Chapter 5
Billy Jack stumbled down to the bar, almost senseless. He couldn't for the life of him figure out why Norma Jean would want to go out and fuck some old fool. Then he wondered if she did it for money. He'd made it eight times with the chicks up on the second floor. Why shouldn't he be able to make it at all with her? He wondered if they were still out there in the boat, fucking like a couple of rabbits.
"Hope the bastard burns his ass off in the sun," he muttered as he walked around the corner into the bar. It was still empty except for Mrs. Stevenson. "Hullo, Miss Stevenson. How y'all this afternoon?"
"Oh, hello, John," she said. Her fingernail was teasing a small ice cube in her glass. "Can a lady buy a gentleman a drink?"
"Well, sure enough, Miss Stevenson. Could we sit in that booth over yonder?"
He helped her off her stool, and, although he was shaky himself, he noticed that she wobbled and leaned pretty hard against him. I reckon I'm the goat of all time, Billy Jack said to himself as he steadied Mrs. Stevenson with one arm around her, his fingertips exploring the sides of her interesting tits. He tried to see some reaction through his fog but she seemed not to notice. So he probed higher. Still no reaction. Then he noticed a definite stirring in his balls. By golly, I am the goat of all time. He was now cupping Mrs. Stevenson's tit completely.
She didn't so much as blink.
"Ah, let's sit us down right here, Miss Stevenson."
She smiled broadly as he helped her onto the leatherette seat. Then she scooted over and motioned for him to sit on the outside. But very close. She was tipsy but her cunt itched badly. It had been itching for almost two hours. And it was beginning to drive her insane. Then she saw John Sanders, the Biloxi manager. He was tired-looking, she thought, but any port in a storm, she added, smiling wickedly. When she felt his hand touch and finally grab her tit she knew she was onto a live one. And the itching increased. He might rub it for her.
"Cigarette, Miss Stevenson?" Billy Jack was sitting in contact with the woman, and her leg was snug against his. He was still looking into her smiling blue eyes when he felt that old feeling. It was her hand, and his eyes began to water as he blinked.
Sandy smiled. "No, thank you, John. I think sucking on those awful cigarettes is such a waste of-time, don't you?"
Billy Jack blinked again and reached toward her crotch. "Gee, Miss Stevenson, I guess you've got something there." Her fingers were wrapped around his prick and she was trying to squeeze it and jack it off into life. "But, ah, I reckon as I'm going to take that cigarette anyways. Here in the bar and all...." He managed a weak smile and lit his cigarette.
Although he was so sore he could hardly move, and the afternoon was almost gone, Billy Jack still couldn't help looking at Stevenson's wife sitting next to him. She was just another woman, no matter how much money her husband made. She had all the equipment most women have, he believed, including a will to make maximum use of all of it. He noticed that her hand was busy in his lap and his was now in hers. It was obvious that she was looking to get fucked and Billy Jack didn't know how he was going to do it but he did know he was going to give it a heroic try.
And, of course, Mrs. Stevenson was not only fifteen years older, she was the boss's wife. That sent a thrill racing through him. It would be like the time he and Mrs. Jackson had so much fun when he was a kid. He'd been working after school and on weekends in Mr. Jackson's grocery store as stock boy. That was something!
Up until the time he met-really met-Mrs. Jackson, he'd only screwed younger girls ... that adolescent stuff in the back seats of cars at drive-in movies and parked in the country. But one night, Friday it was, he had to work late. Old man Jackson was out of town on business, and inventory had to be taken. Fifteen years old and he had his initiation, his trial by fire.
He'd been counting canned okra in the basement when Mrs. Jackson first came down. She'd only worked at the store for three weeks, filling in after Jackson had let Aggie go for giving lip to one of the older customers. And Bernice wasn't working late, so they were alone in the store. Billy Jack had a cold six-pack of beer behind the cardboard box and was having himself a beer when she materialized in the doorway. His hair stood on end. He hadn't expected to see anybody standing there, but there she was-tall and silent, like a ghost, standing under the dusty twenty-five-watt light bulb.
"Hi," she sang, walking up to the pile of boxes and inventory lists, "You're Billy Jack, right?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I guess I sure enough am that."
She stuck out a perfectly manicured hand toward him. "I'm Rhonda Jackson-Harold's wife. I've seen you around, but you spend most of your time down here. Is that a cold beer there on the floor?"
"Uh, yes, ma'am," he said, waiting for the hatchet to fall. "Would y'all like a can?"
"Call me Rhonda, Billy Jack," she said. "Sure, I'll have a beer with you. It's been a rough day and we'll probably be here for hours. You don't mind spending your Friday night helpin' an old lady count cans, do you?"
Billy Jack remembered blushing as he popped open her can of beer and handed it to her. "No, ma'am-uh, Rhonda. I don't mind-that is, you ain't no old lady-aw hell, ma'am, it'll be a pleasure!" He walked away from her and sat down on a box.
She drank her beer and chattered gaily, her legs crossed so she was sure he could look up and see her. And she scratched her back with a thumbnail, careful to jut her tits out far enough so he'd be able to see, for certain, that she had a nice set. There was a lot of work to do but Billy Jack relaxed. If Mrs. Jackson wanted the boss to pay him time-and-a-half for sittin' around and jawin', that was just great with him. But he was wondering about Mrs. Jackson. The store had been closed for a half-hour and they were all alone in the basement, drinking beer and talking.
He was wearing a T-shirt and tight Levi's, and, although he was slim, or lean and mean as they said at school, the bulge in his pants had been pretty plain for anyone to see. And he stopped a smile as he saw her zero in on it. Then he began to understand.
"I'll bet you cut a wide swath with the girls, Billy Jack."
Billy Jack shrugged and took another sip of beer.
"Do you have a girl?"
"Not in these parts, ma'am--er, Rhonda. There's kind of an old friend up in Downsville, north of here a piece, but she's a drag."
"Drag? What's that?" Her eyes were still roving over him.
"Boring. She's young, immature. Scatterheaded...."
"You don't like young girls much?"
"Not really," he lied. "I prefer older ... ah ... people. I mean, then you can talk and ... Oh well, you know...."
"Sure I do, Billy Jack. Shall we have another beer, then go to work? We have a lot to do."
He opened two more beers and handed one to the lady. Her finger touched his when she took the can, and a definite little fire started to trickle through his veins. He kept his eyes focused on her large but high-riding tits, and she seemed to notice and stuck them out a bit farther. His hard-on became larger.
"You don't mind sitting for a few minutes, do you Billy Jack?"
"No, ma'am, not at all. I've been counting so many cans my eyes are tending to cross."
"Sure it's not the beer?"
"Shucks, Rhonda, beer keeps me mellow, it don't bomb me."
"Didn't you have a date tonight, Billy Jack?" Mrs. Jackson wriggled in her chair and he copped another peek at the white thighs above her nylons.
"Naw. These girls around here are dumb and I wouldn't waste my time on 'em."
"What kind of girls would you waste your time on, Billy Jack?"
"Most any kind so long as they ain't dumb. I mean, they gotta be mature. Fact is, ma'am, I prefer wimmen."
"And do you know any women, Billy Jack? I mean well?"
"No, ma'am, only you. And I guess I only just know you well enough to have a couple of beers with...."
"That's right, Billy Jack, but that'll be our little secret, won't it? And around Mr. Jackson you'd better not call me Rhonda."
"Not likely I will, ma'am. And about this beer-of course it's our secret. I'm only fifteen, y'know. Course, old sheriff Denny Lee Snavely don't pay no nevermind about kids drinkin'. He's too busy for that. Catching robbers an' all."
"Well, good for Denny Lee." Her eyes were fixed on his cock and she sighed and shook her head.
"What's the trouble, ma'am ... Rhonda?"
"I don't know ... I'm so, oh, so ... unhappy. I just can't stand it, I just...." She burst into tears and put her beer down.
Billy Jack was up like a flash and beside her. "Gosh, ma'am, is there anything I can do? Anything at all?"
Her eyes were full of tears but shimmered green. "Yes-oh, no, no. No, Billy Jack, I couldn't. I just couldn't ask...."
Billy Jack had a sneaking hunch what was brewing. He knew of women who'd lock themselves in the basement of a store and start to cry in front of a guy, after drinking beer and crossing their legs and sticking their tits out. So he decided to make his move. He gathered all his nerve and reached out and put his hands on her shoulders. Then he moved forward and pulled her toward him.
"Oh! Billy Jack, what are you doing?"
He didn't answer, but helped her to her feet, sat on the chair himself and lowered her onto his lap. That was his best position for operating. One arm went around her waist and his other hand went to her shoulders. He pulled her head down and kissed the back of her neck. She didn't even try to escape.
"Billy Jack," she cried, "don't ... please don't!"
He knew she was kidding so he brought her face around and kissed her, moving his hand to capture one of her tits. And it all worked out. Her lips were tightly closed-two thin bands of smooth skin locking the door, but he began to massage the nice firm tit, and gradually her mouth opened just enough for him to sink his tongue inside. And that did it. She became a wild woman and they rolled off the chair and onto the pile of broken-down cardboard cartons on the concrete floor.
He unbuttoned her dress as they kissed and rolled on the floor; then he managed to remove her brassiere, releasing the two firm white tits he'd thought so much about. The rest was easy and he moved away from her for a minute to pull her panties off. She smiled and straightened her feet so they'd slip over more easily. Then he whipped his cock out. It was huge even then. He remembered the expression of fear mixed with happy anticipation in Mrs. Jackson's eyes. She couldn't take her eyes off his cock and the pink tip of her tongue wet her lips.
He screwed her for an hour, making her come three times with a wet gush from her neglected pussy. He thought she might be big for him, but she was tighter than six fingers in a glove, and his oversized cock just managed to fit in. After they were both wet, his cock slipped in and out with a perfect pressure and sensation, and the friction of his throbbing prick against the sides of the moist and hot cunt was driving them both to orgasm after crashing orgasm. Finally, they fell exhausted and lay for fifteen minutes on the smooth, clean pile of cardboard.
Then she slowly stood and went to the cooler for another six-pack. They drank it, and Billy Jack knew he was in for a night of it. And he also found out what a nymphomaniac was.
Now, looking at Mrs. Stevenson, he wondered if she could suck a cock as well as old Mrs. Jackson. That episode lasted for three years. The guys had laughed at Billy Jack, the eighteen-year-old stock boy. Little did they know!
Mrs. Stevenson's hand was expert and she had worked Billy Jack into another state of aching hardness. And he intended to reward her by letting her suck him off and then he was going to plunge his dick all the way up into her stomach.
The thirty-one-foot Trojan was rocking slowly in the center of Biscayne Bay, right outside of the channel markers. Billy Jack's wife Norma Jean was humping furiously, reaching as far as she could for yet another orgasm.
How long they'd been out in the boat neither could remember.
All Norma Jean could think about was being fucked by a genuine Hollywood producer on his yacht right in the middle of the Bay in Miami. And Irving Steinbloch was enjoying himself as much as if he were a kid. He didn't give a tinker's damn about the dumb broads he'd get out into the boat. And there had been all kinds, from teeny-boppers to dowagers, from go-go girls to God-fearing Bible-belt Baptists, from hair-brained tourists to heiresses. They were all the same: suckers for that old movie-producer bit.
The photos paid the rent on the boat and the suites and the promise of discreet silence fattened his bank account. Irv smiled. Beats the shit out of pushing zippers in South Carolina, he mused.
Irv thought about all the virgins he'd had since he changed jobs, since he'd gone into business for himself. The thought of thin little girls with very small tits would always give Irving an instant erection, but there were times when he preferred an older woman. One time he'd taken this utterly horrible beast up to his room just to take photos for perverts up at the orange-juice canning plant. They sold like leases on life.
She was in from Indiana with a flower club-some national convention. She was so easy it was a crime, the fat old bag. He'd had trouble maintaining his composure during the underwear shots: her legs were like blue cheese and her tits were the size of watermelons with nipples two inches long. He'd had to tweak her nipples so they'd stand out. She must have had seventy-five-inch tits, the poor old cow. Irving had thrown a quick fuck into her just to make her happy and then he broomed her out. He smiled broadly as he thought about her sitting in her living room, waiting for the mailman to bring her Hollywood contract. The dumb old toad!
Then there were the triplets. Fourteen-year-olds. They had spent almost a week doing screen tests, stills and method work. Their father was a major-league baseball player, and Irving was a bit frightened about the whole thing, but lust won out. The snaps he took of them were among his best. He'd contemplated becoming a professional photographer and stopped short, snorting. I should open a shop and take baby pictures when I can take nude girlie pictures without a shop? Ha. And business won out.
Now he was lying beside the Southern girl on the bleached decking, his cock still pushed snugly, if a little limp, between the wet, grasping cuntlips.
He was idly rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, smiling at their length. They'd grown a good three-quarters of an inch in the past two hours.
"You have the nicest tits I've ever seen, and believe me, kid, I've seen a tit or two in my time!"
"Why, thank you, Sir! I'll bet you have at that."
"And you can suck a cock, kid. That's important, very important. But there's one thing that bothers me...."
"Oh," Norma Jean gasped, "what's that, sir? Please tell me."
"I don't think there's anything that can be done about it-a matter of attitude, mostly-not something you can just do or not do. And I'm afraid...."
Norma Jean could see her Hollywood career in movies flying out the window and she was going to fight it. "Please! Tell me!"
"Well, you suck a cock okay, kid, but something in the back of my head tells me you're not, well-I hate to say this, kid, but you just don't seem to be into it, you know what I mean?"
"You mean you think I don't like to suck cocks?"
"That's it, kid! Hey, you're quick. Bet you could get your lines in one reading, so it's a real shame-a damned bad shame."
"But I do like to suck cocks! Really and truly!"
"Geez, I don't know, kid." He looked at his watch. "I really have to get back. Meeting Jack and Sol at the Fountain Blue for champagne...."
"If I prove how much I like it, could I go, sir, could I?"
"You? Kid, come on down off that cloud. Who the hell are you? A budding starlet, a bit-part actress, maybe a walk-on for the Carson show. Naw, kid. I've got to talk with big people, BIG people, kid. These aren't hacks, you know. And hell, if they saw you they might try to steal you. No, kid. I got to keep you under wraps until your first premiere at Grauman's. You'll need a white mink and maybe some diamonds...." Irving was looking at her very seriously. "But about this other thing...."
He stretched out on his back and examined his watch. A smile crossed his face as he looked at the Timex. Got to get me a new watch this afternoon, he mused--one with class. Rhinestones or some jazzy green glass-maybe a stretch band-this leather thing smells so bad I could heave. Then he smiled. "See this watch, kid?" He held it up so she could see it.
"Yeah, gee. It's pretty."
"Right! Anita gave me this watch. All the stars are generous, kid, real generous. Anita was just getting started. She was a rural kid, just like you, kid. A hayseed, you know what I mean?"
Norma Jean had crawled down and taken Irv's limp cock into her mouth and was sucking as though her Hollywood career depended on it. She had to make it hard or else she could just forget about bright lights and stardom. She was a hard-headed realist who knew she had to put wood in the stove before she could get heat out of it. She might have been backwoods, but she knew she'd never get something for nothing. And she sucked and nibbled away, pumping the producer's balls.
Sapphire was watching the shapely brunette girl who was sitting beside the pool. She knew the girl would be a gold mine if she could be recruited. A chick like that could bring at least one hundred bucks an hour if handled properly, and everybody knew that Sapphire was the best trainer on the avenue. Sapphire might have been only a maid, but she played every cushion and she kept her eyes open. Her fifty-percent finder's fee had made her a rich woman and she didn't get rich by letting moss grow on her back.
But she wondered just how she was going to approach the stacked young girl. Ronnie was out-he had his own action going, but it didn't really cut in on hers, so Sapphire let him play his penny-ante games. Yet, she'd like to have him in her stable too. Lots of fruits would come to the hotel. And most of them were rich as sin. Sapphire couldn't really understand why they'd be richer than just plain folks, but they were. Yes, she thought, I'll have to put my mind to pickin' up on that young stud. And get the chick as well. Would be a good day's work, yes it would.