Chapter 13
Nola stopped talking, tensed to enjoy every talented movement of Fritz' finger inside her agitated pussy. "That," she shuddered through a spell-binding climax, "was the first time I ever was-" she felt herself blushing "-fucked."
Fritz nuzzled her graceful neck. "The first time."
"And not the last," she laughed ruefully. "There were nights in the backyard, in the backseats of cars, at the movies. But I never did get around to going down on him."
She laid back so Fritz could minister a finger into her butt hole after crudely removing her panties. "Aaaaaggggghhhhh," she groaned with relish. "I never blew his cock. He never- Oooohhhh, that's delicious-cornholed me, either. He ate my cunny for me, though. I liked that. But not as much as having him fuck me."
Clumsily, she helped him out of his clothes while he kept his fingers socked to the first knuckles in her bowels and her honey pot. She had worked herself into a position of being on all-fours, presenting her rear end to him, so he could continue his digital work on her two seething passages.
Also, it allowed her a first-hand close-up of his paraphernalia. She inspected his over-grown stud equipment minutely, pealing back the foreskin to examine the immense red glans, the thick corona, the heavy shaft that would measure at least eight inches, not including the glans. And she weighed the contents of his nut basket in the palm of a sweaty hand. "How do you charge?" she marveled, "By the pound? The quart?"
She heaved her unprotected naked ass back onto his active fingers and purred and cooed as he brought her to an anal and vaginal orgasm.
"Want to suck my cock?" Fritz asked casually as she slowly jacked him off with both hands.
Nola studied the big snake eye and squeezed a fine honey like a tear drop from it. "I don't think so," she said studiously. "I will another time, though," she said cheerfully, hoping she didn't disappoint him. "Marvelously huge torpedo," she blew her hot breath on the smooth-skinned head. "I think I'd rather have this missile fired into my submarine. Want to take me on dog-fashion? Or do you want to fuck me with me on my back? I like cock shafted in me both ways." She almost added he could give her a hard cornholing, if he wanted to. But she so needed several pounds of prick pounded into her pussy right then.
Fritz didn't reply, but she heard the faint rustle of his movement. In a moment, he mounted her, his hairy chest rubbing harshly like sandpaper up over the smooth, rounded cheeks of her defenseless butt. He wrapped his long arms around her waist. Fingers of one hand doodled the outer lips of her pussy apart into a wide, reddish grin and the other lifted his heavy projectile and he propelled it with an almost savage lunge right up her snatch, almost into her womb.
"Goddddddaaaaammmmmnnnn," Nola exhaled, feeling faint from the unexpected plunge of prodigious prick into her craving and sex-craven pussy.
His fingers dug into her quivering flanks. Nola gasped for breath. "Do you always try to split a woman from asshole-pussy to belly button when you slam your cock into her? I wasn't going to suck your cock right now-and I think you just gave me a tonsillectomy. I truly believe I can taste your salty cock and could just about chew on the head."
But she scooched her ass back on his impaling prod so that she had all of him, the outer lips of her cunny wrapped around the bole of his pussy-buster like a fleshy envelope.
"You got a wife?" she managed between moans of sheer ecstasy as he rotated his hips, reaming out her snug, gripping cavern.
"No," he huffed, hauling his cock out slowly and stuffing it back in quickly so that his husky balls slap-slapped loudly against her Venus mound.
Nola steadied herself by resting her forward weight on her head and a shoulder so she could reach down past her belly and feel his thick piston pumping in and out of her drippy snatch. "Love that perfect fit of cock and cunny," she whispered.
"Your twat is hot as an oven," Fritz grunted, rocking and socking the cock into her. "It feels just like you got the old mallard in a stewing pot."
"Only way to treat a ducky-wucky when we fucky," Nola chirped, rolling her body back so that her fanny smacked his groin on his forward, inner thrust. She caught his bag of big goodies and held them firmly against her stretched cuntal lips, applying pressure against her unsheathed clit that protruded from the warped smile of her coital crevice.
There was a wild singing in her ears as he bored and burrowed his prick into her farthest depths. She thought that the aroma of sex had never been more tantalizing, sniffing deeply of the musky, warm odor. And the solid sound of meat pounding into meat was a wonderful drumbeat in her ears.
"Aaaaiiiiieeee! Wonderrrrrrrful," she wheezed, letting her ass fly as he punched deep and she ripped into a roaring orgasm. Vaguely, she felt a shift of pressure of his hands. An arm looped down under her heaving belly and she felt a fumbling around her asshole.
She knew what he was contemplating, but before she could protest, he slipped his cock out of her spasming snatch and rammed it full-bore up her butt chute.
"Noooooooo!" she squalled-not giving a fuck-damn if Terry and Kenny heard. But he had already ripped his monstrous pole into her bowels and he was fucking her fast, pouring prick into her guts and she felt his head grow, his shaft expand and she knew that in four or five fast, deep thrusts he was going to unload his thick jizz in her asshole. But that was okay; he had shoved half of his fist into her snatch and she was cumming. . . .
"Oooooh, you son of a gun," she finally managed, sort of gloating over the erotic, heavenly feeling of his cannon exploding rampantly deep in her tempest-torn butt hole as he hosed gush after gush of torrid semen into her sex-famished rear canal.
"You really unwind your ball of yarn when you zero in on a gal's tightest, hottest hole, don't you," she gurgled, reveling in the massive prick-bloating of her ass and his doubled fingers churning up a tornado in her cunt.
Her ecstasy was so complete she began shaking her body as a dog would, setting her gorgeous, down-dangling tittie cones to swaying like inverted bells.
"Ding-dong, ding-dong," she laughed joyfully, "I got a long dong ringing my sex-bells."
"Shut up and keep fucking," Fritz chortled, again starting to pump his prick in and out of her asshole. Obediently, Nola matched his forward hunch with a backward toss of her passion-tormented bottom, capturing and biting down on his cock with her strong anal muscles.
"Can you ejaculate again?" she panted, fingers tangling in her hair as she clamored toward another tumultuous climax. "I hope you can," she added, really gorging herself on his appetizing bologna. "Fritz-darling, see if you can spear it up my ass on one stroke, pull it out on the back stroke, then fuck it into my pussy on the next heavenly push into me."
He missed the first time and the hot, throbbing head of his hard dick careened back into her bowels. "Missed that time," he grunted. But he slammed it into her cuntal bull's-eye the next try.
They quickly made the proper angle adjustments between her rectum and her vagina and never missed a plundering beat. "Whoopie!" Nola yelled triumphantly, "This is the way to fuck. Pump the prick to me! Slam it deep up my ass- in my twat! Just remember, I want you to shoot your jizz in my pussy this time."
When he climaxed, she followed just a beat or so behind him. He socked his cock to the balls in her cunt and lifted her up off her knees and she was pinioned in mid-air by his impaling phallus.
"Glug-glug-glug," Nola yipped, "I think your wonderful jizz is flowing into my throat and I can taste salty pecker. Keep it coming, Fritz. Fill my pussy to the hairy brim with cum."
In 1958, God was not dead; religion was not waning. At least the spirit burned bright in the hearts and minds of Reverend Jessica and Sister Roberta. As they supervised erection of the huge circus tent for a week of summer revival services in one end of the park in the small farming community, they exuded warmth and fellowship and brother-sisterhood.
Fritz Fleming was glad the revival had come to town when it did for a variety of reasons. The annual harvest was in and he was jobless. He wielded a heavy mallet with other men in driving steel tent pegs with a solid week of work guaranteed, kept on by the Reverend to set up benches and steel folding chairs and running errands.
And, when they found out he was an orphan there was mention of his accompanying them when the Lord's work was done in this town and moving on to the next with them, driving the Reverend's and Sister's station wagon. They would discuss his attending school when the time came, wherever they might be.
Whenever he looked up, from whatever he was doing, one of them or the other would be nearby, watching him. In their black or white service robes-like nuns or angels in Fritz eyes-they always had a warm smile, kind words and the stainless steel lidded buckets with iced tea or water.
He thought Sister Roberta would spend all of her time lingering near him, if Reverend Jessica didn't keep shooing her away to "take refreshments to others helping with this drudgery part of the Lord's work".
There was no speculating on their ages, Fritz pondered. Only one thing he was fairly certain of was that Reverend Jessica must be in her forties and Sister Roberta was no more than twenty-five.
He based his appraisal of Reverend Jessica's age on her facial features. When she would talk to him, her face only a foot or so from his, he could see lines at the comers of her eyes and her mouth, lines that careful application of cosmetics disguised at a distance. And he suspected she wore false teeth by the way she would pause sometimes in mid-sentence and kind of grind her jaws-silently, of course.
And he knew a slim waitress at the town's only cafe who was twenty-five or six. Sister Roberta's skin was just as smooth and glowing as the waitress-on whom he had a crush, but would never be able to more than touch her hand when she handed him a bottle of Coke.
And, if anything, Sister Roberta was even more flirty than the waitress who grew excitingly vivacious when the young men of the town were hovering around her.
Fritz had stolen long glances at Sister Roberta when she wasn't watching-or he didn't think she was. She would stretch the flowing robes against her body with her arms, accenting the smooth curve of hip and thigh, or use her hands to brush it against her front so that it welled breathtakingly over the sloping crowns of her bosom. And, sometimes as she walked, she would lift the hem of the robe almost to the knee to exhibit curvy calves and slender, trim ankles. And she didn't wear flat-soled shoes as did Reverend Jessica. She would step daintily over the close-cropped grass of the park in tiny, pointed-toed slippers with high heels. And the slippers were white and black and blue and green.
Fritz had heard one of the men laugh and speculate that she wore slippers the color that matched her undies. He had never seen a girl's undies-not while she was in them, anyway- and the possibility of that caused his heart to bounce loudly in his chest. He'd seen women's underwear on clotheslines in backyards, but there was nothing stimulating about that.
Fritz was positioned at the entry to the cavernous tent each evening, feeling proud and important, wearing a black robe Reverend Jessica supplied. He greeted the worshipers and handed out pamphlets, brochures and pictures of the Reverend Jessica and Sister Roberta. He stood behind a miniature pulpit with a bucket suspended in it to catch "contributions to the Lord's work".
During services, he sat on a folding steel chair with Sister Roberta seated on a chair across the entry from him, holding collection plates in her lap. When he caught her glowing eyes on him, he blushed slightly and grew uncomfortably warm.
And he wondered if she wasn't warm, too, by the way she sedately lifted the robe above her knees so that the hem rested across her thighs, just above the knees. He hoped she thought he was peering at the ground, intent on the sermon Reverend Jessica was delivering in a firm, musical voice. But his eyes were rolled upward and he was rejoicing-not in the message of the Lord-in the heavenly sight of white, smooth skin of her legs. At times, he was certain he could have determined whether the blue shoes she wore were the same color as her panties, if they hadn't been sitting in deep shadows. But the view of so much of her creamy inner thigh-planes left him rapt and almost breathless. She must not have known he was ogling her-he had never seen so much of a woman before-except at the community swimming pool. But girls in bathing suits didn't count. She smiled at him so virtuously when his gaze did drift from the trodden grass to her face.
Then, at the conclusion of Sunday evening services that terminated the week of the "Old-time Revival," Sister Roberta paused to whisper on her way forward with the collection plates, "Reverend Jessica wants you to join her in our trailer as soon as she leaves the pulpit."
A coldness gripped him as he watched the smiling Reverend Jessica shaking hands and "blessing" people. He just knew that they had changed their minds about his accompanying them.
He stood numbly shaking hands with men and women imbued with the spirit of God and brotherhood, not hearing their murmurs of "Brother, God be with you."
As he watched Reverend Jessica finally depart from the low stage, lifting her robes so as not to impede her stride, Fritz was aware of a hot, clammy sweat that wasn't all from the hot summer night. The wink and slow smile Reverend Jessica flashed in his direction, brought a flush of reassurance. For a moment, he watched Sister Roberta occupied at a small table, emptying collection plates into cloth bags and talking brightly with the last lingerers. And he slipped out of the tent into the darkness that was partly dispelled by a half-moon and chunky stars. He hurried along the tent, carefully avoiding guy ropes and stakes to the rear where the women's trailer was parked.
A light was lit somewhere near the rear of the trailer and Fritz hesitated at the door. "Come in, Fritz," Reverend Jessica called. And Fritz wondered how she could time his arrival so precisely -if she hadn't been watching for him.
He pushed back the screen door, stepped inside and closed it, eyes blurred in the half-light. "Come back here, please, Fritz."
He stepped into the tiny kitchen area and the light was better. "In the back," Reverend Jessica advised. And he slid a panel to one side and stood peering into the rear bedroom he presumed the two women shared. Unless the sofa was made down in front.
For a moment, he was speechless, watching Reverend Jessica drop ice cubes from an ice bucket into two glasses and slosh them full of gin.
She had discarded the nun-like cowl she had always worn before when he was present and her hair was so black it seemed to glint with deep purple lights. "Truly a triumph," she laughed softly, mentioning a projected revenue figure for the week, which escaped him.
"Unzip my robe, please, Fritz," she murmured. "I'll not fix Sister Roberta's drink until she arrives. It's so cursed hot tonight. Don't you think so?"
"Yes, Reverend Jessica," he replied, fingers trembling as she backed to him, sipping a glass of gin, holding one out for him-when he finished with the zipper.
"Please, hurry, Fritz. I feel very stuffy in this thing. Can't you see the zipper tab ?"
She shook her long hair so that it fell over her left shoulder and he could see the nape of her neck and the little silver-colored zipper tab. He lowered the zipper a few inches and paused.
"Run it all the way down," she said, a little brusquely. "The zipper runs halfway to my knees."
Fritz drew a deep breath and skidded the zipper which emitted a little metallic hum. And he gasped silently as Reverend Jessica shook her shoulders and the flowing garment cascaded away and she turned to face him, wearing only black panties and a matching black, lacy bra.
"Your drink," she smiled, lips twitching, eyes teasing, laughing at his stunned expression. He drank without tasting as his eyes filled with wonderment-and the vision of her voluptuousness, breasts huge and about to overflow the low-cut cups. The waist of the panties curved across her tummy, far below her navel.
She backed away and sat on the edge of the bed. "Was I good tonight?" He nodded and she laughed gaily, eyes twinkly, again teasing him, filled with amusement at his bewilderment.
Delicately, she crossed one long, tapering thigh over the other. For a time, Fritz forgot to breath, gulping the raw gin without realizing it. His wildest imaginings could never match the enchanting sight before his eyes-two great globes of luscious femaleness seemingly perched in the cradle nets of her brassiere.
His obvious, blushing confusion triggered musical laughter from her full, unrouged lips. "If you didn't feel the spirit at services tonight," she winked, "you have it all the way- to your very roots."
Fritz sort of wished he could cower away from her luminous, black eyes riveted just below his waist. And he almost wished he had worn the black robe instead of discarding it and leaving it flounced over the iron chair in the tent that was already being struck by willing townspeople and the three old men who drove the huge truck that towed the trailer.
"Yes, you present a heavenly sight," Reverend Jessica breathed, eyes still on his bulging crotch. She handed him her glass and indicated he should refill it for her. He sloshed gin on his left hand as he heard the dim creak of the bed as she stood and stepped in close behind him; "God created man in his own image," she seemed to be mocking him, deftly working a hand into his left front trousers pocket, "and tonight I feel the need to get very near to God-or at least one of his images."
Fritz struggled to set the bottle back on the little table and clasped the glass in both hands to keep from dropping it as her hand itched hotly against his boy-man genitals.
"Sister Roberta may come in," Fritz groaned, innocent fright and embarrassment choking down his voice.
"I expected her before now," Reverend Jessica breathed deeply into his short-cropped hair and dabbled the tip of her hot, moist tongue in one of his ears.
"You have the idols of absolute divinity," Reverend Jessica purred, voice deep, almost a growl as she huffed her breath into his ear. Her hand, even through his pocket, coiled expertly around the hot hose of his peter that was growing snake-long down his left pants leg. "Good old St. Peter, standing over two rocks," she growled, not very reminiscent of reverence.
Fritz wondered what to do with the drink he had poured for her. He would like to have both hands free as he felt her move snugly against him, her hot, naked thighs against his, her huge jugs of enticement plumped against his trembling back.
Her right hand adeptly parted his belt and his fly zipper and skidded his shorts. "Holy Moses," she chuckled delightedly. One hand-he didn't know which-glided firmly up and down the full rough erection of him and the other fondled his aching, throbbing, hurting balls.
It was only for a fleeting moment, but Fritz knew her hands had left his vital parts, then were back. And he knew what she had done in that moment, for now her heavy, sloping jugs were pressed bare against his back and it seemed he could feel the coarse nipples burning right through his shirt and down against the hard cheeks of his ass, her pubic bush grated like emery paper.
"The shepherd and his flock," Reverend Jessica gloated, one hand jacking him off industriously while the other played with his excited balls, sending excruciating pleasure shooting from the blazing tip of his penis into his loins and to his thumping heart.
"Oooooooohhhh," Reverend Jessica moaned, "I want to take your shepherd into my chapel and leave your two lambs-rams-playing on my grass."
Fritz felt as if he were hypnotized. He had only dreamed of a woman doing this to him-and even if she didn't get around to taking him all the way, it was better than flogging his dummy.
"I want your rod and your staff to comfort me," she pursued, voice now thick with what Fritz read as glutting passion. He nearly came in her masturbating hand as she humped her hairy crotch against his ass and he thought she was trying to mount him as he had seen feisty heifers cavort in the surrounding pastures.
"OOOOOhhhhhhhhh, Jesus," she wailed-and Fritz knew she was not about to embark on an evangelical dissertation of saving souls. The only soul she was concerned with was that one between her legs, the one guarded by curtains of pink, hot, moist fleshy curtains.
The only hand she felt she could spare was the one squeezing his balls; and she used it to unbutton his shirt, which she virtually tore from his back and arms. And her protestations were not those of a holy place against the black angels of sin, but were the cursings of one being thwarted and deterred. "Oooohhhh, you fuckin' shirt," Reverend Jessica griped, her hand playing up and down the massive barrel of his organ as if she were afraid he would lose his robustness and she wouldn't get the whole hymn-nothing more than a sour note of cum on her fingers.
Still holding onto his pecker, she turned him around to face her. She gave him great mouthy, wet sloppy kisses all over his face and bent his sex-stem toward the floor. She waddled in place at him, her feet spread wide, knees fanned out and she pried his prick upward into her tremendous fat pussy lips and she seemed to engulf him all of a sudden. The great fleshy walls of her in-sides seemed to sort of collapse around his penis as if adjusting around it like the closing petals of a flesh-eating blossom. Her inner muscles closed down tight, tighter, tighter as if they would pinch off his meat and chomp on it until it was devoured by her great sexual maw.
Fritz couldn't help it. He began crying softly in an ecstasy of having his prick mauled so pleasurably. The outer lips of her pussy seemed to eat at him like fantastic toothless gums, trying to lap up his balls. Her juices were soaking his sparse pubic wool and he felt the hot trickle of her on his inner thighs.
There was a deep, intense slosh-slosh sound down between their sweaty bellies as she fucked him while they stood. She enfolded him with her long arms and squashed her huge, hot, firm boobies against his bony chest. One of them rolled upward and he tongued and licked and sucked a hard, dark nipple into his mouth. She retaliated with a mighty grinding of her fuck-muscles around his sex-prong.
He came in a gush that provoked such a heavenly pleasure he cried out shrilly and nearly fainted. "Oooooohhh, you go off like a hot bunny rabbit," she scolded him lovingly, backing him to the bed. Slowly, she toppled him backwards, rolled on with him without breaking their coital connection. She gently heaved him onto her bounteous body, wrapped her legs up over his ass, entwining her ankles.
"Don't go soft," she pleaded, sticking her tongue to the tonsils in his mouth. "Fuck me, Fritz-boy. Pound your masterful prick up my old fuck-cathedral and ring the bells in my twat-steeple."
It was a little difficult for him to begin hunching his cock into her voracious cunt with her strong legs on his back, forcing his prick into her pussy so that his balls soaked up her sexual secretions and his leaking jizz in the wide crack of her bountiful ass.
She cursed like a swindled sailor with enthrallment when he jabbed it into her with all his might and hosed her thoroughly with a fresh load of cum. She praised him and reached up to pat his ass with both hands. "Let me milk out all your glorious cum with my cunny muscles," she whined, "then scoot up on me and let me fuck you off between my big boobies."
Somewhat mystified, but willing, he struggled up over her supine body and sat with his balls rubbing against the under slopes of her breast mounds. Instantly, she took his prick and stretched it out in the valley between her hot titties and folded her breasts in against it. She passed a hand across her face and he saw the obsceneness of her toothless mouth. But he began bucking and hunching his sex-slimed dick between her tits and she tongued the head into her mouth and began gumming it, sucking his cock while he fucked her tits faster and faster. She slurped lewdly on his burgeoning prick-point and swallowed with gusto when he shot his pearly wad into her mouth. She sucked so hard on his prick he could feel the pressure way back beyond his rectum, he thought.
When she finally drained the product of her blow-job, she licked her tongue up and down the underside of his dong. "Let's have a shot of gin and recuperate a little bit. Then I want you to cornhole me and shoot your jizz up my asshole."
"That was my initiation to sex," Fritz told Nola, letting his prick soak in her convulsing snatch.
"Did you get to Sister Roberta?" she asked, his story provoking sweet passion-yearnings boiling in her pussy and her hot, itching butt hole.
"I staggered out that night-I guess I wondered why she didn't come to the trailer. I found her going down on the three old guys in the station wagon-where they slept. She was stripped bare-assed and never missed a lick when she invited me to mount her behind like an animal and fuck her. I got with it and gave her all I had up the sweet, innocent little twat and banged off three or four loads in her rectum while she alternated sucking the three old men's pricks. I sat there and helped drink a gallon of wine while she went down on two pricks at once and gave me my first blow-job-not counting the tittie-fucking and cock-sucking by Reverend Jessica."
Nola was hotter than ever. "Want me to suck off your prick now?"