Chapter 2

"I'll be a solemn son of a bitch." Harry Bleeker opened the door wider to stare at his two visitors in evident surprise. "The Gold Dust Twins. Or is it the Gold Diggers? I don't have any money and if I did, I wouldn't give you any. On that basis, come in."

Barbara tried to make her tone light "We don't want money. That's not why we came."

"Then what in hell did you come for? I told you last time I wouldn't fuck either of you with someone else's prick. Or do you just like my classic profile?"

"You were stoned last time." To hide her nervousness, she marched into the living room and plumped down on the couch. Betty followed, barely glancing at Harry as he stood aside. Her hands were shaking when she snapped her lighter and lit a cigarette.

"Let me guess." Harry put his fingers to his temples in mock thought. "I've got it." He lowered one hand to snap his fingers. "You came back for another of old Harry's higji colonics.

Nothing to be ashamed of. They all do."

Barbara sat up straight, doing her best to keep her voice steady. "We came back to see how you acted when you were sober," she said, with an attempt at severity. "We never met anybody as rude as you were the other night. We thought you might be able to act like a gentleman, instead of.. . . " Her voice trailed off.

"Instead of busting little girls' cherries and making them go gobble-gobble? Why, doll," -- he grinned quickly and spread his hands -- "that's me, drunk or sober. I'm made that way, dig?"

He turned away and went into the kitchen and they heard him rattling ice and glasses. He came back carrying three highballs. "My hash man is late today and I'm fresh out of acid. However, this is pretty good bourbon." He was still grinning as he handed them their drinks.

They sipped for a while in silence. The liquor seemed to steady Betty's hands and her sister relaxed against the back of the couch. Harry looked up suddenly from studying the pattern of the rug, a habit of his. "I've got an idea." He struck a pose and held up a hand dramatically. "I've been sitting here telling myself that here's a pair of chicks all ready to fly. 'Harry' I said, 'as a host, you smell. Just because you don't fuck broads is no reason why they shouldn't be balled. Shame on you,' I said."

He put his glass down and got up to cross the room and pick up the telephone. He talked briefly to someone he called Hank, then dialed again. "Sam?" He lowered his voice and the girls could not hear what he said except a suggestion that "Sam" get his ass over in a hurry. "And bring some booze," he shouted, as an afterthought.

He hung up and came back to sit on the couch between them. "You'll like them," was all he volunteered. "They're a lot of fun." Impersonally, he put a hand up and pinched Betty's tit. It hurt and she pulled away and he laughed as though at a good joke. "You're in circulation now, remember? Relax and enjoy it."

He bounced up again to make more drinks and the door buzzer sounded as he came out of the kitchen. He put one glass down to open the door and, without looking, shoved the highball through the opening.

"Christ," a voice in the hall said. "That's service."

It turned out to be Hank. He tossed his hat onto a chair, revealing the fact that he was almost completely bald. "Don't worry," Harry admonished in a stage whisper. "Bald guys all have big cocks. Hank's is a whopper."

Sam showed up shortly afterward. He was carrying a bottle in a brown paper sack. "Into the kitchen, lover," Harry directed. "And mix your own booze. I'm tired."

Of the two, Betty decided that Sam was the nicer. He was younger than Hank, she noticed when he came back into the living room with his drink. He had all his hair. There was something about bald men which repelled her. And he was better-looking. Hank was just a big lunk compared to his friend. The first thing he did after shoving in to sit beside Barbara was to put a hairy paw on her knee. When she moved and tugged her skirt down, he looked at Harry inquiringly.

"No, no," Harry said. "You don't understand, Hank. These are nice girls. You have to go easy with them." He winked and rattled the ice in his glass and got up to mix another drink.

Sam, who had been reading the labels in the record rack by the hi-fi, put some on and the urgent beat of the music drowned Hank's bewildered answer. Sam nodded his head for a while in time to the number, then came over and studied Betty more closely, as though he had not noticed her before. "You're a pretty kid," he decided, "Dance?"

He was light on his feet and she was glad when he held her instead of jumping about by himself, like most of the guys she knew did. Whatever cologne he used smelled good and when she felt his rising erection grinding into her crotch, she pressed closer to him and put her head on his shoulder, smiling because her clitoris was beginning to stiffen and throb. She was still a little sore from the dildo raping but not enough to keep from wishing that they were "doing it," as she thought of screwing, instead of wasting time dancing. She had never had a man's thing in her pussy. Now she wanted desperately to find out what real fucking was all about. Was a man's come really hot, like Barbara had described it? Could some men really fill a girl's pussy until it spilled over? Barbara once swore that the team captain had squirted a cupful into her. Harry hadn't seemed to come much but perhaps that was because he did not like women.. . .

The music stopped at last and Betty reluctantly opened her eyes and stepped back as Sam released her. Glancing down, she could see the outline of his hard penis bulging his slacks. It looked to be longer and thicker than the dildo. Her clitoris throbbed almost unbearably as she wondered how it would feel pushing into her vagina.

Back on the couch with a fresh highball, Harry said in a gravelly tone, "That was the best exhibition of dry fucking I've seen in some time. You guys must be hot to trot." When a new platter dropped and a Beatles number filled the room with sound, he looked across Barbara at Hank. "Why don't you ask the lady to dance," he asked, "instead of sitting there like a turd on a punkin? Or should I say like feces on a squash? Where's your manners?"

"Aw, shit, Harry." Hank looked aggrieved. "You know I don't dig that crazy finger-up-your-butt stuff." The big fellow actually looked embarrassed and Barbara, feeling a glow from the drinks, wondered if he was such a bad sort after all.

Harry kept after him derisively. "What do you want to do, then? Just fuck, cold turkey?"

The other moved awkwardly. "I didn't come all the way over here to scratch my ass," he said defensively. "Isn't that what you said on the phone?" He looked apologetically at Barbara and she warmed to him still more, irt spite of his bald head and gross manners. She wondered if what Harry had mentioned about the size of his penis was true. She didn't know why, because big pricks ramming into her always hurt until her pussy stretched enough to take them but she liked them better than small ones. A big cock let you know you'd been taken, while a small one reminded her of diddling herself with a finger. Once, when she had spent the day at her grandfather's farm, she managed to hide and watch a horse do it to a mare. When he pulled his great, wet prick out, still gushing semen, she had come in her panties without even touching herself. She remembered wishing that the horse had screwed her instead of the mare.

Betty and Sam were dancing again, closer than ever if that was possible. Harry stopped watching them long enough to shrug his shoulders. "Help yourself," he invited handsomely. "That is, if the lady is willing. Personally, I believe she'd screw a snake if it would keep still long enough. But you know the house rules, sweetheart. Poppa gets to watch? Okay?"

"Goddam Peeping Tom," Hank muttered loud enough for Barbara to hear. He crunched a piece of ice and studied her face. "Look," he said, "I'm not good with the words like Harry and Sam. I've got a hard-on and it's up to you whether we do something about it or not. What say?"

Now it was Barbara's turn to feel quick embarrassment. The direct approach, even when the decision was left up to her, was something she had never had to cope with before. Getting laid on the back seat of some football goon's car was usually a mutual thing, with both parties getting together gradually, as though following some understood routine. To have it thrown at you, like an invitation to take another drink, was disconcerting. "Does he really have to watch us?" she temporized.

"Who cares?" Hank shot a glance at Harry, who appeared to have forgotten them to give all his attention to the dancers. "Come on," he said, a little hoarsely. "If the son of a bitch wants to get his kicks that way, why stop him?" He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "We'll make like we did it. Then we'll slip out and go someplace else. Read me?"

She squeezed his hand and got up, just as Harry, as though he had been tuned in all the time, came to his feet and crossed to the hi-fi to turn off the music. "That's all, folks," he announced. "School will now take up. Hank and Barbara are going to favor us with a demonstration of carnal knowledge. Come this way." He took his drink with him and led the way along the short hall to the bedroom. "Behold the work bench." He indicated the bed, an outsize double one with a plastic sheet on it instead of a regular spread. "It may be a trifle cold on your asses at first," he warned, "but it keeps the juice off the sheet." He bowed formally and stood aside. "Now let's see just how good you are. It comes to me that I haven't watched Hank operate in many moons."

Hank had stopped in the doorway, with an arm around Barbara's waist. Betty, holding Sam's hand, was peeping past the big man curiously. She gasped a little as the full meaning of Harry's tirade came to her. "You mean-he's going to stand there and look at them?" There was an incredulous note in her quick question.

"S-sh," Sam whispered. "Let's just see what happens."

Harry opened a closet drawer and took out a short, coiled whip. "Let me see, now." He chewed a finger reflectively. "Last time, you took the broad in the tits, didn't you, Hank? If I remember correctly, she was pretty cold about it. Here!" He tossed the whip and Hank caught it mechanically. "Warm this one up, then stick it up her dog fashion. I can see the action better that way."

"Look here-" Hank started to protest.

Harry turned quickly and snapped at him, his whimsical mood changing to one of mounting annoyance. "Shut up!" he ordered. "Or would you rather I made a short phone call? The guy did die. Remember?"

"Don't mind the bastard," Hank muttered out of a mouth corner but his assurance seemed to wilt. He appeared to have shrunk a little and there was sudden apprehension in the look he shot at Sam behind him. Whatever it was about some guy dying had obviously unsettled him. He made no further objection.

"That's better." His tormentor favored him with a cat-and-mouse grin and looked past him at Sam. "You understand, don't you?" he inquired.

"I understand you're a dirty rat," Sam spoke up, "who'd blow the whistle on his mother if he felt like it. Just because-"

"That's enough," Harry interrupted, in a calmer tone. "No need to air all the dirt." His attention went back to Hank, who was fingering the whip nervously. "Get on with it," he directed. "I've got half a hard-on already, just thinking about it." His eyes settled on Barbara and he barked at her. "Wipe that silly look off your face and park those clothes before I tear 'em off."

When she glanced fearfully at Hank, he avoided her eyes. "Are you really going to beat me with-with that?" There was a hint of excitement under the tremor in her question.

"You heard what the man said," was all Hank could get out. "I'll go easy."

She was too terrified now to disobey. Also, she experienced a new sensation mixed with the fear. It was a sort of breathlessness, of expectation. Her fingers were clumsy on the zipper of her dress and Harry cursed and came over. "Get away from him." He sounded boiling mad. As she stepped forward, he knocked her trembling hand away and wrenched the zipper down. Hurriedly, he pulled the upper part of her dress off her shoulders. Leaving bruises on her white arms, he hauled them roughly through the short sleeves and let the dress fall around her feet. He did the same with her slip, breaking a shoulder strap in the process, then stepped behind her to unhook her brassiere. "There!" His knuckles caught her in a backhand slap, hurting her breasts and knocking the breath out of her. When she had shed the loosened bra, he motioned impatiently to Hank. "Cut her a good one." His finger indicated her naked back as he stepped out of the way.

Sure that she was dreaming, Barbara watched her large partner uncoil the whip and run the thong through a hand. Before she realized it, he was standing where Harry had just been and dimly she heard the whisper of the lash as he swung it back over his head.

In the doorway, staring in disbelief, Betty suddenly cried out. Then the whip came swishing down and caught Barbara across a shoulder. Too scared to make an outcry and sensing that was what Harry wanted her to do, she chewed her lips and the whip slashed her again. Pain shot through her like running fire and she could feel the blood start where the thong had broken the skin.

"Hit her again!" Harry shouted. He was standing alongside Hank, dancing from one foot to the other. When the big fellow made no further move, he snatched the whip out of his hand and cut her viciously around the ribs. This time, she screamed and fell forward until she was kneeling on the rug, with her head resting on the edge of the bed. The tears came as Harry caught her by the hair and wrenched her head up.

"Take those panties off or you'll get some more," he threatened.

Betty tried to get past Sam and go to her sister but he held her back. "Play it cool," he whispered. "She's more scared than hurt."

Still sniffling, Barbara hauled herself up and stepped out of her briefs and climbed obediently onto the cold plastic covering the bed. The pain was not so bad now and to her astonishment, which dried her tears, she could feel her clitoris becoming hard. All of a sudden, she wanted sex more than anything she could think of.

"Well, are you going to screw her with your pants on?" Harry's quick query held a note of derision.

Hank had picked the whip up off the floor where Harry had dropped it. He seemed bewildered, as though not sure what to do next. When the other sneered at him, he dropped the whip and began to unfasten his belt. His hard cock jutted out from the thick scrub of black crotch hair as he let his shorts fall and kicked them away. He skinned the foreskin back once, pushing his erection between his fingers. Then he climbed onto the bed behind Barbara.

"Do it slowly." Harry was perched on the far side, where he could watch the action. "Stretch her cunt good before you stick it all in. Then shove it up her until she chokes!"

Barbara winced as Hank's heavy hand found her bruised shoulder. Then, before she knew what she was doing, she pressed back against his rigid prick as it began to enter her. When she felt the big head open her pussy, her mind flashed back to the horse screwing the mare at the farm. She pushed back harder, wanting it all, barely managing to stifle a cry of pleasure as the flange engaged her erect clitoris and rubbed against it. She almost came at the sheer ecstasy of the contact. Her twitching cunt was so lubricated that she could feel the moisture running down the insides of her thighs.

The warmth and the readiness of her must have snapped Hank out of his apparent daze. Artfully, he let the head play between the stretched lips, working it in and out a few times to effect easier entry. Then, without warning, he grunted and shoved, just as the horse had done, except that the horse had whinnied and snapped at the mare's neck with bared teeth. Vaguely, because she was experiencing more pleasure than ever before, she wished that Hank would bite her, too; either that or whip her again. The old brief pain came when he drove his thick erection all the way in. Then, when he grunted again and settled down to steady in-and-out fucking, the welcome discomfort left her and she rested her forehead on a pillow and raised up enough to play with her standing nipples.

"That's it! Feed the prick to the bitch!" Harry, watching avidly, gave a crazy sort of laugh and the mattress moved as he leaned closer. Out of the corner of an eye, Barbara noticed his elbow moving. Through the wave of delicious excitement shooting through her, she told herself that he was playing with his own penis, probably jacking himself off.

"Screw her harder, man!" Harry was shouting again. "Stick it up into her goddamn throat!"

Whether in answer to his host's coaching or because his own urgency demanded it, the big man increased the tempo of his stroking, clutching Barbara's thighs and bruising them as he pulled himself farther into her, until she felt the bush of his hair brush her rectum and tickle it delightfully. His stick-hard penis was the biggest she had ever taken and as he, plunged it back and forth, holding it deep at the finish of each stroke, then pulling out to linger for a moment against her clitoris, until her vagina seemed as though it must split and tear, she told herself unsteadily that she had never been fucked until now. All the others had merely played at it; in and out and squirt and let's go get a hamburger. Even the captain, the best of the bunch, had not known how to screw properly, in spite of being able to come like the horse.

Now she was finding out what the real thing meant and reveled in it more with every new thrust. She was on the verge of coming half a dozen times but contrived to postpone climax by releasing her turgid nipples and biting her already sore lips. To come too soon would mean interrupting the wonderful sensation which was driving her out of her mind. She wanted to save it for one glorious trip to Nothingville when she felt his semen jetting into her. Then she thought she would be able to come forever.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" It was Harry again, mouthy, accusing. "Can't you blow your nuts?. "

As though the gravelly voice released some trigger in Hank's mind, he shortened his pumping strokes to a mere couple of inches and began to flick her furiously, in a flurry of thrusting that drove her once more to the edge of orgasm and made the bed creak under them in time with his impatience.

His fingers bit into her thighs cruelly and she loved every second of the pain. It was like being beaten again, only better, much better. Deliberately, anxious not to be left behind now that the end was near, she pinched her nipples hard, holding them pressed between her fingers, waiting.

Then she felt the first spurt of warm semen splash into her vagina and let herself go. The reaction was so violent that she blacked out for several seconds, conscious only of the glorious release as she fought to clear her mind and not miss a moment of this most wonderful climax of all. Deep down in the wonder that possessed her, a small voice accused her of being a masochist. Maybe she was but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything except the marvelous thing that was happening to her. At the height of her ecstasy, it registered on her consciousness that Harry had jumped off the bed. Out of the same eye corner, as Hank pulled his wet cock out of her, she saw their host finish masturbating on the rug. The arch of his squirting semen only partly visible at that angle, was sufficient to make her come again but this time it was empty and brief.

Later, after she had washed herself and repaired the broken shoulder strap with a safety pin before putting her clothes back on, Hank met her coming out of the bathroom. He was carrying two drinks and looking contrite. He gave her a glass and mumbled. "I didn't want to hit you but that Harry's got me cold." He motioned with a backward movement of his head to where their host was berating Sam, who was sitting innocently on the couch with an arm around Betty.

"You son of a bitch!" Harry accused. "You know I get a belt out of watching people fuck. So you sneak out here and tear off a piece while I'm in the bedroom!" He sounded a little hysterical. "I ought to turn you in, both of you."

"Go ahead," Sam invited, coolly. He seemed much more his own man than Hank. "You do that, sweetheart, so I can cut your heart out. There'll be two stiffs instead of one. Think about it." His tone was menacing.

Betty only half listened to them. She had a cat-that-ate-the-the-canary look on her face. Sam hadn't filled her pussy but it had been wonderful; better even than she expected. More than anything, she wanted him to do it again. But not yet. First, she wanted to think about it; how his hard prick had felt slipping into her pussy, the sensation of his balls banging into her crotch as she raised up to meet his strokes; best of all, the quick emptying of his semen into her vagina, which had made her think that she would rather die than stop coming with him.

Harry was regarding Sam uncertainly, apparently not knowing how to answer this defiance. Sam ignored him. He leaned closer to Betty. "Let's cut out and go somewhere that doesn't smell," he suggested. "We don't have to stay with this kook. I think he's lost his cork." His quick stare challenged his host's and Harry was the first to look away. He turned suddenly and walked into the kitchen.

"How about it?" Sam urged. "Your sis is happy with Hank. Don't worry about her. Hank's a bit slow but if he ever gets mad, he'll tear Harry's head off."

Reluctantly, because she liked him and wanted to get out of the apartment, she made up her mind to stay. On an impulse, she pulled his face closer and kissed him. "I'd better stick with Barb," she whispered. She did not mention that, in spite of everything, she was still curious to see what happened next. "It was-wonderful!" she finished, a bit breathlessly.

"Suit yourself." Sam sounded disappointed.

"I'm going home. If things get out of hand, call me." He undipped a ballpoint from a pocket and marked a phone number on her wrist. "I'll be listening," he promised, getting up. He called into the kitchen as he passed. "Fuck you, Harry Bleeker. Go screw yourself." After an appraising look at Hank and Barbara, he opened the door and let himself out.

The living room was quiet after Sam left. Harry stayed in the kitchen for some minutes before he reappeared with a highball in his hand. "Did that prick go?" he inquired. Remembering that he had not answered Sam, Betty felt less afraid of him than before. And there was Hank, as Sam had mentioned. When nobody answered, Barbara nudged her partner, who was leaning back on his end of the couch with his eyes closed, as though the physical effort, combined with the liquor, had made him sleepy. '-Wake up." She kept her voice down. "Let's see what he does now." If she was still unhappy or in pain from her recent whipping, it did not show in her tone. Instead, she seemed restless, like a kid at a circus, waiting for the next act. Betty was still smiling to herself. She did not look up as Harry crossed over to sit down beside her. She was too busy remembering what had happened after she stretched out and opened her thighs so that Sam could take her.

Hank yawned openly and rubbed his bald head vigorously. He spoke at last as though Harry was not there. "Want to leave?" he asked Barbara.

"No." She got no farther because Harry broke in.

"When you cats get through with the soul bit, we can go on with the dance." There was an edge in his tone, as though he had lost something and was not quite sure what it was. "Barbara, you can start off again by sucking Hank's cock. I'll take care of Betty, now that lover boy's split." From his manner, he might have been directing some sort of play. When Barbara did not move, he got up and took a quick step toward her. "Well, get going. Flip his zipper and start gobbling. What are you waiting for?"

"Hold it." Hank put up a hand like a ham, quite close to Harry's flushed face. His eyes seemed to be in focus again. "Let's ask the lady if she wants to, huh? And don't come any closer or I may kick your head in."

The sudden about-face, after the initial submission, made Harry pause and frown. "What in hell's the matter with you?" he finally demanded. "Am I being unreasonable or something? Aren't you enjoying yourself?"

"Sure," the big one grunted. "Only thing, I've kind of fallen for this chick."

"Horseshit!" Harry exploded. "Since when have you let your feelings get in the way of your prick?"

"I still think we should ask her," Hank persisted.

"Have it your way." Harry struck a pose, putting a hand over his heart and bowing to Barbara. He was being facetious again and she repressed a sudden to laugh. "The honorable gentleman requests the lady's indulgence in giving him a blow job," he intoned. When Barbara nodded, he straightened up. "Thank you. The lady will now suck the gentleman off. It's so much better when these things are done with dignity." The thought of looking anything like dignified while cramming Hank's big horn into her mouth was too much for Barbara. She laughed outright and the big man looked happier.

Harry turned to Betty and inquired formally, "May I have the honor of screwing you in the ass?"

"Oh, no!" She put a quick hand to her mouth.

"Oh, yes!" He began to bluster, then caught Hank's eye and lowered his voice. "I'll put it in easy and use plenty of cold cream. Come on. Get your clothes off or I'll lose this good hard I've got." He turned to get rid of his empty glass before taking his slacks off and folding them neatly.

Beyond him, at the other end of the couch, Betty could see her sister kneeling between Hank's spread knees, stroking his foreskin up and down. The sight seemed to make up her mind and she unzipped her dress and got out of it and her slip. It seemed like an insult to Sam to take a prick in her after the wonderful time he had shown her, but screwing in the rectum, given that Harry was intent on doing something, would be better than sucking him. At least, he would come there instead of in her mouth. Since last time, when she had sampled a few drops of his semen, she'd decided she didn't like it there. It tasted like stale library paste with salt in it. And maybe, if he was not too rough, she would be able to come. The thought made her young tits stand up hard and proud when she removed her bra.

His prick, while not as long or as thick as Hank's was big enough to frighten her a little, even though she had seen it standing up before. He must have had the lubricant stuff in the drawer of the end table, because when he stepped back around Barbara's feet, the head and shaft shone moistly.

"We'll do it on the rug," he decided. "That way I can watch your sis eat Hank while I'm corn-holing you." He pointed to a spot beyond the coffee table and took her warm arm. "Here." He snatched a cushion off the couch and dropped it onto the indicated area. "Shove your face in that. And rest your weight on your elbows, so that your butt sticks up."

He entered her while she was still finding a comfortable position. She felt his fingers pushing the cheeks of her behind apart. Then the slick head of his erection stabbed into her tight rectum, forcing it open. The entire length of him slid into her in a single hard thrust. It hurt in spite of the cold cream and she gasped and bit on a mouthful of cushion to keep from moaning. She sensed that he wanted to know he was hurting her and that was a kick she would deny him as long as she could hold out. It would pay him back a bit for whipping poor Barb.

"Tight as a glove," Harry muttered. "Now strain and make like you're going to the bathroom. Make your ass bite me!" When she did her best to obey, he began to screw her quickly, like a dog humping it into a bitch.

The sensation of his prick moving inside her body gradually banished the pain of his forced entry. She even hollowed her supple back in an effort to keep her buttocks elevated as he had instructed. Her utter helplessness seemed to increase the little enjoyment she was getting out of it. The passing thought struck her that nothing could be lower than for a woman to submit to a man this way. On her knees, with his weight pushing her head into the floor, holding her skewered on his prick, crotch to crotch, with a tit in either hand to keep her there was about as degrading as anything she could imagine.

She found time to wonder if the degradation bit was something which excited women when they lay down for a man. A person's body was an intimate thing. There must be a certain amount of pleasurable shame mixed in with the physical sensation when another person was permitted to enter it. That thought persisted until she felt slow excitement rising in her mind; not anything like the thrill Sam had given her but sufficient to make her stiN-wet pussy twitch and wish that she could get a finger onto her clitoris.

Leaning against Hank's leg and resting an elbow on his knee to make her kneeling position easier, Barbara was entertaining herself by alternately sucking his cock and taking it out of her mouth to lick the head. Every time her tongue slid over the flange where the head joined the shaft, the big guy winced and muttered something and one of his paws came up to stroke her blonde hair. When she took his penis between her lips again, he held her face while he shoved the length of it back to her throat; at least, all of it that her circling fingers allowed if she was to breathe without gagging.

Carefully, because by now she was fond of the big ox, bald head and all, she probed his heavy testicles with inquisitive fingers, taking pains not to squeeze too hard when she "pun-kin-seeded" them, as the football captain called popping them in the sack. How big they were, she thought, as the weight of each one in her cupped palm sent a wriggly thrill up her spine and made her pussy throb.

In direct contrast to her sister, she did not consider sucking a man's prick or allowing him to take her any way he liked to be the least bit degrading. Perhaps that was because she had started fucking when she was twelve. She was no longer a virgin when she started menstruating. Now, five years later, sex in any form between a man and a woman seemed quite natural. Too, after the whipping she had experienced, something new was becoming increasingly evident. Pain, she had found, sharp shooting agony, helped instead of hindering enjoyment. After the lashing, the climax, all the more wonderful and fulfilling because of Hank's size, was more than mere coming in response to the friction of a thrusting prick. Climax was the answer, complete and maybe a little defiant, to the male challenge; physical proof that the woman as well as the man could make the union an individual thing as well as a shared indulgence.

Even the small discomfort she was experiencing now every time his flaring cock head blocked her throat was in itself pleasant, especially if she pinched her nipples while she sucked and licked.

Quite by accident, Betty also had made a discovery. It happened when she moved her knees further forward, lowering her buttocks momentarily and thereby hanging for just that time on Harry's horn. Until then, she had not been fully aware of the hardness of his erection-, even when it buried its full length as he drove it into her. Only after relaxing and then straightening her back did she appreciate how strong the male organ could be. Because it felt like a pole supporting her, she went into orgasm immediately, feeling her rectum "biting" his cock, as he had demanded.

Without warning, Hank made a sound between a grunt and a groan. He was standing, with one hand on Barbara's cheek and the other cradling her head. His shortened strokes threatened to push her fingers away and she had to squeeze harder to avoid being choked by his urgent horn. Then he came, in a long, squirting reaction to her lips and darting tongue, forcing her to gulp his semen as fast as it pumped against the back of her throat. "God damn!" he croaked and again-"God damn!"

Harry could just as easily have finished in Betty's rectum as soon as he felt it throbbing in response to her quick climax. Instead, he pulled out on the instant, without spending a drop and swung around her to clamp the side of her head against his crotch. With a quick hand, he held his hard prick against the opening of her ear. When he came, it sounded like thunder, close thunder, followed by dripping rain. Only when he had spent the last oozing trace of jism did he turn her head loose and start to laugh.