Chapter 5
Morning found April seated at the kitchen table reading a note left by Gordon. The eventually deciphered scrawl informed her that Gordon had gone to Tyrone, a town on the other side of the Seven Sisters hills, to ask someone a few questions about something.
To ask someone a few questions about something? Beyond the Seven Sisters hills? In Tyrone? April tucked the tip of her tongue in the pocket of her left cheek. Why in hell hadn't Gordon mentioned this intended trip to Tyrone last night? Tyrone. She shook her head. The name didn't ring a bell. Nor did the Seven Sisters hills. Nothing did. Amnesia continued to grip her mind. Shit.
April went to the bedroom and struggled into a pair of faded jeans, blouse and sandals, then slipped out into the new day.
She walked slowly down the narrow ribbon of dirt road, across the hooded plank bridge and moved across the wet meadow. She plucked a juicy red apple from a crooked tree and munched on it as she moved aimlessly through the lush orchard. Her eyes roamed around, then lifted toward the heavens. Overhead the sky was beautiful. Fluffy white pillows of clouds drifted lazily and the orange blob of sun warmed. Birds sang and somewhere in the forest she heard a dog yapping in pursuit of something.
April smiled.
And kept walking, looking, listening, smelling. And thinking.
A horn honked, cutting into her thoughts, bringing back the dark shadows to her brain. She whirled toward the dirt road that slashed the heart of the meadow and saw Pop Westrum waving at her from his battered pickup. Breasts rocked behind the boyish white blouse that covered them; her heart hammered with excitement. Pop. If she treated him right, maybe he would slip up and tell her something about Dr. Gordon Archer ... and maybe about herself. It was worth a try ...
"Which way were you heading when I drove up?" Pop asked as she climbed into the ancient pickup. "Toward the village?"
April shook her head. "I got hungry for some fresh air and took a walk. I was about to return to the lodge when you arrived. Mind driving me there?"
"My pleasure." Pop set the truck in motion with a grind of gears that made April wince before he added, "Doing anything for or with you is always a pleasure."
Always? She couldn't recall meeting this old pervert before yesterday ...
Pop slid the pickup to a stop in front of the lodge. April went up the short flight of stairs ahead of him, feeling his hot eyes burning into her jean-covered ass. She smiled coldly and thought, I might have to get my panties dusted again, but before he leaves here, I'm going to get some answers out of him.
Pop Westrum wasn't interested in spanking April this morning. The moment they walked into the living room and before she could even offer him a drink, he trapped her in his arms and kissed her. His mouth was hard and demanding and the feel of his lips was enough to send shivers of repulsion icing up and down her spine. She started to tear her mouth away from his, caught herself as she remembered that he was somehow entangled with her past and with this in mind she parted her lips to receive his tongue.
Pop's arms tightened around her body as he bolted his tongue past her teeth and he strained his groin against her pelvic area. Through the snug material of her jeans, April could feel the hardness of his ridiculously small cock punching against her cunt. She almost laughed as he made a growling sound deep in his throat and started to grind his immature sausage into her. Cripes, letting him stab her pussy with that little thing would be akin to sitting on a child's finger, but let him she would. She had something he wanted and he had something she wanted; she was willing to trade.
Nausea threatened and for a moment she experienced a twinge of fear, but the moment passed.
Without warning, Pop started to throw her emotions out of control by running his bony hands up and down her hips, kneading them with his fingers, making her ache and tingle all over with feelings she didn't want to experience, but couldn't avoid.
This old bastard was turning her on!
April's arms lifted and coiled around his hot neck as though they had a will of their own. Without awareness, she sucked his tongue down into her throat, simultaneously grinding and mashing her cunt over his small but firm erection. Trying to make him as hot as herself, succeeding.
Pop Westrum was lost now, trapped in a web of mounting excitement that blinded him to everything except the tempest of lust raging in his loins. His head twisted, his tongue jerked free of April's moist mouth. He licked her cheeks, her throat, her hair, all the while panting ... and poking at her covered cunt with his throbbing cock.
Suddenly, his bony hands left her slowly moving hips and darted between their bodies to find and cup her blouse-and-bra-covered breasts. Ache became a pleasure and April felt her nipples blossoming under the tweaking Pop was giving them with his eager fingers. There was a moan that began deep within her throat and momentarily jumped out of her mouth in the form of a bizarre, shrill shriek before it turned into a parade of words that begged Pop to, "Fuck me, old man, fuck me!"
Pop rasped, "I can't do it while you've got your clothes on."
"Then strip me, strip me!"
Pop barked a mean laugh and went to work on the buttons of her blouse. He was impatient, clumsy and it seemed as though it took forever before he managed to partly open her blouse, enough to reveal the upper hemispheres of her tits and the tantalizing cleft between them. He blinked, smacked his pink lips and then he moved his mouth down to the slender column of her neck and into the shadowy valley between her tumultuous tits.
April shuddered and whimpered with delight as each hungry swipe of Pop Westrum's long tongue drove her farther and farther up the invisible wall of passion. "Fuck me, old man! Throw me down on the floor and feed some cream to my hungry kitty!"
Pop smirked but made no answer. His hands came into motion again. He ran his bony fingers up along the ridge of her spine and fumbled for the clasps of her half-bra. He fumbled, found, loosened and a moment later April's glance dropped to watch her milk-white breasts dance into nakedness. She saw them, but only briefly, for the instant they were bared Pop dipped his head and trapped her jutting left nipple between his greedy lips. He started sucking and gnawing.
She whimpered, delirious with the pleasure she was feeling from this new, erotic contact. The pressure of this oldster's tense lips, his teeth, his tongue rimming the pink tip of her breast was driving her out of her wig. She froze, thawed, then screamed with delight and in a primitive burst of blind enthusiasm she locked both arms around the back of his skull to pull his face closer, silently wishing she could cram the entire breast he was feeding on inside his working mouth.
Unexpectedly, Pop Westrum stopped gnawing and sucking on her left nipple and permitted it to slip from between his expert lips. Without a word being spoken, they melted toward the floor in unison. The wood was damp and cold and hard, but April couldn't have cared less; she would have slept on a bed of nails in order to get the love cream from Pop's cock that would soothe and cool the heat now raging like a forest fire out of control within her tormented quim.
"My jeans," April panted. "Remove my jeans and panties, you dirty old man!"
Pop responded with clumsy eagerness. A zipper whispered in the silence, jeans loosened at the hip and April came up on her elbows to watch the ancient pussy hound tug them down to her trim ankles ... and all the way free of her body.
Pop tossed the jeans aside, but made no immediate move to remove her white bikini panties. The urge to caress her bubbled within him and he succumbed to it. His long fingers crawled over her breasts, down to her rounded stomach, over her slightly twitching hips and onto her gleaming thighs, moving like worms in a hurry. He tickled, teased and then his hands moved to the inner part of her thighs and slowly moved back and forth until April thought she would faint from the electrical bolts of pleasure that racked her body.
She tried to speak, a frustrated sputtering. "Now!" she managed finally. "Fuck me now, old man! Don't tease me anymore! Fuck me, damn you, fuck me!"
Pop said nothing and did nothing to appease her. A slightly cruel look glinted in his eyes as he zeroed in on her breasts again ... trapping a nipple ... sucking and gnawing on it with gusto while his bony fingers wriggled up and down the flesh of her inner thighs.
April's loins rioted; her hips jerked and she felt a growing wetness between her legs. A few heartbeats later her panties were soggy at the crotch from the cream that oozed from her crying cunt. The odor of her fluid mingled with her perfume and the sweat smell of Pop's body, filling the room with the muskiness of lust usually associated with an elaborate whorehouse. The smell excited and now her ass began to make slap-slap sounds against the hardwood floor as she tried desperately to gain relief from the burning agony that was blazing within her cunt-burning and begging for attention from the old man's cock.
Pop Westrum continued to ignore the frustration that embraced her. A warped smile played at the corners of his mouth as he wriggled his bony fingers upwards with maddening slowness and once again proceeded to tease the hot flesh of her quivering thighs.
"Are you ready?" he asked inanely, then laughed because he already knew the answer.
April seethed with desire. "Take me," she panted. "Take me, fuck me. Please, please, please fuck me!"
She took his hand impulsively and placed it on her crotch ... shivering as his palm collided with her still-covered quim ... and curbing the impulse to scream with pleasure as she felt a knuckle bump into her jutting clitoral spire. God, that tiny collision felt so wonderful!
"I want you!" she shrieked. "Take me, you old bastard, fuck me!"
Pop Westrum didn't. Not immediately.
Impatience mounted. April lifted her buttocks and rammed her pussy against the curved palm of his hand, using this way to tell him how desperately her cunt desired to be gored, massaged and released from bondage so that she could return to the world of sanity again.
Pop Westrum got the message and replied in his own perverse way. His fingers came alive, tickling the wet lips of her twinkie through the equally soggy material that covered them. Tickling. Gouging. Hurting. Withdrawing. Moving to where she could feel the pressure of his digit on her jutting pink clit. Stirring her. Making her moan and flinch as though she were being flogged with a cat o' nine tails, causing her to spew obscenities she would never have said under normal conditions.
"Spank me, fuck me, ream me, eat me, make me eat you, but do something! Sex, goddamn you for a stinking degenerate, give me your stiff prick! Do you hear me, you rotten son of a bitch? Fuck me, eat me, hurt me ... but do it now!"
Pop Westrum didn't seem to hear her for a moment and then he did. Ignoring the rivulets of sweat that coursed down his cheeks in a slow crawl, he crooked and hooked his long fingers into the waistband of April's panties and lifted the elastic away from her trembling belly. Then he slid the briefs downward and removed them. He tossed the wadded panties aside, moved between her gaping legs and then his fingers proceeded to prowl through the damp area of her pubic forest in search of her clitoris.
"Damn you," April hissed, "if you want me to come all over your stinking finger, that's a good way for it to happen!"
Pop barked a laugh and backed his hand away from her clit. Quickly, viciously, he shoved his middle finger between the drooling lips of her quim and started to masturbate her.
The shock of his finger penetrating, then working back and forth, made April's twinkie drip like a leaky faucet. Orgasm threatened. She fought it. She didn't want it. Not without a tongue or a cock inside of her seeping slit.
Pop's finger kept moving for a few more seconds, then stopped and withdrew from between the lips of her pussy and on the heel of this he rasped, "Now we're going to get down to brass tacks, naughty little girl. Spread your legs ... and get ready to grind those hips of yours while I make you cream. Yawn 'em, girl, yawn 'em!"
April scissored her shapely legs as wide as she possibly could to give his miniature penis full access to her slippery slit. Pop zeroed in for the kill and rammed his tiny tool into her hot pussy. He wasn't huge but April felt him and it made her remember something she had forgotten, that it wasn't how much you had but how well you used it that made the difference. And Pop Westrum knew how to use his cock. Man, did he ever know how to use it!
He gored, backed off and gored again and his movements brought April to life. She ground her hips and pumped her buttocks up and down with piston-like precision, meeting the old man thrust for thrust, moaning and sobbing as passion grew stronger and stronger by the moment and threatened to devour her.
And then it happened ... suddenly and without warning. She grunted ... and bombed in orgasm.
It was an explosion that shredded her bowels and sent flak ripping through every part of her body, wounding her soul, her breasts, her cunt ... and even her ass. And April wished it would never end.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she screamed and now her hips went berserk. "Oh, god, I'm coming so much ... !"
"Come away," Pop Westrum croaked. "You won't be by yourself. Feel me squirting into your cunt? Do you feel me popping my wad into your naughty little pussy?"
"Yes, oh, yes!" April shouted ... and she did feel his hot juices mingling with hers ...
Pop kept ejaculating ... and fucking like a lust-crazed rabbit. He rammed, backed up, then rammed into April's cunt again ... gushing and gushing until the last droplet of passion fluid drained out of his whang ... making her spasm and spasm over and over with him.
April's was the wildest of releases. The room tilted, upended, slid over the edge of blackness and vanished. She moved into a cottony vacuum where nothing breathed, nothing moved and the only tangible thing that could be called reality was the already softening cock slithering in and out of her cunt. She was completely out of it ... lost in ecstasy ... engulfed in the roaring vortex of a post-orgasmic daze.
So engulfed, in fact, that by permitting the whirlpool of post-orgasm to suck her under, she didn't hear the front door of the lodge open until it was too late ... for anything.
The door opened, the door slammed shut and then a loud, angry voice boomed, "You sorry son of a bitch, Pop, I told you to watch April, not fuck her!"
Pop Westrum stiffened as though someone had shoved a broom handle up his ass. His wilting whang jumped out of April's dripping quim and a pulse beat later the startled and obviously terrified oldster threw his body to one side and rolled clear of her.
"Sorry son of a bitch!" the angry voice echoed. "Filthy, revolting son of a bitch!"
April came to a sitting position on the floor, breath dead for a few seconds, eyes large in their sockets. Then her lungs started to function properly again. Her breasts trembled, but she couldn't speak, or move. Standing before her like an apparition from the darkest depths of hell, his body silhouetted against the noon sunlight that crowded the doorway, was the man who had turned back and fucked-up the calendar in her mind ... Dr. Gordon Archer!
And he had caught her getting the meat slapped to her pussy by old Pop Westrum!