Chapter 5
When Sam returned to the room after several minutes, he was dressed only in a big, woolly bathrobe.
Linda had not moved and her eyes were closed.
Sam put the blanket over her, pulling it up around her shoulders, letting his fingers trace her breasts on the way. The sleek texture of the skin made him bite his lip with repressed desire.
Linda opened her eyes.
"What happened to Des?" she asked.
"Have some more horse," Sam said, ignoring the question and offering her some of the white powder heaped up on the little knife.
Linda shook her head.
"Where's Des?" she repeated.
"I'm afraid you lost out on that one," Sam said slowly. "He went off with the bruised beauty you scrapped with."
"The bastard-oh, the bastard!" Fresh tears came to Linda's eyes. How could he treat her like that after what she'd just been through? And it was all his fault in the first place.
Sam sniffed a little horse philosophically.
"That's Des," he said. "You didn't expect to keep him interested forever, did you?"
Linda closed her eyes again, and the tears oozed out from under the lashes.
"You don't want to go and get stuck on someone like Des," Sam was adding. "He's got too many irons in the fire."
Linda hated Des in that moment. He had dared to go off with that naked, cunt-wriggling bitch. Even now he was probably fucking her in the back of the car-or maybe she had a place somewhere. She felt an overwhelming desire to revenge herself in some way, a desire to hurt Des, to make him feel again about her the way he must feel about the other girl at the moment.
She sat up and the blanket fell away from her breasts. She noticed Sam for the first time, saw his eyes fall to the points of her teats.
"Where's Betty?"
"In the bedroom with Jim. They figured you'd need to sleep a bit and be quiet."
"I think I'll have some more horse after all." Linda stretched out her hand to take the knife from him. As she did so she noticed the fine, dark hair on the back of his hands.
"Nasty scratches you've got on your shoulder should have something on them," Sam said.
Linda nodded indifferently, sniffing back the powder.
"Take some more if you want it," Sam said, putting the box down on an occasional table beside the divan. "I'll get some iodine for those battle wounds."
When he'd disappeared, Linda took another heap of horse, feeling, in some strange way, that that in itself was an act of rebellion against Des.
By the time Sam reappeared a few minutes later, Linda was already feeling better. She watched him arrange the bottle and cotton wool on the table, open the top, soak the cotton wool. He seemed to work very slowly and deliberately.
He took her arm, taking his eyes off her breasts again with an effort.
"That stuff makes me feel better already, Sam," she confided as she winced from the slight sting of the dressing.
"Oh, yes," Sam assured her. "It's infallible. You'll feel better still in a few more minutes."
The very fact of admitting how much better she felt had seemed to add to the improvement. She began to feel calm and quite content. She could hardly understand why she'd bothered to cause so much fuss. She felt slightly ashamed. It seemed all so unnecessary.
"That sting?" Sam asked.
"A bit."
She looked at him when she spoke, something she'd hardly ever done before. He was not bad looking really, she thought.
Sam caught her look and smiled. His eyes fell back on her breasts as she looked away and the lump grew in his throat.
"Move your arm in a bit," he ordered, feigning difficulty in painting the cuts.
Linda brought her arm in against her body and his fingers were gently crushed against the hot bulge of a breast. They pressed against the flesh, indenting it slightly.
Sam couldn't concentrate on what he was doing after that. His whole awareness went down into those hotly-crushed fingers. The waxy flesh seemed to envelop them in a tender embrace.
Now Linda felt good. She couldn't believe that a minute or two ago she'd felt lousy. What the hell did she care about Des? There were plenty more fish in the sea.
She became aware of the fingers against her breast, warm, tender fingers; she felt them with a great clarity of sensation. She looked up at Sam who'd stopped dabbing her arm and was looking at her with his eyelids slightly drooping.
She felt his fingers move against her breast and she pressed his hand close with a pressure of her soft arm.
Sam's lips opened as if he was going to say something, but instead, he swooped suddenly and kissed her nipple. She put her hand against his face, holding it, cool and smooth against her hot breast, and she felt him suck on the nipple. A quiver ran down her spine and she thrust her nipple and the breast behind it against his lips, ramming it into his mouth.
Sam eased her gently back on the divan and came down beside her. She winced as he brushed against the injured arm, but then his lips were on hers and she was floating away just as on that first night, when she and Betty had taken marihuana.
He licked her lips with his tongue and she pressed her body against him, feeling the warmth of him through the blanket and his robe.
It's so easy and so wonderful, she was thinking. So easy to forget Des. Who was Des ? Somebody she'd known for a week or two. Somebody who cared so little for her that he'd go off to bed with another woman just like that. And it was so easy not to care. It didn't matter at all to her. It really didn't matter at all, she thought with a cloudy passion as her teeth grated against Sam's. There were so many others. The world was so big-and she could do anything. She had power-power was growing in her. At the moment it was power over Sam, power over herself so that she could enjoy, and nothing else would matter at all, everything else was insignificant, all fights, arguments, school, parents, no money. She was at peace, at peace in passion. She could lose herself willingly in the wonderful purging peace and satisfaction that passion brought.
"Oh Sam!" she breathed, as his hand went back to her breasts, fondling them as if they were a face he was trying to recognize in the dark.
"I've wanted you for a long time, Linda," he breathed back brokenly. He knew it now, although it had only translated itself into thought this very evening when he'd seen her breasts suddenly fleshy and naked, inviting a covering hand.
He pulled the blanket away and it fell with a rustle to the floor. He pulled the cord of his robe and wriggled it off, and her hands swept over his body like flames. God, how he lived for these moments: a new body he didn't know, the sudden utter intimacy with someone who was strange and now needed him as badly as he needed her.
Her hands caressed his warm flesh, leaving a fresh flush on every spot they touched. He pressed his loins against her and felt the hand wander over his behind, pushing the buttocks against her, moving onto his hip, resting there, and then pushing in between their bodies, searching for his source of power. He moved his hips off her and the hand burned his prick as it seemed suddenly to envelop it like hot liquid, stroking, exploring, grasping, squeezing.
He gasped into her mouth which opened under his and the gasp was stifled by the slippery phallus of her tongue uncovering further intimacies between them.
She wriggled against him and he felt the points of her breasts brush sharply against his chest. He pressed his chest against them and rubbed his body across their taut expanse, savoring the flesh which had first translated into thought his desire for her.
The flames of her hands had kindled a great overwhelming spark in his body; his body was roaring, making a strange roaring sound which he knew, after a time, to be in his head.
"My God, my God," he groaned as she squirmed against him.
His hands moved with separate lives, dragging her torn briefs off her hips. Her thighs, the texture of her soft, willing body was like water around him, caressing with an ethereal touch, sweeping up his limbs, devouring his hips in the sudden shock which water inflicts.
Fingers, thrilled with their own sensation, moved up between her thighs, brushed the wet flanges of flesh, and came into contact with the short, hard little cord.
For some seconds he brushed against it and around it, not understanding and then realization and a keen disappointment shadowed coldly, angrily in his chest.
"Why the hell didn't you say you were having your period?" he demanded.
Linda's mind came back down through the clouds of forgetfulness and exulting pleasure to the coldness, the repressed fury of his tone. It took her several seconds to realize what he had said.
"God, I forgot I clean forgot."
After a few more seconds she began to giggle and in a few more Sam began to laugh, too. It was the first time he had ever heard of such a thing.
The laughter and the proximity of their bodies and the lingering flush of desire revived a sense of lost passion between them. Their frustration was acute. Now was the moment they desired. The thought that they could make love in a day or two was no balm.
Linda could feel Sam's penis hot and heavy against her hips. She herself felt as if she had been half-opened and then left to rot in her desire, but there was nothing to be done. That was the way she was, and she knew she'd still be bleeding although she felt no pain. She had always been very glad that she felt no pain when she menstruated. But at this moment it seemed like a curse that there was no pain. If she'd suffered the dull, throbbing pain and sharp spasm that Betty had to endure, it would have reminded her, prevented her from permitting their lovemaking to start with its fatal frustration.
She lay against Sam, his warmth still covering her, the sense of peace and mingled desire still quivering through her. Again she felt his penis heavy against her loins and she couldn't resist putting her hand down on it, brushing her fingertips along its fleshy, smooth length. How similar they all were, she thought. It could easily have been Des. She wondered if women struck men as being all the same.
Sam strained against her, his penis shooting like a boom over her rounded belly.
"I'm sorry, Sam," she murmured as she stroked him. "I honestly forgot all about it. I never have any pain and the horse must have put it right out of my mind."
His answer was a panted grunt. If it had been a word she didn't understand what it was.
She liked the feel of his prick in her hand, liked to be giving him pleasure and it stirred in her the echo of his impassioned loins. If only she weren't indisposed. She gritted her teeth with annoyance.
Then, as she fondled his organ, she felt Sam's hands on her shoulders, pulling her gently. She resisted automatically, but then let herself go where he pulled, leaving herself in his hands.
He pulled and pushed her gently over on the divan, pushing her away from him so that she lay on her side with her back towards him.
Puzzled, she had let go of his prick. She lay on her side with one of her arms under her neck, one hand clasping her breast, the other across her hip. She felt him slither his hips at her, wriggling close so that he touched her back and buttocks.
What was he doing? She lay still, aware of his faint, changing pressure against her bottom. She felt his penis nudging the convexities of flesh, felt his hand down there and then felt the penis again being guided by the hand between the buttocks close to her leg junction, not far from the posterior end of her labia.
Trembling slightly as his intention became half known to her, she lay prostrate and loose, waiting for him to take charge.
She felt his hips thrust at her gently, felt the long spear press between the buttocks, moving one away from the other as if he were boring a hole between them. She felt the prod, the sharp sensation as if she were squatting on the lavatory, about to open her bowels. Yes. She knew. He was going to fuck her at her ass-hole. She shivered, not knowing whether she was shocked and revolted, recognizing in herself all the reactions of doubt and disgust that various books she'd read had implanted, that various people she'd spoken to had fanned. She'd always been brought up to dislike homosexuality. It was unnatural, people said and as far as she knew, it might be, but she'd never understood exactly why everybody made such a fuss about it when it never affected them at all.
Now she was face to face with a variation of the problem. Sam's organ was pushing against the hairless, tight rim of her anus and she was subconsciously closing it against him surely his prick was too big to get in, anyway.
Thoughts and half-thoughts whirled in her head. What would Betty think if she told her? How many girls indulged in it? Perhaps it was the usual thing during menstruation? How would she feel afterwards? Was it possible? And all the time Sam was pushing and breathing fast and she'd clamped her cheeks around his prick and was closing the little bud to him.
"Relax, baby," he whispered after a few minutes' effort.
She didn't answer. She felt him slither off the bottom of the divan, sensed him moving to a cupboard behind her. She heard the chink of bottle, a silence and then he had slumped down behind her again and was pressing warmly, nakedly against her.
She would have to tell him to stop. It was no good. She wriggled her bottom away from him, felt his penis slip greasily on her buttocks (so that's what he'd done) and then his hand came quickly around her hip, easily, cunningly like a snake and rifled between her legs. She stopped wriggling and heat seared down between her thighs. With a sharp shock she felt his fingers on her clitoris which hardened almost immediately and she gave a little squeal of passion. In that moment she felt his prick stab back between the fleshy cheeks and she wanted to give, with his fingers massaging her clitoris and her loins suddenly consumed with sensation she wanted to give, to yield up her anus as a sacrifice.
"Go on then, Sam," she panted. And she pushed her buttocks back at him, feeling the weight of rod move again onto the little bud.
No longer was it closed to him. She strained as if she was trying to shit. She pushed her behind back at him. He was exactly there. She could feel the point of his prick like an arrowhead, exactly on target.
She gasped and wriggled her crotch, brushing her thighs against his hand, her loins aching, wanting to give at the same time as they received. It was going to be difficult. She could feel that. His crushing knob was hurting even though she was sure it hadn't entered yet. She wondered what her stepfather would think if he could see her mother! She felt an un-uttered laugh of exultation sweep over her and she brought her thighs up in front of her, stretching her bottom backwards onto the weapon. She was safe from them now. Now she had pot and horse and the gang, and Sam with his desire to fuck her behind.
She could feel him slipping in and out between her buttocks, brushing against the few hairs there which she'd tried to cut with the scissors. It had always seemed obscene to have hairs growing around her anus, much more so than around her vagina. She would have to get Betty to take them out with tweezers now. She felt the exultation again, the desire to laugh. Whatever he'd put on his prick had made it easier.
She gave a gasp and straightened her legs in pain as she felt the thick entry. It was an overpowering hurt which constricted her throat and brought tears to her eyes. like being deflowered all over again, but this time it was more painful still. Nobody ever fingered her anus much to make it easier.
Sam lay still, not removing his penis. She could feel the thick stub in her like a lodged bullet. She groaned softly, but she still wanted to give. The turmoil in her loins was a cauldron of seething excitation and Sam was still rubbing her own little erection which seemed to stretch out, rigidly for his fingers.
With a determined movement she brought up her thighs again and pushed back at him. She bit her lip and her head arched back on her neck in pain. He was too big. But I must, she gritted, I must. He was too big. But I must, and it will soon be over once he's in.
The pain became constant and that in itself was an easing. No worse to follow. He felt enormous in her. It made a monster of a penis to have it in your behind.
He was pressing his belly against her buttocks, undulating gently back and forth. She wriggled with the pain and moved her thighs back against him, but now he was well in, and her movement didn't stop him; he simply fucked in and out between her closed buttocks, gasping all the while, as if his prick was being torn off him, until she pushed up her legs again.
She felt as if her ass was being sliced into separate halves like some soft fruit which came apart as the fingers touched it. But now the pain had mingled into a strange sensation of stimulation and pleasure at that little, stretched, hairless hole between her buttocks. It was stimulating her loins, her vagina. She really wanted it now, and more of it.
As if he had sensed her mood, she felt Sam's hands pushing her over onto her face. He slithered over onto her, balancing his loins on the slack 'cushion of her buttocks as she lay with her face pressed onto the divan, her loins crushed between it and his, feeling his great, relentless shaft threading her in, in, in, mercilessly.
She pushed out her legs from under him, splaying them out so that he had better access to the canyon between her cheeks. The weight of him on her, all his bodyweight behind his penetration made her feel more mastered, more dominated, more giving and desiring and passionate. Her loins were stirring with every thrust he made. The pain had transformed it-, self into almost unadulterated physical pleasure. There was a certain masochism in it but it was her pleasure. She wanted it now, more and more until she was fulfilled as she knew she would be.
Gently she wriggled her behind and felt Sam thrusting harder, digging deeper as a result of her sign. He was far into her bowels. Her bottom, her little bud which had opened into a wide, voracious flower, seemed more naked than she could have imagined. She felt that he had everything she was capable of giving, that she was at her lowest and yet her most exalted at the same time.
He was sliding in easily now, with grunts and moans and murmurs of a passion which seemed to make him inhuman. Her anus felt wet and wide and her buttocks and vagina were hot and tingling.
Linda squirmed her thighs against the bed on either side of him. She swung her calves up as if to encircle him. Her legs swung wildly, aimlessly on either side of him, as he dug into her, lunging his stiffness with a tearing stab through the open portals of her anus lips.
She pressed her loins into the divan, straining, enclosing his penis so tightly that for a moment he found difficulty in moving it at all, and then she relaxed and the brutal rhythm began again in time to Sam's moanings and her own stifled groans and tremblings.
He was heavy on her, but she didn't want it to stop. This was a new wonder, a new delight and she could feel the squeezing in her belly, like an announcement, "Oh Sam! oh Sam!" she breathed, crushing her hot face into the divan.
She felt her helplessness and was both frightened and exulted by it. Sam, who hardly knew her, was impaling her from above, had speared her solidly up her anus, crushed into her rectum so that now she couldn't escape even if she wanted to, until he had done with her, until he had shot his load deep into her bowels, past the outer flesh which was the most that many men were ever to know of her. And she didn't want to escape. No, not for a moment. She wanted to take all he'd got and in taking she would give. She would wriggle and squirm to delight him with, the brushing of her flesh under his, with her subjection to his will.
Deep in her loins she felt the movement and she gasped and crushed her lips against the divan as if it was Sam, until her teeth were bared.
The movement grew like a revolution, pervading her loins, becoming her loins until all was swept before it and she felt the wild, tickling, paining, delighting surge towards her orifice. She gasped and gasped and gasped again with Sam still threading her in a paroxysm of activity. With a furious movement she squirmed herself into the divan spread-eagling her legs one way and then the other under him as the flood swept her vagina and ran stickily down the insides of her thighs and the tears of passion filmed her eyes.
Sam was aware of her tremor, knew she had come, and her climax seemed to signal to his, to draw it inevitably towards its completion.
He slid his hands under her soft belly and pulled himself back onto his knees behind her, easing her up onto her knees without coming out of her back passage.
She came up willingly, spreading her thighs wide, on her knees. Her bottom rounded and stretched in front of his eyes like a sensual moon with a deep split down the center. He gritted his teeth as his eyes took in her helpless nudity, her inescapable ravishment.
He saw his prick sucking out of her and plunging in again, and his gaze was fascinated by its obscene disappearance into this other hole of a girl he'd never even fucked naturally.
His hands roved over her buttocks lovingly and then seized them savagely bringing out red marks on their smooth, white flesh. "You beauty," he thought. "You lovely, sexy beauty."
Now as he fucked her ass she began to rotate it, pressing it back at him as if she loved every second of his penetration. He watched the undulating moon with a sadistic pressure in his chest. Every time he lunged into her he flicked his belly against the soft buffer of the rump with a last savage determination to plunge as deep as possible, and each time he was satisfied by her sudden gasp as if he had torn her passage a little with the thrust.
He moved his hands up to her waist, gripped it with a maniacal strength, so that she squirmed on the end of his impalement. He moved his weight forward, leaning on her heavily, and the top half of her body flattened out like a children's slide, her head crushing again onto the divan.
He fixed his eyes on her sideways-turned face. It was flushed and wracked with torment, his torment. Her curved back below him was slim and strong. He ran his hands along its firm sides as he leaned, and undulated his hips against her buttocks.
His penis felt as if it were swollen to several times its size, an abnormal, bloated, excruciating sensation. Her passage was slippery now, but it was still tight enough to suck at his organ on the withdrawal, reluctant to release him.
His hips were a mass of hot thrusting. He knew he was not far from coming and he wanted to get everything he could out of it. How lucky she was having her period, he thought, biting his lip as he rammed, pressing his thighs against the inside of hers, pushing her knees out farther apart, stretching her slim anal orifice a little more.
A whoosh of breath shot from his lips with every grinding stroke. His knob felt delightfully sore as it swept into the soft, dark depths. When he was in up to his hair, the elastic rim of her ass-hole clung around the base of his prick like a broad, tight rubber band.
He fucked and fucked into the tight, vulnerable slit, spreading her below him so that she groaned with his powerful, tissue-tearing entry. His penis was heavy, full of its burden, his loins blazing into one great pain.
His buttocks tightened and hollowed as he rammed in, his hands grasped her waist forcefully as he pulled her back onto him. He surged forward, directing her movement as if she were a flesh-and-blood puppet.
"Oh Sam," he heard her gasp as a brutal thrust gouged her. Her buttocks were warm as they slapped against his belly on the forward movement. He was aware all at once of her gasping cries as he wriggled even farther into her, of the soft warmth of her bottom, of the blazing in his loins which gathered and began to surge, of the exquisite tearing on his prick, of her twisted body helpless on the end of his penetration. It all grew into a cacophony of sensuality, a strange kaleidoscope of images: buttocks, back, twisted face, prick-surging, pain, gasping, exquisiteness, rushing, coming, yes, coming: now, now and with a sudden belly-rending acuteness of ecstasy he flooded into her ass, tide after tide of discharge, ramming in hard with each fresh spurt, throwing back his head as each fresh shower was torn from his tube of flesh and he saw her ass whirl and sway as she urged him through his final convulsion.
He stayed in her, exhausted, for several seconds, perhaps as long as a minute, leaning along her body, holding her to him around her hips.
"You're heavy Sam," she said at last and he released her. His penis flopped out of her as he sank down onto the divan beside her.
Now that it was over Linda felt a slight resurge of her feelings of before. Now that passion and the necessity of yielding had faded, she was aware only of the ache of her anus m and the sensation of moisture and of a thick object being still lodged in it, keeping it wide open and obvious for all to see and know.
She clamped her buttocks together and relaxed them several times. She felt slightly ashamed, yet she knew she'd do the same again in similar circumstances. For the moment she d completely forgotten about Des, Betty, Jim.
"You hurt me quite a bit," she said to Sam, not looking at him.
He leaned over and kissed her neck as she lay face downwards.
"Can't be helped," he said. "First time?"
She nodded, still not looking at him.
"Bound to, then," he affirmed, and he pulled her round so that she looked at him, and kissed her on the mouth.
They were both dressed before Betty and Jim appeared in the doorway.
"We fell asleep," Betty explained. "Feeling better now, Lindy?"
"Oh, yes." Linda clamped her buttocks together under the summer dress. "Much better, thank you."