Chapter 4
Vivien Cochran woke with an uneasy premonition. It was Monday, and usually she felt a certain light-hearted buoyancy at the first of the week. Her duties as supervisor of linen supplies were nightmarish over weekends. The Buccaneer always was 100 per cent capacity in guests, and the housekeeping staff was always at half strength. Mondays always brought the calm after the storm-catch-up days on everything, especially on her sex life.
She rarely saw Sherman Wilson from their rendezvous Friday afternoons until their Monday meetings and the sixty-year-old was something else on Mondays. He claimed that his sexless weekends built an inner storm that took at least four full and explosive orgasms to calm.
Vivien sighed as she slid from her bed. He was such a virile male it was hard to believe he would have no woman over weekends. In the round of entertaining at his pool-side cabana and his beach-side apartment he had to have unlimited opportunities. Still, the man was so specially potent on Monday he could be telling the truth, she reasoned as she reached for her robe.
As she passed her husband's door, Vivien paused and listened, feeling there was no need normally to do more than just listen. His heavy snore would announce that all was per usual with Bart. She waited-not a sound. For a moment she stood staring at the closed door, wondering if this was what her strange foreboding was about.
Bart's drinking habits were precise: six nights stoned in his own home and the seventh, Sunday, he did his drinking out of their apartment. It was controlled drunkenness to a point. He worked luncheon and dinner shifts as a room waiter, and in the eighteen years of "serious drinking," as he described it, he prided himself in never being under the influence during working hours.
Monday was his day off, and promptly at ten on Sunday evening the man was off for Myrtle Beach gin mills and eight hours with vodka and quinine, a drink that gave him no residual bad breath when serving food.
The man must have had an accident, thought Vivien, knowing as she speculated why it made so little difference to her. Bart had smashed all love from her when he started the drinking during her pregnancy with Julia. Immediately after her return from the hospital with their baby, Bart had vacated Vivien's bed. The infant cries for milk in the middle of the night sent him up a wall, he complained, and by the time inimagine was gone, the separate bedrooms and Bart's vodka program were well established.
She opened the door to a room she rarely entered, paused at the threshold and called softly, "Bart, are you in there?"
An inarticulate grunt answered her, and she was instantly sorry she had turned the door handle. A face-to-face reminder of her special cross in life was more than she needed at eight-thirty on a Monday morning.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, reaching quickly to draw the door closed and make her escape.
"C'mere! Got somethin' you'll be glad to see!"
Vivien looked across the disordered bedroom at the clutter of clothing on the floor and the rocker. There was no sign of an empty bottle. Bart was always tidy with his empties.
"Goddamnit, woman, come in! Meet our little girl's friends."
She stepped into the bedroom and approached the man sitting naked at the side of his bed. She immediately noticed the two improbables in her husband-he was nearly sober, and he was aroused. She hesitated at the sight of his erection. Periodically, Bart would go horny-hot for her and for all her contempt for the man, Vivien rarely resisted his occasional need of her body. Not a wifely duty or the way to avoid a beating from Bart, though she rationalized it that way to Sherman Wilson when he demanded to know. But, inside, Vivien knew it was something altogether different. She simply enjoyed the peculiarity of his organ. Bart boasted an undistinguished length but a magnificence to his barrel. He was three inches across at mid shaft.
"Here!" Bart waved the picture at her. "Come see yer l'il Judy's playmates!"
His sudden thickened tongue told her he was as drunk as ever, but for some reason was shocked to momentary half-sobriety. The bloodshot eyes which watched her face as she took the photo were frightened and leering at the same instant.
"There'sh a man, Viwy!" Bart toppled to his side on his bed. "Found 'im in Juicy's room. Thassher hand right there. See the ring? Jooshy Julie!"
Vivien stared in disbelief at the Polaroid snapshot and immediately recognized the school ring. Even without it, she would have known her daughter's hand. And those wild animals she was with!
The picture of the naked and rapture-torn couple spunking in separate ecstasies in the middle of the bed aroused her. The voluptuous female arched and straining beneath the man was, by her expression and by her body tension, obviously in orgasm. The slim male gripped his discharging prick and mugged shamelessly for the camera as Julia reached for him.
"You found this in Julia's room?"
"Be'cher sweet ass I did!"
A surging horror swept Vivien as she studied the photo and felt the implications. Everything she had pushed and struggled for in her daughter was toppling. A sudden hatred for Bart seethed in her.
"And what were you doing in her bedroom?" she demanded.
"Wrong turn, thash'all. She was gone, but I found that."
"You stay out of her room!" Vivien stormed, turning away from the man, who snickered drunkenly at her anger.
"S'matter, Viwy? 'Fraid she's like you?"
Vivien slammed the door as she left the bedroom and hurried down the hall. Quickly she searched the drawers of Julia's dresser, looked under the pillows on her bed and prowled through the memory album on her desk. She found nothing.
With a feeling of mounting panic, she stepped into the kitchen and plugged in the electric percolator. It seemed a strange thing this morning-Julia always refilled the coffee pot before she left for work and Vivien appreciated the consideration. Now the act seemed somehow different. Maybe the little kindnesses were her daughter's ways of building "Brownie points," Sweet, innocent child, incapable of a carnal thought. Vivien stared at the picture in her hand and felt wrath and at the same instant the contagion of the excitement in the two bodies.
Had Julia really taken that picture? Vivien was sure of it. It was clear from the background, too, that it was one of the cottages in the girl's cleaning area. How far had the whole thing gone? Were the two females taking turns on that violent man, or was there maybe another male near the photographer?
Why would she leave a picture like that to be found so easily in her room? Vivien wondered as she poured the coffee. Guilt should have made her destroy it. Maybe it was exactly why it was there where even a drunken father could find it. She probably wasn't really guilty of anything. But her hand was reaching!
For the first time since she entered Bart's room, Vivien began to breathe normally. She knew there had to be some explanation. Some guests must have taken advantage of Julia's naivete.
Vivien reached for the telephone and dialed The Buccaneer switchboard. "Let me speak to housekeeping," she said to the operator.
After a moment of impatient waiting, she heard, "Yes? Housekeeping."
"This is Vivien, Blanche. Has Julia checked her cart out yet?"
"Why no, dear. I was wondering if she had overslept this morning. You know she's always ahead of the rest of the girls getting started. Do you suppose she's all right?"
"Fine, Blanche. Take care of things in linen for me, will you? I'll be a little late coming in myself."
"Sure, dear. Take your time. It's quiet for a change."
Still holding the phone, Vivien stood staring thoughtfully through the kitchen window. Should she call him, or simply let it go by? Sherman liked Monday surprises and it was much too unlike her to make an appointment. She would slip into his bedroom and waken him her special way. Then, when the time was right, press him to get Julia out of the maid's role. No word about this little episode with the guests and the picture-taking, but get her to front-desk training or dining room waitress or almost anywhere from the guest rooms. The coffee tasted flat and she padded quickly from the kitchen back to her bathroom. She would have to look right for her mission to Sherm.
Five minutes after she stepped into Wilson's dark apartment, Julia knew she had done wrong in coming unannounced to his quarters. When she had almost reached the linen cottage to pick up her housekeeping supplies she had impulsively turned off the path and marched straight to the Pro Shop several hundred yards away. It was easy to borrow the golf cart for the half-mile drive to Wilson's beachfront place.
"I'll only be thirty minutes," she promised. "Have to be on my job by nine."
When he answered her knock at his door, it seemed to her that Wilson might have been expecting her. His colorful silk lounge robe was tightly belted at his waist; his hair was neatly combed and there was a faint odor of a sensual after-bath cologne about him.
In spite of his age and his obvious desire to be a father image to her, Julia never could feel the same way about him. Not since that time at the pool when she had glimpsed his arousal under the menu folder. Now she was reminded of something else by the robe he wore. As he led her across the living room, making no effort to turn on a light, she noticed him tugging at the robe waist belt-just as that man in Elm Cottage had done.
"Let's sit here," Wilson had suggested, steering her to a love seat and nodding to her to sit beside him. The softness had seemed almost like quicksand closing at her hips as she sank into the comfort of the leather.
"I ... I want to be transferred, Mister Wilson," she began abruptly, feeling a welling down deep and not wanting any sign of her emotion to show. "I've been in housekeeping for a whole month, and I was wondering if you didn't think it was enough."
Minutes later she was pouring out the story of her trauma at Elm Lodge. Bit by bit he drew it from her and as she finished the account of the way the two in the bedroom had forced her participation in the picture-taking, he was shaking his head in dismay. She felt a vast relief at what was obviously an understanding attitude in the owner of the resort, and for the first time since her job interview, Julia felt a genuinely paternal manner in the man at her side.
His hand slipped to pat her knee. In an impulsive response, she covered his hand with hers and looked gratefully into his eyes. "You do understand, don't you? I'm so grateful. Wow!"
Wilson's lust seemed to burst into sizzling flame at the feel of her hand against his.
"He made you actually handle his organ?" Wilson asked, twisting his hand under Julia's and cupping her fingers.
"He tried to, but I ... I ... oh ... what?
"Was it an organ as big as this, my dear?"
With a casual flick of his free hand, Sherman flipped the edge of his lounging robe and as Julia gaped, he dragged her hand directly to his groin and ground her palm against the root of his cock.
"Let's go over the whole scene again, shall we, little girl? You like telling about it so much-you'd like even better to show me now, wouldn't you?" He pushed from the love seat and, still grasping her hand, dragged Julia to her feet.
"Please, Mister Wilson, I...! "
"Mister Wilson! Mister Wilson, you call me! What kind of nonsense talk is that? You and I are going to be very good friends-and the name is Sherm to my friends!" He was pulling her toward his bedroom door, tugging brutishly at her arm, and now Julia grabbed with her other hand to try to tug loose.
When they entered the lushly appointed, softly lighted room, a strange feeling came over her. All the incidents of the recent weeks of her life since coming home had compressed together into one driving, relentless hunger which seemed to be evidence toward her. Men especially, but, remembering the behavior of the woman in Elm, it seemed that the whole world was clasping for her body-wanting to possess her, needing her to do something for them.
That same kind of feeling had been hers when she hurried from her bedroom and deliberately left that snapshot behind. She knew her mother might look into her room, and if she did, would certainly find that lewd photo. She knew, too, that the hand wearing the St. Mary's signet on a finger would be instantly identified as her own. Call it insurance, it should bring everything to a head in a hurry, and just in case her appeal to Wilson for a shift from housekeeping should fail, by the time she and Mums talked, there'd be someone else to demand the transfer. In the end Julia knew Mums would be proud of her daughter's close brush with immoral people in Elm Cottage.
Now all that clever planning was a shambles. The man she had always been taught to respect and look up to was actually dragging her toward his bed. His hunger was sticking out from his crotch, jutting high and mighty, and by his happy grin when he saw her eyes on it, she was convinced he loved to advertise! He wasn't as big as Kurt Reichard, but he was a lot more sure of himself. In spite of his near-maniacal lust for her, Julia felt a difference in this man-a power and a self-confidence that he had a right to do whatever he wanted. She wondered fleetingly if Sherman Wilson's age would quiet the terror that stabbed through her when his hand found the zipper to her nylon chambermaid's dress. She realized it was utterly different from the way the creep in Elm had tried to disrobe her.
The feeling of surrender crept through her subtly, but quickly. A man who could be so thoughtful to her family when he knew the drinking habits of her father; a man who she had learned paid her school tuition for those three years away from home, such a one must be a man who wanted only her good.
"That's better," Wilson said soothingly, feeling the rigidity leave her shoulders as Julia's dress opened down the back.
A glow of sensual anticipation moved to every nerve in his body. She was his! He could feel it in her, and now she was even helping as she slipped out of the green uniform and let it tumble to her feet.
He stood behind her and shrugged his silk lounger from his shoulders and almost instantly regretted the act. When she turned and saw his total nudity, she could go into the righteous act again. That was what it was-straight from off-Broadway! She had to make peace with her conscience and give him the virgin routine and for the most cooperation; he knew he'd better act as if he believed it.
"Please," she whispered over her shoulder. "Undo my bra."
His fingers trembled in excitement as he released the snaps. From the rear, her body was a cock-crazing wonder. The contour flow from neck to flaring hip, the impudence of her cute tail, everything announced to him that she was made to be fucked again and again and again: front, rear, top and side-in every direction, through every hole.
"I know the way you are, Mister Wilson," she said tremulously. "Let me feel it from behind so as to help me get used to it."
"like this?" he asked gently, closing against her and circling her waist with his arms as he jammed the cock against the curve of her buttocks. Had she been asking for an anal assault for starters? Wilson wondered. Maybe everything he had guessed about her inexperience was ridiculous. She squirmed against the hot pole and her movement forced the shaft along the valley between her ass cheeks. Only the nylon panties blocked the surging knob as he stepped back and pointed the prick at right angles to her tail cleft. "Ooohhh!" Her response to that tentative nudge at her rear had been an instant tensing. He realized she wasn't ready yet for that campaign. Not for starters. Wilson's hands crept up her midriff and found her sunburst breasts, so like her mother's in the way they telegraphed her want. The nipples were taut, tiny penises of pointing need. He strummed them with a feathery touch and felt her knees go spongy as the desire for him swept her body.
He knew he had gone far enough in preliminaries. If he let this cock-maddening creature remain on her feet another second, he deserved to lose any chance for her. She was begging for it, and timing was critical. More delay with non-essentials could destroy everything.
Frantic, Julia let herself be tumbled to the bed and knew beyond all doubt that the man intended to make her have intercourse with him. He pressed her legs together and dragged her panties from her hips, and in one continuing tug he had stripped them over her ankles and past her toes. Then he was between her legs, forcing her thighs to spread even further than they had been in that cottage.
"Beautiful, gorgeous Julia!" Wilson breathed as he gaped at the magnificent body stretched before him. She was looking calmly at his face and he wondered why she lay so still. "You thought an old man couldn't get it up like this, I'll bet!" he chortled, moving forward and rising on his knees to force her glance to his quivering phallus. The calm was immediately gone and the eyes were panicky again.
"You ... you're going to put that into me, aren't you?" she asked and he chuckled delightedly at the way she put the question.
"Into you, is right, little lady. All the way in till it reached up to your boobies!"
"Hurry! I'm frightened!" she replied.
It was the way she said it that sent a flash of uncertainty through Wilson. All the signs said SEXPOT! Every muscle of her body said, "Make me happy my favorite way!" But something else seemed to layer over her sexuality and proclaim her a "neophyte". What playmate ever had told Wilson that she was frightened just before they made it? He wondered, was she trying to tell him he was the biggest man who had ever taken her?
"Don't be afraid," he soothed, leaning across her body and guiding his truncheon hardness to the peach-pink freshness of her cunty center.
Twenty feet away, concealed by the door from the living room to bedroom, a dumbstruck Vivien gaped at the sight of Sherman Wilson leaning across the nude and writhing body of her daughter, pressing his naked heat against Julia's love cleft, She had come on the scene just in time to hear the man trying to calm the girl with those inane words, "Don't be afraid."
Vivien wanted to shriek wild blasphemies of outrage and race at the two on the bed to claw and scratch this man who dared to destroy her daughter's honor. Almost two decades of planning for the purity of Julia were about to be blown to pieces before her very eyes. But something held her in a tight vise.
"Ummm ... ohhh!" Julia moaned as Vivien watched Sherman expertly guiding his swollen cock through the surrendered flesh and into the entryway of the girl's passion.
"Let yourself go," he said quietly, urging himself against the resisting tightness of her love tunnel.
"I shouldn't," came Julia's response across the room to Vivien's position. "I shouldn't, but. . . but I have to!"
"That's a girl!" encouraged Wilson, beginning a thrusting rhythm.
"There's so milch ... you're so ... so hard!"
"And you're so soft, my little Julia."
Again the feeling of outrage flamed in Vivien and she had to fight to remain at her viewing post, instead of ending this collapse of her daughter's moral standards. It was too late, she told herself, and as she saw the levered response of the yearning muscles in the girl's perfect body, the truth began to make its way into Vivien's thoughts. This was the real Julia! This was the purpose of all her femininity. Julia had been given a body to bring joy, and that joy would no longer be put down .
As she watched Sherman's great cock pressing out of sight through the wide-stretched quim lips, Vivien was certain she was watching her daughter take a man into her body for the very first time. It was a scene of the most intense beauty to the mother. Strangely, Vivien knew absolutely no envy toward the girl cemented to the man who had before been almost exclusively hers.
Vivien could see a change in Julia even before the first inch of the man's turbulent shaft had fully disappeared into her body. Her head twisted violently from right to left on the pillow as if she were trying to escape the impalement, and her eyes, as her face turned toward Vivien's voyeuring point, seemed wild with panic. Wilson apparently saw her panic at the same instant and stopped his pistoning action.
"Muh ... Mister Wilson ... ohhh, wha ... whattt is it?"
"What's what?" he panted.
"You ... your cu ... cock is doing some ... something crazy to me ... ohhh ... I..."
"Hurting?" His voice was soothing soft.
"Ohhh ... it's driving me out of my skull!"
Wilson began an urgent humping action. "That's your clitoris, little Julia. Your love-trigger. You know what it is!" His voice was accusing.
"Ohh ... I don't ... I ju ... just know words ... an ... and I want ... to scream them!"
"Scream, sweet Julia!" He drove in savage cock jabs against the form beneath him.
"You ... you man, you!" Julia gasped.
"What am I doing to you?" growled Sherman.
"You're really fucking me, Muh ... Mister Wilson ... oh, do! FUCK ME! FUCK ME!" Her golden hair tumbled wildly as she arched in counterattack against the fleshy spear that pierced her.
"Baby ... you're good!" he grunted as he neared his climax.
"Ohhh ... I ... I'm gone ... oh, Mums! Mums!"
Vivien was transfixed by the last frenzied cry of her daughter. The girl's whole body was racked with repeated spasms that drove her legs around the man's waist and scissored him even more tightly against her front. Wilson seemed to be driven to instant spunking madness, and now as his flood raced into her happy playpen, Julia was a girl on fire. Her convulsions continued, and from her vantage point, Vivien could see the desperate delirium in the man's eyes as he let the girl grind wildly against him to claim every drop. Then it was over, and, momentarily spent, Sherman rolled to the side and curled up to stare at the quivering body.
"You really come apart, don't you?" His voice was awed and low.
Julia turned very slowly to look into his eyes. "You really don't know, do you? I mean, you think I'm coming apart like this lots with other men all the time, don't you?"
"Now, that's not what I said ... it's..." he began in a cajoling tone and something in the glitter of her eye made him stop in mid-sentence.
"I do, you know," she went on as if there had been no interruption. "I can tell you my secret, can't I, Mister Wilson?"
"Call me Sherman," he corrected, "and you can trust me with your secret."
"Good!" Julia cooed. "I'm psyched on sex, Sherman-like other kids are on dope. I'm a kook for cock, see. I like the needle, you know the needle, Sherman? Yours is a huge needle, and I need the needle at least ten times a day."
"You get it that often, Julia?" Wilson's voice had reflected his incredulity.
"Never!" she mourned. "I wear men out. At school we had awful fights over the men around the place. I got them the hottest and the other girls hated me because I wanted everything they had locked up in their big balls."
Hidden in the alcove at the side of the entrance to the bedroom, Vivien fought the impulse to laugh hysterically. Her daughter had been in a convent-like experience for the past three years and if St. Mary's School had accomplished anything, it succeeded in forbidding the presence of any males around its young ladies. Julia, in the wake of her first act of fornication, was having her fun with this man who wanted to believe he was with a child of the sexual revolution.
From where she watched, Vivien could see a movement of the pendulous muscle that lay limp across Sherman's thigh. As the girl talked, the penis stretched and now it was bent like a banana, in response to the resurging lust in the man.
"You really fought over the men out there at school, eh?"
"We were awful," Julia admitted soberly. "Mostly we could only capture boys, and they were never like this." She leaned to finger the stretching cock. "Boys are so gauche!"
"How?"
"All they can do is get all excited and shoot right off-lots of times even before they get it inside a girl." She gave a pretentious shudder. "It's fun, though. We called the boy-squirt 'gism' out at school." Her fingers ran suggestively across her tummy and up over her breasts. "I love gism on me!"
"Have you had it squirted on you lots, Julia?" Sherman's prick was now at full erection and he shifted to his knees to stare at her nude loveliness.
"Mmmmmm," she murmured softly, as though she were reliving the moments. "Be truthful to me, Mister Wilson," she said.
"Sherm," he corrected.
The girl looked at him without a sign of mirth. "I'm afraid of that," she said. "It reminds me of sperm, and every time I say it, I'll want you in me again."
"What's so bad about that?" he demanded. "So what do you want to know the truth about?"
"About the day I came to ask you for a job: when I went up on that high diving board to give you time to think, did you pull this out of your swimming trunks?" She touched the erection lightly.
A second of uncomfortable silence followed, then Wilson coughed. "I was disturbed. What's wrong? Your eyesight was too good!"
"Not a single thing." There was a happy glitter in her eyes. "I hoped you had, and do you know what I wished when I came back to the cabana?"
"Tell me."
"I wished you would drag it out from that robe you hid it under and jerk it off for me."
It was plain to Vivien that Sherman Wilson wished he had done that and more. Now his patience for listening was gone and Vivien watched him throw a leg across Julia's tightly clamped thighs.
"Open just a little bit this time and I'll teach you something new," he said in a strained voice, prying at her legs.
"Huh-uhhh." She shook her head in vigorous refusal.
"What's wrong?"
This time the shudder that ran through her body seemed to be involuntary, and Vivien could sense a sudden change.
"I ... I'm afraid."
Wilson guffawed and, grabbing himself, whacked his cock column across her pubic mound. Julia made no effort to stop him and even thrust herself upward in response to the mons whipping.
"You're afraid!" he chided, "and you're almost coming-just from getting played with."
"That's why I'm scared," she replied, her voice a low whisper. "I can come, just by thinking about it."
"Think about this, girl!" snorted the obviously frustrated Wilson, urging himself across the flat of her stomach and straddling her ribs. "I'm not going to rape you, but I have to have you again."
Julia grabbed the prick trembling in a soaring diagonal over her breasts. Intrigued, Vivien watched her daughter drag the hard-on into the deep valley between the lovely mounds. Frigging as she pressed the column of horny male against herself, Julia squealed excitedly, "You like my breasts, don't you, Mister Wilson?"
For the moment Wilson appeared too trapped in the delight of her masturbating action to try to answer.
"I saw through your dark glasses that day at the pool," she teased. "You were trying to see right through my bikini halter and it gave me nipples as hard as these." Turning his cock into a playful pendulum, she swept it back and forth across her turgid nipples. For all the shock she felt in witnessing the struggle of a child to become a woman, Vivien felt a tremendous erotic tug at the sight of Julia's bold breast play.
"Baby, you asked for it!" Wilson almost snarled. "Now you get it!" He dragged himself forward in sudden disregard for the animated action of her breasts and slapped her hand from his erection.
"Suck me, girl!" he cried. "Suck honey through the straw!"
For one brief moment it looked as though she would. The broad cap of vermilion satin went between her lips. Spellbound, Vivien stared at the expansion and contraction of Julia's cheek muscles as she fell into the siphoning rhythm of fellatio.
"Sweet Jesus! You do know how!" groaned Wilson, urging more of his penis into her mouth. "Take it, baby, take it!"
It happened abruptly. With an inarticulate cry of mixed rage and hysteria, she spewed the sopping prick from her lips and writhed wildly against the man, forcing him to topple to the side. Astonished, Wilson sprawled as his playmate sprang from the bed and dashed in a naked frenzy for her clothes.
"No!" she screamed when he pushed to an elbow and started for the edge of the bed. "Don't you dare come near me! It was wrong of me! I'm not what I said I was!"
Sherman tried to placate her. "Look, Julia, I knew that. We were having games together." She was zipping her uniform up the back and simultaneously jamming a foot into a shoe when she turned, eyes blazing with indignation, on the man. "No more games! Thank you very much, Mister Wilson. I have to go to work!" Wheeling away before he could answer, the girl rushed to the door.
"I'll be a son-of-a-bitch!" exploded an obviously uncomprehending Wilson as the front door slammed.
"Yes," said a voice, low but distinct, just beyond his bedroom door. "That is exactly what you are."
"Oh my God!" He felt a numbing shock as Vivien stepped into view.
"Do you know who that was?" she asked with ominous softness as she reached the low vanity table and bent to open a drawer.
"Of course ... but ... " A torridly stacked redhead, now completely nude, straightened and turned toward the bed. In her hand was a slender riding crop.
"You keep asking me to use this, Sherman!"
Wilson felt helplessly fascinated at the purposeful way she tapped the leather against the palm of her hand.
"Tell me who that was with you!" Her eyes were angry bright and she stared at his groin.
"No! Look ... not when you're like that!" he cried, suddenly twisting to his side to protect a cock that now dangled rubbery-soft across his thigh.
"That was my Julia, Sherman!" She spat the accusation and timed the snap of the whip across his rump at the instant she cried her daughter's name.
"Baby ... I can..."
"You can go to hell, that's what you can do!" shrieked Vivien, flailing again and again at his buttocks.
From the first snap of the whip, pinpricks of pleasure-pain seered through his body and drove a heavenly torture to his crotch. What Vivien intended as punishment was precisely the reverse. Wilson recalled finding the love whip on a visit to Morocco, but Vivien never had been willing to use it. Now in a vengeful fury, her assault was having a strange effect. He was face down against the sheet, legs pressed tightly together, arms clutched beneath him across his waist.
"You stole her innocence, Sherm!" Vivien screamed, laying the leather thong over the back of his thighs and across his wiggling ass cheeks.
"No, Vivien! No!" he pleaded. He was not really suffering, and Vivien seemed to be inflamed at the sight of the involuntary grinding of his tail.
"Why, Sherman? Why?" The thong laced across his flesh and now a familiar warning was beginning to churn inside him.
"Because I had to, damn you!" he barked, suddenly not really feeling any pain and twisting violently onto his back before the whip. "Go ahead! Slice it off!" A rampaging hard-on was forming at a pulsing perpendicular as Vivien stopped and stared at the response to her assault. Her anger seemed to wash away.
"You had to?"
"Yes, I had to! Julia's ready. Ready! I wanted to be first." His hand shot to grip his phallus and he began an urgent frigging. "Oh God, Vivien ... she's not you, but she's a natural!"
"Don't! I don't want to hear." She was empty-handed when she dropped to crouch at his hip and reached for his tortured cock. There appeared to be an irresistible need in her to take him at exactly the point her daughter had left him and for several frantic minutes the only sounds between the two were the groans of his mounting passion and the slurping sweet madness of Vivien's lips.
At first Vivien wasn't certain what gave the man's hot flesh a different taste. Time after time, she'd taken him in fellatio, but there was a fragrant lightness to the tarty maleness of his cock this time. Julia! It had to be! Some of her sweet spunk bath still coated the shaft. Sherman's phallus suddenly became a very special erection. This was the male spear that had overwhelmed her daughter and driven her from childhood to womanhood, whatever later thoughts she might have for the man, for the present she felt an odd gratitude. How rare, she thought: a mother present for the greatest moment in her daughter's life.
Wilson stared across the front of his body and his prick stabbed into her face. Vivien knew exactly what he needed to see. There was something overwhelmingly erotic about the man. She tongued under the broad ledge of the crown and he moaned in agony. Impudently she forced the glistening crimson cock almost totally out of her mouth and then lip-nibbled voraciously across the broad, dark surface.
The outside play was short-lived. Vivien loved the special madness that flooded through her when the spray charged against the roof of her mouth. The pulsing began low at the root of his shaft, then raced seconds ahead of his ejaculation to tell her it was coming. , "Oooohh , . . Viv ... I'm...! " Wilson writhed happily as his crisis took him and his vision seemed blurred in a climax cloud. Then he sagged limply to his back and drew deep breaths as he looked gratefully at her.
When Julia fled the bedroom of the owner of The Buccaneer, her one thought had been to put distance between herself and a situation that had gone far beyond her capacity to control. A tidal wave of guilt had flooded through her as she dashed from, the apartment. In a few short minutes she had betrayed everything that had been trained into her by her elders, her mother, her teachers-every one.
She floor-boarded the pedal of the golf cart and a hysterical wave of self-recrimination washed past and a needling new thought prodded her.
Betrayed? Betrayed what elders? Sherman Wilson is as elder as you can get.
The golf cart ground to a halt. Perplexed, Julia sat staring at her fists, gripped so tightly to the steering wheel that her knuckles showed white.
Relax! She scolded herself, dropping her hands to her lap and taking a deep breath. For several minutes she forced herself to think of what had happened, step-by-step, in the relationship with Wilson that had made him do what he did. It hadn't been a one-way street, she decided. From the very beginning, she had been trying to make him aware of her grown-up femaleness and she had succeeded. Really succeeded!
A tremor moved along her spine as she remembered his cock deep within her body. She could still feel the muscles where her cunt walls were stretched by that wonderful pole. And the man's orgasm had been like the eruption of Vesuvius-hot, cascading love lava. Then the impetuous way he drove himself between her lips! The taste of a man! like wild tiger meat must taste! Such a ninny she had been! If she hadn't panicked, his cum would have shooting against the roof of her mouth in about one more second!
She stepped from the cart and turned back to the apartment door, pausing just as her finger was. about to press the bell. She had slammed the door hard when she ran from the place, and the lock hadn't caught. All the better. If she was going to make her apology real, it would be twice as hard with him coming to the door. What she wanted him to know was a kind of gratitude that would be hard enough to express in the privacy inside. Standing on his doorstep would make it impossible.
At the precise instant that Julia crossed the little foyer into the living room, what sounded like the slap of leather ricocheted from the bedroom beyond.
"No, Vivien! No!" came an unbelievable cry. For long, unmoving minutes, Julia stood petrified in the foyer, unable to force herself across the living room to see what she knew must be happening in that bedroom.
Crazy words interspersed with the slap of angry leather burst from her mother's lips..."You can go to hell! ... You stole her innocence, Sherm!"
There were crazier responses from Mr. Wilson. "I had to! ... Go ahead ... slice it off..."
She visualized her mother with a knife in her hand about to mutilate the man's upright love organ and she started across the living room.
like a bolt came the next cry from the tortured male. "Julia's ready! Ready! I wanted to be first!" she heard him scream. "Oh God, Vivien ... she's not you, but she's a natural!"
Dumbfounded, Julia pressed against the wall beside the door to the bedroom, terrified but feeling a compulsion to look. That her mother should even be in the room was incredible-but what that man had just said..."She's not you, Vivien!" The whole world Julia had known as firm and fixed was spinning madly into outer space.
The sounds drew her. There was no way to avoid looking, and the slow, juicy, sucking sounds pulled her like a magnet. From the moans of the man and the sound of her mother's preoccupation, Julia was certain that the two were too wrapped in desire to be aware of anyone but themselves.
When she peeked around the edge of the door, Wilson was lying at right angles to her and her Mums was completely involved with a cock that jammed its way into her mouth. Julia never had seen an expression like that on her mother's face-a kind of bewitching radiance as she bent to a task she obviously loved.
Julia gaped at the straining front of Sherman Wilson. His back was arched deeply and she watched him force his hands under his buttocks and press himself upward to shove more of his phallus into her mother's eager lips.
A wild catalogue of the "no-no's" her mother had spelled out over the years stormed into her mind. Was it possible this was the same woman who had given her lectures about being careful around boys-about how a man would do a woman if she forgot about virtue?
"Ohhh ... Viv ... Viv ... I'm...! " The frantic pelvic heaving as Wilson discharged his cum load deep between her mother's lips sent Julia running back to the door.
It was three hours later when the final cottage in her housekeeping station had been cleaned. In late morning, as she moved numbly through the list of the routine, dusting, changing linen, emptying the waste baskets, The Buccaneer switchboard operator called her.
"Your mother wants you to ring her, Julia," she said.
"All right. Thank you." Julia hoped the shock she still felt didn't show in her voice. "No way," she murmured to herself as she turned back to her work.
The idea of talking to her mother, of even having to look at her later in the day, was too much for the moment. A crazy-quilt pattern filled her mind. Maybe it all did make sense. Mr. Wilson. Her mother. Her father's drinking. Could he know? she asked herself. Or did his drink drive Vivien to another man? Then another thought: where did Kurt Reichard come in? Had his brazenness, forcing her to hold his proud stud cock, been an accident? Or were they all in on it together?
Wearily, Julia pushed her cleaning cart to the storage cabin and walked quickly away before her mother could spot her from the window of the linen house. For the rest of the day she was determined to disappear from the world, burrow deep under the pillows on her bed and make believe the insanity of the morning had really never happened.