Chapter 9

I didn't know what to tell Steve. So told him nothing. It wasn't certain, anyway: Mr. Phelps had promised to call Brent, and have him call me with the decision. So I waited. I sat by the phone for what seemed like forever and ever-but was only two days.

On the evening of the second day, when Steve again came in and found me curled in the armchair beside the phone, he became suspicious. "You expecting someone to die and leave you a million?" he asked, making light of it. But when I snapped back at him none of your business-disheveled from the waiting, fingernails chewed ragged and nerves on edge-he added, "Okay, kid, let's have it. I know you well enough to be able to tell when something's bugging you."

"I-I'm expecting a call from Mr. Phelps. About a job teaching." I stared defiantly up at him.

"I thought you said there were no posts available at Community High," he countered. "Well, there aren't!" I yelped.

"Then what in hell're you talking about?"

"Oh-!" In a rage, I blurted my plans. I knew he'd be angry. But I never expected him to lash out. And when his hand cracked against the side of my face, my eyes filled with scalding tears. I buried my face in the crook of my arm, and wept as I hadn't cried in years.

"You can't walk out on me just like that," said Steve, towering menacingly over the chair.

"I can too!" I hiccoughed.

"I'll break your pretty neck." Gripping my shoulders, he shook me so hard I thought sure he actually meant to snap my slim neck.

"I-I'll have you arrested for incest!" I threatened. "I'll say-I'll say you raped me!"

He released me. He frowned. Abruptly he changed tactics. Sitting on the arm of the chair side-saddle, he put his arm around my heaving shoulders. "C'mon Carol," he said soothingly. "You know you can't leave me. Man! I've been making it with you since almost before you could walk. Christ! We're-well, we're almost married."

I sniffled. I allowed him to wipe the tears from my cheeks with his shirtsleeve. It was all so horrid. I didn't want to hurt him. But I had made up my mind. There was no future in staying with Steve, and being a thing he used to further his own ends. Each day I expected another Mr. Nash to appear. True, I liked screwing. But I wanted to have some say in whom I fucked with. And I wanted-I didn't know what all, but it wasn't what Cousin Steve offered.

His hand touched my right breast. I hadn't bothered to dress: was wearing the frilly, revealing shorty pajamas he adored. Without bra or panties. His fingers found and toyed with my stiffening nipple. "Y-you can't change my mind that way," I told him.

"Don't you like me to feel you?"

"No!"

"Then how about this?" He bent close; kissed the last of the tears away. His hand closed tight over my breast, squeezed. His lips sought mine.

I didn't want to kiss him. Nor did I want to feel the giddy heat spreading rapidly through my loins. That was the problem: Steve could make me do just about anything. Even now-knowing he was using my body against me-the hand fondling my tit felt so good, and the mouth sucking mine so warm, that my arms went automatically to his broad shoulders. I kissed him back. I turned in the chair ... pressing close. I opened for his tongue.

Steve held the kiss until I was trembling. Then, sure of himself, of me, he slid his lips over my cheek, to my ear. "That's more like it," he whispered huskily. "Now you're acting more like the sweet cunt I know."

"This doesn't change anything," I balked.

Grinning, he took hold of my wrist. Steering my hand to the bulge in his pants, he asked, "How about this?

"Don't! I-I don't want to."

"Like hell you don't." Closing my hand on his cock, he made me feel him. "I bet your cunt's dripping already," he continued. "I read you like a book, baby-a pornographic novel! You can't resist a stiff dick. Especially mine. Ever since we were kids, since the first time, your pretty ass starts to gyrate at the first hint of a bulge in my pants."

I wanted to deny it. But the things he said were true: he didn't have to hold my hand closed on his hard-on. It was as if the heat from his sex had crept up my arm, spread through my chest and belly, and was taunting my cunthole.

Steve laughed softly into the silence. His hand, the one holding my wrist, released me and dropped to the crotch of the shorty pajamas. He rubbed my pussy through the gauzy material. "When was the last time we fucked in a chair?" he asked.

"Please, Stevie." There was no conviction in my voice. And when I tried to push his hand away, to dissuade his insistent fingers, there was no strength in my grip.

"Remember that time at the graduation party when we were kids?" Through the pajama bottoms, Steve's fingers traced my wet slit. His lips returned to my ear. "That was the best piece you ever gave me," he went on. "There must've been two dozen people in that living room, and you on my lap, and none of them wise to what was going on under your dress."

I closed my eyes ... recalling the kinky scene he spoke of ... us fucking while the other kids danced, and sneaked drinks from the bottle of whiskey one of the boys had smuggled past the host's parents. I had tried to stop him that time, too, I recalled. But there was no stopping Steve-then or now. Once his swipe got hard, once he had made up his mind to stick it in me, nothing I could say or do made much difference.

"You were wearing your new white gown," he now breathed against my hair. "And that stupid fucking girdle. Christ! I never had so much trouble getting into anything in my life. But it was sure worth it. Man!" His fingers found the elastic legband of the pajamas, slipped beneath. He tickled my vulva ... teasing ... brushing my cuntlips but refusing to penetrate and minister to the rigid pink bud within. "Remember how nervous you were?" he asked softly. "'Someone'll catch us, Stevie,' you said. 'S-stop! Please, Stevie. You can do me in the car before we go home.' But I was too fucking hot to stop. So I ignored you, and kept right on fiddling around under the dress till I got at your pussy. Then I made you wiggle onto my cock. Remember, cuz? Remember how you changed up, and started to fuck and moan once it was in?" Flattening his finger along the length of my slit, he pressed.

"Oh. Oh-ah, Stevie, d-d-don't make me remember."

"Wasn't it good?"

"Y-yes."

"Then why not remember?"

"B-because." I felt stupid. I hadn't changed my mind about leaving. But there was nothing I could do or say to contradict the swelling of my vulva, the wetness. I was remembering the time at the party. The scene was vivid in my mind, and good-so good-and now I wanted him to take me as he had done despite my protests that night. It had been heavenly.

"Because you want me," said Steve, as if aware of my every thought. His finger penetrated just enough to reach my clit-making my hips buck, and tearing a cry of pleasure from my throat. "Say it, Carol," he demanded. "Tell me what you want."

"Yes!" I sobbed.

"Yes what? Tell me how!" Suddenly his finger pushed all the way in-making me double over, gasping.

"In-in the chair," I managed. "Like oh! Oh, Stevie! Like at the party."

"Then take out my prick 'n' kiss it," he said. "Make it happy."

Dizzy with longing, I fumbled with his pants, freed his stiff cock, and placed my mouth, my moist lips, to the fat tip. It leaped. Without having to be told, knowing what he wanted, I pulled it into my face ... drawing deep ... wetting the shaft ... sucking it even harder.

Fingering my cunt in earnest now, readying me for penetration, Steve allowed me to mouth him for a moment. Then he lifted my face, and kissed my red, swollen lips. He held the kiss only a moment. Then he stood, and made me stand; undressed me and made me do the same to him. "Jesus Christ, baby," he said, running rough anxious hands over my burning flesh. "You look better every fuckin' time I get your clothes off."

I fell into his arms. His dick was so stiff, so huge from my sucking, that it poked into my lower belly with the force of a hunk of hot steel. "Steve. Oh Stevie, I want you so. I want you! I want you!" Reaching down, between our naked bodies, I placed his fiery hard-on between my smooth thighs. With trembling fingers, I set the tip at my dripping cunthole.

"In the chair, doll," Steve objected.

"I can't wait."

"That's what I dig most about you, cuz. You can find all kinds of excuses for saying no, but none of them means a thing. You'd fuck the POPE!"

He was right, I knew. I had learned that much about myself. A big dick, no matter whom it belonged to, dulled my conscience. And the two biggest dicks in the world were waiting for me at the Royster mansion.

Abruptly Steve sat. Pulling me down across his lap, he cupped his hand at my crotch. "No stupid girdle this time," he said. "This time it's just good old-fashioned pussy. And this!" He shifted. His prick sprang up between my thighs. He sawed back and forth, grinding the shaft up and down my wet pulsating cuntlips.

It was the same sideways position we had fucked in at the graduation party. But without clothes, and without the audience to inhibit me, I could do what I had secretly wanted to do that night. Quickly I rearranged myself ... facing Steve ... legs astraddle the arms of the chair ... hot little blonde wedge suspended a mere inch above the glans of his rigid cousin dick. "Let me put it in," I cooed, taking hold of the heated monster, and again setting the tip at my gaped open vulva.

"Do your thing, baby." Gripping my plump buttocks, Steve lifted and coaxed me closer, then let me down.

"Oh Steve. Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" Holding tight to the roots of his swipe, I wiggled and watched it go in. Half the length disappeared up my pussy. I tightened my inner cunt muscles, holding it there. "Ummmmmmmmmmm. Um, Steve, I love it this way."

Leaning forward, Steve began to lick my nipples. I shivered. My tits swayed gently from side to side. I sat tall, working my twat on the throbbing knob of his rod, and thrusting my chest at him. His tongue darted from one bright pink peak, to the other, back. He was making me crazy-crazy for more. Crazy to feel the last inches of dick grind up my little round belly. I loosened, pushed down ... taking him in, in.

"That's it, baby. Man!" Lifting again, he coaxed me closer still, and again let me down.

"Ohhhhhhhhhh! OHAH!"

Steve's teeth clamped tight on the tender flesh at the outer side of my tittie. "Yeah man!" he hissed. "Sweet Christ! Your, um! Ah! Your cunt's a motherfucking oven, doll. Manoman!" Humping up, he planted the last of his stiffness, and began sucking a hickey into the creamy mound now mashed against his face.

I sat still a moment, heart racing, pulse gone wild, cunthole slopping up with lubricant. F-f-fingerfuck my asshole," I whispered, remembering how good it was with both Steve and Mr. Nash going at me. "Two fingers. All the way up."

"Shit! Why fingers?" Again Steve lifted me-this time all the way off-and let me down, but this time with his hard dick grinding up my puckered asshole.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhh! Oh God, oh God, oh G-G-Goddd!" The sudden, unexpected, wonderful maneuver left me gasping. I forced myself down ... taking the entire pole up my chute. But now my cunthole was empty, and cold, and jealous of the stiff thing buried between my quivering buttocks.

"Man. This is one we never tried before," said Steve, again lifting, and again letting me down-bloated, shit-slimy prick filling the vacated port below my curly blonde bush. Then he lifted again, and again drove the cruel dart up my asshole. And again. And again and again and again.

I moaned and thrashed in his lap; spewing juice all over his thighs and balls, and the slipcovers, and expecting to pass out if it continued. It was impossible, I knew. But Steve had found a way to fuck me in both places at once: one dick acting as two, front to rear, and back, and back, and back.

I was coming all over the place-making strange, guttural noises, alien to my ears. But it was only the beginning. For just as I was about to rest with my head on his shoulder, Steve shimmied his hips to the edge of the chair, taking me with him; and, without breaking the contact, cock high in my rectum still, lifted one of my legs, and spun me.

"Steveeeeeeeee!" I wailed, the friction of the move scorching my sensitive sphincters.

"Shhh," he soothed, nibbling the back of my neck, my ear. He waited for me to settle down, relax. Then he added: "I'm gonna fuck you every way there is to fuck a woman. Then maybe you'll change your mind about leaving. No one knows you as I do, Carol-your cunt, your sweet little asshole. And what you need is a demonstration run-all systems GO!" Clamping one hand over my pussy, the other splayed at my belly, he fingered and rubbed and twisted his meat persuasively in and out of my soft little ass.

"Oh yes," I breathed. "Yes, Stevie. Yessssss. Anything. Any way you want. Only don't stop. Don't stop, Stevie. Don't! Don't! Don't stoooooooop!"

It was difficult to move up and down in the new position. So, instead, I ground my hips round and round, from side to side. Was it possible to experience orgasm in your asshole? I wondered. Queers did, I supposed. But the sexual mechanism in a woman, the clitoris, has nothing directly to do with the rear entry. Yet now I felt as if I were coming back there, too.

I felt drowsy and warm and content to sit on his rod for the rest of the night. My gaze settled hazily on the coffee table across the room. How nice it would be to have Steve ream me while bent over that, I thought. Or over a desktop ... as hotsy Mr. Phelps had screwed me a few days before.

Mr. Phelps! The mere thought of the principal disturbed my contentment by triggering thoughts of the Roysters. I glanced sidelong at the phone. Fucking slowly, panting and wishing Steve would hurry and come so we could try something else, I recalled the first time Lonny had driven his magnificent swipe up my tight cunthole. Rape! Lord! The thing every girl feared! I had been so frightened, so stunned, I didn't think I'd ever recover from crazy Lonny's bludgeoning rod. And afterward, with thoughts of escape racing through my mind, I didn't think I'd ever willingly take a dick that huge, that mighty-almost as fat around as a soup can, I remembered-up my belly. But now I knew better. Now my pink little slit longed for the incredible monster. Now, with the marvelous thing gone-perhaps forever! perhaps the phone would never ring to summon me back!-I realized what a treasure it was. No one could satisfy me as Lonny and Brent had done daily, I now knew. No dick could dig as deep, or engorge my insatiable hot, hairy holes as the two I'd learned to love while a prisoner at the big, ivy-covered stone house on the outskirts of town.

"Sit still a minute," groaned Steve, yanking me abruptly back from my reverie.

I hadn't realized that my hips had begun to churn faster. Now I tried to slow down. But my ass refused to sit still. Because now I wanted Steve's hard cousin prick up my pussy, where it had started. The memories, the thought of Lonny's awesome rod, and Brent's smaller but somehow even more gratifying member, had taken me back-had excited my clit as only they could manage. And now I wanted to fuck. Face to face. On the floor ... as Lonny-the brute!-had taken me that first time in the dark cellar. I wanted to lie flat on my back, where I could wrap my tense legs about a man's middle, and kiss him, and make my pussy perform the function it was designed for.

"Chrissakes!" gasped Steve, holding me still. "Simmer-um! AHHHHHH! Simmer down or I'll come."

"I want you to." I craned my neck, trying to kiss him.

"Not yet, cuz. We've got a lot of, ummmmmmmmm! Baby-baby-slow down! We've got us a lot of good fucking to do before I pop."

"Oh-! On the floor then. We-we haven't done it on the bare floor in the longest time."

Before he could object, I leaped from his lap, turned and sat on the hardwood floor-knees up and apart, sloppy wet cunt and asshole gaped open invitingly. "Hurry Stevie," I said, reaching for him with outstretched arms.

He was at me in a flash. He fell with his full weight on my belly, my breasts, knocking the breath from my lungs. "You're the craziest bitch I ever knew," he breathed hot in my face. "You're like two broads-the one who trots around all prim and proper, wanting to be a teacher, and whoever in hell you are when you open your legs."

I blinked. It was the very same thing I had thought two days before in Mr. Phelps' office: there are two of me! And the one whose legs now were gaped open, the one whose cunthole was snapping at the shit-smeared glans of Cousin Steve's cock, was a wanton who had been born at the Royster mansion. And it was there she belonged.

"Babylove," whispered Steve, centering his rod.

I helped. Legs wide, ass raised high off the hardwood floor, I wiggled and pumped and fucked myself onto him. "Ummm! Um, do it, Stevie. Hurry. Do it! Do it! Push in. PUSH!"

Steve's lips covered mine. I took his tongue. I strained upward ... the wet, slippery pink folds of my sex sucking him in with the greed of a hungry vacuum cleaner. When I felt his coarse cock hair flush with my bush, scraping my swollen, distended cuntlips, I dropped my ass to the floor and wrapped my legs tight about his middle.

Steve gasped saliva into my mouth. His hands slipped down my sides. Fingers became talons, he gripped the jiggling halves of my bottom, and squeezed cruelly. He began to screw: to drive his rigid prick in and out ... faster and faster ... grunting and slamming it home ... faster still ... reaching for orgasm.

The phone must have rung at the same moment the first fiery spurt of gism shot into me. For I barely heard it. And by the time I realized the bell wasn't part of the ringing inside my head, it was too late.

Darn! I thought, knowing, somehow certain it had been Brent calling.

Then I sighed, bit Cousin Steve's lower lip and continued to screw. For I knew if Brent had called once, he'd call again. And that meant I wouldn't be there when Cousin Steve arrived after work the following day.