 
fur. It was a weirdly sexy notion. Now, without a husband to sate the 
demands of her body, she would probably have a lot of such weird notions as 
she adjusted to the life of the gay divorcee. She continued to look at it 
while she danced, stepping out of her pants now, wearing only her sweaty 
lingerie, clinging to her moving body as her gaze clung to that small pink 
tip. Was it growing larger? Was his panting heavier, and was his tongue 
lolling for her? Did his large eyes, almost human, see the frustrated desire 
seething in her, and did Man's Best Friend want to help her in her sickness 
of yearning? With these questions crowding in on her, Mary didn't realize 
she was rolling down her panties until their bunched waistband was at the 
top edge of her triangle of dark pubic hair. 

Mary jumped a foot when Claire's big, warm hand was placed in the small of 
her back, and her friend said softly, "Well, do you want to see the rest of 
it?" 

"What? His thing? Oh, no!" she said, looking wide-eyed up at the big blonde 
with the easy smile who towered six or seven inches taller than Mary was. 

"It's easy. Look," Claire said, squatting down, patting the dog's flank 
once, then without a qualm, drawing back the foreskin to show four more 
inches of bright pink dog-cock, small at the end, sharply tapering to 
thickness, causing Mary to draw in her breath and clutch with both hands at 
her churning tummy. 

The dog seemed to grin, thumped his tail faster, and whined in a happy way, 
as Claire slid his foreskin up again, then drew it back down. The big blonde 
laughed and looked up at her obviously shocked houseguest, and said, "It's 
all right. There's nothing at all dirty about it. I'm just petting my dog a 
little differently than most people do. It's sort of pretty, isn't it? Too 
bad I can't let him out to use it on all the neighborhood bitches. But I 
have to keep him inside, and as happy as I can without letting him get it on 
with sdtne pretty collie bitch. Mmmm. It's getting harder. But don't worry, 
I can control him. Do you want to feel it, Mary?" 

"Oh, no!" said Mary, shaking her pretty head, twisting her ringless hands 
behind her back. Disgusting as it was, she did want to touch it, she did 
want to feel it growing hard in her own little fingers, as she absorbedly 
and helplessly watched her friend's hand sliding the foreskin up and down, 
up and down over the big dog's slowly growing penis. Was it as hot as its 
color indicated? Was its glossy surface slick with lubrication? When a 
female dog saw it, did her vagina get as hot and juicy as Mary's was somehow 
getting? And what would Claire think of her if she stooped to touch it just 
once, as the smiling blonde was doing? Would she think Mary was drunk? Would 
she tell their friends how she'd lured Mary into this debasement? Would it 
be worth the kidding she would take if she got to feel that long, hard thing 
just once? And would feeling it in her hand help in any way to abate the 
glow in her loins, or would it make her feel even better, even sexier? 

"Sometimes I wish I was a lady dog," said Claire with a little laugh, and 
her other hand going to Mary's calf seemed to transfer the heat of the dog's 
prick right up into Mary's slowly moving cunt. "Yes, it's getting good and 
hard now," Claire said, getting to her feet, running her hand up the back of 
Mary's leg and over her nicely rounded fanny, spreading the hot tingling so 
quickly that Mary's knees almost buckled. 

Mary was actually sinking to her knees beside the dog, suddenly as drunk as 
she could be, when he turned and swiped his tongue over the reddened length 
that his blonde mistress had exposed with her manipulations. Overwhelming 
disgust flooded through Mary, washing away the weird desire she had felt, 
and she turned to stride to the TV and her drink, only to find she'd drank 
it. She tongued in the melting ice cubes, crunched them up with her small 
white teeth, and turned to face her friend with a forced grin. 

"I want a real prick, not a dog's. An' shertainly not one with doggie 
lickings all over it. That goddamned hound, he's just like Henry. All he 
thinks about is getting his thing licked and kissed. Why in hell couldn't 
Henry have been happy with my pussy? It's tight and hot and I know how to 
move it," she said, covering it with her cupped hand as she demonstrated 
some lazy but provocative hip action. "I'll swear, if Henry was 
double-jointed, he could suck on his own thing, and then he'd never have run 
off with his dumb little c-cocksucker. But if he could suck his own thing, 
he prob'ly never would've gotten married in the first place." 

An interested expression altered Claire's handsome features as she came to 
slip her hand about Mary's little waist. "Is that why you two didn't get 
along in bed? Because you wouldn't go down on him?" 

"I guess that was one of the reasons," Mary grudgingly admitted. 

"But sucking cock's delightful. I just love to do it." 

"Well, I don't. I never have and I never will." 

"Did he go down on you? And did you like it?" 

"Well, yes. But I never asked him to do it. It was his own idea, and it 
didn't turn me on all that much," she said, though at that moment, she'd 
have given a lot for the feel of her husband's lapping tongue and sucking 
lips on her flimsily covered pussy. It was watching that dog's big tongue 
that had made her think of that. She wouldn't look at him anymore. Forget 
about him and his red prick, and have some more fun. 

She whirled away from the light but cloying touch of her friend, laughed out 
loud as she did some more bumps and grinds, facing the much bigger woman, 
feet wide apart, thumbs hooking the rolled panties lower, a sultry, crooked 
grin on her face. The music was inside her, where a cock should be. Too bad 
Claire couldn't be a man for a little while. She was big enough to be one, 
and if it wasn't for her make-up, her face could be that of a man. Big nose, 
thin lips, prominent cheekbones, glinting eyes that swept down over Mary's 
moving body. She was about five-foot-nine and weighed at least a hundred and 
fifty pounds, quite large enough to be a man. She had the broad shoulders of 
a man, too, but there the resemblance ended. 

Claire's long, thick, blonde hair was definitely feminine, and her face had 
been painted to obliterate all but the smallest traces of masculinity. 
Though small, her breasts were certainly those of a woman as they pushed at 
the little white halter top. Her waist was slightly thick, padded with a 
comfortable roll of pale jelly flesh. Her hips were very wide, straining at 
the tight red shorts, her buttocks very large and oval, and her legs were 
thick and long, but quite decently tapered. She was a great big hunk of 
woman, one which Henry had often and openly admired, but it was a damned 
shame she didn't have Henry's big prick in her shorts instead of the broadly 
bulging triangle that was a cunt every bit as lusting for a cock as little 
Mary's was. Still Mary danced for her as if Claire was a man and as if she 
was the professional strip-teaser that she felt like she was. She was 
enjoying the mock manly look Claire was giving her, enjoying her sexy 
agility, even enjoying those tickling fingers of sweat that probed between 
her jouncing breasts and crept down to make her crotchband even more sodden. 
She hardly thought about the dog behind her, hardly wondered if that big red 
cock of his was still sticking out. The trick to being happy, she decided, 
was to feel good at the moment and not to think about anything unpleasant. 
Without a handsome man to make love to her, the only thing that could make 
her feel better was another drink for her parched throat. One more drink and 
she could forget all her troubles and yearnings and go on dancing until she 
dropped from exhaustion. One more drink and her itching nerve endings would 
be all numb, and she could sleep, no matter how hot it was in the stuffy 
little house. With her panties rolled down under the twin mounds of her 
buttocks, she danced over to where Claire had left her drink and drained it. 

"Hey, that's mine," Claire wailed, and strode over to take the empty glass 
from Mary's hand. 

Mary batted her eyelashes up at her friend. "All gone. So sorry." 

Claire swatted her bare fanny with a hotly clammy hand and said, "It is all 
gone. That was the last of the whiskey, and I haven't had enough." 

"Neither have I," said Mary, feeling impish, plastering herself against the 
near nude body of her friend, letting wicked little Lesbian thoughts creep 
in on her. "So le's get dressed and go get some more. Le's go to a fancy bar 
and drink Daiquiris and pick up some horny men, some real men. Okay?" she 
asked, and drew away from the tempting softness beside her. 

"Fuck that. I'm not about to get dressed and go out in this heat. The thing 
to do is get un-dressed and send out for some more booze." 

"Get undressed and do what?" Mary coyly asked, both frightened and 
fascinated by the thought of a little Lesbian dalliance to add to her 
inexperience. 

"Oh, dance, feel good, I don't know just what. I do know we're not going 
out. We're both too stoned to drive, for one thing. I'll call a liquor store 
that delivers, and then you can go on with your audition. I might even join 
you." 

"Claire, there wouldn't be any ... well...." 

"Any what?" Claire asked, taking the little brunette by her shoulders, 
facing her. 

"You know. No ... fooling around together. I mean, you're not ... you're not 
...?" 

"A Lesbian? Me? A dyke?" Claire threw back her head and laughed. "Shit, no. 
I like cock. I'd get it on with Argo before I'd get it on with you, as cute 
as you are. But before I'd do that, I'd get it on with myself. Y'know?" 

"No. I don't think I do know," said Mary, for she felt as if she knew 
nothing at all then in the presence of this worldly woman for whom she'd had 
fleeting and shameful feelings of desire. 

"I'll make that call, and then I'll show you what I mean." 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The proprietor of Ace's Liquor Store jotted down the order himself-a quart 
of Ten High blended bourbon and two quarts of cola. He was a big, burly man, 
going bald, with jowls that were beginning to sag, and a fine network of 
scars through his eyebrows that silently spoke of the sixty-eight 
professional fist fights he'd had, and of those amateur alley fights that 
had preceded his career as a boxer. He had fought as a heavyweight and was 
now some twenty pounds over his best fighting weight. At forty years of age, 
he carried that weight well, and few had any doubts about his ability to 
handle himself in any sort of a brawl. He had never had a hold-up in his 
liquor store, though he had been robbed a few times, and as he hung up the 
telephone, he shouted for one of those who had robbed him. 

"BILLY! FRONT AND CENTER!" 

"C-C-C-Coming!" replied the fourteen-year-old boy in the stock room, and his 
stammered word was laden with meaning, for in his hands he held those two 
instruments which placed him at Ace Varney's mercy-a pilfered girlie 
magazine and a hard six inches of prick that was very close to spurting out 
a load of his pure, white sperm. 

Just as it had been on the day when Ace had caught him in the act of swiping 
a girlie magazine, young Billy had been unable to control himself on this 
day. How could he expect to control himself with those rows of glossy-paged 
magazines there on the rack, their cover-girls smiling winsomely at him, 
showing him their knockers, luring his itching palms to pick up a book and 
see what further delights lay therein. 

Some of the girls were naked, completely bare-assed, showing off their 
superbly formed bodies, their silken textured skin, their proudly rounded 
asses, their jutting breasts, and the cunning triangles of hair which so 
provocatively concealed what he knew very well to be the sweetest delight in 
the universe. Some of the girls were not so perfectly formed, or perhaps 
they were a bit more modest, for they were partially covered with little 
wisps of panties and brazenly skimpy brassieres. Some wore tauntingly tight 
black hose, and others had on tight, tight corsetry which molded their 
bodies into even finer shapes, making up for the confining torture of the 
satiny, rubberized undergarment. But whether they were naked or in their 
lingerie, they all had enchanting names-Rose and Candy and Yolanda and 
Kelly-and they all had professionally alluring smiles. Billy Ralston had 
seen a lot of those smiles. He was an expert when it came to viewing those 
most perfectly made young women who exposed themselves to the camera eye to 
earn their daily bread. And as an expert, he could see through the 
professionalism of the smiles and detect the loneliness in those splendid 
females, borne out of the fact that they were too good looking to be 
approached in the flesh. They were all, each and every one of them, as 
lonely for companionship as he was, and if he could only meet some of them 
he knew very well he could wash away their loneliness forevermore-once he 
fucked them ten times a day for about six months or so. 

And so, with compassion such as this residing in his pure young heart, is it 
any wonder that Billy Ralston couldn't keep his hands-and sometimes his 
lips-off the pages of those forbidden publications? It was true, he hadn't 
been able to help himself when he'd slipped this magazine under his shirt 
and gone whistling off to the back room with it. And by page two, when his 
prick was hard and itching like crazy, it was quite true that he'd been 
unable to keep his hand off it. It followed that he'd had to take it out of 
his pants and give it a few careful strokes with the turning of each fresh 
page. His heart went out to all the lovely, lonely darlings as he stood 
there between the cases of beer and booze that he so hated, trying to pace 
himself through to the last page before he let his prick erupt with a 
screaming, scalding, absolutely marvelous load of cum to spurt and squirt 
onto the floor he'd just swept. And it was true that Ace's harsh voice gave 
him such a start that he very nearly lost it and shot his ballful on page 
sixteen, on the dainty redhead in the black corset. 

Billy had to hurry to the summons of his evil, blackmailing boss. He zipped 
up his threadbare jeans with difficulty. The faded blue cloth was too thin 
to conceal that erection of his that would surely stay with him until he 
could pump it down dry. Ace's voice bellowed out again, and in a panic, he 
stuffed the magazine down the front of his pants and tucked in his T-shirt 
over it. This was a borrowed magazine. He would return it, if he didn't soil 
it too much, or if he thought he couldn't get away with it for his 
collection, even though he had sworn off stealing of any kind. That promise 
had been made under the weight of Ace Varney's ominously dark eyes and his 
heavy hand laid on Billy's trembling shoulder. A promise made under such 
circumstances does not have to be kept, although he certainly did have to 
keep his promise to work for Ace's Liquor Store all summer long for a lousy 
fifty cents an hour. Billy's parents didn't know about his getting caught as 
a thief, and they thought his summer job was just swell. They didn't know 
how much he wanted to be at the beach, meeting girls, feeling them up when 
he could, always looking for that one whose face he'd seen on the pages of a 
magazine, lying on a beach towel by herself, too stunning in her well-filled 
bikini to be approached by anyone but the crass, vulgar, truck-driver type, 
or by a sensitive young man like Billy Ralston. That was what Ace Varney was 
keeping Billy from, and that was why Billy hated him so. That and those 
stupendously big fists of his. 

"Yes, sir?" Billy piped, fists clenched at his sides, stiff prick feeling 
sweaty against the sticking cover of the magazine. 

"Got an order for you to deliver over on Pine Street. Take it over on your 
bike, and then take off for the rest of the day. It's too friggin' hot to 
work. I'll pay you for the. rest of your time today. And listen," Ace's 
voice rumbled, "don't forget to get the money, you hear?" 

"Yes, sir!" said Billy, already out the door with the clinking brown paper 
bag. 

What a dope Ace was, to think he'd forget to get the money. Punch drunk, 
that's what he was. He'd probably even had his balls punched off, but Billy 
was very much aware that his own were still with him, squirming about on the 
bicycle seat in a bath of sweat, while the sensitive underside of his prick 
worked with each pedalling stroke against a clinging page of his new 
magazine. He wondered what girl had the good fortune to grace that page, 
wondered which of them he was vicariously fucking. Was she naked or 
teasingly garmented? Blonde, brunette, or redhead? Was the oozing head of 
his prick in contact with her open crotch, her bounteous knockers, or her 
smiling mouth? These questions kept Billy happily occupied as he pumped down 
the streets to deliver the liquor to some old drunk who was just as bad as 
his old man or his mother. 

Big tumblers of water sustained Mary and Claire as they danced, sweating 
freely, naked, facing each other some five or six feet apart. Their styles 
of dance were as different as their shapes. Little, brunette Mary took 
mincing steps back and forth, holding her arms bent at the elbow, fingers 
pointing at Claire, swiveling her hips and her shoulders separately, 
pivoting her pelvis and making those gorgeous big breasts of hers swing 
widely from side to side. Claire stood in one place, going up and down on 
her moving feet, sinuously moving her big body like a snake, arms at her 
sides, shoulders and hips tilting, waist swaying. They were both grinning 
broadly. 

Mary's muff was neat and trim, a tuft of fur that stood out from the plump 
little triangle of her loins and didn't jiggle as did her fast moving 
buttocks and breasts. Claire's muff was a wide thatch, several shades darker 
than her hair, reaching several inches down her heavy thighs, reaching 
almost up to her long navel, where it fanned out. It was all matted down 
with her perspiration now, so the slit there was more visible than that 
which cleft down through Mary's plump pudenda. They both danced and looked 
good, in their own way. 

"You should put some tassles on those swinging tits of yours and make some 
money with them," said Claire. 

"You should get a shave down there or you'll scare off the next man you 
meet. I didn't know a woman could have so much damned pussy-hair," Mary 
replied. 

"My men dig it," said Claire, and smoothed her hand over it. 

"All men dig breasts like mine," Mary responded, lifting the big beauties, 
squeezing them, forcing the big pink areolas and the erect nipples out 
farther between thumbs and forefingers. Too bad Claire didn't have a set 
like hers. She'd really be a knockout then. As it was, her breasts were 
uptilted at their brown-tipped ends, but quite small. Areolas no bigger than 
silver dollars, and nipples the size of fingertips. She wasn't much in the 
upstairs department, but those big, sweeping hips and even that spreading 
thatch of fur could attract a helluva lot of men. Between the two of them, 
they could get all the fucking they wanted, and to hell with Henry Stewart. 

"By the time you're my age," Claire said, "your tits'll be hanging down to 
your waist, and then see how many men dig 'em." 

"And your flabby old cuntlips will be hanging down to your knees, and you'll 
need more hair than what you have to cover up." 

Claire stuck out a pointed tongue at Mary, and Mary followed suit, wrinkling 
her pretty nose in the bargain. They danced defiantly closer, tongues stuck 
out, until they were but a foot apart, breasts almost touching, body scents 
intermingling, nasty nice little thoughts flitting through Mary's fuzzed 
brain. 

Claire licked her lips and said, "Keep this up and there's no telling what 
we might wind up doing." 

"Another drink and I wouldn't much care," said Mary, in a sultry voice, and 
then felt a satisfyingly wicked thrill as she deliberately grazed one of 
Claire's jiggling breasts with her nipple. 

Claire took a step back and looked at the dog, faithfully waiting. "We could 
have some fun with Argo. A lot of women do, you know." 

"Be serious, Claire," said little Mary, her mouth going even drier as she 
was drawn to look at the black-furred, red-tipped ridge again. 

"But I am. I've talked to lots of women who've trained their dogs to use 
their tongues or their pricks on them. They say it isn't so bad. I've even 
seen it done a couple of times, and believe me, it's a wild sight to see." 

A hot shiver started in Mary's belly and spread out through her, threatening 
to buckle her knees, threatening to let her juices spill out and trickle 
down her thighs. "I'd rather play with myself than have anything to do with 
a damned dog." 

"You might have something there, Mary-honey." 

A look at Claire's face told Mary the answer to her question before she even 
asked it. "Are you serious?" 

"Why not? We've got nothing better to do." 

"You mean ... lie down in bed and ... and watch while we ... finger-fuck 
ourselves? Watch each other c-cum?" 

"No need to go to bed. You sit there and I'll sit here. We can each have a 
view if we want, or else just close our eyes and groove on our own nasty 
little thoughts. Let's do it. Let's feel good," she said, and swayed close 
to wide-eyed Mary, a confident smile on her face, before turning to go to 
the big, sagging easy chair, her overblown buttocks shifting heavily with 
each step. 

Mary went and sat on the couch. She had to, lest she collapse. This was 
something naughty high school girls did, not grown women. But there was her 
friend, thirty-eight years old, with her legs apart and her hand already 
spreading the thick fur aside to reveal a trough, that was bigger than 
Mary's, but certainly no pinker or wetter. "Oh, what the hell?" said Mary, 
and tried to laugh as she spread her legs and slid her hand down over the 
silky plumpness there. But it felt so good, so very good to at last be able 
to touch that part of her body that screamed out for any sort of contact, 
that her laughter died on her lips and she moaned and closed her eyes in a 
minor ecstasy of pleasure of the flesh that she could not relinquish until 
she'd cum. 

Mary bit her hp to keep from crying out, but still her moans were quite 
audible as she rubbed and poked and pulled at her hot, sodden flesh. Freed 
by the opening of her legs, her sex stench wafted up to her flaring 
nostrils, disgusting her for a moment, then further stimulating her with its 
very rankness. Into her hungry hole went two fingers, spreading it as it 
should be spread, while with the fingers of her other hand, she tweaked and 
twisted unmercifully at her clitoris, swollen with its need. Claire was 
saying panting words to her, but she couldn't understand them. Her upper 
arms were squashing her breasts together as she worked with both hands 
between her legs, breathlessly close to cumming, soaring with marvelous 
feelings, sweeping away all the cares of the world with her wonderfully 
knowing and dextrous fingers. 

"Nnnnnnggg! Oh, it's so good," she gasped, doubling over as her orgasm 
broke, holding it in there now with her legs clamped together over her 
wriggling fingers, with her tits mashed down against her thighs. Nothing at 
all mattered except the extension of this wonderful, giddy bliss. She felt 
that she deserved for it to go on forever, and as the first incredibly high 
wave of it began to subside, she sought desperately with her fingers for the 
next. She might have made it, might have gone on from one orgasmic crest to 
another until infinity, had she not at last comprehended what it was that 
Claire was saying. 

"That's it! Cum? you big-titted little bitch! Lean back so I can see it! 
Open up your legs again so I can look at you while you finger-fuck yourself 
and make your cunt feel as good as mine does!" 

Mary leaned back, opening her eyes but keeping her legs together, hugely 
ashamed of herself for the explosive and entirely childish exhibition she'd 
put on. She wanted to be rid of all sexual desire then, and to be rid of the 
alcohol that had led her to this awful display of public masturbation, but 
when her glazed eyes focused on her friend across the room, hot needles of 
what she'd been trying to banish lanced deep into her, and her fingers 
searched and found and moved again, slowly now, as she watched Claire at 
work. 

The big blonde had drawn up her legs and hooked her heels on the edge of the 
seat cushion. The position made her legs look larger than they were already. 
Her face, seen between her knees, was twisted with her masturbatory 
delights, lipsticked lips drawn back from her teeth, green-tinged eyelids 
drooping, long nostrils flaring with her heavy breathing. She had her hands 
reaching around her big haunches, her nail-polished fingers drawing apart 
her fleshy cuntlips, making a gaping maw of her slit so that she could 
freely jab and rub and scratch at it as she came. There was no doubt she was 
cumming. She was squealing and grunting-"Oh! Oh! Eeee! Eee! Yess! Oh! Oh, 
shit, YES!"-and now with her passion-glinting eyes fixed on Mary's 
helplessly reawakening body, she began to slap her upturned asscheeks and 
squeal even louder: 

"Love to cum! LOVE IT! YEEEE! OH, SHIT! SHIT FUCK HELL DAMN! OH! OH! OH! 
OHHHHHH!" 

Mary had never seen anything approaching this spectacle. Even the usually 
placid dog was aroused to get to his feet and bark at his mistress, so 
apparently in distress, but in truth, feeling little more than Mary had felt 
just seconds before-and badly wanted to feel again. The difference between 
her and Claire, she decided, as her friend's gasps and grunts and moans 
began to subside, was that Claire went all out at it, while she held 
something back. Mary knew that she could easily have lost her head like 
that. It didn't seem possible that she could have felt more pleasure than 
she had, but the idea of it was more than just a little intriguing. 
Especially with her fingers helping her along in the reawakening process. 

"Ohhh. Oh, shit," Claire murmured, a silly grin on her face, as her hands 
fell back from that gaping wound between her legs, and one foot plopped 
heavily on the floor. "I sure as shit didn't mean to cum that quick. I 
wanted us to take our time about it. But when I saw you havin' yourself a 
ball so fast, I just couldn't hold back. Whew! That was a good one." 

"But only one," said Mary, feeling surprisingly devilish, and still ahead of 
her friend in the passion department. "There's no need to stop at jus' one 
lil ol' orgasm, is there?" 

Claire's grin broadened. She stretched in the chair and ran her hands 
luxuriously over her body, crossing them at her cunt, squeezing her little 
breasts, and said, "Now you're talking. I think you're going to work out 
into a peachy fine roommate, you hot little doll. Let's do it all over 
again, but slow this time. Wait. I'll get something to help us both out." 

Claire got up and left the room, her bulky body looking quite good in the 
nude as Mary followed her with her eyes. The little brunette gave a sharp 
start then, for the cold nose of the big black dog felt like it was a 
branding iron touching her outer thigh. 

"Get away, you sonofabitch," she said, drawing her legs up on the couch, 
glaring into his big, warm eyes, trying not to look at his tongue hanging 
out, long and wet, curved concave, as if it would just fit the plumpness 
between her legs. "Get away, Argo!" He turned to go to his place by the 
defunct air-conditioner, tail sadly wagging, one testicle placed before the 
other in the black-furred sac between his legs. The moment he laid down he 
began licking his prick, and Mary curled into a smaller ball and muttered, 
"Disgusting. I don't see why she keeps him around." 

"Try this. Sit on it." 

Claire's words startled Mary. The little brunette looked up from the couch 
to see her friend's grin glowing from behind the fat green cucumber that she 
held out in her hand. Bewildered, Mary took it in her hand, gazing at it 
instead of Claire's big bottom as the blonde returned to her chair. The 
long, blunt vegetable suddenly felt quite different in Mary's hand as she 
looked at Claire, settling down with a sigh on the chair cushion, with the 
cucumber arranged in the groove of her ass, its green tip protruding from 
just below her drooling cunt. 

"Stick it in you or just sit down on it. It feels good," said Claire. 

Mary watched, astounded, as Claire rocked back and forth on the cucumber, 
whistling her breath in through her teeth as she squashed her cunt down on 
it, sighing as she leaned back and rubbed her slit with her fingers. It was 
another weird display of sex that Mary wasn't quite ready for. She'd been 
too much of a prude being married to Henry for all those years. If she'd 
been more experienced, less afraid of sex-or even if she'd sucked him off 
now and then-she'd have a prick instead of a cucumber. But at least she had 
the cucumber, and now, determined to overcome at least a part of her past 
prudery, she placed its end against the very wet flesh of her vulva and 
grinned at her friend as she rubbed it up and down and pushed the hardness 
against that most yielding spot, which was her cunt hole. 

"Feel nice?" Claire asked. 

"Mmmm. Nicer all the time." 

"Best thing about it, it never goes soft." 

"A perpetual hard-on. That's something for a gal to dream about." 

"That's the idea. Dream. Go through your wildest sexual fantasies," said 
Claire, squirming on the cucumber, working her fingers in her splayed cunt. 
"I'll do the same. Watch me while you dream, and I'll watch you and maybe we 
can cum together, right at the same time. Deal?" 

"I'm already dreaming," said Mary, and she was. 

She was thinking back to the night in Henry's car when at last she'd been 
unable to refuse him, and of the pain and the pleasure of that first 
insertion of his cock into her young cunt. She was thinking of their wedding 
night, when champagne had turned their tenderness into a wildness she had 
not previously known existed. She thought of the hundreds, thousands of 
times his hard, good prick had slipped into her eagerly awaiting hole, 
sometimes as an end to an argument, sometimes for the sheer fun of it. She 
thought of how his past love for her had led him at times to kiss the little 
cunt that he so loved, bringing her a new kind of tender ecstasy, and then 
she thought of how he was probably eating his girlfriend's dirty cunt right 
at that moment, and she wanted to throw the slickened cucumber through a 
window. 

But Claire was having herself an unremitting good time, using vegetable and 
hands quite expertly in her cunt, as if she masturbated a lot. Probably 
thinking about her past husbands, or boyfriends whom she'd kissed goodbye 
for the last time. Maybe she was thinking about Mary, younger and cuter, 
drunk and hot, and just how it would feel if they both got down on the floor 
and edged toward each other, playing with themselves all the way, until 
their hot, wet cunts were squelching together, kissing one another. A wild 
idea, one that made Mary almost cum before she was ready, before Claire was 
at that point. 

Lesbian sex, sixty-nine with tongues in cunts, both of them working an end 
of the same cucumber while they mauled each other's tits, cumming, cumming, 
endlessly. 

Claire's glance at the dog ended that fantasy. It fled from Mary's head, to 
be immediately replaced by that persistent notion of Argo's wonderful big 
tongue slurping and lapping up between her legs, covering every itching spot 
in her vulva at the same time-and all of it itched madly. His prick was 
protruding a good inch from its black foreskin, undoubtedly because of the 
reek of hot cunt that filled the room, and Mary moaned soft and low at the 
thought of it jamming and plunging and driving into her cunt, that mindless 
cavity in her body that wouldn't know if it was the prick of man or beast 
that was satisfying it. And unable to stop herself, she thought about 
groveling down on hands and knees, knocking heads with Claire as both 
ravenously hot women competed for the privilege of being the first to suck 
that rosy length of stiffening cock into her mouth, to taste its rank animal 
flavor, to gobble up the searing sperm that waited within it. 

"Fuck shit hell damn," Claire croaked, and Mary managed to look from the dog 
to her friend, still actively working with both hands. She had imitated 
Claire's posture, feet up on the edge of the cushion, haunches sticking out, 
nether parts thrust forward. It was obscene. Long red gash, drooling pungent 
juice, tight brown hole, glistening with the overflow. It was obscene, quite 
delightfully so, and she knew that Claire, like her, could cum at any time 
she wished. 

As if reading her thoughts, Claire murmured, panting, "You about ready to 
get off a good one, Mary-honey?" 

"Any time, Claire-darling. Any time," Mary replied, voice husky, tits mashed 
by knees to chest, finger-pushing bordering on pain, sweetest pain. 

"Longer we wait, better it'll be." 

"Can't wait forever." 

"Want to get it on with Argo next time?" 

Claire's words knocked Mary's heat down a notch, but it rose swiftly again 
with the return of a montage of her fantasies. "I don't know. I don't know," 
she moaned, only wanting to cum now, just wanting sensations to wash her 
clean of all thoughts, so that her head would be clear when they started up 
again. 

"Fuck shit hell damn," Claire gasped. "Argo fucking and licking us both, 
never getting tired, never able to tell anyone about it. Let's. Let's, 
MaryJioney. Let's!" 

The doorbell chimed, bringing Mary back from the very brink of acquiesence, 
altering Claire from a hugely sexy, worldly woman to a fat, disgusting broad 
with revolting notions about sex and love, and Mary shivered and clasped her 
arms about her breasts as she lowered her feet to the floor. 

"Better answer that." 

"Fuck it," said Claire. "Got more important things to do. Gotta cum. And you 
gotta cum with me." 

"It's prob'ly the delivery man with the booze," said Mary, and the word 
'man' hit them both simultaneously, and Claire blew out her breath and got 
up from the chair. 

"Yes, indeed. We'd better answer that." 

Dizzy with her heat, Mary groped about in getting into her bra and panties 
again, while Claire lumbered off in the direction of her bedroom. Mary sat 
huddled on the couch, wondering if she could possibly get it on with a 
stranger, no matter how drunk and hot she was. Claire reappeared wearing a 
flowered rayon robe whose colors were predominately red and black. It flowed 
open behind her as she strode toward the door, from where the chimes sounded 
again. She gathered it in about her as she opened the door a crack, then 
allowed it to fall open again as she reached out and returned her arm 
bearing a big brown paper bag. Satan himself was looking through her eyes at 
little Mary as she spoke: 

"It's not a man at all. It's something better. It's an apple-cheeked little 
boy with big blue eyes and curly brown hair. Should I let him in?" 

 CHAPTER THREE 

It happened so quickly that little Billy wasn't sure it had really happened 
at all. Standing at the door, bag in his arms, prick half-hard, thoughts on 
the time he'd soon spend on the contents of his new magazine-door opens, 
painted face of a witch, bare arm snakes out and gets package, and Billy 
gets a clear view of a bare breast far too beautiful to be that of a witch. 
It's over as quick as that, and if it wasn't for the creeping enlargement of 
his prick against the magazine page, he would not have been at all sure it 
had really happened. It took several seconds of open-mouthed blinking before 
he could ring the bell again. 

The door opened as if it was palace gates sweeping back, but if it was a 
queen who opened the door, she ruled over no sweet fairy-tale land described 
in the pages of a public library book. She towered over Billy by several 
inches, and there was a somewhat regal appearance to the long, dark robe she 
wore, but it was not this that made him tremble with awe. It was her long 
yellow hair in disarray, the crooked grin on her heavily made-up face that 
confirmed her state of drunkenness, and most of all, the narrow opening down 
the front of her robe through which he could see the floor of the valley 
between her knockers, her long navel, and the mysterious darkness of hair 
that disappeared down between her legs. She was not a witch at all, but 
beautiful, alluring, and surely as lonely as any of those younger, less 
poised damsels hidden inside Billy's pants. 

She held out her hand and invited him inside to receive payment for the 
medicine she'd ordered for her loneliness. Billy's gaze was held captive by 
her radiant, red and white smile as he came past her into the relative 
dimness of that little house that was like so many others on the block, but 
his nostrils were assailed by the difference in this place as the door was 
firmly closed behind him. It was airless and hot, and it had the smell about 
it of stale booze and cigarettes and sweat and that acrid, unidentifiable 
odor that he'd smelled in his parents' bedroom following a late Sunday 
rising when they were both unnaturally good-tempered and happy. It reeked of 
sex, of sex and loneliness, filled with harsh radio rock and with the 
presence of this lonely, smiling woman whom Providence had sent him to 
comfort. Their age disparity would make no difference. He would get her off 
the booze, save her from cigarettes, spend long hours discussing Great Books 
with her, gradually get her out into the sunshine again, and in the process 
he would use all the words he had practiced with on his paper ladies to win 
her for all time. Theirs would be the romance of the century, in defiance of 
all the outdated laws of society, and he would somehow control his burning 
organ until their wedding night, when he would fuck her in the cunt and in 
the mouth and between her knockers and in her ass with his prick and his 
tongue and his fingers and toes, tenderly, cruelly, wonderfully! 

"My, you're a nice, big boy," she said, simultaneously feeling the nape of 
his neck and the bulge of his bicep. "My name's Claire. What's yours, 
honey?" 

"B-B-B-Billy," he told her, as the electric waves she was sending into him 
met somewhere between his balls and his heart. 

She grinned down at him. "Cute name. Meet my friend Mary. Mary, come in here 
and meet Billy. You'll like Mary, Billy. She's a stripper. Ever meet a 
stripper before? Have you got time to meet her? I mean, you don't have to go 
buzzing off on your bicycle to some silly old baseball game right away, do 
you? You can stay long enough to have a nice cold drink with us, can't you? 
Mary and I were just sitting around doing nothing. Talking about-you guessed 
it, men-and we'd both be so disappointed if you had to take off as soon as 
you got here. Isn't he a handsome boy, Mary? Young man is more like it. Come 
into the kitchen with me. We'll get acquainted while I play bartender. You 
are old enough to take a drink, aren't you, Billy?" 

Billy had no idea how or even if he answered her questions. All he knew was 
that the great leap from the outside world into Claire's imposing presence 
had been followed by an even greater leap, and now he was in a kitchen with 
a real, live stripper, one who had hardly anything on at all! One who was 
absolutely beautiful! Maybe tall, lonely Claire needed him more than little, 
busty Mary, but his need for Mary was boundless. This wasn't a woman who 
posed for a dumb camera, it was a ravenously sex-hungry broad who peeled off 
her clothes before the avid eyes of hundreds, thousands of screaming truck 
drivers, and who then chose the biggest and best of them to fuck her and 
suck her and eat out her asshole until it was time for her next show. The 
reason she wasn't working that day was probably because she was diseased, 
she'd picked up virulent dose of VD that was fatal to the male of the 
species, and she had just enough compassion not to spread it around. But it 
was an effort for her to do without cock during her treatment. He could see 
that from the way she looked at him, feel it clearly from the way she clung 
to his arm. Before he left that house, he'd have contracted the disease. It 
didn't matter. Here was a woman who knew everything there was to know about 
sex-absolutely everything!-and he had the opportunity to learn it all from 
her. He might not be a burly trucker with a foot-long whang, but he was 
available, and she certainly knew it. If she still had enough compassion in 
her to be reluctant about giving him her disease, he would just have to 
overcome that somehow, for he had to learn the Chinese Basket Fuck, the 
African Snake Screw, the Norwegian Knothole Poke, and the Armenian Crawl. He 
had to learn something more than the dictionary definition of words like 
urolagnia and cunnilingus and coprophalia. He had to learn what it felt like 
to have his hard prick in a hot pussy, and there was no one in the world 
better suited to teach him than Mary, the stripper. 

They jostled him from both sides in the kitchen, giggling. They were both 
pretty drunk, big horsey Claire with her robe hanging open to show her 
skimpy, brown-tipped titties, and Mary, the professional nymphomaniac, in 
her hot-pink French lingerie, with her silicone injected knockers about to 
burst the bra. Claire sloshing whiskey and cola into glasses and nudging him 
in the ribs with her elbow, Mary standing back with hands on hips, sizing 
him up as she compulsively moved to the music-and surely finding him 
wanting. He had to have her. He had to! 

His voice, unfortunately, cracked as he said, "How did you ever happen to 
become a strip-teaser?" 

"Just did what comes naturally," she frankly replied, and progressively 
shook her incredibly fine little body from toes to forehead in a manner that 
turned his spine to jelly. A nympho from birth, no doubt about it, and there 
was a bare possibility that her disease was not invariably fatal to men. 

A cold glass was thrust in Billy's hand. He gulped thirstily from it, eyes 
devouring his stripper, jumping and twitching at the touch of the big one's 
hand on his back, not realizing he was swilling liquor until it was half 
gone. Liquor! That was the answer! She was half shot already, and with a 
couple more drinks in her, she'd lose all her inhibitions about infecting 
him with Go-Go dancer's gonorrhea. 

"Do you drink?" he asked, and when she nodded, he thrust his glass in her 
hand. She sipped, looking over the rim of the glass falsely demure at him, 
while he joined her with the fresh glass that had found its way into his 
hand. He liked the way her eyelashes shaded her green eyes. He liked the way 
her stage make-up made her skin look so naturally fresh and pure. He liked 
that enormously deep cleavage between her knockers, and he liked the rich, 
rank smell that floated up in thick waves from her burning, throbbing 
germ-laden cunt. Had her cunt been made surgically smaller by the same 
doctor who had enlarged her breasts? Billy hoped not. Even if Mary's 
thousands of fans had fucked it to the size of Carlsbad Caverns, he'd still 
cum the instant he touched it with the madly itching head of his prick. He 
wondered what her stage name was and if she personally knew any of the many 
models that he knew from the pages of his collection, but he couldn't ask 
her, occupied as he was with drinking in her beauty with his eyes and 
drinking in the sweetness of the drink with his gullet. 

"Claire, isn't he a little young?" she said, and all his hopes were 
immediately dashed. 

They knew very well he was fourteen, not twenty-one. They were a couple of 
school teachers on vacation, going to tease him to the brink of insanity, 
get him drunk, and then boot him out the door. The opportunity of his 
lifetime was gone, and all because of his stupid age. 

"Let's just see if he's old enough," said the husky feminine voice at his 
ear, and a pair of hands began encircling his hips. 

Billy's excitement was already extremely high. Now it completely obliterated 
disappointment, as the groping hands converged toward his loins. His arms 
rose from his sides, he went up on his toes, and Mary's face blurred before 
him as two hands-not his own-stole down through the hollows of his groin to 
end their errand of mercy at his throbbing prick and aching balls. But 
before they got there, before the wonderful woman who had introduced him to 
all of this could cure his raging turmoil with the touch of her hands, she 
stopped and spoke again at his ear. 

"What the hell is this? Are you wearing a truss? What've you got stuck down 
inside your pants, Billy?" 

"Nothing! Nothing!" he insisted, crouching over in an effort to protect the 
damning book from discovery, writhing and squirming and clutching at it, for 
now the alcohol was getting to the two women, and they were bent on 
uncovering his concealment. 

They grabbed and poked at him, pulled at his clothes, laughing wildly, while 
he twisted and turned and gasped through uncontrollable giggling to be left 
alone, that he wasn't hiding anything at all. But they were completely 
unmerciful. His lonely benefactor, aided by the depraved stripper, tickled 
him right on down to the floor, and there he lay kicking futilely while his 
shirt was ripped up, his pants torn open, and that awful, filthy book torn 
from his belly. 

Billy covered his face with his hands as Claire triumphantly said, "A nudie 
picture book! No, they're not all nudes. Look! He digs 'em in sexy 
underwear, too." 

Billy rolled against the kitchen cabinets as Mary sneeringly said, "I told 
you he was too young for us. Hell, he's still in the looking stage." 

"Well just see if he's old enough. By now, it's either him or Argo. Help me 
roll him over, Mary. Now he's gotten shy." 

Four hands pulled him onto his back, still curled in the fetal position. He 
was just delivering the magazine to a customer, he tried to tell them, as 
their strong hands straightened out his body. Hands still over his face, he 
longed to sink through the floor into six feet of earth, but they had other 
plans for him. He was caught again, just as he'd been caught by Ace, but 
now, instead of making him work for them, they were going to strip him 
naked, call the police and report him as a sex deviant, and then throw him 
out in the street. He sent out a prayer to be stricken by lightning, but 
nothing came. Nothing, that is, but soft hands and a warm breeze on his 
bared belly, and words whose purring tone could have come from a big black 
panther. 

"You see, Mary? I told you he was old enough. His dick's not too big and 
it's not too small, but it sure is hard enough. Let's see how it tastes ... 
mmmmmm...." 

The hand encircling the base of his prick felt as good as the very soft, 
warm, wet sensations that flowed over the head of it. He dimly knew what was 
so miraculously happening to him in the aftermath of his great distress, but 
he still couldn't believe it. He was afraid to open his eyes, lest he find 
he was mistaken. A hand went to his balls, to roll them gently, squeeze them 
softly, testing the extent of the load they carried, and Billy gritted his 
teeth and squinted his eyes more tightly shut. The warm wetness slid up and 
down his prick, nostril breath searing his groin. His hand was taken and led 
over damply silken, extremely soft skin, through absorbingly interesting 
hollows, over long, soft hair, and pressed deeply against a deep wet mouth 
that emanated kilowatts of heat. 

He had to look then. He had to open his eyes and look up his arm to the big 
bare flesh beside him, the looming huge hip, stark white, revealed by the 
black and red robe thrown back over its big curves. She was on her knees 
beside him, holding his hand and rubbing it over that big cunt he could not 
see, smearing her juices up over her hanging belly, then pushing it back for 
more. Looking down her body, he saw how her small titty swayed with the 
rhythmic rocking of her body, and how erect her little brown nipple was now. 
And he saw that it was true, he was getting the fabled Blow Job; her 
glistening red lips were moving up and down the length of his proudly 
standing pink prick, her cheeks were sunken in, and inside the loving cavity 
of her mouth, her tongue was swirling around the head of his prick as if it 
was an ice cream cone. He could see much of the woman who was so lonely and 
hard-up to do this for him, but he couldn't see her tongue or her cunt, 
those most important parts of her anatomy. But looking up, he could see 
Mary's. 

She was standing over his head, a foot above it, looking down at his loins 
and the action there, and wishing she'd gotten to him first. Billy could 
tell that from the way her beautiful little pink tongue was licking at her 
passion-swollen lips. Her feet were a foot apart, her hands trembling, 
splayed fingertips touched against her panty-clad groins, inches away from 
that cunt that so yearned for the prick that was in Claire's sliding mouth. 
And he could see her cunt, a darkness through the taut, wet crotchband of 
her panties. He could see it as clearly as if her panties were absent from 
her body, and he longed for it with every fiber of his body, even if it did 
contain a microbe or two in addition to its honeyed sweetness. Looking at 
her like that, the object of all his desires, his excitement mounted so 
swiftly that he knew he had to have her before he exploded in a burst of 
glory that would end his life. 

He wrenched his hand from the shaggy wet cunt, grabbed both of Mary's 
slender ankles, and blurted, "Lemme eat you, lemme fuck you, lemme crawl up 
inside your cunt head-first! I love you! I love you-I love MMMPH!" 

As graceful as any ballerina, she spun about. She squatted then, and for one 
dreadful moment, he thought she was going to go to the toilet on his face, 
right through her panties. But down she came, shutting off the light with 
the warm, wet, wonderfully foul softness of her cunt, and at once he began 
to cum. 

Billy's body arched up off the floor, as if it wanted to follow the spurts 
of his sperm that were erupting into the mouth at his loins. It spasmed 
upward, shuddering with each long, wracking stream of ecstasy, and still she 
sucked on his cock. It was by far the most fantastic thing he had ever 
known, and then it became even more fantastically good when he sensed that 
his Mary was cumming with him. 

They were having a mutual orgasm, the ultimate in love and sex. True, his 
prick was in another's mouth, but still they were experiencing a trip to 
heaven together, as one. He knew she was cumming with him by the way she 
clutched handfuls of his hair, by the way she grunted and groaned and humped 
her gushing cunt against his fiercely working mouth. He was almost unable to 
breathe because of the hotly squirming muffle over his mouth, but he was 
able to clutch and grab at her beautiful, sexy, orgasming body all that he 
wanted to, and that was far, far better than mere breathing. She was banging 
his head against the floor and squealing loudly, but he hardly felt or heard 
it. All he felt were those long, wrenching ejaculations that kept pulling 
his ass up off the cold floor, and the spasmings of her flower-like cunt on 
his mouth. He tried to lance his tongue through the fabric of her panties, 
but it wouldn't penetrate. He tried to tongue the crotchband aside, to 
directly taste the heavily cloying flavor that was all but suffocating him, 
but the material was too tight and wet to leave the hot mouth that it 
covered. And so young Billy was mildly frustrated, yet hugely gratified when 
at last his Mary rolled off him, giving him sweet air to breathe, and the 
last of his copious spendings had been licked up and swallowed by her big, 
horsey friend. He lay there sighing, glowing with this, his first insight 
into the heavenly delights that existed here on earth, and further glowing 
with the knowledge that there was more, much more to be enjoyed with his 
Mary, his love. 

Their voices came to him from afar, especially Claire's, as she said, 
"Goddamn, the little rascal sure did cum in a hurry. I wasn't ready for it, 
but once he started, I couldn't stop." 

"You really ... liked it?" 

"Damn right. It tastes good, and it's good for you. You came pretty damned 
quick, too." awfully.... 

"I was awfully ... ready from before." 

"Well, I'm ready now. Billy-boy, how soon can you go again, with a little 
help from your friends?" 

He was able to almost completely ignore the hand that grasped his wet, 
deflating prick, because he knew it was not that of his love. "Any time," he 
murmured. "But with my Mary. Only with her." 

"We'll just see about that," said Claire. "Up! Get up!" 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Aided by a cruel twisting of his ear, Billy scrambled to his feet. With his 
trousers hobbling his ankles, he was dragged out of the kitchen by the big 
blonde, who was saying, "Your Mary, indeed! You aren't going to play any 
favorites here, you little twerp. A cunt is a cunt, in this house, and mine 
is next on your list, whether you like it or not!" In pain, weakened by his 
ejaculation, handicapped by his dragging trousers, he went along with her, 
though in truth, it was Mary's saucily swinging buttocks before him that 
pulled him on into the living room. 

Blank TV screen, scarred table, sagging furniture, newspapers on the floor, 
it could have been the Ralston house, except for the rock music playing and 
the big black dog who got to his feet to growl. Billy's main captor shut up 
the dog with a single sharp word, and flung Billy down on the couch. Fists 
on hips, sweeping back the robe to bare both her drooping tits and that 
enormous island of fur in the center of the expanse of her body, she leaned 
forward over him to speak nearly as harshly as she'd spoken to the dog. 

"Are you ready to fuck me, or am I ready to call Ace's Liquor and tell them 
that you tried to rape us both?" 

"I can't," he whined. "Look," he said, and lifted a hand from his naked 
loins to bare his wilted prick. 

She immediately softened. She plopped down beside him, snuggled up to him 
took his little boy prick in her hand, and said, "Oh, we can take care of 
that in short order. D'you want another little blow-job to get it up again 
while Mary does a little strip for you? Would that do it?" 

Before he could answer, she was kissing him. On the mouth. Those same lips 
that had been so recently wrapped around his prick, were not on his mouth. 
That same tongue that had lapped up his cum was trying to tangle with his. 
You paid a price for everything, his mother had often told him, and now this 
terrible ordeal of her wet, penetrating kiss was his price for getting 
sucked off. As soon as he could, he twisted out of the kiss, and muttered, 
"Yeah, I'd like to see Mary strip." 

He didn't want to see her do it there. He wanted to see her for the first 
time in the right circumstances, bathed in a blue spotlight, with throngs of 
men cheering and applauding the brazenly beautiful woman who belonged only 
to Billy Ralston. But there it had to be, in that tawdry little living room, 
for she was already starting to move to the music. How much better, how 
perfect it would be if they were in the bridal suite, and she was peeling 
out of her pure white garments to the jazzed-up strains of Lohengrin, with 
Billy as her sole audience. But it was here and now, in a stuffy little 
tract house, with a damned dog and perverted schoolteacher there to ruin 
things. 

Still, it wasn't all that bad. Claire's hand on his prick was moving rather 
pleasantly, and the way she was moving his hand on her wet old snatch wasn't 
altogether disgusting. Her right hand working on his prick was better than 
his own, but it could never really excite him. And the feel of her cunt was 
interesting, the blind exploration of the many little folds and crevices of 
hot wetness that he'd so often thought about but never felt before this day, 
that was really pretty good, but that couldn't excite him either. What was 
exciting was Mary, six feet in front of him, unattainable for the moment, 
but showing up as clearly as if she was in a spotlight. 

She was pretending to ignore him, pretending she was completely absorbed by 
the music, and by the crazy-wild movements of her stunning little body. She 
pranced up and down like an Indian, arms flapping, knees kicking high, 
knockers threatening to jump out of her over-worked brassiere. Her head was 
thrown back, an expression of mindless music-listening on her face, eyes 
closed, mouth hanging open. Billy had never really heard music before, he 
realized. He wasn't even hearing it, but feeling it, right down in his gut. 

"Let's get rid of this," said the woman at his side, and he was pulled 
forward for his T-shirt to be stripped from him. Her hand felt somewhat 
better when it was returned to his prick. He could feel a twinge of life in 
that part of his body now. He automatically probed and delved in the wetness 
of her vast cunt, trying to keep her happy while he watched his love at her 
art. 

The music had changed. There was a rapid-fire drum solo going on, and his 
Mary was right with it. Feet planted solidly on the foor, fingers pointing 
straight at him from her hips, she had her head thrown back and was emitting 
little yips and squeals of lusty, healthy desire for him as she swiveled her 
athletic body on the universal joint of her tiny waist, hips going one way, 
shoulders and knockers going the other, so fast that her beauty was being 
melted into a blur. Billy was breathing harder, his prick was swelling, his 
fingers moving of their own accord, as he understood that Mary was somehow 
setting the tempo for the recorded drummer with her fantastic little body. 

"Might as well get rid of these, too," said the owner of the cunt he'd been 
fingering, and slipped to her knees before the couch to pull off his shoes 
and socks and drag his pants and shorts over his feet. As she did this, she 
took the opportunity to blow her warm breath on his loins and lightly but 
expertly use both tongue and lips on his prick and balls. It felt terrific, 
it was great, but not nearly so exciting as the sight of his Mary, dancing 
for him. 

She was facing the dog now, and he was sitting up and wagging his tail and 
his tongue, as she did a combination of her Indian dance and her 
shimmy-shake. She was doing it in profile to Billy, not even looking in his 
direction, but he knew very well her performance was all for him, for one of 
her bra straps had slipped down, almost baring one of her marvelously big 
knockers, the one which was closest to where he was sitting. 

Beside him on the couch again, the woman with the wonderfully knowledgable 
mouth and the eager cunt took his rising prick in hand and said, "Shit, 
we're forgetting why Billy-boy ever came over here. Mary, go get us some 
drinks." 

Billy watched her as she danced her way out of the room, feeling hot tingles 
lancing down into his balls from the way the big blonde was darting her 
tongue in his ear and swirling and digging with it there. It felt good. It 
was exciting. There was no question about that. And with Mary out of the 
room, and no real commitment as yet made between them, there was no reason 
not to enjoy things a little, no reason not to be polite to her. 

"Having a good time?" she asked. "Glad you came?" 

"Sure," he said, turning from the empty doorway to her, and feeling the 
rubbery soft texture of her lips with his as she grazed them. 

"After we have another little drink, you're gonna fuck me, and you're really 
gonna enjoy that. 

Right?" 

"Sure," he said, just before she planted her mouth right on his. 

Strange, but he couldn't taste any prick on her lips, nor on her tongue, for 
that matter. Not that he'd recognize that taste if he tasted it. But the 
taste of pussy-Mary's pussy-he would never forget. It was wonderful, 
absolutely wonderful. He thought he could detect just a trace of it in 
Claire's mouth, and thinking that she might be about to draw away from him 
before he could fully savor it, he slipped his arms about her naked 
shoulders and held her where she was. 

Yes, the faint taste of pussy was there. Had it come from Claire's having 
licked Mary's delicious pussy? Unthinkable, yet highly possible, for man, 
woman or beast could hardly resist the taste of Mary's pure sex. Billy 
searched for more with his tongue. It wasn't quite the same as Mary's, yet 
highly similar. Could it be that he was tasting Claire's pussy? Was a 
woman's mouth connected by a long tube that wrapped around her heart and 
terminated at her pussy? It was possible. After having fallen into this 
marvelous little love nest, anything in the world was possible. 

Billy settled down for some serious necking with the beautiful big blonde. 
It was okay. His stripper was gone for the moment, she'd been unfaithful to 
him thousands of times, and it wasn't every day that a fourteen-year-old 
stud got to snuggle up to and kiss a gorgeous, mature woman like Claire. If 
his buddies could only see him now. Or punchie old Ace Varney. Or snotty 
little Becky Sloane from down his street. He wanted the world to see him, 
naked as a jaybird, with his statuesque blonde beauty queen shrugging out of 
her robe so that he could be given even more of her glorious charms. 

Perfect little knockers, just the size to fit in a man's hand. Adorable 
little nipples, the exact size to be nursed on by a pair of adoring lips. 
Billy simultaneously felt up her knockers and, kissed and sucked them until 
his hand was drawn to a further exploration of her beauty. Great big hip, 
not too firm, just the right consistency for a man to sink his fingers into, 
just a little firmer than the sweet titty he was so avidly kissing. A 
beautiful cunt that opened right up for him when his hand even started to 
stray in that direction, and that filled his nostrils and his brain with her 
sweetly musky scent. 

His lips gave up her perfect little nipple to sample the softness below it. 
Her scent was stronger then as she spread her legs wider and smoothed her 
soft hand over the back of his neck. He kissed her lush body lower, the 
better to smell her very distinctive scent, and she made little cooing 
sounds that encouraged him to test the softness of the point of her hip with 
his lips. Deliriously soft, just as her smell was delightfully stronger. As 
he kissed her and smelled her, her body was jerking and twitching as if she 
had hiccups of the cunt, but her words were smooth and soothing as she 
talked him home. 

"Go on and eat it a little, baby. You'll like it. 

Nothing like good hot cunt to turn a boy into a man. Go on and kiss it a 
little, suck on it, lick it up and down before you put your beautiful big 
cock in it and fuck me half to death. Go on. Go on, darling. Go on...." 

Billy's mouth was in the fringes of the big blonde's dark pubic hair when 
Mary's sweet voice, softly slurred, stopped him. "Here's yer drinks. 
Where'll I put 'em?" 

His head jerked up and he spun about to a fairly decorous sitting position, 
hands folded over his stiffly standing prick, as Claire cursed like a truck 
driver and said, "You can put 'em up your ass! My baby was just about to go 
down on me when you horned in. Here. Give 'em to me and go dance your ass 
off while Billy and me drink a little toast before we take up where we left 
off." 

Billy could only watch his love from the corner of his eye as a glass was 
thrust into his hand and Claire's horsey, make-up-smeared face loomed close, 
grinning in what she thought was a sexy way. She clinked glasses and said: 

"Here's to women, sweet and divine. They bloom every month and bear every 
nine. They're the only creatures this side of hell To get juice out of nuts 
without breaking the shell." 

They drank together, with her hand straying up his leg to fondle his nuts, 
with his eyes sidling over to look at Mary as she danced. He hadn't really 
noticed her ass before. It was a cute little thing, nicely rounded, as sweet 
and young-looking as Becky Sloane's, but with a lot more movement to it than 
Becky could ever hope to get into hers. Yeah, Mary could really move it. Up 
and down, to and fro, side to side, back and forth, and seemingly all at 
once. She must have learned that in bed before she took it onto the stage. 
Even his strong hands, clasping the small round mounds tightly, wouldn't be 
able to hold her hips still once he had his enormously hard prick in her 
wonderfully soft cunt. He'd fuck her twenty times every day, going down on 
her in between times, until she was eight months pregnant and he could get 
himself a little rest. He would have jumped up and punched his prick right 
through the wettest part of her panties if the depraved schoolteacher at his 
side hadn't had hold of it. 

She let go of it to take his chin and turn him to face her. "What do you 
say, darling? D'you want to go down on me? D'you want a real taste of pussy, 
with no silly old panties to come between us?" 

"I don't think I like what I tasted before," he lied, acting shy, turning 
from her big, blurry face in time to see his Mary slipping her other bra 
strap down, sinuously moving her shoulders out of them, and letting loose 
those magnificently beautiful knockers that he so longed to touch, to kiss, 
to fuck. He could do anything he wanted to with Mary. She belonged to him, 
and was proving it by the dance she was doing for him. And he was now a man, 
having gotten a blow-job and kissed a pussy and almost fucked a woman. His 
first woman should rightfully be Mary, but he supposed he really ought to 
fuck the woman at his side first. It had been she who'd invited him in, he 
had her terribly hot, and he should get in a little practice before he 
fucked his Mary. Besides, Claire was already pulling him toward her with the 
handle of his remarkably stiff prick. 

"You ever laid with a gal before?" she asked, pulling him along as she 
stretched out on the couch. "Am I getting your cherry?" 

"I've screwed lots of times," he lied, as he found how easy it was to get 
between her yawning legs. 

"Then give me a good one," she said, tilting her pelvis up to him, taking 
his cheeks in her hands to kiss his face. 

Prick in hand, he probed and poked at her crotch, while from the corner of 
his eye, he saw Mary dancing closer. He wondered if he was making her 
jealous. He wondered when he'd find the right place in the big, wet expanse 
of softness between the legs of the big blonde. Maybe he and the stripper 
would become swingers, wife-swappers, after their year-long honeymoon was 
over. Maybe he should back off and take a look for the hole he knew was down 
there instead of blindly stabbing for it. Would he be able to stand seeing 
Mary being fucked by somebody else at an orgy, as she was watching him now? 
Was it possible that the big, soft woman under him didn't have a vagina? 

Billy shoved harder, and Claire said, "Ouch! Goddamnit, I don't want to get 
fucked in the goddamned ass! Here, gimme that." 

His prick was taken from his hand. He laid his cheek on horny bitch's 
shoulder, eyes closed in the embarrassment of being discovered for the 
inexperienced idiot that he was. It took her but a moment to direct the head 
of his prick to the right place, and then he had to open his eyes in wonder 
as he felt himself sliding in her, deeper and deeper, the burning length of 
his prick being enveloped in a warm, wet heat that was somehow most cooling 
and refreshing. He sighed and clutched her beautiful body closer to his, 
squirmed as happy as a puppy deeper in her, and mingled his gurgles of 
contentment with her sighs of satisfaction. This had to be the happiest 
moment of his life, balls deep in a lonely woman who really needed him, 
watching the love of his life dancing just a yard away from him. 

He tried to wink and grin at his Mary. Her bra was gone from her body and 
she was massaging her gorgeous breasts, rolling and rolling them about in 
her hands, lips pursed as she looked down at the constructive exercise she 
was performing. His hips were slowly moving with those of the owner of the 
cunt he was in, and in a way, it felt like he was cumming all the time. Then 
Mary shocked him by lifting a heavy globe and sucking its nipple into her 
mouth. Probably part of her body-building program, he thought, as the tempo 
of his first fuck increased. The expression on his strip-teaser's face grew 
vacuous as she sucked on her knocker, and now one of her little hands stole 
down over her belly and crept inside her pink panties. It moved like a 
little animal in there, as she with outspread legs thrust forward her hips 
to meet it. She wasn't exercising, she was masturbating, and Billy didn't 
like that at all. He recalled how many times he'd jerked himself off, and he 
could understand how hot the nympho stripper must be in watching him fuck 
another woman, but that didn't make him feel any better about her playing 
with herself like that. And she was really doing it! As if to prove she had 
no shame, she let her big jug flop down out of her mouth, rucked her panties 
down to her knees, and gave herself a good, hard rubbing in the place where 
Billy should rightfully have his prick. Mouth open and tongue hanging out, 
she did a dance she'd never performed on a stage, jerking and bumping her 
hips to jab her cunt against her moving hand, tits flopping about, panties 
stretched tight between her knees. It was wildly sexy, weirdly fascinating 
to look at, but Billy couldn't stand to see his love doing that to herself, 
flaunting her nymphomania so. He turned to bury his face in the sweaty 
hollow of Claire's throat, humping faster, trying to banish the vision of 
his hotly masturbating stripper with sensations of his own. 

"Oh! Cum! Gotta CUM! AGAIN!" Mary cried. 

Billy couldn't escape from her voice, even as his own climax approached as 
he squirmed and humped on the big wet softness beneath him. It seemed as if 
the beautiful big blonde was all cunt now, everywhere he was touching her 
with his wildly bobbing body. It was marvelous, wonderful the way she came 
to meet each of his rapid, ragged thrusts at her, the way she so eagerly 
accepted each new plunging of his rock-hard, pistoning prick. She was 
digging her nails into his back and clutching at his bouncing buttocks, 
groaning deep in her throat to help blot out Mary's hedonistic masturbatory 
cries. 

"Fuck her, you little bastard! Fuck me! Eating cunts and fucking cocks, big 
hard ones, and sucking them off and swallowing the ... NNNNNNG! ORRRRRGGGGH! 
CUM! CUM!!! CUMMINGGGGGGGGG!!!" 

The barkings of the dog helped to drown out some of her final outcries, and 
then Claire helped too. "Fuck shit hell damn, fuck me half to death, you 
little angel. Fuck me and cum with me! CUM WITH ME NOW! NOW!, DAMN YOU, 
NOW!" 

"I LOVE YOU! I LOOOOOVE YOU!" Billy shouted, spurting and shooting, creaming 
and cumming, in perfect harmony with the gorgeous, sexy woman who was giving 
him such unimagined delights. 

"FUCK SHIT HELL DAMN CUM!!! WONDERFUL!" 

"MMPH! URRRGGGH! FUCK HER! FUCK HER!!!" 

"ARF! ARF! ARF!" 

"I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU! I LOOOOve ... ahhhh...." 

The chorus of orgasmic shriekings subsided, along with Billy's great 
efforts. He felt as if he was melting, slowly molding to fit the living 
mattress under him, merging with the body of the woman he loved. Yes, he did 
love the beauteous and passionate Claire now, for who could fail to love the 
woman who had introduced him to such delights. He burrowed closer to her, 
kissed the dear, fetid hollow of her throat, feeling the vibrations of her 
purrings of contentment. This was the woman for him, even if Mary was 
prettier and hotter. No one could ever replace Claire in his affections, 
even if he lived to be a hundred. 

But by then Claire would be long dead, and Mary, lovely Mary would probably 
still be going strong. She was younger as well as prettier than the big 
blonde, and with her vitality, she'd last at least as long as Billy did. He 
felt a little guilty now that he'd lost his virginity to the old 
schoolteacher instead of holding out for the strip-teaser whom he had first 
adored. If he'd stood his ground, Mary would have had his marvelously 
working prick in her cunt instead of the fingers she had had to resort to. 
Somehow, he'd make it up to her, even if it took a thousand fucks and a 
million eatings of her sweet cunt. At the moment, he felt like taking a nap, 
but duty called, and he should at least turn to her and apologize a little. 
She was right there at his side, making little cooing sounds, and he turned 
his head from the false comforts of the horny old schoolteacher to look at 
his love and say through his eyes that he was sorry. 

But his eyes flew wide open when he saw Mary, for she was sitting curled up 
on the floor, embracing the big black dog. She held his head cradled in her 
arms, hugging him to her bosom, cooing to him and pressing her cheek against 
his furry muzzle. His tongue flipped out and licked her cheek. She laughed, 
and then Billy's shock turned to horror as he saw her lower the dog's head 
to her chest, and laugh again as he licked her knockers. 

"You like that?" she said. "Sure you do. You're a good ol' dog, and you 
sure've got a good ol' tongue. How'd you like to lick me someplace else 
sometime? Hmmmm? I sure bet you would, you nasty old doggie-dog." 

Claire laughed next to Billy's ear, and said, "We might've needed Argo 
before, Mary, but now that Billy's here, we've got something a Lot better. 
Billy might not be as big as I'd like, but ne's pretty good." 

The bitch! The witch! She'd gotten poor Mary drunk and then filled her head 
with stories of dogs' tongues, and she'd succeeded in seducing him when all 
he wanted was his Mary. Billy wanted to kill her, and in his frustration, he 
thrust against her as hard as he could with his slowly softening prick. She 
moaned and thrust back, while poor, drunken Mary continued to hold the dog 
and his licking tongue against her breasts. He dug his fingers into the 
putty-soft flesh of Claire's hips, feeling that he could stab through her 
heart with his prick, trembling with the strain of it. She was trembling 
too, making an urgent little moan come out of her throat, and slowly lifting 
them both off the couch with the arching of her body. He pushed harder, to 
drive her down flat, to conquer her, while befuddled Mary giggled and rocked 
back and forth on her haunches as she held the dog in her arms. He was 
panting with the effort of it. The wicked, depraved witch dragged her hands 
down toward his quivering ass, nails first, and he thought he was going to 
win, thought he was going to subdue her so that he could then get up and 
kick the dog aside and flee with his Mary. But then long, strong fingers 
converged in the groove of his ass, and one of them wormed its way into his 
asshole, making the silently struggling battle hers. 

It went right inside him, touching him in a place where man is not meant to 
be touched, bringing him sensations not meant to be felt. It was like he was 
cumming all over again, but now pain predominated over the intense sweetness 
he'd known before. The finger burrowed deeper, wriggled more obscenely, 
making Billy give up the straining struggle and wildly contort on the 
witch's big body in a frantic effort to expel that fiendish digit that was 
injecting him with the delights and the sufferings of the damned. 

He squealed shrilly and gasped hoarsely, as she used her finger like an 
expert demon, her voice rising in her sadistic glee. "Harder! A little more! 
Deeper! Shit fuck HELL damn! Love it! Love to cum! One more' time! Now, now, 
NOWWWWW!!!!" 

Her powerful thighs were crushing him, her hard heels drumming a tattoo on 
the backs of his legs, and that terrible long finger reaching for and 
finding some strange little organ inside him that was the button controlling 
all his earthly pain and pleasure. Held prisoner like that, being so 
diabolically stimulated, he would have gone on struggling in her grip and 
grinding his loins against her sodden crotch until his heart burst from the 
effort, had not she released him. With a long sigh, her legs slipped from 
around him, that horrible thing was withdrawn from his asshole, and Billy 
was permitted to roll off her evil body, off the couch, and onto the floor. 

He lay there panting, utterly exhausted, as if he'd just run a four-minute 
mile. He was through with sex forever, finished with women for all time. 
With the exception of his mother-and at times he wasn't so sure about 
her-they were all cruel and evil and dirty. As soon as he was old enough, 
he'd get a job on a four-masted fishing schooner, and he'd never leave it 
again, he'd stay on board when the other sailors went into port to pay 
disease-laden prostitutes for the sufferings that Billy had just endured. 

His asshole still tingled from the torment. He held it tightly clenched 
while he lay there getting his breath, the sounds of Claire's sighs and 
Mary's giggles coming to him from afar. It didn't hurt so much any more. In 
fact, it was the sexy tingling part of it that he could still feel now. 
Still and all, the painful part, the humiliating part had been such that 
he'd never go through it again if he could help it. What he'd do was get up 
and go. 

He opened his eyes, and there over his head was Mary. Beautiful but dumb 
Mary was there, the woman he'd misjudged. It wasn't nymphomania that had 
driven her to the stage as a stripper, it was a sense of kindness, a need to 
be so good to mankind that she showed lonely men the gifts of beauty she had 
been given. She was showing that kindness now in the way she was handling 
the dog, smiling happily as she hugged him to her, holding his head against 
her tummy. He was licking her hip out of gratitude. Her beautiful knockers 
still gleamed from his saliva as they hung above Billy's eyes like ripe, 
exotic fruit, very pale but very nourishing. Half drunk as well as not too 
bright, she was thinking only of being good to the dog, not of how wrong it 
was to let a dog lick her like that. Billy had to do something about that. 
He had to save her. 

He reached up and touched her knee, silken soft, pulsing with life, and he 
said, "Hey, how's about gettin' rid of that dog and lettin' me suck on your 
big ol' knockers for a while?" 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

"What did you say?" said Mary, looking down past Argo the dog, as he 
continued to slither and slip his pink tongue over her belly and up to her 
coral-crested breasts. 

Billy replied, "Uh ... I thought maybe we could sort of wash up a little and 
then you might ... uh ... like it if I sort of kissed your ... uh ... 
breasts a little. Huh?" 

"What did you call them before?" she asked, leaning closer over the supine 
boy, one big, glistening globe swinging out over his forehead. 

"Knockers," he said, with a grin that threatened to split his face. 

"No time like the present," she said, and pushing the dog aside, she dropped 
one of her breasts onto his face. 

"Mmmph!" It was all he could say. She'd been very accurate in the placement 
of the heavily pendant sphere, bringing its erect nipple against his mouth, 
mashing the big round flesh flat against his face. It was all wet, wet from 
the dog's dirty tongue, but Billy couldn't escape from it. She had two good 
handholds in his hair and was squirming and mashing it harder all the time. 
He managed to get some air in through his nostrils. He was almost gagging, 
and he longed to be able to at least run a soapy washcloth over the great 
beauty she was offering to him, but as it was, the only washing device he 
had access to was his tongue, and so he used it. 

It wasn't so bad. Any doggy flavor quickly disappeared as he lay there 
swirling his tongue around the wide, delightfully corrugated circle of her 
areola. He had thought her nipple was fully erect, but now, under his 
increasingly avid suckings, it elongated to a full inch of hugely erotic 
flesh in his mouth. 

She was drunk, and that was why she'd forgotten about washing for him. She 
proved her drunkenness by giggling and talking to him in the same tone she'd 
used with the dog. "Lick it and suck it, you horny little boy. Show how much 
you like knockers, you little shit. Do me up good, and maybe I'll give you 
somethin' else to suck on." 

He nodded his head and sucked more passionately, and she rewarded him by 
pulling back to pop that long nipple from his lips and drop the other breast 
onto his face. In a trice he'd sucked away any objectionable flavor there 
and was feasting on pure eroticism. It was heavenly. He slipped his arms 
about her naked torso and she responded by loosening the painful grip in his 
hair and cradling him more gently than she'd held the dog. The texture and 
firmness of her nipple sharply reminded him of the blonde woman's tongue, 
and he longed to kiss Mary's lips. But that would come. And until he got to 
kiss her dear, sweet lips for the first time, he was more than content in 
sucking and kissing her knockers, those big jugs which thousands of men had 
hungered for, but which were now nourishing him. 

He could feel his prick trying to stir. Soon he'd be fucking her, using all 
he'd learned from her friend in order to satisfy Mary beyond her wildest 
hopes. First, of course, he'd have to quickly wash himself, for it wouldn't 
do to put his prick, still wet from the school teacher's big old cunt, into 
Mary's immaculate little hole. 

"Don't smother our boy," he heard the one on the couch say. "At least not 
till after he fucks you." 

"He's not about to fuck anybody for a while. Fine friend you are, you've 
fucked and sucked him dry." 

"He's young enough to get it up again pretty quick. He'd do it even quicker, 
Mary-honey, if you got down there and helped him along with your pretty 
little mouth." 

There was a silence then. Billy went on sucking, feeling Mary's increasingly 
deep breathing, wondering if she was going to faint from how good he was 
making her feel, or if she would condescend to touch her lips to his slowly 
stiffening prick before he even tasted them with his own lips. 

He heard Claire say softly, "Go on, honey. Start out with a nice little pink 
one like his, and then work on up to the big, hard beautiful cocks that 
taste even better. Don't think about it, just do it. Go on and suck him off 
a little, and before you know it, you'll be sucking black cocks and brown 
ones and maybe dog's cocks. Go on. Now's the time to get your start." 

Billy felt Mary stiffen, and he sucked more ardently, the better to urge her 
to give him just a little blow-job. She shivered and backed off, withdrawing 
that nipple from his mouth, and he breathlessly waited for the next step 
toward the time when they would know each other fully, completely, in every 
way. 

"You go on and suck it if you want, Claire," said she, and lifted an arm to 
cover his mouth with her armpit. 

It was very sweaty. But Mary's own good sweat was far less objectionable to 
what he'd tasted on her knockers, and so Billy did his best toward pleasing 
her. It became easier when he felt a mouth on his prick, even though that 
mouth had to belong to Claire. He could just see her, on her knees at his 
side, while Mary knelt at his other side, Claire sucking him off, Mary 
giving him her armpit. It really tasted and felt very nice, getting better 
all the time. In that position, he was able to reach up and play to his 
heart's content with her heavy-hanging breasts. He greatly enjoyed the 
little shivers and giggles of delight she was making. They were every bit as 
exciting as the mouth and tongue and breath working over his prick and balls 
and groins. The hand nearest Claire was taken in tow, and he could see its 
progress as it was drawn up between her legs and placed against the drooling 
hole he'd just fucked so soundly. She wriggled happily on it, inspiring him 
to reach for Mary's dear little cunt with his other hand. 

He found it, a deeper trench, not as long as Claire's by any means, but 
almost as wet. Its wetness had a creamy quality to it, a goodness that made 
him think of virginal milkmaids all laid out on a sunny meadow, even as Mary 
worked her hips like the most vulgar stripper on his probing hand. The music 
was softer now. It was an idyllic scene from which he wished he could get 
up, step back, and look at. Himself spread-eagled on the floor, 
simultaneously finger-fucking his love and his hostess, while the former 
allowed him to please her by frenching her armpit, and the latter indulged 
in one of her perversions by sucking his dick up to a state of complete 
hardness. It was perfect, then Mary made it better. 

Billy got a few breaths of air when Mary turned around and clambered onto 
him. She straddled his belly, grinning down at him from above her bulging, 
looming, swinging breasts. Her cunt seared a wet burn on his belly and he 
held her by her hips as she dropped one breast after the other into his 
mouth. He just had time to get a good sucking hold on one jutting nipple 
before she popped it out to give him the other, and delirious with 
happiness, he did his best to keep up with the alternating white blur of her 
bosoms. 

The music speeded up again. Claire responded to its faster tempo with more 
rapid swirlings of her tongue, and as the beat got to Mary, she too 
increased her action. No time to allow him the sucking he so loved, she got 
her whole body going, slapping him heavily across the face with her gorgeous 
big knockers squirming her amazingly juicy cunt on his belly. 

"Keep up with me! Faster! Faster!" she cried. "You want to suck my knockers, 
you've gotta catch 'em!" 

He couldn't though heaven knows, he tried. His head rocked back and forth, 
lips extended, tongue out, but he was unable to get more than a fleeting 
taste of those big, whipping globes that buffeted him from both sides. Mary 
was laughing wildly. He tried to still the frenetic motion of her torso by 
grasping her by the waist, then the shoulders, but she shrugged away his 
hands and continued to thud him back and forth across the face with her 
heavy sacs of goodness. But, soft as they were, good as they were, he felt 
close to lapsing into unconsciousness from the pummeling they were giving 
him. 

"Stop! S-stop!" he cried. 

She stopped, threw back her head and laughed insanely, then in a flash 
heaved her little body forward and mashed her open cunt down on his mouth. 

Her little tuft of hair did not part for him. He had to burrow with his lips 
while she wriggled her crotch down on him in order to separate the hairs and 
get them out of his mouth so he could taste her creamy goodness. It came 
gushing forth. Its flavor was like the smell he'd first detected when 
walking into the house, but with none of the foulness. He tongued it up and 
swallowed it as best he could, while she squirmed and fed him more, and now 
he fought to keep from drowning as well as suffocating. 

Then he felt a shudder ripple through her and he grasped her by the ass, 
pulled her closer. Despite any risk to his life, she was cumming, and he had 
to help her along all the way. A little nubbin of highly titillated flesh 
was thrust against his lips and, recognizing it at once as her love bump, he 
sucked it in and whipped it with his tongue. Even through the muffling 
softness of her damply silken thighs, he could hear her orgasmic squeals of 
love and pleasure. He sucked her clitoris harder, licked it better, kneaded 
deeper into the gloriously globular flesh of her quivering buttocks, and 
brought her off to a cum that he knew would satisfy her for a long, long 
time. 

Her cunt was whipped from his face. Her beauty was a blur over his glazed 
eyes as she scooted down his body, tits swinging, mouth open and panting and 
grinning. He was only aware that his cock was no longer being sucked when 
Mary lifted her sweet little body up off him and plunged her still-cumming 
cunt down on his well-lubricated prick. 

"Ahhhh," she sighed, head thrown back, eyes closed, nails digging into his 
belly, as she rocked back and forth on her impalement. 

"Yessss," he hissed, as he pushed his rock up into her, reaching up to knead 
those gorgeous big knockers, returning her grin, though she couldn't see it. 

"Now let's see if you can fuck me," she said, "better than you sucked me 
off." 

"Yeahhhh," he growled, and threw his dick up at her. 

He held onto her tits as he arched up several inches off the floor in a 
series of driving penetrations. He'd fuck her good, better than anyone else 
ever had! It was hard work, lifting her weight with his archings, but he 
didn't mind it at all. He did it over and over, while she settled her full 
weight on his humping loins and swayed back and forth to the music. She 
knocked his hands from her breasts and he grabbed her by her bent knees to 
hold her in the saddle, while she grinned crookedly, eyes still closed, and 
luxuriously lifted and massaged her breasts with both hands. Her juices were 
leaking down over his balls. His throat was parched from his panting, 
gasping efforts. He was dimly aware of the big schoolteacher by his side, 
blonde hair askew, urging him on to greater efforts as he strained and 
pushed up under the rocking, swaying body of his love. He needed no words to 
drive him on. The hugely apparent delight he was transmitting to his Mary 
was incentive enough for him to kill himself with his efforts, and the 
growing good feelings in his overworked loins was nothing but an added 
bonus. Billy glowed with good feelings in seeing his Mary like that, belly 
fluttering with her breathing, entire body attuned to the music he was now 
creating, huge knockers flopping about through the kneadings of her hands, 
and his fine strong prick being driven time and time again into the little, 
furry, surprisingly well-fitting slit between her splayed legs. He could 
have looked at it forever, and he would have, but then the magnificent view 
was obscured by a long, heavy leg thrown over his face, and the super-hairy 
crotch of the degenerate schoolteacher held an inch over his face. 

"That's it," said Mary's voice. "Go on and let him eat you while he fucks 
me." 

"I don't want him to die of a heart attack. He's too young for that," said 
the owner of that enormous big cunt, wide open and fuming, just over Billy's 
face. "If he wants it, he can just stick out his tongue and get it." 

Billy stabbed sodden soft flesh with hot hard tongue. There was no tomorrow. 
He reached up and grabbed marshmallow soft hips and pulled down hard, 
completely inundating himself in cunt, both above and below. Feet planted 
flat on the floor, he humped up into the cunt of his loved one, while he 
showed his gratitude for the match-maker by pulling her down hard on his 
face and mouthing and tonguing wildly in her enormous big cunt. He was dimly 
aware that his nose was pressed against her asshole, but he didn't care. 
Nothing was too good for her, for she had shown him the way to happiness, 
and the greatest part of his happiness was in driving his prick hard into 
the cunt of his adored strip-teaser, Mary. They were squealing with delight, 
laughing and talking, though he couldn't distinguish words at this time, for 
now he was in the process of truly becoming a man, satisfying two maturely 
lusty women at once. And perhaps best of all, he was cumming. 

His prick was shooting straight up, up, up into Mary's orgasming cunt, and 
she was accepting it well, cumming hard herself, squeezing his pistoning rod 
with her well-trained vaginal muscles, while the copious flowings from 
Claire's cunt told him that she too was experiencing the ultimate in earthly 
pleasures. Madly, joyfully, he strove to outdo himself in his wild heavings 
and heavy suckings, but inevitably those wrenching, grinding, completely 
ecstatic eruptions from his prick took their toll. His humpings grew more 
feeble, his suckings more flaccid, until at last he went limp and lay still 
under the dank and heavy weight of his two women. 

Mercifully, they moved off him. He lay there feeling no thicker than the 
carpet under him, while his ears transmitted their words and sounds to a 
brain that had turned to apple butter. 

"Didja cum good, Mary-honey?" 

"A couple of times, but it would've been better if he was bigger." 

"I thought I'd die laughing when Argo got up and started fucking your leg 
there at the end. You were too far gone to even stop him." 

"And I thought I'd die when you grabbed onto my boo ... my breasts like 
that. You shouldn't of done that, Claire." 

"Me? Shit, you grabbed my titties first!" 

"Like hell I did!" 

"You did so! You grabbed 'em both at once. Just like this." 

"Stop...! I did not. And if I did, it was just an accident. Shit, I'm too 
drunk to know what I was doing. Where's my drink?" 

"Here." 

"Thanks. Hey, keep that goddamned dog away from me." 

"Shoo, Argo. Lie down. See how he minds me?" 

"He's a pretty nice dog, all right, but I don't like it when he tries to 
climb me." 

"He likes you, that's all." 

Billy managed to croak, "But I love you. Both of you." 

For some reason, it sent them into peals of laughter. When it subsided, Mary 
said, "The kid minds as well as your dog, and he's got a bigger prick." 

"You haven't seen Argo's when it's all the way up." 

"No, and I don't want to. Did what'sisname make you cum?" 

"Mm-hmm. He doesn't exactly know what he's doing yet, but he made up for 
that with his enthusiasm. Feel like pumping him up again and having another 
go-round?" 

"I feel like taking a nap. Let's shoo him out of here, have one more little 
drinkie, and conk out." 

Four strong hands peeled Billy Ralston up off the floor. He tried to tell 
them both how fond he was of them, how much he loved little Mary and how 
grateful he was to big Claire, but his words came out as mumbles and they 
kept talking over his head as they thrust his clothes upon him. They both 
kissed him soundly but briefly at the door, and he was left standing 
outside, clothes disheveled, very groggy, with a warm, sticky cucumber in 
his hand. 

"Something to refresh you on your way home," Mary had said, and her words 
had broken up the two of them into new fits of laughter. 

"Come back and see us again sometime," Claire had said, and then the door 
had been closed on the vast and beautiful expanses of feminine nakedness, 
and Billy was left alone in the hot sunlight with his newly lost virginity. 

He got on his bicycle and started pedaling home, munching on the cucumber, 
peeling and all. Fantastic experience. He still couldn't believe it had 
truly happened. And to him! Weariness dragged at his body. His legs could 
hardly function on the pedals. He had always envisioned sex with a woman to 
be more invigorating, exhilarating, but now he felt more tired than if he'd 
jerked off ten times in a row. His tongue was sore to the root. He felt 
germs crawling around his sticky loins. They were probably in his mouth, 
too, so he masticated the cucumber thoroughly as some small means to cleanse 
his precious gums and teeth. Go back to see them again? Not for all the 
money in the world would he do that. It was the oilfields of Alaska for him, 
the snow-covered bleakness of the frozen north, where a man could work all 
day at something constructive and then lie down for a nice long sleep on the 
permafrost. Women were just too much for him. With the possible exception of 
his mother, they were sex-crazed maniacs, and as such, it was astonishing 
that any of them could keep a husband for more than a month. Maybe with a 
lot of training a guy could get in condition for that sort of a workout. 
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad with just one woman at a time. Maybe a 
weight-lifter or a truck driver could satisfy a woman without killing 
himself, but Billy Ralston freely admitted to himself that even half a woman 
was too much for him. He was through with women. All he wanted right now was 
a long, cool shower. And in the future, good hard work. 

The Ralston house did indeed resemble the den of iniquity from which he had 
just come. But only superficially. It was sun-baked, shingles askew, lawn 
turning brown, shrubs getting scratchy. Just like the house on Pine Street, 
but it looked friendly, safe, quiet, sane, it looked like Home. Billy let 
his bicycle fall with a clatter in the driveway and dragged himself up the 
porch to the front door. 

He paused with his hand on the knob. Would his mother recognize that he'd 
been fornicating all I afternoon? Surely she would. She wasn't that stupid. 
He fairly reeked of sex from nose to balls, and his clothes were still 
crooked on his body. Stupid she might not be, but half-drunk and sleeping 
she surely was, for now was the time for her afternoon nap. He was safe to 
sneak in and get to the shower. Still he twisted the knob and eased himself 
in as quietly as he could. 

Betty Ralston habitually took a nap every afternoon. She said she couldn't 
make it through the day without her nap, but she always seemed to have 
plenty of energy left for her nightly arguments with her husband, Billy's 
father. She said her naps were an important part of her weight-building 
program, but her lean, angular body never seemed to gain an ounce. She said 
she took two ounces of whiskey in order to relax herself for her nap, but 
Billy knew it was four ounces she drank and that sleeping pills are more 
effective for the job. In any event, Betty Ralston took a big drink of 
alcohol and went to sleep on her marital bed every afternoon, and Billy 
often peeked through the crack in the door to see if she was sleeping 
soundly. As eager as he was to get into the shower on this day, he catered 
to his concern for his mother and looked in on her. 

She was sprawled on the bed, arms and legs akimbo, wearing a light, 
knee-length yellow robe. Her mouth was open, her frizzy, taffy-colored curls 
fluffed out around her on the pillow like an Afro. Thin as she was, she was 
a pretty woman. When awake, it seemed as if her narrow face was all eyes and 
mouth. In sleep, she looked older, the lines in her face deeper. Her neck 
looked pitifully thin, and through the robe's open collar he could see the 
deep hollows over and under her collarbones. Her breasts made hardly a bump 
on her chest as her breathing made them rise and fall, and he wondered how 
he possibly could have gotten nourishment to survive from them when he was 
an infant. Still, their scant outline was very feminine, not at all like the 
gross knockers of the nymphomaniacal strip-teaser. His mother's robe was 
tied loosely at the waist. The knot was over her extremely flat stomach, a 
concave part of her body between the protruding ridges of her pelvis. His 
gaze went past her loins to her legs, very slender but quite shapely, so 
smoothly shaved they were almost shiny. Her bony feet were bare, polish 
flaking off her toenails. 

He was about to go on to his shower when she stirred, drawing up one leg, 
giving him a view of a long, shallow indentation in her inner thigh that ran 
up toward the loins that were concealed from him, toward that orifice from 
which he had emerged as a squalling brat. It was weird to think of his 
father shoving himself in there, just as Billy had shoved himself into the 
pussies of those two voracious women that afternoon. It didn't seem as if 
his mother had the same thing between her legs that they did, and it was 
impossible to think she'd ever react so wildly to sex as Claire and Mary 
had. Certainly his father had never made her squeal and sweat and cum like 
they'd cum. His father was probably too old to exert himself as Billy had. 

Maybe his mother was frigid. A lot of women were, so he had heard. He 
tiptoed to the side of the bed to have a better look at her. 

Could she ever take his father's prick in her mouth? Impossible, even though 
she had very soft, very full lips. Billy had tasted them often. When his 
mother kissed him it wasn't a little peck on the cheek. She kissed him full 
on the mouth with slickly wetted lips, because she loved him as much as he 
loved her. And did she like to have her breasts kissed? His father probably 
didn't even think of doing that, even if she did like it. Were little 
titties like hers more sensitive to a man's lips or less than big old 
knockers like Mary's? He wondered a long time about that, looking down at 
her recumbent form, licking his lips. As thin and wiry as she was, she could 
probably really move once she got going. But without a doubt, his father 
always pinned her to the mattress under him when he climbed on her to hump 
and spew in her frail body, never giving her a chance to get up on top where 
she could really move on the big thing that was in her. 

She stirred again, murmuring softly, opening her legs a little farther. 
Billy went around to the foot of the bed, just to take a look at her from 
that angle. Her leg bones were outlined clearly through her flaccid flesh. 
She had good legs, like those of a model, but a few years too old. The long 
indentation in her inner thigh was most interesting. Billy went up on tiptoe 
to see if her eyes were still closed, then crouched down to look under the 
hem of her robe. 

The window fan was blowing across her body, making the robe flutter. He 
couldn't tell if she was wearing panties, or if he was looking directly at 
her cunt, deeply shadowed, darkly furred. He licked his lips and moved 
closer, chin on the edge of the bed. To him a cunt no longer held any 
mystery, but still it was interesting to speculate about whether or not his 
mother was wearing any panties, and she really did have beautiful legs. He 
thought he could smell her cunt, but he wasn't sure. He lifted a trembling 
hand to carefully draw aside her robe so that he could get a good, close 
look at her cunt from six inches away where he could smell it, but before he 
touched its hem, she muttered and turned on her side, and Billy fled from 
the room in a panic. 

He was outside under the cedar tree before he stopped, breathing hard, still 
in terror that she would awaken and find him looking up between her legs. 
She wouldn't understand that he was just looking because she was so 
beautiful, because he loved her so much. She wouldn't believe that he was 
through with women as objects of sexual desire. She'd think he was horny and 
lusting after her, his own mother, and she'd be about half right, for Billy 
had a tremendous hard-on. 

He couldn't believe it! He'd thought his experience with those two women had 
drained him of desire for all time, but there he was, all hot and itchy and 
prick-stiff again, with terribly wicked thoughts about his mother crowding 
into his brain. 

Open mouth, sliding his prick in it-little titties to pinch and suck-long 
legs, to feel so smooth against his cheek-prim little cunt, but able to get 
creamy wet now that he knew how to kiss and touch a cunt, and that would be 
as hot as fire once he was sliding his prick into it, fucking his own 
mother, making her cry out and beg for more cock and tell him over and over 
that she loved him. Awful, shameful thoughts, but he couldn't drive them 
away any more than he could take his hand from his pocket, where it was 
squeezing the hardness of his prick, still dirty from two other cunts. He 
sat down on the grass, the better to conceal his moving hand, and dully 
looked through the shimmering heat waves at the familiar neighborhood scene 
which didn't register at all on him now. "Hi, Billy." 

He looked up to see Becky Sloane, the former object of most of his flesh and 
blood desires, but now just a dumb little teenybopper who had no idea about 
what was really going on in the world. The car which had just dropped her 
off was turning the corner. She had her beach towel slung over her shoulder, 
her beach bag in her hand, and was smiling idiotically as she strolled over 
to where he was sitting under the tree. Her long red hair was still wet and 
scraggly from the beach, and her turquoise bikini was also still wet, 
drooping under her firm-standing knockers and bagging slightly at the 
triangle of her virginal little cunt. Prick in hand, Billy looked her over 
carefully. 

A very pretty face, but too smooth, with no character lines in it. Nice 
knockers, real nice, for he'd 'accidentally' felt them, and they needed no 
padding. Slim waist, tawny tan belly, cute little belly-button, very trim 
hips and a darling little ass, and legs that couldn't be improved on in any 
way except perhaps length. Fantastic, golden tan, with hints of how pale her 
skin really was at the edges of her bikini. A few freckles across her nose, 
under her sparkling brown eyes. Shaved legs, turning to a fine, downy 
covering up the nubile plumpness of her thighs, and a few long, stray red 
hairs peeping out from the narrow bulge of turquoise between her legs. 
Incredibly smooth skin. A beautiful child, but nothing more than that. She 
wouldn't be a woman until some stud dragged her down on a bed and savagely 
kissed away her protests until he jammed his prick in her tight little cunt. 

"Hi. How was the beach?" 

"Far out. It was almost too hot, but the water was nifty. Did you have to 
work hard today, Billy?" 

"No harder than usual." He sure would like to get his hands on those 
knockers. That would soften her up. 

"I think it's so great the way you work while the rest of us play." 

He grinned crookedly and said, "It's not all work. I meet an awful lot of 
women on my job." 

"You ... you do?" 

"Sure. You think I'm just in it for the money? Shit, I'm probably having a 
better summer than most of the guys at school are. I'm sure having some 
wilder times than you are at the beach." 

"You don't have to talk dirty," she said, her cheeks flushing delicately 
through her tan. "Maybe those women you meet think that kind of talk is 
smart, but I sure don't." 

Billy snickered and said, "Who cares what you think, Becky Sloane. You're 
just a kid." 

"I was going to ask you over to my house for some lemonade, but I'll be 
darned if I will now!" she said, and flounced off, swinging her tight little 
ass. 

Yesterday it would have been the biggest disappointment of his life, for he 
knew her parents weren't home from work yet and he was sure she'd let him 
neck with her a little and maybe even let him feel her up. Now it didn't 
bother him at all that she was walking angrily away from him, hips jerkily 
swinging, the smile under each buttock seeming to mock him. He could do 
without her. Now he had his Mary and his Claire to take care of all his 
needs and more, and he could clearly see that Becky was just a kid. Still, 
he watched her until she'd slammed into her house. Then he sighed and got to 
his feet, prick still in hand, and went into the house. He lingered at the 
door for another little look at his beautiful, lonely mother, then went on 
to the shower where he could jerk off in peace. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

The summer heat had not started in earnest when Mary Steward awoke the next 
morning, but already she felt dry and dessicated. It was from all the liquor 
she'd drunk the day before, and from the insane excesses of the flesh in 
which she had indulged. She covered her face with her hands when she thought 
of what she'd been a willing party to, and at her side, Claire Eaton 
stirred. Mary remembered then that they'd climbed into the same bed together 
the night before. Fallen into bed was more like it. Silly drunk and giddy 
with exhaustion, they'd gotten into Claire's big bed to laugh over the 
events of the day while they had a final drink, and had fallen asleep 
immediately. Mary's stomach turned over when she looked at her untouched 
drink on the nightstand on her side of the bed. Claire's drink was almost as 
full. She could see it over the sheet-draped mountain of her friend's body. 
Claire was lying on her side, facing away from Mary, snoring softly. Mary 
wondered if indeed Claire was her friend, for what kind of a friend would 
lead her into the things she'd done the previous day? 

How had it gotten started? With the drinks, primarily, the drinks Claire had 
made, 'to cool them off.' The drinks, the bitter complaints about her 
husband running off with another woman, then the cruel jokes about men, the 
irritations of the hot day, and the strip-tease she'd been persuaded to do. 
Awful, just awful, her taking off her clothes to music, while Claire and her 
damned dog watched her every drunken move. And then Claire touching that 
awful animal's penis, completely disgusting Mary, but at the same time 
making her think of Henry's cock going into his girl friend's mouth. 
Claire's talking about sucking cocks didn't help, either. It seemed in 
retrospect that Claire had been deliberately leading her on, subtly getting 
her aroused, pouring the drinks so that soon Mary hardly cared what happened 
to her. And to what purpose? Getting Mary to have an affair with her, what 
else? 

At least it seemed that way at the time. The big blonde had even succeeded 
to a point where she hadn't looked so bad to little Mary, but now the big 
bulk at Mary's side was utterly abhorrent to her, and she was very glad it 
was covered with the sheet. She knew she should get up and get away from the 
sinful woman, but she was still too tired to move. But her brain moved. 

It went back to how they had danced together, naked, and how she'd never 
looked at a woman like that before. Never really seen a naked woman fully 
aroused, with that fantastically hairy brown thatch of hers dancing and 
moving before her eyes. It had been while they were dancing that they'd 
started getting really nasty. Claire talking about doing things with the 
dog. Ugh. Teasing each other, just like a couple of high school kids who 
were looking for an excuse to start a wrestling match. Mary would easily 
have been subdued under the weight of Claire's big nudity, so perhaps their 
mutual masturbation had after all been the best course open to them. Perhaps 
Claire had been just as afraid as she was about where their horny, drunken 
mood was taking them. She looked at Claire again, and wondered if she'd 
misjudged her. 

There beside her was a woman she'd seen masturbating, showing the most 
private side of her personal life, as well as the size and heat of her 
spectacularly big cunt. It was amazing that any woman could have a cunt that 
big, especially when compared to the dainty little plumpness of tufted flesh 
that Mary now cupped in her hand. She'd looked straight at Claire's cunt 
when she was cumming, and it had excited her! Of course, Claire had seen her 
when she was cumming too. How quickly she'd cum that first time! She'd 
hardly touched herself more intimately than she now was, and BANG!, off 
she'd gone. Her eyes had been closed then. The next time had taken forever, 
what with her looking at Claire and Claire returning the look. And the dog 
there, the damned dog. 

And the cucumbers! Mary had almost forgotten about them. She covered her 
face again at this shoddy recollection. What if Henry had seen her doing 
that to herself! At least he'd never again be able to accuse her of being a 
prude. It had been a shameless, drunken thing to do, but at the same time it 
proclaimed her freedom, her lack of need for the husband who had let her 
down. Mary thought on, about the delivery boy, and she smiled and her hands 
slid down over her breasts and belly to move softly between her opening 
legs. 

If he hadn't come along when he did, there was no telling what she and 
Claire would have done together. The boy-Billy was his name-had saved them 
both from even greater perversions, and she'd repaid him with cruelty. She 
should have told him right away that Claire was lying, that she wasn't a 
stripper at all. She shouldn't have let Claire give him those drinks. She 
should have sent him on his way right off, but she'd been too drunk and 
feeling too mean for that. And too horny. 

But she'd felt so flattered from the way he'd looked at her in her sweaty 
little undergarments. Right from the start it had been clear that he'd liked 
her much better than Claire. Now Mary almost laughed out loud remembering 
the look on his face when he'd stood there gaping at her over his drink. A 
woman needed to feel wanted, and there had been no doubt about his want for 
her. And how his eyes had popped when Claire reached for his pecker! And how 
marvelously embarrassed he'd been when she'd found that silly girlie 
magazine! That was the first time Mary had laid hands on any man but her 
husband, and once she started, it had been impossible to stop tickling him 
until he was down on the floor, writhing in what looked like real agony. 
Mary smiled and softly rubbed herself, thinking about it. Her cuntlips and 
pubic hair were still slightly crusted with her juices and his. Inside, 
however, her vulva was nicely wet, and hardly sore at all. 

And then Claire sucking him off. Mary shivered at the thought of that. His 
pink prick, so hard and straight, being caressed by Claire's red lips, his 
pan tings, the look on his face. It had been sexy and repellent at the same 
time. Watching him play with Claire's big body, watching Claire feast on his 
prick, Mary had felt drunker by far than the amount of booze she'd had would 
permit her to feel. And so when he'd blurted out a plea to kiss her cunt, 
she'd been unable to keep from spinning about and planting her hungry cunt 
on his hungry mouth. 

He had seemed like an expert cunt-lapper at the time, but she knew from 
later experience that he was anything but that. It was just that she'd been 
so ready that even the touch of the damned dog's tongue would have brought 
her off at the time. It had been a wonderful cum, much better than the one 
she'd had from her fingers. If she had him there now, he could probably 
bring her off just as fast, for between her thoughts and her fingers she was 
quickly getting herself far too hot for comfort. But, unfortunately, he was 
gone, sent away with cruel jibes, surely never to return. Well, there were 
other men around. And Claire and even the dog if things really got tough. 
But it had been Billy who had restored Mary's confidence in herself, and she 
really wanted to treat him to something nice for that. For that, and for the 
fact that he was a dumb, horny kid, who'd do anything she told him to do. 

Mary had been touched by his saying he only wanted to get it on with her and 
not Claire, but she hadn't been touched for long. She'd gone right along 
with Claire when her friend had dragged him into the living room by his ear, 
and she'd watched with malicious pleasure when Claire had coerced him into 
necking with her. Sated for the moment by his mouth, Mary had at last begun 
to enjoy her dancing, and to enjoy the way it was arousing him. Doing that 
had been exciting to her. She had started to get hot again in no time, and 
re-arousing her so quickly had always been impossible for Henry to do. In 
the kitchen, getting the fresh drinks, Mary had almost paused long enough to 
make herself cum again. But why do that, she'd thought, with a strong young 
boy in the other room? 

But Claire had 'firm hold on him by then. No chance to sneak him away from 
her, nor to pile in on top of them. The kid had been too far gone. Hell, 
he'd been right at the point of eating Claire's big old box when Mary had 
interrupted them. It was probably the closest Claire had come to getting 
anyone to do that for her in years, and it was no wonder she'd been mad at 
Mary for the moment. Mary had thought the whole scene was quite comical by 
then, but when she'd seen the boy fucking Claire, when she'd seen his little 
ass bobbing like mad, Claire's legs wrapped around him, the look on her 
face, the look on his-she'd seen nothing funny about that. She had cum 
herself then. Watching them had done it. Of course, finger-fucking herself 
and sucking on her breast had helped it along, but it was watching them that 
had made her so ready. Maybe she and Henry should have joined a swapping 
club. Watching the others there would certainly enliven their sex lives, and 
joining in would probably do even more. But Henry was gone, the sonofabitch. 
And Billy was gone and Claire was still snoring and all Mary had was her 
fingers. She rustled the sheets in spreading her legs, dug deeper with her 
fingers, and reflected bitterly about choice of companions. 

Henry was supposed to have been more than a friend. He'd promised to love 
and take care of her all his life, but after only ten years he was in love 
with a brainless little cocksucking cunt, and during those ten years he 
hadn't taken very good care of her. At least not in bed. Always the big 
hurry in bed. Always wanting her to suck him off, just like a baby. Shit, 
she'd had a better sexual time of it with little Billy than she ever had 
with her husband. True, it had helped having Claire there, to urge her on to 
a greater degree of sexual liberation. And when she'd been screwing Billy 
there dt the end and she'd been playing with Claire's titties and Claire 
with hers and the dog had been trying to screw her leg, that had been too 
much to ever expect from Henry. Henry was a bum lay, an unimaginative one. 
And he was gone. 

Billy was gone too. But he hadn't had any imagination either. He was just a 
body, just a hard prick. Mary closed her eyes and bit her lip when she 
thought of how close she'd come to sucking that pink prick of his. She 
believed she would have done it, if Claire hadn't made those remarks about 
starting with his prick and working on up-or down-to black ones and brown 
ones and doggy ones. She was glad now that she hadn't yielded to impulse and 
done it. She was glad that they'd tossed Billy out when they had, or this 
morning she'd be a cocksucker. That was the way to handle men, give them a 
pussy-soaked cucumber and throw them out, then get another one. And there'd 
be another one soon. That very day she'd get one. It was just a damned shame 
she didn't have one at the moment. All she had was Claire, and her eyes 
turned in that direction now. 

A big, warm body. No prick, but plenty of hot flesh to rub up against. She 
rolled toward Claire, felt shivers going through her body as she slid a hand 
over a big swell of hip. She nestled close to feel the shivers directly 
through her breasts and loins. Strong heat emanated against her hungry 
little body. Fitting like spoons. If she had a prick now, it would be 
sticking right up between Claire's big buttocks. Wild the way Billy had 
looked like he was dying when Claire had stuck her finger up his ass. She'd 
have to remember that one when she got a real man. What about getting fucked 
in the ass herself? Crazy idea, but nevertheless exciting. Squeezing her 
asshole tight closed, then letting it open, imagining a cock shoving in 
there. One in her ass, one in her cunt, one between her tits, and another in 
her mouth. Mary needed four cocks to stop the burning she felt in her body 
at the moment, and all she had was Claire, and Claire was still snoring. 

Wake her up? Very carefully roll her over, spread her legs, bend over her 
loins and wriggle her tongue down through the matted hair until her friend 
was as hot as she was? Fuck each other on both ends of the same cucumber? Go 
sixty-nine, all day long, until they were both transformed into mindless 
puddles of cunt juice? Mary thought of all these things and more as she 
snuggled against the soft bulk of her dear friend. She thought too of 
becoming a Lesbian, doing without men entirely, and this made her stomach 
knot up and her pussy close and she slid away from the sleeping divorcee to 
see if she could calm herself down with a warm shower. 

She sat down on the toilet to urinate first. She was so hot that her cunt 
was hurting, and it wouldn't come. She rocked forward and back, thumbs 
pressed deep into her inner thighs to spread her legs, willing her bladder 
to open and give her some relief. She was panting with the effort, looking 
down between her legs for the first anxiously awaited sight of her urine to 
come spurting out of the puffy crack scantily hidden by her wilted pubic 
hair. Mary was watching intently, until her head jerked up at the sound of 
scratchy footfalls on the linoleum floor. 

There was Argo, the big black dog, head up, eyes bright, coming in to say 
good morning to her. Mary found that she'd automatically covered her breasts 
at the first sound of his arrival. No need for that with him. He could 
neither talk about her immodesty nor become uncontrollably aroused at the 
sight of her erotic charms, and so she bared her breasts and reached out to 
scratch behind his ears. He was after all a pretty good dog. He was obedient 
and gentle, for his size. He had been more than just a 'good dog' when he'd 
been licking her tits the day before, and not so obedient when he'd been 
trying to fuck her leg while she was fucking that boy. His eyes half closed 
and his tongue stuck out as she petted him, and her nipples tingled with 
slow hardness as his big head came closer for more of her attentions. 

Through the open bathroom door she could see Claire, still sleeping, back 
turned. "Good old dog," she said, and lifted a heavy breast, leaned forward 
on the pot, and touched its tip to his nose. 

She felt it all the way down to her knees when he gave it a little lick, and 
she moaned and hugged his shaggy head close to her bosom. He wagged his tail 
and scratched his feet closer. She burrowed her tits against his face, 
reveling in the harsh texture of his muzzle, the coldness of his nose, 
hardly caring that he wasn't using his tongue on her, and then her urine 
started to flow. 

It gushed out, clattering loudly in the bowl, and the big animal used his 
strength to pull away from her embrace and lower his head to between her 
legs. "Stop. Don't do that. Go 'way," she breathlessly whispered, pushing at 
his head, urine coming in hot, interrupted spurts now, as spasms of muscular 
contraction seized her. 

He kept pushing forward with his nose, curious, highly interested. He was 
too strong for her, especially in her suddenly weakened condition. A glance 
told her that Claire was still soundly sleeping. She fell back against the 
toilet seat lid, spread her legs wider, and the good, hot urine began to 
flow again. The dog nuzzled closer, snuffling, and she grabbed his ears and 
muttered, "Good dog. Good dog," as he flipped his tongue out and slapped it 
up under her cunt.... 

Once ... Twice ... It was all she could possibly stand, and the little 
brunette with the big tits rocked forward, pushing the dog away, closing her 
legs to hold it in, and groaning, "Nnnnggg! Rrrrrgggh! Ahhhhhh...." 

She was shaking all over when she got up and flushed the toilet. The dog 
waited patiently, watching her as she washed her hands and scoured her 
crotch with a warm washcloth. It had not been an orgasm, she told herself. 
Whatever she'd felt had come from the weirdness of it, the surprise at 
feeling that long, slithery tongue swiping up from under through her open 
crotch, lapping up her urine. Another guilty glance at the sleeping Claire 
and she rubbed her clitoris hard with her washcloth-covered hand. That was 
what sex felt like, not at all what she'd felt from the damned dog's tongue. 
There couldn't be any sex between animal and woman. Desire, love was a part 
of sex, and not the dumb devotion that was all that could be expected from a 
dog. He hadn't wanted her or her urine. He was just thirsty. 

"Come on, dummy," she said, and padded naked toward the kitchen, tits 
bobbing softly, buttocks tensed in expectancy of a cold nose, bladder still 
full, but not to the point of discomfort. 

She dumped out his pan and filled it with fresh water. She smiled down on 
him while he lapped it up. He was a pretty good dog. Maybe she'd get one 
like him if she decided not to sell the house. Not, of course, for any of 
the sexual capers Claire had implied that some lonely women train their dogs 
for, but just to have around for company. He'd be good company. No arguing, 
not caring if her hair was messy or her make-up missing. Just feed him and 
pet him, and he'd be faithful to her forever. Feed him now, that was the 
thing to do. 

First she drank a big glass of water, recalling as she did the fables about 
water getting a person drunk again after a previous day of drinking. Then 
she got out a can of dog food, took the can opener from the drawer, and 
dropped the unopened can on the kitchen floor. Mary bent to reach it, kicked 
it with her bare foot, and it rolled under the chrome and formica table. 
Argo started to follow it and she squatted down and pulled him back by his 
collar, petted him, and got to her hands and knees to crawl under and get it 
herself. 

Then she became very much aware of her naked, upturned ass. She became aware 
of her pussy, too, for it itched. She opened her legs slightly, took her 
hand back from the errant can of dog food, and reached between her legs to 
scratch her. cunt. The dog, seeing the movement of her fingers between her 
legs, came closer and swiped his tongue over that soft and vulnerable part 
of her body that Mary was scratching. 

"Oh, Gawd," she moaned, and collapsed on the cold floor. Her cheek and her 
breasts were flattened against the linoleum, but her hips were still up in 
the air, her bare ass at a level with the dog's head, while he licked 
between her moving fingers and she continued to moan, helpless to stop him. 

She would have stopped him if she could have, but the sensations produced by 
his tongue were too exquisitely good. They were quickly robbing her of her 
strength to move, and even more quickly stealing away her desire to do so. 
Warm, slick flesh, ten times as big as any man's tongue, slipping and 
slithering up between her legs from behind. It was almost too much to bear. 
That flesh was plastering down her hair as it glided over the pair of lips 
anointed with juices far sweeter than her urine, thrilling her to the core 
in the process. She spread her cuntlips wider with her fingers and made an 
open-throated croaking sound as the super-tongue swept over the source of 
her rich juices and washed over that hugely sensitive button which 
controlled their flow. 

His tongue flicked faster. He loved the taste of her cunt. She was delicious 
to him, and there was no way of stopping him now. He was licking from above 
her clitoris, all through her sodden vulva, clear on up to her asshole, and 
each long swipe of his tongue increased the mindless sensitivity of that 
part of Mary's body. 

She had to let go of her cuntlips and support herself with that hand too, 
lest she collapse completely onto the floor. Miraculously, wonderfully, her 
cuntlips remained open, and without the hindrance of her fingers, his tongue 
found even more nerve endings to stimulate. She couldn't believe how good it 
felt. It had to be seen to be believed. Panting hard, she managed to get up 
onto her elbows, to look back between the inverted vee of her big, hanging 
tits, and see the monstrously big, wonderfully caressing tongue working 
between her legs. 

She had never seen such a vibrantly beautiful pink color. It contrasted 
perfectly with her pale thighs, slowly being diffused with a pink blush. And 
its mobility was beautiful, molding exactly the contours of her pube, and 
those fleshy bulges of hairy flesh that marked the borders of her oozing, 
orgasming cunt. It was a cum the likes of which she'd never had before, and 
the sight of that tongue was helping to keep it going. No great explosion, 
to be followed by exhaustion, but instead a long, dizzy escalation to the 
very pinnacle of sensory pleasure where nothing else mattered in the world, 
and then a complete exploration of every nook and cranny of that peak. As 
long as that gorgeous long tongue continued to work, Mary was without a care 
in the world, completely lost in the deepest joys of the body. As best she 
could, she spoke to him to keep it going: "Good doggie. Good Argo. Feed you 
later. Taste me. Lick my cunt, oh, my cunt. Nice puppy. Good doggy." 

Continuing to utter these words of fond affection, Mary was witness to a 
very compelling and quite a frightening sight. From under his shaggy belly, 
his penis was protruding. She could see it clearly, standing out an even 
brighter shade of pink against his black fur. It was more than the flavor of 
her cunt juices that was driving him on; he wanted to fuck her! 

Unthinkable, and Mary closed her eyes. But they came open again, to confirm 
her fears, and looked past his grasping, licking tongue to see that his 
member had grown even larger. A good two inches of it could now be seen, as 
well as the single eye from which his sperm would shoot, if she let him have 
his way with her. She couldn't do that, no! matter what Claire let him do to 
her. Letting him lick her cunt was one thing, but she could never copulate 
with a beast. Never. She had an awful vision of herself giving birth to 
freakish animal-children she'd read about in mythology books, and had to 
close her eyes again. The sensations produced by his tongue became even 
better. Knowing full well that a dog could never make her conceive, she 
opened her eyes to stare at that fearful part of him. 

It was bigger still! And now there was a drop of fluid oozing out its end, 
and that single eye was larger too! She had to stop him, for now his 
intentions were very clear. He was pawing at her hip, scratching her flesh 
painfully, and interrupting his fantastically good lickings to knock his 
head against the table's edge in trying to mount her! 

She couldn't scream for help. Claire could not be allowed to see any part of 
this. She had to get out of this situation by herself. Very weak, she began 
to back out from under the table. Not only was she physically weak, but she 
was morally weak as well, for she could not yet give up the pleasures she 
was feeling from his tongue. With words and beckonings from her fingers, she 
kept him licking her cunt and asshole, her entire open crotch, until she'd 
dragged her throbbing tits and her burning cheek over the linoleum to a 
place where she could stand up. It was also a place where the dog could 
mount her properly, and this he did, clasping her strongly about the waist 
with his powerful forepaws, jabbing at her vulnerability until he'd found 
the hole which best accommodated him, and then fucking her hard and fast 
from behind doggy style, as Henry used to call it. 

"Yes, yes, you beautiful animal, fuck me, fuck me," Mary gasped, "Do it hard 
and fast and stick it all the way in, ALL THE WAY IN!!!" 

She'd thought she was cumming before, but she hadn't been at all. This was 
it. His prick, long and hard, sharply tapered, was driving into her and into 
her with lightning fast strokes, making it completely impossible to prevent 
her internal explosions even if she'd wanted to. She didn't want to by then. 
She had to have all there was of this adventure in total sensation while it 
lasted, and it couldn't last long at the rate he was going. She got up on 
her hands again and humped along with him, head hanging, tits flopping, hips 
working very fast, somehow keeping up with the dog, the wonderful dog, and 
his marvelous cock. 

She could still see it. A flash of red jamming into her, her soft brown cunt 
pushing back his hairy black foreskin, tendons straining in his inhuman 
legs, balls swinging smartly. He never missed. Fast as he was going, his 
cock never erred in penetrating her gushing, orgasming hole, spreading it 
wide, then letting it collapse, ready for its next intake of purest 
pleasure. She saw his balls contract as he began ejaculating, felt the hot 
streams of his cum shoot into her to produce a new high in ecstasy that made 
her shiver and shudder as much as her dog was. His forepaws tightened around 
her waist with his wonderful final efforts, and Mary began to collapse again 
to the floor, grinning idiotically, murmuring mindlessly: 

"Good dog, love you to fuck me, love to fuck dogs and anything at all with a 
cock. Ahhhhhh ... Good dog. Special dog. Ahhhhh...." 

He was up and out of her before her belly kissed the linoleum. She lay 
there, legs apart, sighing, feeling the sleep she really needed come 
creeping luxuriously in upon her consciousness. But Claire would see her 
when she woke up. Her friend would come in and see her sprawled snoring on 
her belly, legs spread, puddle forming under her, arms reaching out toward 
the can of dog food which had led to all this. 

Argo was under the table, trying to get his breakfast. Mary managed to roll 
over on her back, and he came to lick her face and sniff and snuffle his way 
down her body. She covered her well-used cunt with her hand and muttered, 
"Oh, no. No, that's enough for now, lover." 

That word brought her to her senses. Good heavens, she was thinking of this 
dumb, savage brute as her lover! She staggered to her feet, swatting him 
away. Quickly she got the can of his food and opened it, curling her lip at 
its foul-smelling contents. Into his dish it went, and she stood with fists 
on hips, shaking her head as she watched him gobble it up, just as avidly as 
he'd licked her cunt. Stupid animal. Stupid her, for getting herself caught 
by him as she had. Still, it had felt good, there was no doubt at all about 
that. And he'd never tell anyone about it, and she most certainly would not. 
It had been nothing more than an experiment in sex, one which she had been 
unable to control. It was neither his fault nor hers, and she shouldn't be 
provoked at either of them. 

Kneeling beside him, she ruffed up his hair and hugged him to her. She told 
him he was a good dog, and then her hand strayed under his belly and she 
felt his prick. It was hidden within his foreskin again, but still it was 
nice and firm, as if it was ready to leap to life again once he'd gotten a 
little nourishment. 

Quickly, Mary rose to her feet. What in hell was she doing? What was she 
turning into? She was still drunk, that's what she was. What she needed was 
a stinging cold shower, and she almost ran toward the bathroom to take care 
of this urgent need. 

Claire had beaten her to it. The big woman could be seen as a frosty shape 
through the plastic shower curtain, singing loudly as the cleansing water 
poured down on her. Mary needed that water very badly, for now she was 
itching most unpleasantly everywhere the dog had touched her. His hairs 
seemed imbedded in her skin, and she could feel dog germs climbing around on 
her body. She called out, "Are you going to be long, Claire?" 

"I just got in. Where've you been?" Claire called back. 

"I was giving Argo something to ea ... I was feeding the dog. How much 
longer are you going to be in there?" 

"It feels so good I might stay in here all day. But there's room for more. 
Come on in, the water's fine." 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Claire had been so befuddled with her hangover that she had forgotten about 
her house guest until she was in the shower and the vitamins and pep pills 
she had taken were doing their work. Taken on an empty stomach, they sent 
her soaring, and minutes after awakening sick and sorry, she was belting out 
ballads while standing in her bathtub. The water felt terrific. It was great 
to be alive. The day before had been a lot of fun, she'd gotten caught up on 
her sex, and there was more fun to be had in the future. If Mary moved in 
with her, there was a danger of drinking and fucking themselves to death, 
but Claire couldn't think of a better way to go. And if the big-bosomed 
little brunette chose to stay on in her own house, the two of them would 
still get together for some fun times. But had it really been fun the day 
before? Claire stopped with the bar of soap nestled under one breast and 
thought it over. 

Was it really fun, getting drunk with a heartbroken young woman and seducing 
an innocent boy? What happened to the fun she used to have by going out on a 
simple picnic with her husband at the start of one of her marriages? Had she 
become so old and calloused that she needed whiskey and marathon fucking 
where once a sip of wine and a kiss had made her happy? Was that her real 
future, drinking and fucking herself to death with the little divorcee with 
the Lesbian notions in her empty head? Booze, sex, pills, and alimony-how 
long could a woman survive on those things before she was claimed by the 
grave? Claire abandoned such heavy philosophical questions when she heard 
Mary's voice through the rush of water. 

She was actually finished with her shower. She should give up the bathroom 
to her friend who'd been so good as to feed her dog, but Claire recalled 
some of the byplay between herself and her little friend, and she saw no 
reason not to extend it. Mary had gotten the most out of their couplings 
with the boy, Billy. That was understandable, for cute little Mary was 
considerably more attractive than big, hippy Claire, and Claire knew that 
very well. But throughout those couplings, Mary had looked at her with 
timidly covetous eyes. Little Mary, jilted by her husband, wanted to make a 
little Lesbian voyage, with Claire as her First Mate. 

Claire wasn't dumb; she'd seen that. It undoubtedly would have transpired if 
Billy had not arrived so opportunely. It had been just great to have him and 
his prick wander in at that time, but it might have been greater still if 
Claire had gone on to successfully lure Mary into an act of overt 
homosexuality. Another drink or two, some more fooling around, and she could 
have gotten pretty little Mary to eat her cunt and cunt-fuck her as she'd 
heard about, and maybe even put on a show with the dog. Billy's arrival had 
spoiled all that, and then Mary had used her big tits and cute face to 
monopolize his prick. As a result, Mary hadn't gotten her share of fucking 
and she'd missed out on a new experience. With no cock in the house except 
Argo's, she couldn't make up for the lost fucking, but she could do 
something about her missed experience. 

The moment Claire got Mary to climb into the shower with her, she grabbed 
her and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn't a long kiss, but it was right on 
the mark. Claire emphasized the fact that it was not just a friendly kiss by 
slipping her tongue between the soft lips of the little woman with the big 
tits and the temporary hatred for men. It wouldn't take much of this sort of 
coaxing, Claire felt, until she had Mary back in bed with her, kissing her 
cunt, making her cum. Who could tell? Claire might give it a try herself. 
After all, she hadn't had much lasting luck with men. And the smooth wet 
slickness of Mary's body in her arms and the yielding softness of her 
mammoth tits felt quite good, at the moment. 

But the moment passed. Mary slipped out of the kiss, looked accusingly up at 
her, and began soaping herself vigorously. "Good morning, Mary. How's your 
hangover?" she asked, sorry for the advance she'd made, but knowing full 
well that Mary would soon be making advances of her own. 

"It's awful." 

"I've got just the pills for it. Take a couple and you'll feel as good as I 
do. And do I ever feel good!" she said, and as if to demonstrate this, 
Claire began to laugh and tickle her little friend. In seconds Mary was 
helpless, writhing in a corner of the shower while the warm water poured 
down on her and Claire's probing fingers poked and prodded into sensitive 
soft flesh. Claire was dominating the much smaller woman with gratifying 
ease. With just a little show of force now, she could have Mary on her 
knees, mouthing beseeching kisses on her clitty. If Mary protested, slap her 
across the face a few times, and the result would be that Claire would have 
a docile little Lesbian playmate for the day, and for as long as she chose 
to rule over her in the future. But Mary at last managed to knock her hands 
away, and Claire couldn't quite bring herself to slap her pretty face. There 
would be Other ways, however. Better ways, with both of them approaching the 
problem of their sexual needs in a sensible way, with them being Lesbian 
partners from time to time. It would work out, once they had a talk about 
it. Claire wanted it to work out now, this very instant, for her pussy 
burned in longing. Sensibly, however, she got out of the shower and got the 
pills for her friend's hangover. 

Claire dried off watching Mary's petite body and its movements through the 
shower curtain. She took the vitamin and the pep pills, then set about 
washing herself in earnest. Her cunning little shape was ethereally hazy 
when seen through the plastic that separated them. She seemed to be 
concentrating on her pussy, scrubbing it thoroughly, making it sweet and 
clean and receptive to a loving tongue. Claire touched her own cunt. It was 
wet, though she'd just blotted it dry moments before. Did she smell bad 
there? Did she taste bad? Would Mary be repelled by her and would she be 
reduced to fingering herself while she licked Mary's clean cunt? She dipped 
her fingers deeper, brought them to her mouth and tasted them, and her cunt 
seemed to open up in longing for Mary's sweet mouth to be pressed against 
it, just as Claire's would be sucking hard on Mary's cunt and finding its 
taste even more exciting than her own. 

Lest she attack the new divorcee prematurely, Claire left the room. Naked, 
trembling with this weird new desire which had come over her, she 
automatically went to the kitchen. Argo was lying on the floor licking his 
chops. She wished she had as few problems as he did, and further wished that 
Mary had brought her breakfast as she had the dog. Claire would have set the 
tray aside, pulled her into bed, and covered every inch of Mary's body with 
kisses, terminating the meal with a long, deliriously satisfying suck on 
Mary's cunt. But it was the dog who had breakfast served to him, and not 
Claire. 

The big blonde set about making some Bloody Mary's. No vodka, so she used 
whiskey, with plenty of spices to cover its taste. Big pitcher of the 
mixture, so they could quench their hangover thirst with plenty of it while 
Claire got the conversation around to the subject at hand. It was perfectly 
logical that they become Lesbian lovers from time to time, and the booze 
would help Mary see that. 

Claire turned, big smile on her face, full glass in hand, as Mary entered 
the kitchen. Disappointingly, Mary had wrapped a big towel around herself. 
She was better to look at in the nude, but not at all bad now, freshly 
scrubbed, deep cleavage just over the top of the green towel, fascinating 
juncture of thighs just under the bottom of it. Argo rose to meet her and 
she reached down and scratched his ears. The adorable little woman made 
Claire feel ungainly and ugly-and more than a little horny. She handed Mary 
a glass and Mary sniffed it, asked if it had any liquor in it. 

Claire laughed and said, "No. We drank it all up last night. It's just 
spiced tomato juice. Drink up while we talk. I've got a proposition for 
you." She could hardly think with Mary leaning against the sink that way, 
dog sniffing at a dimpled knee that Claire craved for, green eyes watching 
her from over the rim of the glass. "Sell your house. Move in with me, like 
we talked about before. Maybe we could invest in a little dress shop, work 
together as well as live together, and I'd turn half my ownership in this 
house over to you. It could be good, Mary. It could be even better than we 
had with our husbands." 

"There'd be a little something missing," she said, and sipped her drink. She 
looked at where she was scratching Argo's ears and said, "but it might work 
out." 

Claire drank and moved closer. "Even that could be worked out. We get along 
well, and...." Sharp desire for the petite woman stabbed at Claire and she 
stammered as she said, "You're talking about sex, and that wouldn't have to 
be missing. Lots of women live together, even sleep together nowadays, and 
it could be good, Mary, real good if we ... try it." 

Mary's lip curled as she looked up at the hovering woman, and she said, "You 
mean ... be Lesbians?" 

"No, no!" God, she was so beautiful that Claire could scarcely hold herself 
back! "Not exactly Lesbians, but b-bisexual. We could have all the men we 
wanted, and still have each other when we got lonely. We wouldn't have to 
... do anything except sleep together, hold each other on the lonely nights. 
Mary, think about it. Please do." 

"Oh, I'll think about it," she said, shrugging, looking down at the dog. 
"But it's not for me." 

Now desire overwhelmed Claire. She set her glass down on the sink, fell to 
her knees, and clasped Mary's body to her face. Panting, she said, "Honey, 
you don't have to do anything to me if you didn't want to. I'd do it all. 
I'd make you happy!" she pleaded, burrowing with her mouth, thrilling at the 
touch of Mary's pubic hair against her chin. 

But Mary pushed her firmly away. Hands on Claire's bare shoulders, she 
leaned over and looked into her imploring eyes and said, "I'll think it 
over, Claire. I will. I'll do it while I take Argo for a walk, maybe for a 
drive with me. Okay?" 

"Yes, Mary. Fine. He ... he loves to be in a car. You'll be back soon? With 
your answer?" 

Mary nodded and Claire couldn't hold herself back. She placed a hot, hard 
kiss directly on the thrusting pube before her, then almost fell to the 
floor on her face as the dainty brunette twisted away from her and left the 
room, with Argo following. 

Claire wearily got to her feet. A ten-minute wait would be too long, and she 
had at least a lonely hour in front of her before Mary returned. Her cunt 
burned. She tried to quell it with the cold surface of her highball glass, 
then lifted the glass to drink deeply from it. At least she had the Bloody 
Mary's to keep her company while she waited for the return of Mary with her 
dog. She felt miserable. Her husbands had both rejected her, just the day 
before the delivery boy had preferred Mary to her, and now there seemed to 
be no hope for even a Lesbian love affair with Mary. Mary had even taken her 
dog away with her, leaving Claire all alone in the stuffy, untidy house. It 
wasn't even ten in the morning yet. Mary would be back soon, and with the 
right answer. But Claire wouldn't wait forever. Give her an hour. Two at the 
most. Then forget about her and actively seek out what it was that she 
needed. Grab the first available warm, weak body, and use her strength and 
her cunning and her vast knowledge of sex to hold that body, forever. 

At exactly two that afternoon, the telephone rang at Ace's Liquor Store. Ace 
Varney answered, listened, nodded and said, "Okay, Miz Eaton, I'll send him 
over to your Pine Street address with gin and vermouth right away. Do me a 
favor, will ya, and don't let him run off without gettin' paid this time. 
Okay?" 

He hung up the phone and clucked to himself over the many housewives in the 
city who spent their days drinking. He shouted for Billy, berated him once 
again for not collecting the money from the woman the day before, and issued 
orders for this new delivery. He watched while the boy bagged the order with 
cautious haste. Billy was a good boy, showing signs of getting better, but 
like all kids that age, he couldn't concentrate on anything for more than 
five minutes at a time. Ace knew what the boy's problem was. Slice open his 
skull, and you'd find his head jumping with a thousand miniature pussies. 
But Billy would straighten out. Time would take care of that. Watching the 
boy pedaling furiously away, Ace knew he'd be okay. 

Claire sat on the maribou-covered stool before her vanity table, looking 
imperiously cool as she watched her gloved fingers daub magenta lipstick on 
her exposed nipples. A cigarette in a long ebony holder was smoldering in an 
ashtray at her right, a fresh drink was on her left, amid the cut glass 
bottles of perfume and cosmetics. She was feeling the drinks she'd had, but 
was in perfect control of herself. If Mary or Billy or for that matter, 
anyone came to her door, she was quite ready to receive them. She had spent 
an hour dressing for the occasion in apparel left over from a past business 
venture in running a ladies' lingerie shoppe. The shoppe had failed, but now 
the leftover lingerie was a huge success in making her appearance match her 
mood. 

Her blonde hair was covered with a wig of close-cropped black curls of shiny 
dynel. Her eyebrows were thickly swept back with black pencil, her eyelids 
deeply shaded with purple, and thick black false eyelashes all but obscured 
her brown irises. Pale face powder made her magenta lipsticked mouth a cruel 
wound. Earrings adorned with tiny silver maces dangled from her earlobes. 
Her large nose completed the image of great strength in her face. Round her 
neck was a purple velveteen choker, and a pair of thin black nylon straps 
cut deeply into her large white shoulders. These supported a bra of black, 
lace-trimmed, lycra spandex whose cups went under her breasts to lift them 
as a pair of platforms might. The cups were all but filled with firm foam, 
so that her breasts now looked large, pointed, jutting straight ahead with 
their bright tips. Rising to within three inches of the cups was a matching 
corselette. It nipped in her waist most effectively and formed an 
interesting bulge of dead-white flesh between it and its bosom-containing 
counterpart. It was highly filigreed with nylon lace, through which more of 
her flesh showed as a pale blur. The tightly restricting garment laced down 
the front, its metal-tipped laces dangling just over the crotchless lower 
hem of it. It had a patented Flirt Skirt, a six-inch flounce of stiff black 
nylon lace which was conveniently cut out before and behind to expose the 
lower halves of milady's buttocks as well as her pubic area. Six shirred 
black elastic garters stretched four inches down from the bottom of the 
corselette to the tops of black mesh opera hose, which in turn disappeared 
into the tight depths of gleaming black leather boots whose long lacings 
greatly improved the contours of Claire's somewhat heavy legs. Their 
five-inch heels helped in this too. The gloves she wore were of very soft 
leather, stretching from elbow to palm, softly wrinkled, fingerless, with a 
button holding them closed at each wrist. Standing up before the mirror, 
turning to view herself from back and front and in profile, she nodded in 
approval of what she saw. Still, it didn't seem quite right. Too much black 
and white, not enough red. A small, sharp manicure scissors took care of 
that. Two minutes work and there were long wavy hairs on the shag rug, and 
her exposed cuntlips could be touched with more of the magenta to provide 
the additional touch of color she needed. She looked at herself standing, 
fists on hips, feet wide apart, mouth twisted in a harsh smile. Yes, she was 
ready for anyone who rang that bell on her front porch, male or female, 
friend or stranger. A ridiculous get-up, but she knew it would be effective. 
And the contents of the eight-inch-long pasteboard box on her vanity 
table-would make up for any deficiency in her uniform of the day. 

The doorbell rang. Claire forced icy calm upon herself. She pulled at her 
drink, clenched the cigarette holder between her pearly teeth, and sauntered 
forth to receive her unsuspecting caller. 

She swung the door open wide and glared out into the heat of the day. Billy 
Ralston stood on her porch in his threadbare jeans and T-shirt, mouth slowly 
falling open and brown paper bag slowly slipping down from where he held it. 
His wide blue eyes, his long curls, made him look even younger than he 
was-but Claire knew very well that he was old enough. 

She snatched the parcel from him before it fell and snapped, "What the hell 
took you so long? Get in here, young man, and give me an account of 
yourself. Move!" 

He jumped through the door as if he'd been goosed. She closed and bolted the 
door behind him, turned to see him peering curiously around the living room 
and up the hall. Her hackles rose and she said, "Mary's not here. I booted 
her out. Like this!" said she, and gave him the toe of her boot in his ass. 
That gained his full attention, and her beautifully angry appearance held it 
as she backed him down the hall, tits jiggling as she prodded him in the 
chest, saying, "Well? What took you so long? Did you fall down on your 
stupid bicycle? Did you forget where I live? Or were you afraid to come 
back, afraid pf me, afraid of a little sex?!?" 

"N-no. I just ... " 

"No, what?" 

"No, I just came over as quick as I...." 

"No, ma'am!" she said, as he stumbled backward into her kitchen, completely 
terrorized, at her total disposal. 

She let the sight of herself sink into his reeling brain while she prepared 
an icy pitcher of martinis, turning this way and that as she did, showing 
him bare tits and ass and cunt, as if this was everyday attire for her. She 
filled two stemmed glasses and held one out to him. 

"No, thanks. I ... don't drink, m-ma'am." 

"When I drink," she said, lifting the glass over his head, "you drink." 

She let it trickle down into his hair, flow down over his face past his 
blinking eyes until the glass was empty. Then she refilled it, and now when 
she held it offered to him, he took it and gulped it down, making a dreadful 
face as he did so. 

"What's wrong? Don't like the taste of it?" 

"N-No. No, ma'am." 

"I know a taste you do like. Lipstick," she said, and grabbing him by his 
liquor-wet hair, she held him fast while she mashed her mouth hard on his. 
She only let it last a moment. Then she pulled him back, pushed him down, 
and thrust each of her rouged nipples through his startled lips in turn. 
Down he went to his knees under her grip, and Claire grunted loudly as she 
ground her tonsured cunt against his mouth, then laughed at his dismayed 
expression when she pulled him to his feet. "There," she said, triumphant, 
"you liked the taste of that, didn't you?" 

"No. I just want to go home," he wailed, close to tears. 

She slapped him across the face. She grabbed for the bulge in his trousers, 
squeezed it hard, and snapped, "Don't you lie to me! You came here to fuck 
me. You liked the taste of my cunt. This proves it." 

"It's almost always hard like that," he protested. "Lemme go." 

"I'll let you go! I'll let you go into my bedroom. March!" 

She prodded him along in front of her. He looked balefully frightened at her 
over his shoulder. It wasn't going to be as easy as she'd thought. But her 
fear alone was exciting enough to drive her on. 

"Take off all your clothes. Everything," she said, and stood tapping a 
boot-toe before the mirror while his tremulous hands plucked and pulled at 
his clothing until he was standing naked before her, pink prick pointing 
straight at her moistened cunt. "Now, kneel." 

He looked about him for help, then slowly sank to his knees on the rug. And 
as he did, Claire sat comfortably down on the furry stool behind her. She 
spread her legs, took his cheeks in her gloved hands, and drew him forward 
until she could close her knees on the backs of her hands. Her smile was 
almost kindly as she said, "D'you like me?" 

"Well, sure ... ma'am." 

"Better than you liked Mary?" 

"I dunno." 

"But I do excite you. Your stiff prick proves that." 

"But it's like that almost all the time. Honest, ma'am." 

"You make me sick," she said, shoving him away, then tethering him with a 
handful of his hair. "I don't even like to look at you, or your ugly little 
prick. Cover up." 

There was a small pile of discarded, soiled lingerie beside Claire's vanity. 
She picked up two pairs of panties. One of these she draped over his 
erection, the other one she pulled down over his head. His nose and one eye 
showed through a leg-hole in the flimsy pink rayon. She laughed as she 
pulled the elasticized hole apart until it encircled his face from chin to 
hairline. She smiled as she reached down and grasped his filmily covered 
penis. Bringing her lips to his, she kissed him deeply with her warmly 
tangling tongue while she stroked his prick, up and down, up and down. It 
took less than a minute. Then he was groaning through the kiss and grasping 
her booted feet, his body jerking uncontrollably as he spurted his cum into 
Claire's panty-covered hand. His body was starting to sag when she quit the 
kiss and hunched her hips forward on the stool, pulled him closer and jammed 
his mouth against that mouth that waited between her legs. 

"Eat me good," she told him. "If you don't, I'll report you to your boss. If 
you do, there'll be no end to the fun we can have together. No end at all." 

She held him until he was going at it good with his tongue and his lips. 
Then she leaned back and picked up her drink. Elbows resting on the edge of 
the vanity table, she sipped the martini and glowed a smile down at the top 
of his busily working head. This was the life. This was as it should be. 
Dominate her lovers. Overpower them. Give them the minimum in sexual 
pleasure while taking the maximum out of them. She'd approached sex all 
wrong in the past. From now on, she was in command! 

She settled back to enjoy it. He had already improved in his technique from 
the time before, teasing a little with kisses along the fleshy lips of her 
cunt, then getting back to sucking and licking that spot wherefrom she 
derived the most pleasure. Claire reached down to rub the back of his head, 
to pull him closer, and to show him that some tenderness existed in her hard 
heart. He was going pretty fast, and her pantings were such that it would be 
hard to tell him to slow down without revealing how much he was getting to 
her. She had intended to make it last, to hold herself back, loosening the 
reins of her passion slowly before she permitted him to give her a really 
big orgasm. But he was hers all the way already. Dominating him completely 
had been absurdly easy, and now the boy was hers for just as long as she 
wanted him, her little sex slave, eager to give her a dozen orgasms in 
exchange for every one she deigned to give him. Then let it go, her rising 
passion told her. Start having your fun in earnest. 

She twisted her left ankle from his grasp and snaked that leathered leg 
around his neck, opening her cunt wider still for his kisses. "Use your 
hands, damn it. Spread me wider," she told him. Of course he obeyed. Her 
labia were spread wide for his subservient mouth, giving him access to the 
deepest reaches of her oozing, aromatic vulva, and as he lapped and kissed 
her to a climax, Claire's big hips humped uncontrollably at him, and she 
grunted, "Uh! Uh! Uh! Shit fuck hell damn! Ahhhhh...." 

She held him prisoner there until pleasure dwindled into pain, then let her 
leg slip from its embrace around his neck. It had been a good one, but not 
good enough. Now she needed to be fucked by her boy, though he didn't look 
like he was quite in shape for that. He was crouched on the floor, head 
down, rubbing the back of his neck, breathing hard. With a past husband or 
lover, she'd have been down there with him, showering him with kisses, 
thanking him for the pleasure he'd given her. But the new Claire only 
prodded him with her booted foot and said, "Get up and take me to bed now." 

"I can't," he whined. "I gotta get back to work." 

"Don't you want to fuck me? Don't you want to put your little prick in my 
beautiful hot cunt?" she asked. Then she added sharply, "Look at me when you 
answer! And stand up!" 

He slowly got to his feet, looking comically ridiculous with the pink 
panties draped around his boyish face. The other pair of panties, the white 
ones, clung to his loins until he was standing up, whereupon they fell away 
to reveal his penis flaccid. He looked where she was looking and said, 
"Honest, I'd like to do it to you, ma'am, but I just can't. See?" 

"Humphf. And I thought your cock was always hard. Well, I'll get it that way 
again. I have just the thing for it. Stand right there." 

From the drawer in her vanity Claire took the magazine that she and Mary had 
found in Billy's pants on his visit of the day before. She had used some of 
its illustrations as inspiration for her costuming of herself bn this day, 
and she knew very well that between those glossy photographs and the living 
picture of herself clad as she was, Billy's penis would be inspired to new 
stiffness. 

She opened it across her abdomen and began slowly turning its pages. She 
looked down at the inverted images across her corsetted middle and pointed 
out their best features, commenting on them as she did. He stared at the 
pictures, glancing up at the bare, brightly tipped tits above them and down 
at the big, open cunt below them, and sure enough, his prick began to stir. 

"It's getting hard," she said, "feel how hard your prick's getting. Go on, 
Billy. Do as I tell you." 

His hand went to his prick and squeezed. The look on his face grew more 
vacuous as she continued to turn the pages and he continued to feel his 
growing prick, then to stroke it lightly as it approached its full length. 
Before she'd finished with the magazine, his prick was hard and she wanted 
it badly. Still, there was a danger that it wouldn't stay hard for as long 
as she had to have it that way, and to ensure against this catastrophe, 
Claire picked up the pasteboard box from her vanity table before leading him 
on to her big, rumpled bed. 

There she lay on her back, legs drawn up comfortably, boot soles planted 
firmly on the covers. She told him to mount her then, and this he did in the 
most basic position. She sighed in contentment and wriggled against the 
mattress to be as comfortable as she could be for the long fucking session 
to come, and then behind his back, she opened the box. 

The box contained a battery-operated vibrator, very smooth-surfaced, the 
shape and size of a stiff male member. A twist of the knob on its end and it 
began to silently quiver and shake in Claire's hand. She touched its bluntly 
tapered point to Billy's moving buttock and he grunted in surprise and 
heaved harder against her with his prick. That was the desired effect of the 
device. She wanted a good, vigorous fuck as well as a long one, and with 
that device in hand, there was no need for her to do anything but manipulate 
it while she lay back in complete comfort, exerting none of the effort it 
usually took to throw her heavy hips up to meet her current lover' thrusts 
into her body. 

Claire closed her eyes to better enjoy the sensations of cock moving in 
cunt, of strong young body moving against soft flesh. No need to look 
anyway. The vibrator was behind his back, and her guiding hand was directing 
its buzzings very nicely. At first it panicked him a little, and he tried to 
look back over his shoulder to see what was doing that to him. She commanded 
him back to kissing her throat, her face, her lips. Then he got to like it, 
rotating his hips to move his buttocks in anticipation of its finding a most 
sensitive spot back there. By stabbing it into his buttocks, she could 
produce deep, erratic jabs of his cock. By sliding it up and down the groove 
between his buttocks, she could produce deeply rhythmic strokes. By 
alternating between these two manipulations, she was able to enjoy two very 
nice orgasms, while the sweating administrations of her lover continued 
almost unabated. 

He was getting tired, however. She could tell that. She thought he might 
have cum once himself, but by then they were going so good and fast and hard 
that she couldn't be sure. It didn't matter. And giving him some rest didn't 
matter either. He had a young, strong heart, one which wouldn't give out no 
matter how she made him exert himself. But he was getting tired enough to 
slow down a little. 

The bed was jiggling when Claire reached down with the end of the vibrator 
and anointed it with her overflowing juices. When she drew it up again and 
located his asshole and pushed two inches of it inside, the bed began to 
creak. He began to squeal through his pantings, tried to twist away from the 
plastic invader from behind. Claire just laughed and pushed it in until it 
was secure, then settled back to hold it there and enjoy one long, endless 
orgasm. Endless, at least, until the battery gave out. 

It was marvelous. This was sex in its purest form. A strong young body, a 
prick so deeply imbedded in her that it hardly mattered if it was hard or 
soft, and solid electric American technology in her hand to keep it going 
for as long as she liked. Orgasm after orgasm, finally blending into one 
steady state of hypersexuality in which nothing could touch her but her 
thoughts. Wild thoughts, a kaleidoscope of every man she'd had, every man 
she'd wished she had but missed, the fantasies she'd never fulfilled with 
her dog, the teasing intimacies she'd indulged in with Mary and other 
females, the guilty lustings she'd had after inexperienced young boys. 
Claire had all these thoughts and more during her perpetual orgasm, and it 
was all so pleasant and all so exciting. His frantic thrustings continued 
unabated. Claire was driven to fuck madly back at him during the peaks of 
her great pleasure, and when these had passed for the moment and she was 
catching her breath, he still continued to fuck her. Up and down she was 
taken, over and over, never to end. But after a time the peaks flattened 
out, the valleys of rest deepened. Her body grew heavy, more difficult to 
move even during the best of it, and at last she fell quietly asleep, not 
even hearing the anguished cries at her ear. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

If Billy Ralston's exertions had not dislodged the fiendishly tickling thing 
from his asshole, he might have gone on humping and heaving and fucking for 
all the rest of his life. By the time the thing fell out, however, he was no 
longer truly fucking, for fucking feels good. There was pain involved in 
what he was doing, but still he had had to continue doing it. He couldn't 
even tell if he had cum in that gaping hole he was plunging his dick into or 
not. He had just fucked it, had insanely tried to fill it, driven by that 
stimulus up inside his asshole which he didn't understand at all. When he 
was at last given rest from the wild ordeal, he was so exhausted that he 
slipped off the softness under him and slid onto the floor, and there he lay 
panting on his back for a full five minutes before he could sit up. 

His asshole tingled and twitched, his prick had shrunk to peanut size. He 
gazed dully around him. It seemed as if he was in a surrealistic rendition 
of the Ralston master bedroom, just as messy, but with slightly different 
furniture and colors, and with that weird and terrible woman sprawled dead 
on the bed. 

Her boots dangled over the side of it, her feet wide apart. Looking up past 
that net hosiery on her fleshy legs, he could see the vast red, fringed with 
dark brown, that he had once so dearly coveted. It was horribly ugly. Its 
shades of red ranged from pink to purple, glistening with that same foul 
wetness he had tasted, bordered by flaccidly scalloped lips, all set in a 
vast valley of fish-belly white flesh. It looked more like some part of a 
creature from outer space than it did a portion of the anatomy of a human 
being. But that big dead thing which lay up there was a woman. The amazingly 
bright red nipples sticking up over her weird garments told him she was a 
woman. 

He thought he saw movement in those nipples and found that he could drag 
himself to his feet, to see if she might still be alive. Her face was a 
sight. Slack-jawed, open-mouthed, smeared with red and black and purple 
paints, one false eyelash hanging diagonally down. Scraggly long yellow hair 
stuck out from under her tilted wig. Her arms were extended, palms up, one 
button popped off those weird gloves. Behind her eyelids her eyeballs looked 
shrunken, and there was a complicated network of wrinkles under her make-up 
from her hairline to her throat. She snorted a snore and Billy jumped back, 
away from that parody of a woman which he had been fucking. 

His foot encountered a hard cylindrical object. Curious, he stooped to pick 
it up, and when his fingers felt its faint vibrations and he realized what 
it was and where it had been, he quickly tossed it onto the bed. His senses 
were returning to work for him as he cautiously approached where it lay. It 
was one of those goddamned vibrating dildos like he'd seen advertised in the 
backs of girlie books, one of those things they made for the cunts of lonely 
old maids. And it had been inside of him! 

He pulled back his lips in a sneer, realized then that he had a pair of 
girl's underwear shrouding his head, and whipped off the elasticized 
softness and flung it from him. He wanted to kill that big monster lying on 
the bed, but he was already in too much trouble to do that. Very gingerly 
then, he picked up the vibrator between thumb and forefinger. It was still 
buzzing, but not nearly so hard as it had been when it was up his ass. He 
dangled it over her heart, lowered it over her loins. He touched its tapered 
end against that hole which had all but consumed him and shoved it in hard, 
all the way. The corseted woman's only response was a grunt and a sigh, a 
slight upheaval of her hips, and the muttered words, "Shit fuck hell 
damn...." 

By the time Billy got his clothes together, she was already snoring. He 
couldn't stand to even look at her again as he dressed. He couldn't stand to 
be in that house for another minute. He dressed while heading for the front 
door, buckled up his belt on the front porch, out in the open air. 

Kneeling before the hose bib in the bushes, Billy flooded his mouth with 
sun-warmed city water. Still he could taste her cunt. And he could feel 
where the damned dildo had been when he was straddling his bicycle and 
heading back to the store. He hoped his mouth would always taste that foul 
and his asshole would forever itch so disgustingly, so that he would never 
forget how utterly rotten women were. Not all women, of course, but the 
sexual ones like the one he'd just left. Like her friend, Mary, too. No more 
fucking for him. No more sex of any kind. He'd get himself a job as a deep 
sea diver, and just before his ship steamed into a port, he'd drop over the 
side and wait on the bottom until it finished with its business and returned 
to pick him up. He'd become a soldier, and any time he saw a woman, he'd 
just shoot her. (He'd spare the mothers of the world, of course.) But those 
occupations were for when he grew up. Now he was still indentured to Ace 
Varney. He was bicycling toward more drudgery while his friends played at 
the beach. Tomorrow he'd probably be sent back to the torture chamber on 
Pine Street, for he'd forgotten the damned money again. There he'd be 
subjected to an even more diabolical experience. Tomorrow he could die. 

"To hell with that," he said aloud, and turned left, heading for home. 

He felt better already. The ex-boxer might beat him up, he might be sent to 
jail, but either of those fates were better than going through another five 
minutes of torment with that big broad or any like her. What in the world 
had he ever seen attractive about her or that big-knockered girl friend of 
hers to begin with? And those undergarments she'd been wearing. Ridiculous. 
Things like that couldn't get any guy hot. If anything, it had been the 
sight of the naked girls on the picture pages that had given him his stiffy. 
Aided, of course, by his trusty hand, that hand which would never again 
touch his penis, not even when he had to take a leak. He'd tie a string 
around it. Pull it out with the string when he had to whiz, push it back in 
with a fork when he was done. Or a wooden tongue depressor. 

Reminded of his tongue, he spat again. Cunt wouldn't taste good even if it 
was filled with ice cream. His asshole still itched, so he walked his 
bicycle for a block, going over his new resolutions in his head. With his 
house in sight, he mounted again and pedaled onward. First a shower. Then a 
peanut butter sandwich and a glass of milk. Then he'd sit down and record 
his resolutions for future celibacy on paper, written in his blood. 

Billy dumped his bike in the driveway. He went inside and straight to the 
shower, washed himself long and well under the cool water, and scrubbed his 
prick and balls and asshole thoroughly. He was famished. With a towel 
wrapped around him, he headed for the kitchen. Habit caused him to pause and 
peep in at his sleeping mother. She was facing him curled up in the fetal 
position, careworn face looking troubled even in repose as it rested its 
cheek on her clasped hands. Her robe had gotten thrown back over her flanks. 
He could see a deep crevice between her tummy and her thighs, but just 
barely, for her knees were drawn up nearly to her breasts. Her bottom was 
exposed to the breeze from the fan. Was it possible for a person to get a 
cold in the ass? Best to cover her up, he told himself, and quietly went 
around the bed to do that little task for his mother. 

He stopped in his tracks and swallowed hard at the sight of her from the 
foot of the bed. Her bottom was all there, meagerly plump buttocks, 
shallowly cloven, tan anus like a puckered mouth, and extruded from between 
the backs of her thighs the long, oval bulge of her sex, split with her 
crack, thinly protected by her hair. 

"Mom? You awake?" 

She didn't stir, and he moved closer, until his knees were touching the 
mattress. She might take cold in her cunt. It looked so very different from 
the one he'd so recently seen. It seemed impossible that he had emerged from 
that prim split in the ripe bulge of strange fruit there. He put one knee on 
the bed, leaning closer. His hand went to the towel to hold it closed, and 
stayed there to grip the growing length of itchiness it concealed. It was 
all right. He'd already touched it in the shower, and now it was covered 
with thick terry cloth. 

It was fascinating, almost beautiful, that ovate bulge. Not like even the 
strangest of tropical fruits he had ever seen. Much more like a mouth than 
her asshole, for it had lips, the biggest he'd ever seen, like the lips of a 
giant Negro resting peacefully between those gracefully smooth thighs. He 
froze when she drew her knees up higher, then sighed softly when she settled 
down again, with even more of those sweetly hairy lips pushed out at him. He 
got up on the bed to see it more closely, throwing the towel aside, the 
better to move his hand on his prick. Yes, it was as he knew it would be, 
entirely different from the other pussies he'd seen. It probably even 
smelled different. 

Billy held his breath till his nose and his eyes were but six inches away 
from the compellingly lovely plumpness that he'd been fortunate enough to 
see. Then he inhaled, long and deep, and sighed his breath out, eyes closed, 
head feeling very light from the sweet mixture of perfume and musk and 
summer sweat. He looked again from three inches away, breathed more deeply 
still of her intoxicating scent, and pursed his lips to softly blow his 
breath against his mother's dear, sweet cunt. 

"Mmmm," she murmured, and wriggled her legs a little, making the thick lips 
before him all but smile at him. Closer still, he bent, to touch the point 
of his tongue against the sweet slit, to run it an inch along the lips, for 
if she smelled that good, she had to taste divine. 

And she did. There was nothing at all repellent about this. Even the slight 
taste of raw meat was good as he lengthened the exploration of his tongue, 
and as he probed a fraction of an inch inside those lips, just to see if 
there was any of that sloppy wetness there. It was dry warm, comforting and 
yet exciting. It felt so very nice and he was so very close to her now that 
he had to let go of his prick and feel the smoothness of her bottom with his 
hand. 

Yes, it was very smooth. Touching her very lightly, he tried to feel the 
faint tan line under her buttocks, that demarcation of flesh tones that led 
round to where his tongue was moving, ever deeper, ever longer. His thumb 
had almost touched the lovely bulge when her hand grasped his, she stirred 
and murmured softly, and he again froze, this time with his tongue half an 
inch inside his mother's cunt. 

He was paralyzed with fear. He would go to jail. His father would kill him. 
His mother would cry. But he already faced jail and a beating, and his 
mother seemed to be still sleeping, so there was no real reason not to 
continue on for just a little longer. 

He puckered up and kissed her there. She squeezed his hand against herself, 
emboldening Billy to give her a deeper Frenching "Oh, Will. So nice," she 
sleepily muttered, and thrust and wriggled her softness back to give him 
more access at it. "'S been so long." 

Billy was very appreciative of the effects of booze just then. His mother 
was just drunk enough to think that it was his father doing it to her, to 
think it was her husband going down on her. Apparently it was something her 
husband hadn't done for her in years. All he did was leap on her and jam his 
outrageously big cock into her. So this was a special treat she was getting 
from her son, something very special that he was doing for her. He thrilled 
at the knowledge that he might be able to do it every day, sneak in there 
and lick and kiss her cunt, making her feel good and have good dreams while 
she rested her weary body. He settled closer to her, kissing more warmly and 
deeply, feeling her beautiful body with his hands. He was breathing ever 
faster. His nose was but a fraction of an inch from her asshole, and even 
the slightly unpleasant odor of her there was exciting to him at this point. 
He licked down past the wetness in her slit and on over her asshole, 
something his father had probably never done in his life. Probably nobody 
had ever done it to her, if the way she reacted was any indication. 

"Oh!" she said, and pushed away Billy's head. But she held onto his hair as 
she quickly rolled over on her back. Legs wide apart and drawn up at the 
knees, she pulled Billy's mouth against her cunt once more, and murmured, 
"Oh, Will. Will, I love you so." 

Her cunt was spread pretty wide now. It had filled to the brim with her sexy 
rich goodness while he'd been eating her as she'd lain on her side, and now 
it was all opened up for him to lap up and swallow. This he did, from 
clitoris to vagina, while she held lightly onto his hair and crooned in her 
delight as she slept. He knew she was asleep, for looking up past her 
breasts with their rigidly erect nipples, he could see that her eyes were 
closed. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was open. She was smiling in her 
sleep, having wonderful dreams of a handsome prince kneeling to part her 
royal ermine robes and eat out her queenly jewel box. And Billy had a dream 
too. He dreamed of the times he'd been sick in bed, his mother standing at 
the side of it, reading his fever on the thermometer, while he looked up at 
where her cunt was and wished he could see it or taste it or even smell it. 
The ancient boyish dream was coming true for him. He spread her cuntlips 
wider with his thumbs, to experience all he could of his dream. To help him 
with it, his sleeping mother raised her legs higher, hooked them under the 
knees with her arms, and sighed deeply when the pleasures of this better 
access to her cunt reached her. 

It was a great big patch of the most sensitive flesh imaginable, completely 
open to Billy's kisses. He kissed every bit of it, licked it all, swallowed 
all the sweet nectar that clung to his tongue. He worked his head lower, 
kneading her buttocks with his hands, and now when his tongue reached her 
asshole, he pushed it inside. He tasted her dirt and he tickled her where no 
one else had before, and he was very glad for this, because it made her cum. 

She trembled all over in her sleep, straining hard to pull her legs wider 
apart for him, and then she abruptly snapped her hips down so that her cunt 
was against Billy's mouth, and began vigorously fucking him there. Her head 
whipped from side to side, eyes squinted shut now, gasping, "Oh! ... God! 
... Damn!" 

She strained and trembled harder at what had to be the peak of it, then 
broke and snatched her cunt away from his mouth, scrambled round on the bed 
and went face-first for his loins. She got on top of him and sucked his cock 
completely into her mouth, mashing her cunt down on his mouth as she did 
this. She rolled over and he came with her, mouth glued to her cunt, until 
he was on top and could slowly and luxuriously fuck straight down into the 
gullet of his mother. 

"Mmmm! MMMMM! MMMMMM!" She was making sounds as if she was dining on the 
most exquisitely delicious food in her dreams, undulating her cunt up 
against her son's licking mouth as she did, until another series of orgasmic 
spasms broke over her and she twisted out of the sixty-nine position, turned 
quickly around to meet him in a hungry kiss. Billy had seen her kiss his 
father many times, had imagined them kissing many more times than that. Now 
he knew very well that his mother was not dreaming about being made love to 
by her husband, for never had she kissed him with such ardor and abandon. 
Her mouth was half open, lips all pulpy and soft as those lips he'd kissed 
between her legs, tongue palpitating against his as they rolled around all 
over the bed. Her legs got wrapped around him somehow. She'd been fucked so 
many hundreds of times by his father that it came to her automatically, even 
in her sleep, and when he drew back his hips and shoved them forward again, 
lo and behold, his big hard cock was inside her cunt. 

Still they continued to roll about. Her ankles were locked behind his back, 
but that didn't restrict the movements of her hips, surprisingly agile, 
moving at a nice, even pace that kept him from going crazy and fucking her 
just as hard as he could. That might awaken her, and he didn't want that to 
happen. He wanted all he could of this incredibly sweet time of loving, of 
sliding his prick in and out of that wonderful slick hole that he'd been 
inside of once before, fourteen long years ago. Several times he could feel 
that hole pulse strongly and clamp closed on his prick, coincident with the 
throwing back of her head, the tightening of her arms, and the open-throated 
cawing that was a part of her cumming. Each time it happened, it was greater 
than the time before. Each time it happened, he wanted it to be happening to 
him at the same time, but his afternoon of frenzied sex with that awful 
Claire had had its effect on him, and his usual quick climax was taking a 
long time in coming. He could feel it coming, he knew it was on the way, and 
even in her sleep, she could apparently feel it too. 

She was working harder, throwing her entire body into it as she heaved 
against him as he fucked her with his hard, hard cock and buried his mouth 
in her soft, soft throat. Her nails were digging into his back, her heels 
drumming against his buttocks, and then she gasped out, "Cum, Billy! Now! 
With me! NOW!" 

She was awake! Impossible! He snapped back his head, saw her eyes opened to 
slits, but blazing with her heat, and with a superhuman effort, he wrenched 
himself off her and ran to his room, slammed the door behind him and leaned 
against it, panting, his prick slowly dying. 

He was the worst person in the world. He'd sneaked in on his mother, taken 
advantage of her, and committed the greatest sin possible. Now he would have 
to pay for that sin for the rest of his life. The payment? No more sex. He 
would go to the grave never having fucked another woman, of this he was 
absolutely certain, for never again would he be able to have an erection. 

He trudged to the bathroom and washed his prick clean of the stuff that 
would never again lubricate it. He dressed to leave the house. He figured 
he'd leave the city. Hop a freight and head for the Coast. Sign on as cabin 
boy for an Estonian tramp steamer. Work his way up to Captain of the Fleet. 
Might as well. He could never face his mother again after what he'd done to 
her. He paused at her door for one last look at her. She was sleeping as if 
nothing had happened, and Billy bade her a silent farewell before setting 
off on his own. 

Maybe she'd been asleep through it after all. Maybe she'd thought it was all 
part of a dream. Or maybe it had been a dream, and hadn't happened for real 
at all. No, it had happened. His shriveled prick, which he hated so 
staunchly that it was trying to crawl up inside him, never to get hard 
again, assured him of his sin. Forget her. She was better off without him. 
He headed bravely in the direction of the railroad yard. 

It was getting cloudy, but Billy hardly knew if he was walking in shade or 
sunshine. He did know that his solitary walk was taking him past Becky 
Sloane's house. It wouldn't be right to leave without saying good-bye to 
good old Becky, schoolmate and pal since medieval times in the third grade. 
Just go in and say hi, not good-bye. No one should know about his leaving 
until he was on the high seas. 

He turned up her walk and knocked at her door. It moved a quarter of an 
inch, and through the crack it made he could hear the television sounding 
off. Snarls and an anguished voice. A violent mystery program instead of the 
usual bland daytime fare. Maybe an afternoon movie instead of the housewife 
quiz show. He listened more closely, automatically trying to identify it, 
and he knocked again. A day or two before, he'd have stuck his head through 
the doorway and hollered for her. Now he was about to slink away to his 
wandering career, but a girl's voice stopped him. 

"Steve, stop it! Just stop it! I'll tell! I'll scream! Get your hands off 
me! Let me alone!" It wasn't a televised voice at all, it was Becky's, and 
it was filled with a fright that was very close to panic. There was the 
sharp sound of an open hand meeting soft flesh, a growling chuckle, and 
Billy burst into the house. 

They were in the living room, Becky sprawled on the floor, eyes vacant, 
holding her hand to her cheek, a tall, black-haired boy towering over her, 
legs apart, prick up hard, as naked as she was, but hairier, much hairier. 

He was six inches taller than Billy and outweighed him by twenty pounds. It 
was like a frail wasp attacking the grotesque tarantula, swarming over him, 
stinging him from above and below, and still avoiding ferocious claws and a 
lethal stinger. Billy was stung once there in the quiet suburban living 
room. While Becky cringed against the couch, the bigger guy's fist came from 
nowhere to explode against the side of Billy's head and send him staggering 
back against a wall. But it wasn't a lethal sting after all. It dazed him 
but at the same time it removed any last vestiges of caution from his 
attack. He knew he couldn't be hurt now, and he waded directly in at the 
hairy monster, lifting his knee sharply to double him up into a helplessly 
moaning child. Billy knew that no one remains a child for long, however, and 
while he still had his opponent in that happy state, he bundled him right 
out the front door. He threw what clothes of his he could find out after 
him, locked the door, and returned to see what other items he might have 
missed. 

He had certainly missed Becky. Still on the floor, her wide brown eyes 
beamed admiration up at him. Her cheek was very red from where she'd been 
slapped, and now Billy could feel his cheeks going red at the sight of her 
unveiled nudity. He smiled reassuringly as he reached down to help her to 
her feet, and to lay his hands on some small portion of that unbelievably 
beautiful nudity. As she reached the vertical, her blush deepened and she 
crossed her hands before her breasts, small, perfectly formed, glowing pure 
white against her tan, tipped with the most passionate pink imaginable. 

She hiccuped a sob in saying, "H-he tried to r-rape me." 

Billy's voice resonated deeply as he said, "The bastard. You're safe now. He 
won't bother you again." 

"W-what if he comes by tomorrow? What'll I do? I can't tell my folks." 

"Don't you worry, Becky dear. I'll be here to protect you." His prick had 
never been so hard in its entire career. It burned and itched so that he had 
to push it against her firm little tummy. She was still so dazed and 
frightened she didn't pull away. 

"You'll be around? What about your job?" She looked so pleased that he 
couldn't resist kissing her a little. 

"I told that big ape to shove it. I got better things to do than hustle 
booze. I gotta go to the beach. I gotta get a tan. Like yours," he said, 
quite entranced by the satiny taut texture of her perfectly colored 
shoulder. 

"Oh, Billy, I'm so happy." She nestled closer. "I'm happy you're going to be 
around. I'm happy ... you called me dear." 

"Shoot, why shouldn't I call you dear? Heck, I'm in love with you." 

"Y-you are?" Her eyes even wider now, her body warmer, smoother, more 
supple. 

"You know darn well I am. And you're in love with me too. Don't try to say 
you're not, Becky, 'cause if you do, I'll just prove different." 

She wriggled in his arms, smiled coyly up at him, and simpered, "How could 
you do that? How could you tell how I feel about you?" 

"By this," he said, and his hand slid down over her cunning little body, 
beautifully molded, perfectly made. Her eyelashes batted rapidly when his 
fingers slid over the soft point of her hip and found the much softer bulge 
of her pube, silkily covered with hair, sweetly split with a plump slit 
which was brimful of the creamy warm evidence of her feelings toward him. 

She drew in her breath through pursed lips, breathing faster and faster, 
buttocks tensed and trembling under his hand, slit warming and wetting his 
finger to the knuckle. She murmured, "Don't, Billy. I'm a virgin." 

"I am too, in a way. We're going to take care of that right now. Here. You 
he down on the couch while I undress. It won't take long." 

He helped her to he down, protesting weakly. She looked very small lying 
there, very vulnerable, in need of more permanent protection. He kept 
watching her as he removed his clothing. Her small beauty was proof that 
there was a God, just as his giant erection was proof that the Devil 
existed. At the moment, the Devil was winning out, for Becky was looking at 
his engorged member through slitted eyes, hands clutching at her diminutive 
breasts, but legs slowly coming open. The Devil in him was so powerful that 
it was infecting her. It already had such a good hold on Billy that nothing 
could stop him. Even if she'd started screaming as he settled between her 
legs, he'd have gone right on, would have raped her as brutally as Steve had 
tried to. 

But she didn't scream. She winced and knitted her brows as he eased himself 
into that perfectly fitting, warmly lubricated hole, and she gave a sharp 
little start when the obstruction was broken, but then she sighed with him 
and managed a small smile as he began to move. He didn't move fast. There 
was no need for that. Hardly any need to move at all. Just lie there and 
soak in her sweetness, in their joined happiness, in the completion of their 
love. But then the need to move came, to both of them at once. Becky looked 
startled at the manner in which she was squirming and jogging with her hips, 
and Billy was indeed surprised at himself for moving with such unthinking 
urgency. He feared he was hurting her, yet knew he was not. He wanted it to 
go on forever, but inside him he knew that it could go on forever, after 
this time, blending into the next time, each time better than the last, 
though nothing could be better than this. The Devil in him was being 
banished, taken inside the gates of heaven, blasted with the ecstatic 
delights therein, and rendered harmless in a long, gasping, sighing 
expurgation of all his strength, all his wickedness. But even as he lay 
there all weak and buttery and going as soft as she was, he knew very well 
that the Devil would return, again and again, and that it would take a 
century or more of visits within these Gates of Heaven before he could find 
everlasting peace. He knew too that those Gates would be forever open to 
him, and he'd always be close to protect them from intrusion by any other 
adventuresome Devil like himself. krrr-RRRRACK! 

He had thought they were as close together as they could be, but when the 
heat lightning flashed and the thunder sounded as if it was in the room with 
them, she threw herself even closer against him. He smiled and petted her 
back, almost glad that she'd been frightened by the sound and the fury. Her 
tremblings turned to nestlings when the rain started down. They kissed and 
snuggled, relaxing together. 

She said, "Looks like you can't start in on your tan for a while, Billy." 

"Aw, there's other things to do." 

"Like what?" she asked, pushing her lower body forward at him. 

"Like playing Monopoly and eating cookies. Remember how we used to do that 
when it rained?" 

"Yes. With your mother. But I just want to play with you, today." 

"Quit pushing me. Come on and get up. Let's run down through the rain and 
get the set and come back here, and I'll betcha I beat you." 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Mary felt rather sporty driving across town in her bright yellow Pinto, with 
the big black Lab perched alertly on the seat beside her. She knew she 
presented a beautifully contrasting picture, the stunning little brunette in 
the little white dress, with her big black dog there to protect her. She 
hoped, however, that people weren't looking too closely at that picture as 
she stopped at a signal. There she ruffed the dog's ears, and in turn he 
affectionately nuzzled her neck, making her laugh as merrily as she had in 
weeks. He was a good old dog. Not so old, really. Just a big pup, with 
another ten years of useful life ahead of him. And now Mary knew that his 
usefulness could extend far beyond service as a watchdog. 

She patted his heavy ribcage, scratched his shaggy belly, glanced about her 
and felt quickly and intimately of his prick and balls. Why not touch him 
there? He was just as clean as her husband, maybe even cleaner by now, after 
Henry's having fornicated for several days with his slut. And now that she'd 
had Argo's prick right up inside her cunt, there was no reason at all not to 
play with it with her hand. To this touch he responded by nuzzling his cold 
nose against her shoulder. His nose was cold, but his muzzle was warm. She 
glanced around again. None of the other drivers were paying any attention to 
her. She placed her arm across the back of the seats, opening her armpit and 
releasing the warmly human odor from there. He nuzzled and licked, going for 
her salty sweet sweat, just as she knew he would. He liked the taste of her. 
All over. And she in turn liked that feeling of languorous heaviness 
spreading through her body, the thickness of limb and the moistening of 
flesh, as the big, friendly animal swiped his tongue up under her arm. She 
could feel the ticklings from it far deeper than her skin went. She could 
feel it down in her gut, and she liked that too. 

She liked it so much she could hardly stand it, and yet her brain was 
numbing to a point where she could stand almost anything, as long as it was 
pleasant. And so she lifted her arm to pat at her hair, and for a moment she 
thought she was going to wet her little panties when he covered that whole 
sensitive underarm area with one big warm swish of his tongue. The big 
armholes in her little summer dress permitted that. It was a skimpy little 
dress, with its large armholes and its short skirt, but the thin cotton 
garment seemed binding and heavy on her now, and almost intolerably 
scratchy. She longed to be naked, romping on a deserted beach with her dog. 
But she knew if they were in that situation, she'd simply lie down and bask 
in the sun, lazily scratching him while he panted hopefully at her side. He 
really did like her. She could so easily train him. Then she could lie there 
with her legs spread wide open, scratching his ears and anticipating an even 
warmer kiss than she was getting from the sun on her pussy. One snap of her 
fingers and Argo would shuffle around and lick her cunt, a second and he'd 
mount her and fuck her there in the dazzling sun. 

Mary swerved to avoid hitting a parked car, and the dog almost tumbled to 
the floorboards. She was fully alert, back from her fantasy trip to the 
beach, as she petted him and soothed him. "It's all right. I won't hit 
anybody. You didn't hurt me, and I won't hurt you, big boy. Here. Lie down 
and put your head in my lap. In a few minutes, I'll take you for a nice 
walk." 

She had to coax him to get his head down there. He was still a little 
frightened from her near miss, and he wanted to see the view. But he had to 
do things her way if he wanted to be with her. He had to learn, far better 
than her husband had ever learned. She ought to buy him from Claire, she 
thought, as she shifted her hips on the plastic seat cover and hiked her 
little skirt up as far as it would go. She had to take several deep, even 
breaths when she felt his bristly underjaw against the bare soft flesh of 
her upper thighs. Buy him? No, that wouldn't be right. He'd be like a whore 
then. She'd either talk Claire into giving him to her, or else she'd steal 
him. But she had to have this beautiful animal who was so intelligent and so 
easily trainable. 

All she had on under the dress was bikini panties and a bra, but she'd made 
a mistake in wearing even those. Without panties, she could easily get him 
to dip his tongue down to the sweetness between her spreading legs. And when 
that pleasure got too intense, she could cool off a bit while he tried to 
reach a bare nipple through the armhole of her dress. He was such a 
wonderful animal, so much better than that surly mongrel who lived next door 
to her. He was so good that he was trying to reach through the leghole of 
her panties for a taste of straight, uncovered cunt. A fast look around, for 
it would never do to have some high-perched truck driver see it, and she 
drew out that leghole with one finger, and caught in her breath in an 
open-mouthed gasp as his tongue flipped all too briefly over her labia. 

She pushed him away and pulled down her skirt. The thrill of his tongue 
touch had been so stabbingly quick that she wasn't sure if she'd had an 
orgasm or not, driving along down the street. She looked around guiltily. 
The man driving beside her turned his head in her direction, a hopeful smile 
lit his face, and Mary burst out laughing. How foolish to think anyone would 
know what she did with Argo. They might suspect, but never believe she let 
him lick her and fuck her, not even if they saw it. Be careful with him and 
she could keep him forever, just as he would keep her. She reached her hand 
under her skirt and inside her panties, dipped a finger in her richness and 
wriggled it about to thoroughly wet it, enjoying every moment of it. Then 
she held that finger for Argo to lick, which he did, gazing soulfully up at 
her, his tongue on her finger tickling her as much as her finger in her cunt 
had. She scratched his ears and impulsively licked that finger, wrinkling 
her nose because it tasted more of cunt than of doggie. "It won't be long 
now, fella," she said. "It won't be long now. In a minute we'll take our 
walk, into our house." 

Mary parked the car at the curb, tortured herself by playing with Argo's 
ears instead of going right inside the house. She'd have plenty of time with 
him in there, and besides, it wouldn't do to have the neighbors see her 
dragging a big black dog with a stiff red prick into her house so soon after 
her husband's leaving her. "At least I think you have a stiffie," she said. 
"Let's see." 

She looked casually around her as she slyly reached under him. There were 
the same old houses, hers included, with the weathered shake shingles and 
the dusty ivy on their outsides, and the same dusty people on the inside. 
Soon the rain would come and wash the dust from the houses, but not from the 
people inside them. She wasn't going to be one of those people. Not any 
more. From now on, anything would go, as far as she was concerned, and as 
long as she didn't get involved emotionally. By being discreet, she could do 
whatever she wanted to with whomever or whatever she cared to choose. She 
didn't have to rely on liquor to release her from her inhibitions any more, 
either. All she needed was cock, and that one in her hand, tapered and hot, 
hard and getting harder, was good enough for Mary Stewart at the moment. 

"Come inside, Argo," she said, "and see your new home." 

He padded along at her heels while her sandaled feet went briskly up the 
walk; he was properly obedient. He growled softly but continued to follow 
her when the dog next door barked; he was a good protector. A glimpse had 
told her that his prick had receded again, as quickly as it had come up; 
erections came and went with him with great rapidity, and Mary walked faster 
toward her front door, her buttocks feeling swollen just like her cunt. 

Inside the door, Mary paused to catch her breath, clasped hands pressed 
against the liquid pillow of her pube. Then she got down on her knees in the 
entryway to hug him and play with him. Her clothes felt like horsehair on 
her flesh. Her body was all aglow as if with a heat rash, and her arms were 
getting pinker from being rasped against his fur. She was terrifically 
uncomfortable and highly excited, but she knew that the discomfort would end 
soon. 

She began taking off her clothes while she played with him. 

Unzip your dress, peel it down to your waist, hug the dog's head to your 
aching tits. Growl in his language and rock him back and forth while it felt 
the bra might burst. Work the dress up over your head, for your legs are too 
weak to even move from the kneeling position now. Then thrust your torso 
forward and grin in all enjoyment as you direct his tongue to both cool and 
heat your exposed belly. Push his nose away from your cunt, laughing, 
wanting to enjoy this foreplay a little longer, and sure that you're not 
offending him by making him wait. 

Get that bra off. Get it off! Damned hooks! Then rip it off! There. Oh, 
shit. Oh, fuck. What a beautiful sight, gorgeous big knockers swinging back 
and forth before his face, brushing nipples against his flicking tongue. His 
teeth whiter and incredibly harder than her bulging softnesses. How would it 
look if he bit her there, made the blood flow over that milk-whiteness while 
he simultaneously sank his prick into her cunt...? 

Roll down the panties and dip the finger in the cunt, wipe it on that big 
udder and feel your grin widen as you watch his tongue at work, licking it 
off, as you feel the way his tongue molds and clings to every little 
corrugation on your super-sensitive areola and nipple. All the time, of 
course, digging deeper in that gloriously juicy hole for more of the 
richness that he so loves, more to be applied to the other udder for him to 
lick off. 

Mary alternated with her fingers. Kneeling in the hallway, back swayed 
forward, looking dully drunk, she wormed and squirmed fingers of her left 
hand all about in her vulva and vagina, then smeared her cunt juices on her 
right breast, all over the nipple and areola. The dog was licking between 
her fingers as she applied it, and already she was reaching for more from 
her cunt with her right hand. It felt crazy. Both above and below. She'd 
never been that sexually turned on before, never gone so completely past the 
point of her deepest inhibitions. There was nothing she wouldn't do now, if 
she took a fancy to it. Little boys, little girls, fish, porcupines, even 
elephants could fuck her now and she wouldn't care. Shit, she'd love it! 

"Oh! OH! GAWD!" she cried, and began to cum. 

A whole montage of incredibly sexy, wonderfully dirty pictures came to her 
as she wrenched and tore at her panties, doubled over every few wonderful 
moments as a new spasm of intense physical pleasure ripped through her body. 
Thin as they were, the panties were fiendishly strong, but she succeeded in 
ripping them off her body, leaving it nude, and still orgasming. The dog 
knew it. He wasn't waiting so patiently now. He was pushing in at her, 
trying to fuck her foot, until Mary fell back on her back, hitting her head 
against the door, throwing her arms and legs up to meet her dog in his 
onslaught of hot prick. 

It stabbed into her asshole and against her vulva, for he was that excited 
now. She thought it didn't matter, for anywhere he touched her with it down 
there now was a good enough place for triggering another orgasmic spasm. She 
thought it didn't matter until he found the real mark and drove it into her 
cunt, swelling it up to bursting with each of his rapid penetrations, making 
her think her skull would swell and burst, and almost wishing that it would. 
She knew this insane flood of feelings would only last as long as his 
hair-triggered prick. She knew that would be long enough for her to feel 
more than she ever had in her life before, but still she had to try for the 
most of it, for more of it, for all of it, by yipping and squealing like an 
animal gone mad, and by humping up under him just as hard as she could. She 
reached some sort of pinnacle of other-worldly pleasure before he shivered 
and shuddered and came and got off her, but she couldn't say what world it 
had come from. All she could do was lie there, complete as a sexual animal, 
feeling wonderfully good despite the itch of dog hairs all over her sweaty 
belly and crotch and tits. 

She lay there until she thought of his prick getting hard again, and then 
she stirred. She got up on one elbow, looked down and felt sick at the sight 
of the long red scratches on her sides. She hadn't even felt them being 
made, at the time. 

She was quite a disgusting woman, fornicating with a dog. She'd let a beast 
of the field penetrate her, all for the sake of a few minutes of escape. 
Disgusting. And what was even more disgusting was that she was thinking of 
installing him permanently in her house. More disgusting yet, she was 
thinking again of his prick! 

But, why not? What the hell, the door was locked, and no one really cared 
what she did to herself behind it. Let's see that prick of yours. Stop 
licking it and let me hold it. Or does licking it make it get hard quicker? 
Okay, you lick and I'll play with it, and together we'll get it up. I hope 
it's not sore. If you get sore that quickly, I'll just have to get myself 
another dog. 

"Oh, I'd never give you up and never have another," she said aloud, and 
hugged him and squeezed him with one arm around his neck and one hand on his 
prick, until it was hard again. 

Then she had him fuck her again. It wasn't the unexpected, wildly 
uncontrolled fucking of a few minutes before, but a long, slow enjoyment of 
her latest sex-mate. She did it his way, on her hands and knees with his 
mounting her from behind. Partially because he might like it better that 
way, partially because she might as well get dog hairs on her back as well 
as her front, but mostly because it felt so fucking good. She got her hips 
into it, rotating them to present a changing target for his prick, and 
changing internal surfaces for contact with it. She got her torso into it, 
bending her vertebrae in a most supple fashion that caused her cunt to move 
up and down, and her tits to drag their hot nipples against the rug. She got 
her whole body into it, watching it between her tits as she rocked back and 
forth to meet the high frequency of his thrusts with a slower frequency of 
her own. It started out as slow enjoyment, but it ended up with the same 
gasping, frenzied orgasms as before, until she was flat on her belly on the 
rug, and he was licking up her dog-sperm laden cunt juices, bringing sweetly 
diminishing spasms of joy to her. 

Mary couldn't stir for a good fifteen minutes. She'd have lain there forever 
if she could have remembered whether or not she'd locked the front door 
behind her. Someone might come in looking for her in a few days, and the 
knob was only three feet above her head. 

She found it to be unlocked, and pressed the button in. She saw the new 
scratches on her sides and ribcase and said, "Shit, Argo, if you keep going 
on doing that, I'll have to get you some damned mittens or something." 

He didn't indicate he'd even heard her. He just lay there curled up 
sleeping. Just like a damned man. Worse, for at least if he was a man, if he 
was Henry for instance, she could tell him he'd been a lousy lay and it 
would mean something to him. It would mean enough so that maybe he'd try 
again. 

Disappointing as it was, Argo was tired. He wasn't a Superdog after all. He 
was just a tired black mutt, without even a pedigree. He was a lot like her, 
except that she was a bitch. The two of them would make a good pair. Maybe 
she'd get him bred when he got older, and take her pick of the litter. She'd 
choose a male pup, of course, and then engage in some sort of animal incest. 
Why not? She'd have done everything else by then. 

Mary grabbed the doorknob and pulled herself up off the floor. This was no 
time to let herself slip into one of her black, feeling-sorry-for-herself 
moods. What she needed was a drink. 

She found Henry's Christmas bottle of expensive Scotch in the kitchen 
cupboard, poured four fingers of it and filled the low, squat glass with ice 
cubes. She sipped it while looking out at the clouding skies, wishing it 
would rain, feeling most uncomfortable now from the dog hairs clinging to 
her perspiring body. She looked away from the sky, knowing that wishes 
wouldn't change the weather. The damned dog looked comfortable enough. 
Compared to a human, a dog had very few feelings. She had fewer feelings for 
him now. He was just a dumb animal, a mute companion, and a very 
unimaginative sex-mate. Foolish to think of even buying him from Claire. 
Just borrow him from time to time for a 'walk', and save the trouble and 
expense of feeding and caring for him, while she still got the benefit of 
his prick when she needed it. She sipped and smiled, thinking over her 
future as a sensual woman, looking at the dog and mentally transforming him 
into other animals, including man himself. Yes, she'd do it with all of 
them, she'd leave nothing out, and there was no time like the present to 
start filling in the gaps in her sexual experience. 

Mary finished her drink and went over to the dog, got down on her knees and 
rolled him over on his back. He drew up his forelegs as if he was begging 
and he lazily blinked his eyes as she scratched his belly and looked him 
over. There wasn't any fat on his belly. She could see his double row of 
nipples through the sparser hair of his underside, and a flea that scurried 
toward the thicker hair of his throat. His balls were clearly outlined in 
their black, hairy sac, one of them situated forward of the other. She 
couldn't see his prick. It was completely retracted within his foreskin. She 
drew that foreskin back with the small white fingers of her left hand, still 
scratching his belly with her right, and then she could see his prick. Only 
a half inch of it, not so red as before, tapered like a candle's tip, with 
the dark single eye in the middle of it from which had spurted his doggy cum 
into her bitchy cunt. Only a half inch of it, just enough to get her lips 
around. 

He began to flop around and try to get up as she used her lips and tongue on 
it, but she held him down with one hand on his belly and the other on his 
balls. She sucked and got more of it in her mouth, swirled her tongue around 
it and dabbled it into the hole there, and then she could feel it begin to 
stiffen and elongate by itself. She wished it would hurry, for she didn't 
like the feeling of his furry foreskin brushing against her lips. This wish 
was granted her, and in moments she had her lips and tongue on pure, 
hairless dog cock, and only her hands were in contact with the coarse hair 
that covered the rest of his body. 

His tongue and his prick, that was all of him she needed. Let somebody else 
feed him and clean up after him and take him for walks and give him the 
affection that dogs are supposed to need, and just give her his tongue and 
his prick. She told herself that she liked sucking his cock, but still there 
was a little part that roved through her body looking for a place to be 
sick, and so she thought of tangling tongues with him someday, and this made 
sucking his cock so much easier. 

She closed her eyes and rocked back and forth, bobbing her head over his 
loins, sliding her soft lips up and down the heated hardness of the dog's 
prick. She licked it lavishly with her tongue and was even able to feel his 
foreskin with her lips without being ill. She sucked it hard, all the way 
into the back of her throat, clenching her hands tighter into his fur as he 
struggled under the discomfort of her more vigorous suction. Let him 
struggle, let him be in pain, this was for her pleasure, not his. 

The trouble was, there was very little pleasure in it. It was amazingly easy 
to suck off the dog, but she was deriving very little sexual excitement from 
it. Even when she took her hand from his belly to dig and delve and 
finger-fuck in her cunt, there was more effort involved than pleasure. Was 
it possible that she'd had enough sex for a while? Had the Lesbian 
flirtation with Claire and the fucking and licking from the boy and the dog 
satisfied her so completely and so soon? That was impossible, for there'd 
been weekends with Henry when they'd hardly gotten out of bed, fucking time 
after time, with her losing track of the times she orgasmed. She did feel a 
stir of excitement remembering those weekends, but she pushed that away, 
irritated with herself for even thinking of Henry at all. Her husband was 
gone, and creatures like Argo were more than enough to excite her now. She 
wasn't the one who was fucked out; it was Argo who was the sluggard. 

Dumb dog. What the hell beyond sucking his cock did it take to excite him? 
But he wasn't the only dog in the world. There was another right next door. 
Go get him. Tempt him over the wall with a hot dog, and then feed him a hot 
pussy. After he ate, he'd service her. And it'd be a new kick to have two 
dogs at once. 

Mary rose and went to have another quick drink before she got on with her 
pleasure. The black dog alertly followed her now, licking the back of her 
knee while she emptied out the bottle into a glass, licking her ass while 
she got more ice. He tried to fuck her leg as she leaned languorously 
against the sink, sipping. She grinned and bent her knee to give him more to 
fuck at, then withdrew it and spoke to him before finishing her drink and 
going out into the back yard. 

"There's nothing special about you. You had your chance and you muffed it, 
and now you're going to have to take sloppy seconds." 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Ace Varney looked with increasing irritation at his watch. His goddamned 
helper had been gone for more than two hours, probably shoplifting 
somewhere, probably sneaked into an air-conditioned girlie show on his way 
back, surely up to no good. He couldn't let the kid get away with that. He'd 
forced Billy to take the job in order to keep him out of trouble, but the 
kid would be in for a lot of that commodity when Ace got his hands on him. 

He closed the liquor store. All he was selling that day was cold beer, and 
he didn't feel like being cramped up there any longer anyway. He got in his 
car and headed for the address on Pine Street. He had to start looking 
somewhere. If he couldn't get a clue as to Billy's whereabouts there, he'd 
check his house, then go to a refrigerated bar and partake of some of the 
wares he usually sold, but he first had to at least make an effort to find 
the runaway. 

The house on Pine looked substantial and comfortable to him. Although its 
front yard was a little overgrown, that gave it a more spacious, sylvan 
look, a far cry from the apartment house look he was used to. He almost 
turned back when he reached the porch. Probably night workers living inside, 
a man and wife who got a little booze from him in order to help sleep 
through the heat of the day. They'd think he was nuts coming looking for his 
delivery boy, and they'd be mad if he woke them up. They might even think he 
was a queer, running after the kid like that. But he didn't care what they 
thought of him and, looking up, he saw that soon the clouds would break and 
end the heat wave, and nobody in town could be mad at anything when that 
happened. 

He pressed the doorbell button and got no response. The door was standing 
wide open, and he leaned inside and softly called, "Billy? Oh, Billy?" 

No response from that, either, but he had a good look at a slovenly house. 
What kind of a husband would put up with that sort of crap? Maybe a couple 
of drunks lived there after all. Maybe they'd passed out by the time Billy 
had arrived, and he had burglarized their house and split. Or maybe the 
couple who lived there were in bed, fucking in the blast of an 
air-conditioner. 

It was this last maybe that drew Ace into the house. Big and strong as he 
was, he felt weak and sick as he crept silently inside, helpless to quell 
the craving to see a nice solid married couple showing their love for each 
other in defiance of the heat of the afternoon. 

The kitchen was even more of a mess. He glanced into it as he tiptoed to his 
left into the hall where the bedrooms had to be. Soft snoring almost made 
him turn back, but if they were asleep he was safe, and it would be almost 
as good to see them naked in post-coital repose than actually fucking. He 
held his breath as he eased his big head around the doorway, then caught it 
in sharply at the sight he beheld there. 

The bedroom was a shambles. There were overturned bottles of perfume and 
make-up on the dressing table. Its fur-covered bench was turned over, and 
beside it lay one of those girlie books, its crumpled pages turned open to 
two full page layouts of whorish-looking women in long stockings and severe 
corsets. But they looked quite pristine and virginal compared to the woman 
snoring on the bed. The heels of her boots were a foot apart on the floor, 
her mesh-covered knees almost that wide apart on the edge of the bed, and 
the lips of her nearly hairless cunt looked even more wide apart than that. 
Above her cunt, the tight black corset barely moved with her breathing, but 
her sideways sagging tits moved with each breath, their passionately colored 
nipples speaking as much as her cunt did about the hot time she'd had with 
sneak-thief Billy. Her gloved arms were spread out as if she'd been 
crucified. Her wig was askew, showing the straw-colored hair under its shiny 
black curls. Her face was a grotesque mask of smeared paint and unglued 
eyelashes and dangling open mouth. As he was drawn closer, he realized the 
heavy smell in there was coming from her, and that that white thing in the 
center of her open gash didn't belong there. 

With shaking fingers he touched the hard end of it, and as he slowly drew 
out the long, prick-shaped object, she stirred and murmured, "Billy...." 

Ace's scarred lips drew back in disgust. He'd thought she was a lonely 
woman, driven to masturbation to get what she had to have, what any person 
had to have. Now it was apparent that she'd seduced his adolescent employee, 
and he was furious with her for that. He dropped the wretched dildo and 
balled up his fists, ready to beat her to a pulp, but then she stirred and 
murmured again. This time her hand went to her cunt, she half-smiled, and 
her words were those of an old song-"Lover, come back to me." 

Ace's cock burned like fire. It stood straight out, throbbing, looking her 
over as he ripped off his clothing, every stitch. It bobbed up and down with 
his rapid pulsebeats, nodding its big, ruddy head as if in agreement with 
his first evaluation of the sleeping woman, agreeing that she was by far the 
sexiest women either of them had seen in their entire lives together. 

He tried and failed to breathe evenly, calmly as he got on his knees and 
nudged her legs wider apart. He also failed to stop the shaking of his hand 
as he carefully centered the huge knob of his twelve-inch cock exactly where 
that vile, useless bit of plastic had been. His hands were still shaking 
when he carefully placed them on her bare thighs, between the welts of her 
hose and the bottom edge of that fiendishly alluring black corset, touching 
what had to be the softest flesh in all the world. Then his hands dug in and 
he lunged forward, all the way, and found that there was indeed a part of 
her anatomy that was softer by far than her thighs. 

It got hard at once, though. Her cunt tightened on his plunging cock as she 
came awake, tried to sit up, frightened nearly out of her wits, shouting, 
"Rape! Help! Rape!" 

He shut her up with his mouth on hers. He felt stronger by far than he had 
when he was Number Four and fighting Floyd Paterson. She was a big woman, 
but he handled her easily, pinning her down with his hands, stabbing her 
with his tongue, and all the while driving the full length of his massive 
cock into her madly writhing body. 

He really fucked her! He could feel the head of his cock slamming into her 
cervix and dislocating her fallopian tubes. He could feel himself killing 
her with it. But he could also feel her getting even wetter than she'd been 
at the start, and this made him absolutely sure he couldn't stop it till 
he'd finished raping her all the way. 

And she fought him all the way, this most beautiful, sexiest woman he had 
ever encountered. She was as wild as she had once been lonely as, with toes 
dug into the rug, he fucked her and the bed up against the wall. She raked 
his back with her nails, but that didn't even slow him down. She bit his 
tongue as well as sucking on it, and that only drove him to fuck her harder, 
harder still! And then the devilishly clever woman rammed her finger up his 
ass, and that did it. 

Ace howled and began to cum. He was frantic to get that finger out of his 
ass, yet wild to feel more of this sensational orgasm, and each of his 
efforts to dislodge it drove him into her suddenly loosened cunt once more. 
He rolled toward the head of the bed, dragging her with him, then rolled 
back toward the foot of it, still deep inside her, and when his heavy 
ejaculations reached a peak, and when they were both shouting and squealing 
in each other's ear, they rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with 
the sound of a sonic boom. 

It knocked the breath out of both of them. They lay there panting, fused, 
dazed. 

At last she said, "Whut whazzat? Whut happened?" 

"Jet plane. Sonic boom." 

"No. I mean ... what happened inside me?" 

"You cum. You cum pretty damned good. Me too." 

He could feel her blushing as she hid her face in the hollow of his throat. 
He knew he should comfort her, but he felt so ridiculously good that he had 
to laugh. He looked briefly up at the window and said, "Hey! It's raining!" 

She nodded, nestling closer, and whispered, "What's your name?" 

"Ace Varney. What's yours?" 

"Claire. Claire Eaton. You own the liquor store where ... that little boy 
came from?" 

"He don't work for me any more. I just fired him." 

"Are you ... going away now, Ace?" 

"Sure I am," he said. "I am if you should happen to pull a big old black 
snake whip out of that cute little old corset you got on and drive me away 
with it." 

Now he could feel her grin and bite his throat before she said, "Oh, I'd 
never do that. All there is under this cute little corset is little old me, 
in person." 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

Mary didn't even know the name of the dog next door, but that didn't matter; 
he didn't know her name either. What mattered was that he was a big dog, big 
enough to jump over the four-foot high fence once she'd sufficiently lured 
him with the meat, and big enough to fill up her cunt once she was ready for 
that. His shoulder came to well above her knee as he gulped down the hot dog 
and she leaned against him, rumpling the hair on his back. His hair was 
considerably longer than Argo's, reddish brown with white splotches. His 
ears stood up like a Doberman's and his muzzle was long like a collie's and 
he had the long shaggy tail of an Irish setter. He was either some breed of 
Martian wolfhound or just a plain old mongrel, but he did have a nice big 
prick and balls. Mary tested for this while he was eating. She didn't give a 
good damn if the neighbors saw her playing with a dog's prick in her back 
yard, naked as she could be, because sooner or later they'd find out what a 
hedonistic nymph she was, and it might as well be sooner. That way it might 
make it easier to fuck some of the husbands in the neighborhood before she 
was run out of it. All her life she'd been told not to touch a dog when he 
was eating, lest he turn on her. She didn't care about that, either. 
Following her post-orgasmic somnolence in the hallway, she was ready for 
some really strenuous foreplay and fucking with this dog. 

She pushed him over on his side and kicked away the last end of the hot dog, 
then took a squatting stance between him and the tidbit. He looked puzzled, 
and she laughed and advanced at him, caught him by the collar and threw a 
leg over his back. He nipped at her bare foot and she kicked him in the 
teeth, holding onto his collar with both hands, riding him like he was a 
short-legged horse and feeling his hard and hairy spine with her juicy cunt. 
She felt it so hard that she bore him to the ground with her weight, and got 
a scissors hold on him as she rolled onto her side. 

The grass hadn't been watered in weeks. It was long and dry and scratchy. It 
felt good against her pampered skin, but not as good as the living 
scratchiness of the mottled brown dog. He was in the mood to play now, but 
he'd never played Mary's game before. She kept her legs around his muscular 
body and her ankles locked as she rolled him around, laughing gaily. He kept 
struggling to get to his feet, growling in a good-natured way, tempting her 
with his tongue hanging out. She was no longer in a mood for dog tongue, 
however, what she wanted was dog cock. 

She'd slipped around until she had her leg-hold on him from the side. Now 
she got a grip on each of his forelegs with her hands and tried to twist him 
further, to a better position between her legs. She longed to reach down and 
feel if his cock was hard, but she couldn't let go of his legs, very hard 
and very strong. She tried to move her ass around to feel for it with her 
buttocks, but he kept kicking her there with his knees. She could feel the 
buffeting in her brain, knocking away any last reluctance she might have in 
getting it on with this strange mongrel. But then she did feel his cock, and 
it was hard, and if there had existed any reluctance in her, it quickly 
fled. 

"Come on and fuck me, you big bastard! FUCK ME NOW!" she loudly said, in the 
proper position now, underneath him, with her legs pulling him down toward 
her open cunt. 

"OW! GAH! OH! YES! FUCK IT!" she cried, the words bursting out of her with 
each new jab of his hot, hard cock against her soft, bruised flesh. 

He was just entering her, just taking her to the heights of mindless bliss 
where she wanted to exist, when with a loud bark and a serious growl, he 
started forward off her, dragging her spine a yard across the burnt grass 
before she lost her hold. She was both dazed and furious until she saw what 
had drawn him away from her at that crucial time, and then she covered her 
mouth with her hands and looked in horror. 

Argo had gotten out the back door, and the two big male dogs were circling 
each other, hackles up, ready to fight for this new territory and the 
strange female that went with it. She gasped as they clashed together, 
ripping and snarling, going for each other's throats. She felt sick at the 
thought of either of them spilling blood, perhaps dying, but then the 
sickness changed to a very primitive form of excitement as she realized 
fully that they were fighting for her. 

Mary got unsteadily to her feet. She'd never really liked dogs, always been 
a little afraid of them, but now there was no fear at all in her, just this 
wonderful new excitement, as she waded in between the two sets of snarling, 
snapping jaws in an effort to save both the canine gladiators for herself. 

Their fur was flying, and soon her hands and the skin of her body was 
bleeding from touches of their sharp teeth. She was right in the middle of 
it, and the din was terrific, growls and barks and pantings in her ears, and 
the sound of those jaws snapping. She was caught in a whirlwind of brown and 
black and white dog flesh, stinking from the heat of their vicious battle, 
and still she hung in there, panting out admonishing words, reaching for 
cock. 

Between her words and her gropings, they began to slow down. Mary, however, 
was panting harder than ever when at last she got her bleeding hands on both 
of their pricks. Rapidly, she milked the pair of long pricks into a growing 
state of hardness, taking the fight out of the dogs. Soon they had quieted. 
They stood at each of her sides, gazing soulfully down at her, licking her 
face, while she lay on her back and stroked their beautiful stiff pricks. 
She didn't know which one to take on first. She wanted them both in her cunt 
at the same time. The more experienced Argo solved her problem for her by 
dragging his prick out of her hand and trotting around to hunker down 
between her legs and start fucking her. 

He was the right one for it. He'd last longer. But that prick in her other 
hand itched for immediate satisfaction, and if she gave the brown and white 
mutt a cum now, he'd last longer when he got his chance to fuck her. 

"C'mere, honey. Nice doggy. C'mere, dear," she told him, pulling him forward 
by the handle of his prick until she could get a clear view of it just above 
her left shoulder. 

It was so beautiful, such a deep shade of red, so very hard, that she had to 
eat it at once. Mouth open, lips extended, she pulled him right down on her, 
got it in her ravenous mouth, and then hugged her arms about his very shaggy 
flanks to pull him down on her so she could get more of it. 

He started fucking her. He thought her mouth was a bitch's cunt, and he 
started fucking it even more vigorously than the other one was slamming his 
into her cunt. Over and over his dog cock was jammed between her twisted 
lips, skidded over her palate, driven into her throat, while below, in that 
other part of her body, the hard thing kept slipping out and stabbing like a 
blunt knife against her helplessly exposed chtoris. She had gone too far, 
much too far. This was it, she was going to be killed, fucked to death by 
two dogs, and then eaten by them. Her bones would be buried right there in 
her back yard, and by then she wished they'd get it over with, for her 
hedonistic excursion into bestiality had turned into an excruciating 
nightmare. 

She could feel every scratch they'd made on her body, every bleeding 
toothmark. She was being smothered, her mouth full of foul, flea-ridden dog 
hair, her eyes clogged with it. Each blade of grass felt like an individual 
razor blade, blunt, digging into her back. Her body felt all pulpy and 
boneless, but the worst of the torture by far were those two pricks she'd 
invited into her body. 

They were relentless, tireless. One of them was being stuck into her lolling 
mouth, being driven down into her throat with such rapidity that she 
couldn't even throw up, while the other was squelching into her cunt and 
piercing into her asshole and crashing against her clitoris so hard that she 
couldn't even cum! They were going to go on fucking her after she was dead. 
Animals she'd only seen in her dreams would follow them before her carcass 
was torn up and divided between them. She was slipping into unconsciousness, 
quite prepared to dwell forever in that special corner of hell reserved for 
total sinners such as herself, when a hot stream of rankly tasting fluid 
gave her hope that she might survive. 

She sucked avidly. She managed to get one hand on a pair of shaggy, 
pulsating balls, and a finger of the other hand up the dog's asshole, the 
better to get all she could of the stuff that might save her. It came in 
heavy, hot streams, and she swallowed it down as quickly as it came, wishing 
to hasten its end and her salvation, but fearing it might go on forever, 
that this might be that corner of hell she was doomed to. 

But it stopped, quite abruptly, and the thing was quickly dragged from her 
mouth, and she could breathe again. Then the black monster between her legs 
quit his specialized torture and she was free-free to gulp in great lungsful 
of air through her cum-flecked lips, free to cover her poor, bruised pussy 
with her hand. 

Her exhausted body gave a jerk when the thunderclap sounded. She wanted to 
laugh hysterically when the first big, hot raindrops began hitting her, but 
she was too tired and she'd been to close to death to laugh. Instead she 
uncovered her cunt and stretched her jaws open wide, not caring if she 
drowned in the increasing torrent, just wanting to be cleansed-at least on 
the outside. 

Between the time Henry Stewart locked his car door, shooed the two dogs out 
of his front yard and unlocked his front door, he was drenched. It was the 
second time he'd taken an unexpected bath that day, the first coming when 
he'd awakened in the motel, with a hangover, without his wallet and the 
pretty little blonde trick he had thought he was in love with. Live and 
learn. Carry an umbrella, and stick with your wife. Now he had nothing. His 
suit was wet, his house vacant, his wife gone to God-knows-where, and not 
even a drop of Scotch left in the decanter. 

At least he could get into some dry clothes. He started to head for the 
bedroom, then said to hell with it and stripped off his wet clothes there in 
the kitchen. He rummaged around in the refrigerator, found a can of beer, 
and flipped it open. The first big mouthful of it was sent spraying against 
the back door as he saw his wife lying spread-eagled in the back yard, rain 
pouring down on her, obviously dead. 

Murder or suicide, it didn't matter as he rushed to her, for either way it 
had been his fault. He brought her to a sitting position,-then choked out a 
sob and clasped her to his naked breast when he realized she was 
alive-alive!-and still warm beneath her wet, badly scratched skin. 

"Mary! Mary, what happened to you?" he pleaded. 

"Those dogs," she mumbled, reaching her arms about his neck. "Those dirty 
dogs." 

"Who? Dogs? What happened? My God, who did this to you?" he cried, as he saw 
the full extent of the awful cuts and scratches on his beloved wife's 
delicately beautiful body. 

"Uhhhh ... it was the Hell's Angels. Some motorcycle gang. Had drinks with 
Claire. Too many. Picked up a hitchhiker. I shouldn't have, I know. Long 
hair. Nice-looking boy. Pulled a gun on me. No, it was a knife. Made me pick 
up his friend, take them all here. Four of them...." 

"Mary, don't even talk about it," he sobbed, hugging her to him, his heart 
breaking. 

"No," she said. "I want to talk about it now, while I'm going good, and then 
never mention it, never even think about it in the future." She sat up by 
herself, pushing him away, her hand sliding up his rain-streaming thigh to 
rest in the hollow of his groin. "So anyway," she said, much more briskly, 
"they got me here and they all raped me. All of them! First they beat me 
with their belts. That's how I got all these scratches and things. See?" She 
turned to show him her buttocks and her rain-washed crotch, closing her hand 
about his cock, then went on. "Really, Henry, it was just awful! Don't stop 
me, let me tell it. Two of them-or maybe it was three-made me put my mouth 
on their things. Like this," she said, and pushing him further back and 
opening his legs, she sucked his cock into her mouth, swirled her tongue 
around its swelling knob, milking the stout shaft with her hand as she did 
so. 

He smote his forehead and pushed her away, crying, "Mary, what's become of 
you? Did something snap in your brain, in your libido? You never sucked my 
co ... never kissed me like that before!" 

"What's the matter?" she asked, glaring at him. "Did that little tramp you 
ran off with drain you completely dry?" 

"N-ho. But she was a tramp." 

"I knew it all along," she smugly said, and went for his rain-kissed prick 
again with her mouth, and got it. 

He pulled her away from it again, though it was fully hard now, and much in 
demand of her dear attentions, whatever they might be. "Mary, Mary," he 
moaned, "did they give you Spanish Fly? Did they turn you into a ... a 
nymphomaniac?" 

"Gee, I don't think so," she said, after but a moment's thought. "But I 
don't want to talk about them any more, remember? While you were off with 
that slut, I tasted a man's thing, and it wasn't bad, in fact it was good, 
and if we're going to have any chance at all of getting together again, I'm 
going to want to taste your thing from time to time. Is that all right with 
you, or did you get turned into some kind of a prude while you were gone?" 

"Gee, I don't think so," he said, a big grin on his face now, as he took up 
where his wife's sexual liberators had left off, rolling about in the sweet, 
fresh grass with her, doing just about everything with her that is possible 
between a very loving husband and wife. 


THE END
