Chapter 10
I was as giddy as a schoolgirl. I stood at the window waiting for the Mercedes limousine to appear, to wisk me out of town, and deliver me to the ivy-covered Gothic and the man I had spoken to on the phone early that morning. Soon! I thought. Soon!
But as the big, black car nosed into sight at the apartment house, I experienced reservations. Would the Roysters, because I was returning voluntarily, use me the way Cousin Steve wanted to? I wondered. Were they, at that very moment, preparing to teach me-the teacher-even more perverted practices than I'd already been subjected to? My heart raced. My palms sweated. I watched the afternoon sunshine glitter off the polished hood of the car, and thought God! I had committed myself, there was no turning back, and once I was inside the big house, with Lonny and Brent and the chauffeur-Lord! I had almost forgotten the chauffeur, who now was stepping from the car in the street below, as black as the enamel-they could do what they liked with and to me.
For a moment, I considered the phone .. thinking of Steve ... undecided whether or not to call him. But then the doorbell rang, and almost before I could open the hall door the tank-like black chauffeur was there; snappy gray uniform neatly pressed, hat cocked, and grinning.
We didn't speak: I could no longer trust my own voice, my emotions, and he had never been one for conversation. Without hesitation, he brushed past me, into the living room; hoisted the suitcases-as if they were weightless: the way he had lifted and tossed me onto the canopy bed at the mansion-and led the way out the door.
I paused to look back. There was lots more to do: I had packed only the essentials, and hadn't even thought about canceling the lease. I wondered what Steve would think, what he would say, when he arrived that evening, to find me gone. I considered leaving a note. I considered telling the chauffeur I had changed my mind-needed time to think. Then I remembered Lonny and Brent, their cocks. Again my heart raced. Quickly, stifling all negative thoughts, I locked the door and hurried down the hall stairs.
The drive out was pleasant. In the back seat, with the air conditioner on and a thick plate of glass separating me from the strong black hands steering the car, I relaxed. Was it really happening? I mused. I recalled the first trip out. Had I known at the time what awaited me at the big house, I would have directed the taxi driver to turn back. But that was months before. And now, despite the butterflies in my belly, I felt more alive than I'd ever felt in my life.
Glancing from the trees whizzing silently by, to the rearview mirror, I realized the chauffeur was watching me. His gaze caught and held mine. His eyes were hot coals. I blushed. I could almost feel his strong black fingers gripping the soft underside of my thighs.
Southern style! I thought. You ain't never been fucked till you been done by a black man southern style!
Abruptly the car veered right, into a cutoff. Now we were going away from the big house. I knew. Hastily I picked up the phone connecting the passenger section with the front seat. I watched him lift the extension and place it to his ear. I started to speak. But I suddenly realized I didn't know his name.
"You want somethin', white girl?" The voice was deep-but warm and goose-pimply.
"We-we're going the wrong way," I whispered.
The chauffeur laughed. He steered the Mercedes into another turnoff, and slowed because of the narrowness of the dirt road. The car bounced gently. "Ain't no wrong way," he said finally. "Not fo' what we gonna do."
"But B-Brent is expecting me," I objected, envisioning the long, black, uncircumcised dick that had plowed into me dozens of times during my previous stay with the Roysters, and knowing the driver was taking me to some secret place-planning to be the first from the big house to sample my charms.
"Mr. Brent won't be home 'fore supper," said the chauffeur into my ear. "Now you sit nice 'n' quiet, 'n' get yourself ready fo' some good fuckin'. I gonna warm you up some fo' the boss-make your pretty blonde pussy nice 'n' juicy."
How dare he talk to me like that? I thought. As if ... as if I were a common trollop! With trembling fingers, I replaced the phone and curled up in the corner. My mind recoiled from the vision of his sweaty black body against my clean pink and white flesh. But I had no one to blame but myself. And my cunthole wasn't recoiling. It was remembering the power behind his pistoning loins-the way he came and came, tireless.
I waited.
The Mercedes came to a stop beneath a tree with branches that all but covered the narrow dirt road. Oh God! I thought-one part of me wanting to get out and run, but the other, the wanton part, wanting to stretch out on the cool leather, lift my mini, and open to the fiery thing in his pants. Motionless, unable to breathe, I watched him step from the driver's seat, drop his hat, take off his jacket, close the door and move to the back of the car.
I considered locking the door. But before I could do more than form the silly thought, a cool breeze wafted in on my nylon clad legs, and the chauffeur was there ... half kneeling, half sitting on the seat ... swipe bulging inside his pants, and gnarled black hands coming toward me.
"You-you have no right," I objected inanely. "Don't need no right."
I shuddered when his fingers grazed the inside of my thigh. I had come knowing what to expect. But now, faced with the finality of my choice, I was momentarily repulsed. "D-don't," I breathed. "I-I d-don't want to. I don't!"
"You don't, like I don't like chitlins." Ignoring my unconvincing protests, he unfolded my legs, from beneath me-made me sit with one thigh on, the other over the edge of the seat. His hand shot up to my crotch. "Been thinkin' lots 'bout you since last time, white baby. 'Bout this!" He rubbed my pussy through the panties. "'Bout how good it gon' be to fuck my dick up you again."
His voice, the words and the way he spoke them, banished the last of my resistance. I had indeed come knowing what to expect: I had come wanting what he offered. I raised one knee-forming a wide V for him to probe. I pressed my cunt into his hand; slid further down in the seat, and said, "Show me."
Growling deep in his throat, he curled his strong fingers at the legband of my panties; and, with one mighty yank, tore out the flimsy crotch.
"Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I was surprised and delighted by the sudden move. I slipped lower still, using my hips to work the torn undergarment high in back, exposing the pinched crack of my ass, my slit.
Bending close, the chauffeur blew into my open pink gash. He sniffed. "It been missin' this blackmeat," he chuckled. "Smell how anxious you is, white baby." With that, he ran two fingers up between my cuntlips, and raised his hand to my face.
I sniffed the fishy stink of myself on his fingers; crinkled my nose. The smell of cunt is okay. But I was more interested in the stiff thing in his pants. I reached for him. "I don't even know your name," I giggled, warm all over, and feeling silly because of my initial reluctance.
"Linus, honey chile."
"Linus?"
Helping me find the zipper at his fly, he nodded.
"I don't like it."
Bucking his hot prick into my hand, he said, "But you sho' 'nough like this."
"I love it," I whispered. "How-which way be like southern style, doggie-style."
"Ain't no southern style in no car, sugar." He leaned forward, fucking his dick in and out of my hand, pressing toward my gaped open pussy.
Surprised at my own brazenness, I said, "If you put the window down-" I indicated the thick glass between front and rear seat-"I could lay belly first over the backrest, and it'd be like southern style, doggie style."
"Lordy! You the hottest little mother-!" Running his hands up the tender inside of my thighs, over my stockings, tracing the garter belt digging into my flesh, he shook his head. He was too eager to fuck to waste time lowering the window. "You jest slip you ass down a ways V forget southern style," he added, spreading the hot lips of my cunt. "Ole Linus got somethin' you is gon' like jest as good."
I gulped when the rubbery hunk of meat at the tip of his rod brushed my cunthole. I wiggled my ass further down in the seat ... until I was lying flat, and staring hotly up into his grinning black face. Still holding his dipstick, I guided him.
"Tha's it, sugar. Put it-oh man! Put it in yo' fine white pussy fo' ole Linus."
"Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" I fucked my hips off the seat, taking the glans-my cunt swallowing it, to where the shaft thickened. One leg bent at the knee, flush with the backrest, I snaked the other over his broad back. The garter belt pulled tight, biting deep into my thighs, hurting. But I didn't care about that ... or that his snappy uniform would again be stained with my juices. I didn't care about anything except getting the rest of his lovely black cock up in my belly.
Pausing a moment, twisting around so that he looked like a circus contortionist, Linus hooked his arm in the crook of the leg high on his back. Before I knew what he was up to, the leg was bent double, knee pressed tight to my right breast. He then guided the other leg against my left breast-opening my gash so far I thought sure I'd split at the seams. "Now you is ready for fuckin' country style!" he told me.
I moaned. It was better than southern style. I could barely move. But now my sweet clit was bared, and he was pumping: working his dick up my cunthole, rigid black inch at a time. "Oh! Ohah, Linus," I sobbed. "I-I love it. I-OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" I rearranged my legs some-hooking the calves over his shoulders, still bent double but with more room to work. "Oh, do it, Linus. Fuck it in. Yes. Oh yes. Oh God, yesssssssssssssssss! Y-Y-Y-ESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"
"You jest hol' tight one mo' minute, hot baby." With his bloated purple-black prick halfway in me, he paused to unbuckle his belt. He shimmied the pants down his powerful legs, kicked them off. Now, with only the shorts as an incumbrance, he settled down to screw.
My cunt had never before seemed so huge, so deep. Why hadn't someone-Brent or Steve or Mr. Phelps-thought of this before? I wondered. I felt him going in ... slowly ... ever so slowly ... making the initial penetration last for what seemed like forever. My twat was a bottomless pit. Sucking and nipping. Drawing. Already sloppy with juice, and wetting his shorts and what was left of my panties. I gurgled unintelligible love noises. I thrashed. I locked my arms and legs about his neck and shoulders, and lifted, and wiggled and wiggled and wiggled-impaling myself.
Cupping his hands under my buttocks, Linus kneeled on the seat. Then, grunting and digging his fingernails into the softness of my plump bottom, he fucked the roots into me.
"Oh! Ohhh! OH L-L-Li-nusssssssssss!" I felt his balls pop free of the shorts, and mash against the wet crack of my ass. I had never before been so juicy, so alive with liquid love. But I was thinking of another big cock: thinking how good it would be to suck Brent-handsome Brent-while the uncircumcised black dick was dipping in-out, in-out, and another, perhaps Lonny, perhaps Rhonda, with her candlestick dildo, reamed my asshole. How many swipes could a woman take at once? I wondered. Three? Four? Black ones? White ones? Were there yellow dicks, too?
"Oh mother! Oh, motherfuckin' pink 'n' white sugar!" gasped Linus. "We got us a good one gon'. You jest oweeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Ow Lordy! Oweee! You jest keep it a-workin', momma. Youjestahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! 'Cause I'ze about ummmmmm! Oweee-ow! I'ze about to pop one in you like you ain't never been popped in no time."
"Hurry!" I cried, on the brink of orgasm.
"I'ze almost ah! I'ze-"
"Do it. DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO IT!" I tightened my inner cunt muscles as best I could in the awkward, bent double position. It was sensational. The car rocked to our rhythm. The leather seat creaked. One garter clasp snapped, and the stocking, too, opened to catch my spewing lubricants.
"Oh man. White baby. White sugar, with the prettiest white pussy." Cruelly Linus dug strong fingers up my anus, the nails slicing my sphincters.
I squealed with pain and pleasure. "So good," I whimpered, fucking, fucking with all my might, a whisper away from coming. "Shoot! Oh, please sho-oot!" I moaned ... knowing his hot gism would push me over the brink ... trying to remember if there was any difference between the pearly drops that flowed from a white swipe and those which would soon pour from the tip of the ebony pole up my cunthole. I offered my pink lips to his black mouth. He accepted. "Come!" I breathed, screwing faster, dizzy with desire, sucking his tongue as my vagina was sucking the hunk of meat at the knob of his cock, and as my bottom, my tight little asshole, was going round and round on his fingers.
Lifting me all the way off the seat, actually holding me-as if I were a doll, weightless-in the palms of his huge, gnarled hands, Linus slammed me against the car door. His dick swelled inside me. His nuts leaped. Driving his tongue all the way in my mouth, to my gullet, it seemed, he grunted and blasted a thick gob of cum up my pussy.
Suddenly I was all over him. For I was coming, too. My cunt was drinking his goo, and gurgling it out, down my ass, my insides ablaze with sensation. Somehow I managed to get my legs from his shoulders, to his waist. I held. I used my belly, as if it were a cement mixer-bleeding his meat as doctors of old used to bleed patients. Milking his rod. My lovely little cunthole was a smoking volcano, and his prick was supplying it with molten lava.
Finally, after the last drop of semen had been planted high in my belly-higher than ever before, it seemed-Linus tore his lips from mine and began to suck air. "You is one hot little motherlover," he rumbled.
I rested a moment. Holding tight, my head at the crook of his neck, body wrapped like an affectionate monkey around him, I whispered, "What time is it, Linus?"
"'Bout two, I s'pose."
I cast a mischievous glance at the instrument panel, where the push-button window controls, cigarette lighter and phone were. I grinned. Reaching out one finger, I pressed the button that worked the thick glass between front and rear seat. A faint buzzing filled the car. Still grinning, I watched the glass partition glide down. "Linus?"
Pulling back some, swipe only slightly less hard and in me still, his sweaty black face stared questioningly into mine. "What you want now, hot little white baby?"
"Southern style, doggy style," I cooed.
As we approached, it was the big, ivy-covered stone house, like a yawning Buddha, which seemed to be coming slowly toward us from the far end of the long gravel drive. I had never before taken much notice of the grounds surrounding the place; had always considered the Royster estate an extravagant eyesore. Now I noted the tall, neatly trimmed hedges; the trees, with inviting patches of shade from the hot afternoon sun; the flower beds, and huge stones painted white along each side of the drive.
First impressions! I thought. They weren't always right, after all.
The Mercedes slowed to a crawl as Linus nosed her around the circular portion of drive that passed in front of the old house. The car stopped. I watched the chauffeur-hat cocked rakishly once more, gray uniform only slightly the worse for wear-step briskly from the front seat, and hurry to open the passenger door.
"Thank you, Linus," I whispered, feeling silly about the formalities, and disappointed because no one had appeared to greet us.
Don't be dumb! I chided myself. It's not as if you were a long-lost relative, or Brent's betrothed.
I looked up at the high paned windows of the room where I had awakened the day Lonny raped me, and where, afterward, Brent and Rhonda had initiated me into their sex games. Where Linus first made me suck him. And the candlestick! Oh, the French-tickler candlestick!
No! I thought-it wasn't as if I were Brent's betrothed or a long-lost relative. But it was as if I'd come home.
Except for the new pink bedspread, matching canopy top and drapes, the room was the same. The antique mahogany furniture was polished to a mirror finish, and on the vanity the candelabra boasted new shafts that made me goose pimply with the memory of the one Rhonda had used on my tight little asshole. Now, looking at the lengthy thing, moving one finger slowly up and down the smooth cylinder, it was difficult to believe the maid had actually used the thing for such a bizarre purpose.
"I'll help you unpack first," said a familiar feminine voice behind me.
"Oh-!" My hand leaped from the candle. Startled, I turned to find the blowsy maid closing the door. I watched her come toward me-moving with a briskness, almost grace, I had never before noticed.
"Darling," she whispered, crushing me to her pendulous breasts, one hand caressing my bottom. I had discarded the torn panties. Her stubby fingers found my bare flesh. "Ummm!" she cooed. "After we get you settled-before those men get at you-Rhondie'll use the new candle."
"I-I-"
"I know, dear. I know!" she soothed. "I missed you, too. But now we're together again, and there's no need to tell Rhondie." She kissed me full on the lips. Her fingers probed the split up my little round backside.
Well, what did I expect?
Sighing, I returned her caresses. She was the only woman I had ever experienced sex with. And it had been months since the last time. Her hands moving over my bottom, lips moving against mine with a gentleness no man had ever displayed, I recalled the heady stink of her cunt ... the way her hips moved when I sucked her ... the candle. I didn't want to unpack. Despite the hours with Linus, I was icky, and wanted only to climb into bed with her blubbery body pressed crotch to face, crotch to face with mine.
But Rhonda was all efficiency. Breaking the kiss, she smiled and patted my cheek. "We'll never get you settled this way," she said.
I watched her hoist first one suitcase, then the other, onto the bed; undo the locks, and begin transporting my things from the luggage, to the bureau, the closet, the vanity table. I brushed a wisp of hair from my brow. Kicking off my heels, I tried to help.
"Oh, no you don't. This is my job." She sat me down at the foot of the bed.
I grinned. It was just as I remembered: I was to be the pampered young mistress; with servants, breakfast in bed, and cocks-the two biggest, and the chauffeur's black, uncircumcised rod-at my disposal.
"But hurry," I told her, eyeing the new candlestick.
Her gaze followed mine. She hesitated. Setting a handful of cosmetics down on the vanity, she said, "I suppose we could let the unpacking wait."
Cheeks burning, cunthole wet and ready, I opened my legs and reached for her with open arms.
Dinner was a sumptuous affair. I felt strange sitting at the big table-just me and Brent and Lonny-with Rhonda, the cook and butler-an elderly couple who appeared only at mealtime-running back and forth between kitchen and dining room. No one said much. But Lonny kept glancing my way: mumbling and frowning, as if trying to remember where it was he remembered me from. And Brent! He was even handsomer than I recalled. And each time our gazes met, his deepset brown eyes made a committal.
After the meal, we moved to the plush, high-ceilinged living room with refinished, thick-cushioned furniture I estimated to be a century old. The butler brought goblets of brandy. Lonny crouched before the fireplace-enchanted, it seemed, with watching the yellow-red flames leap from pine logs that filled the place with a delightful woodsy aroma. Brent took my hand. Leading me through the French windows, to the dark veranda at the side of the house, he said, "I think I deserve a few minutes with you before-"
Before the orgy begins! I supplied mentally. My heart became an African drum beating a primeval tattoo. "Before what?" I teased.
Holding me at arm's-length, he eyed my breasts. I had worn my best, low-cut white knit minidress, no bra. His eyes narrowed. "Before we take off your clothes and see if there's been any changes since last time," he said finally.
"Rhonda already did that," I said, still teasing. "And Linus, on the way out."
His hands slipped from my shoulders, to my tits. He stepped close. I felt his marvelous dick against me. It was beginning to stiffen. I offered my lips. His handsome face came down slowly, searchingly. Our mouths met. I stood on tiptoe; wrapped my arms eagerly about his shoulders. and pressed my belly, my cunt, tight to his muscular loins.
It was only a moment before the kiss became a heated union of tongues, and Brent's hands were all over my willing body. I felt suddenly brazen. My own hands dropped from his neck, to the front of his pants. His cock bulged. Awesome. Titillating. I traced the ferocious thing, to the roots-found and hefted his nuts. I moaned into his mouth. He was even bigger than I remembered: a telephone pole, with two hairy basketballs beneath. Even through the pants, he was longer by half than Steve; and, it seemed, twice as fat around.
But I wasn't content to feel him merely through the pants. My fingers found the zipper. It grated. My hand slipped within. I located the opening at the front of his shorts, crept inside. My fingers closed around his rigid manhood.
Without breaking the kiss, Brent steered me back, to the railing along the edge of the flagstone veranda. He lifted my dress in back. I felt cold metal against my upper thighs. And hands-Brent's wonderful hands-searching for the waistband of my panties.
"Not here," I breathed into his mouth.
But there was no stopping him now. I had excited him. And a Royster excited, ready to screw, was like a bull turned loose in a cow pasture. I felt the cool night air on my buttocks as the panties came down. I felt the guardrail press into my flesh. I felt myself being lifted, set on the rail; felt his powerful hands shimmying the undergarment off my thighs, my knees. Then the nylon was gone, my legs were spread, and he was standing close once more.
Finally, he raised his lips from mine. Lifting my dress high, he held the hem bunched at my waist, and stared hungrily down at my pussy. His free hand slid up the inside of my quivering thigh.
I gasped as his fingers dug deep in my cunthole. Yanking his prick from the fly of his pants, I, too, looked down. Again I gasped. Had I actually taken the monster up my belly? And Lonny's? Lonny's was even bigger, I recalled. But it didn't seem possible that my tight little cavern could withstand the bludgeoning power of even the one in my hand.
Brent stepped closer still. Now his dickhead was so close I could feel the heat. "As I recall," he said, fingers playing in my blonde bush, "you like to put it in. So put it in for me, Carol. Tutor me."
There was no restraint in me, no regret. "I love you," I cooed, meaning it as never before.
"How much?"
"Oh-! I-I love you...." Quickly I set the glans of his meat at the lips of my pussy, " ... this much. And this. Oh! OH! An'-and this!" Lifting first one cheek of my ass, then the other, I took the tip.
"Jesus! Um! Don't stop loving me, baby. Love it all the um! Ahhhhhh! All the way in!"
My cunt, still stretched from the long afternoon session with Linus, and only partially satisfied by Rhonda and the new French-tickler-candlestick, drew him quickly home. Inch by magnificent inch, the slippery pink folds engulfed his member. What a joy! I thought-to be a woman ... to have a lovely blonde bush, a vagina ... to be able to produce the sighs of pleasure, of conquest, Brent now was making.
But it was my conquest, too: more so! For now I was free of the shame, the revulsion, the silly little-girl-innocence that had been a part of my basic makeup when first I came to the big house. Now I felt the hard pitted steel rail digging into my bottom; felt Brent's pants scraping my twat-irritating the tender lips, hurting-and knew pain, when accompanied by sex, a stiff cock, was what I really wanted.
"Hurt me, Brent," I demanded. "Like-like the first time you made me fuck. Make me cry out. Hurt meee!"
Making his dick swell inside me, making it breathe-a boa constrictor, it seemed-he rumbled, "If my rod doesn't hurt you, nothing will."
"Then squeeze me," I sobbed. "My-my buttocks. Don't you like my buttocks?"
"I love your fucking buttocks, baby."
"Then do it. Squeeze them. Please. U-use your fingernails. PLEASE!"
Brent complied. Retreating, and ramming his stiffness back, he pinched my behind. He buried his face at my neck; bit. His fingers became talons-things of prey. One found my anus. I stiffened-expecting sudden, brutal penetration. But his finger didn't twist in. Instead, he used the tip, the nail, to torture my sphincters.
Adoring the pain that wasn't pain but pleasure, I closed my eyes and envisioned the young girl hotsy Mr. Phelps had bent forward over the desktop-recalled the way her flesh, her little round bottom, leaped and jiggled and reddened when the switch fell. Was Brent planning to beat me? I wondered. With the belt? Was he planning, as part of the orgy to follow, to make my ass jiggle and jump like the tiny brunette's?
"Oh Brent. Brent darling, please," I moaned, remembering how the belt stung, tightened and heated my ass flesh, making sex so much better. I wrapped my legs around his waist. My hot little cunthole became a frantic juice factory-manufacturing, and distributing the thick white lubricant over the front of his pants and dinner jacket.
"They ah! Ah baby! Christ! They never had teachers like you when I was in school."
"I don't feel like a tea-oh! Ohahowww! L-l-like a t-t-teacher, Brent. I don't!"
"Tell me what you feel like."
"Like ohah! Like a wanton. A whore, with a big, juicy blonde cunt. Your whore. Y-your cunt."
Spreading his hands on my ass, Brent hefted me higher, off the guardrail. Jerkily, he turned. Now he sat on the steel rail; me astraddle his lap, legs still high on his waist. "Then fuck like a whore," he directed huskily. "Ride the stiff pony. Up and down, baby. Pretend you're a monkey, and go. Go baby. Up and down the tree."
I kissed him. Mashing my lips to his, I tightened my leg muscles; rose. When his dick was almost free of my cunthole, I loosened-gliding down him like a well-greased piston. The feel of his long swipe grinding back sent hot chills up my spine. Greedily I sucked his mouth and repeated the kinky maneuver. Up and down. Again and again and again and again and again. I stopped breathing; stopped trying to control my body, and allowed my hips and ass and pussy to take over.
It was a difficult position. But Brent knew all the tricks: ways to make his big wonderful prick overcome the awkwardness. Each time I came down, he made the glans swell-contracting when I rose, only to have it grow even fatter next time I fell. Soon he was gasping into my mouth: close to coming, I knew. I fucked harder. Harder and faster ... up-down, up-down. My tits bounced inside the tight dress. My taut nipples grew sore from the knit. But my cunthole was even more sore. Sore with the need to drink cum. Sore in a way I wanted always to be sore. I was Brent Royster's whore, not a teacher-I didn't care if I never became a teacher. I wanted only for him to use me, to fuck me, to beat me if he chose. But most of all, I wanted his cum in my belly.
It didn't take long. I felt him go rigid, arm and thigh muscles become steel bands, as I again came down, taking his rod all the way up my love hole. I stayed down, in his lap ... using the wet, pulsating walls of my eager sheath to bring him the rest of the distance. My cunt was, as Mr. Phelps had said, an educated thing. All by itself, without any help from the rest of my body, it coaxed the cream up from the fat hairy sacs I adored.
Brent's finger, at last, the longest one, shafted into my asshole. One hand high on my back, pressing me close, he tore his mouth from mine and glued his lips to the hard nipple showing through the knit dress.
"Ohah! Brent. Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm! Do it! Oh, do it good. Hard! Shoot! Shoot, Brent. Shoooooooooooot!" It was the best cumload ever. Bucketful after bucketful pissed off up my pussy-making me come, too. It oozed out ... ruining his pants, I knew. It soaked the hem of my dress. It dripped to the flagstone. But most of all, most important, it trickled endlessly down the inner walls of my vagina-making me thrash and cry out, moan. His dick popped and popped. And the thick, sticky milk-like fluid-saturated with even thicker gobs, the size of pearls-shot fiery darts of ecstasy through my trembling loins.
When at last it was over, we rested in the awkward position ... his mighty swipe basking in my warmth ... my cunt nipping gently. I breathed deep of the clean night air. There was a full, yellow moon, I noted. It hung like a lantern in the blue-blackness and gray, casting shadows over the grounds beyond the veranda. The night seemed to beat with a pulse of its own-like the powerful thump of the heart in the massive chest pressed tight to my bosom. Like the pulse in the finger high in my rectum still. "It was wonderful," I sighed.
Slowly Brent raised his head from my shoulder. He kissed my eyes, my cheeks, the corners of my swollen mouth. His foot came suddenly up behind me-my panties dangling from the toe of his shoe. He reached, caught and waved the undergarment under my nose. "You'd better put these on now," he said, grinning widely.
I pouted. "Are we finished already?"
"Out here we are." He stood; held me while I unwrapped myself, then let me down on wobbly legs. "But the others're waiting upstairs," he added.
There was to be a party, I learned. Rhonda had carted bottles and bottles of liquor, glasses and ice to Brent's bedroom, where I was to be the guest of honor. Lonny was there when we arrived. He and Linus were stretched out on the bearskin before a fireplace identical to the cozy brick monster in the living room. It was the first time I had seen the master suite-with its canopy bed, twice the size of the one in my room, with three steps leading up to the platform it rested upon.
I was impressed-no! awed!-and frightened once more. But my fear had nothing to do with the room. I had thought about taking three cocks at once, but now, faced with the prospect, I didn't think my fragile body could withstand such a bludgeoning from Brent and Lonny and the tireless black chauffeur.
And Rhonda! Lord! I thought. Was the maid, too, planning to have me at the same time?
Suddenly Lonny leaped to his feet; grinned foolishly at me. Had he finally remembered who I was? I wondered. I watched him dig in his pantspocket and produce a folded and dog-eared square of paper. He came toward me. I retreated a step-only to back into Brent, whose strong arms closed around my waist from behind. His swipe was semi-hard still. I felt it center in the crack of my ass as Lonny unfolded the paper, held it close to my face, and yelled, "HOR-SIE!"
I was delighted. It was the page from the picture book I had made him study the first day in the improvised classroom at the rear of the house. Now he spelled it for me ... face aglow with childish pride ... lackluster eyes almost normal.
"Oh Lonny," I cooed, wanting to cry. "You remembered. You actually remembered!"
"He's been running around showing the goddam thing to anyone who'll listen," growled Brent in my ear. "A fuckin' horsie! Teach him to spell something else, for chrissakes."
He was joking, I knew. Everyone in the room was grinning, obviously proud of Lonny's accomplishment-thereby displaying acceptance of my ability as a teacher. I wanted to hug everyone. It was perfect now.
Rhonda poured and passed drinks. "I propose a toast," she said. "To our house guest."
"One of the family," added Brent.
"H-O-ahhh-R-S-I-E!" said Lonny.
We drank. Rhonda refilled the glasses, and someone else-I don't remember who-proposed another toast. Then another. And another. I had never been much of a drinker. And by the fifth-or maybe the sixth: I don't remember that, either-glassful of something which I supposed was champagne, I was swaying in Brent's arms, and the room, the huge, elevated canopy bed, had begun to spin.
I hardly noticed Brent's hand on my tit. But I felt his rod: stiffer than when we screwed on the veranda, it seemed, and poking gently into the crack of my ass. The drinks had warmed me. I pressed back ... wishing he'd lift the hem of the mini, take out his joint, and fuck it up my chute while we stood there.
Rhonda must have detected the desire in my face. For suddenly she was there, standing close, kneading the breast not covered by Brent's hand. "I think our lovely darling is ready for bedie-bye," she cooed.
Lonny, who had been drinking two glasses to everyone else's one, suddenly brightened. "Best pussy!" he shouted.
Then he was there, too-breathing hotly into my face, hand groping beneath the front of the mini. I felt myself being half-walked, half-carried across the room. I closed my eyes, floating.
Hands were all over me ... lifting the dress off over my head ... taking my shoes, my panties. They guided me up the three steps, to a mattress as soft as a cloud. Then, one by one-first Brent, then Lonny, then Rhonda, and somewhere between, the black chauffeur-they stripped.
Lying back, panting in anticipation, I watched the three cocks spring into view. I compared them: Lonny's, the fat end of a baseball bat, with ridges and thick pulsing veins; Brent's, only slightly smaller, but with a glans that was rounder, more appealing; the chauffeur's purplish, uncircumcised pole, which seemed to have no veins or ridges, but was covered instead with a smooth jacket of skin that ended with the hunk of meat where the cute little red tip hid. I shuddered. My cunthole grew moist. My asshole tightened. My mouth filled with saliva. "This calls for a plan of attack," said Brent. Kneeling beside me on the bed, he rubbed his square, clefted chin. His dick stood straight out. Lonny joined him. He waited for Linus and Rhonda to kneel opposite, then added, "I've got it-the Dagwood sandwich!"
"Wha-?" I felt myself being turned, onto my side. The old fear returned momentarily-fear of taking all that magnificent meat. How in the world? I wondered.
Rhonda seemed to know exactly what Brent had in mind. For, without having to be told, she lay facing me-but with her head at my pussy. And before anyone could utter another word, her tongue lashed out.
"OWWWWWWWWWWWW!" Throwing my leg over her shoulder, I wrapped my arms around her big hips, and mashed my face, my mouth, to her fishy crotch.
Linus, too, seemed to know what to do. For no sooner did I begin to lap, to drink the strong stink of the maid's sloppy cunthole, than he was there, behind Rhonda, humping his black stiffness up her flabby ass, lovely balls within licking distance of me.
I was too busy sucking, alternating my tongue from hot, hairy hole, to balls, to cock, to know at first who it was lying full length along my back, and setting the tip of another wonderful hard-on at my anus. I gasped ... pressing back ... rectum aching to be filled. I heard Lonny's dim-witted grunting laughter close to my ear; heard Brent directing him, and knew my tight asshole was about to receive the longest, mightiest prick-the bludgeoning monster that had bored into me for the first time months before in the cellar.
"Yeah, but where the fuck do I go?" Walking on his knees, Brent moved to the head of the bed, where I could see his fat cock. He studied the pile of churning, naked flesh. "Shit!" he blurted.
I reached for him. My small hand closed tight on his giant shaft. He sighed-content for the moment, it seemed, to have me jack him off.
Suddenly my asshole was being torn asunder. Lonny, caught up in the excitement of the moment, had begun to fuck his dick up my chute in brutal lunges. I yelped into Rhonda's bush; took a mouthful of black twat hair, bit down, and tried to open my sphincters. But his swipe was too big, it seemed: too thick around to fit the tiny brown pocket low between the soft trembling halves of my ass.
"Let me help." Lifting my leg high, Rhonda buried her face between my tense thighs, and began to cover Lonny's prick with saliva.
"Oh-! Oh, it-it'll n-n-never gooooooo!" I wailed in great distress.
"Best pussy," breathed Lonny, pulling back, allowing the maid to wet the tip of his stiffness, then humping, humping, humping the thing back up my protesting rear.
I thrashed. I moaned. I sucked Rhonda's cunt, Linus' balls; moved my hands furiously up and down the length of Brent's jerking member, and tried to think only of the delirious pleasure awaiting at the end of penetration.
But it was too much for me. Where before the room had been spinning gently, it now whirled-a tornado! My vision blurred. Blackness came.
I wasn't out long, I suppose. Because when I next opened my eyes, the three dicks were still hard. But now I was lying flat, with the four of them-two on each side-staring uncertainly down at me.
Brent scowled. "What she needs is a taste of the belt to make her sweet ass willing," he informed the others.
"Me first though," said Rhonda, leaping from the bed. She was back in a flash with Brent's belt. She kneeled at my feet-fat creamy buttocks up and ready.
Without another word, Brent doubled the leather snake and moved into position. Glancing from me, to the maid's upthrusted behind, he began to lash. Rhonda quivered and sighed-raised her ass even further.
My breath caught. Wide-eyed, I watched the angry red welts appear. My hand closed on Linus' uncircumcised rod. It was slimy with shit from the ass at the foot of the bed, but hard. Hard, hot and nonetheless appealing. My free hand groped for Lonny, who was sitting in a yoga pose, mouth agape as he watched his brother beat the willing maid.
By the time Brent was through with Rhonda, I was so icky, so willing, they could have shoved the entire bedpost up my behind. The black cock in my hand was ready to pop, I knew. I dove at it-sucked the stinking, shit-smeared cylinder into my face in one gulp. I rolled; presenting my rear to Brent and the belt. And as the first gob of cum shot into my mouth, the leather fell ... licking tongues of fire through my buttocks ... bringing my clit up tall.
"Tha's it, white babylove. Suck!" Forcing my head down, bruising my lips with his wiry cock-hair, Linus drove his meat into my flushed, sweating face. His gism poured into my throat. "Suck it, girl," he gasped. "They's plen'y mo' where that come from."
I didn't have to be told. I loved the salty taste, and the bitter tang clinging to his shaft. I loved the belt-the fiery thrills it created with each lash. I loved the big house, the huge canopy bed, and Brent and Lonny and Rhonda. I wanted to screw: to give myself completely. I was drunk with the liquor and sucking. Drunk with the welts rising on my soft little white ass. Drunk with the knowledge that now, after all the mental anguish, the doubt, the fear, my two selves had merged.
Abruptly the whipping ended. "Just look at those sweet, rosy cheeks," groaned Brent.
"I fuck now?" asked Lonny.
"Not at this end, brother. You put your, ah-your horsie up front-up Carol's pussy. This end is mine!"
I felt his hands spreading the cheeks of my ass-felt his weight coming down, and the glans of his cock pressing into my anus. I let Linus' dick pop from my mouth, and turned onto my belly-then up, onto hands and knees, opening for him. I felt his hands at my hips ... pulling me back as he pumped. I worked with him ... gasping, forcing myself onto the stake.
"Now, that's more-oh Jee-zus! AH! That's more fucking like it!" Prick embedded to the hilt in my rectum, Brent made me lie flat again, and turned me onto my side.
I craned my neck, trying to kiss him. But then Lonny was here, in front, spreading my anxious cuntlips with the knob of his baseball bat cock.
"Ohah. OHHHHHHHHHH!" I raised one leg, took the tip and began to wiggle him home.
Brent waited until his brother had gotten half the length up my vulva. "Now fuck!" he rumbled against my hair, and began to grind.
Moaning, out of my head with lust, I began to move forward and back, round and round, as I had done with Steve and Mr. Nash. But I had barely gotten the last of Lonny's stiffness up my wet pussy, when Rhonda-mashing her face into my face, her welted ass into Lonny's-wedged between us. And Linus, frantic to have someone finished what I had started, it seemed, rearranged himself at the head of the bed, and planted his still bloated black swipe deep in the maid's willing face.
"Oh God. OH GOD FUCK ME EVERYBO-DEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I cried into Rhonda's cavernous gash.
In reply, Brent grunted and began to drive his long dick rapidly in and out of my rectum. And Lonny! Oh, crazy, wonderful dim-witted Lonny! Spelling his one word over and over-interspersed with my name-that interspersed with "best pussy!"-he began to hump so hard, so intensely, I thought sure he would burst a blood vessel, or my pussy, my little white-blonde wedge, would go up in smoke.
"Suck my clit," mumbled Rhonda on the stiff rod she was mouthing. She guided my face. "Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhh!" Her hips began to jerk rhythmically.
I could see and hear Lonny's big tongue lashing furiously against the maid's stinking anus. One hand at my back, the other played over the halves of Rhonda's ass, he humped his dick up my cunt and sucked asshole.
It was the wildest thing! Impossible! Yet somehow we managed to synchronize-two pussies, three pricks, arms and legs and hips and asses grinding in syncopation. Brent's hands cupped my breasts ... kneading ... taunting the nipples. He stroked smoothly. His balls slapped my cheeks with each dip ... grazing the bigger, wrinkled gism sacs jerking beneath the incredible thing digging wetly in and out of my pink cunthole.
I thought back-to my first stay at the big house, and the first time I saw the unbelievable things now plowing my two hot hairy holes. How utterly impossible it seemed at the time, I recalled: almost as impossible as what we now were doing. Yet now, with the last of my silly inhibitions overcome, with the wanton me and the teacher me united at last, my body seemed to have been custom-made for the Royster brothers.
Poor Stevie! I thought. But now, I realized, now that I knew what I wanted, there was no reason why Cousin Steve couldn't visit-why we couldn't make love as we'd done regularly since childhood. I had everything now, I decided: Lonny to teach, and the others to join him in teaching me.
Was this happiness? I wondered. What most girls search for and never find?
Then I stop thinking. I gave myself over completely to the driving force of the dicks pounding my lower body, and the twat mashed to my face. "Do it," I sobbed, meaning it as never before, fucking with all the synchronized parts of my being.
"I think we'll keep you," whispered Brent.
"Sister Carol?" Lonny's wet face grinned at me from between Rhonda's legs.
Brent laughed. "You don't fuck your sister, stupid."
"Huh?" Lonny blinked at me.
"It's okay, baby," I told him. "But don't talk now. Please. Fuck Carol."
"How?" demanded Brent.
"Hard!" I drove my ass onto his cock with all the force in my hips. I didn't want to abandon Rhonda's gaping love hole. But orgasm was near, and I wanted to kiss Brent: to have my lips glued to his when it happened. Again I craned my neck. This time he was waiting.
The kiss grew feverish as the rod reaming my slippery asshole began to tremble and jerk, and one up my pussy began to dip faster. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think-could do nothing but screw. Cum was moments away. My belly became the life force; guiding my churning pelvis, my thighs.
Like the rhythm we'd set, it happened in syncopation. Both dicks shot into me, to the roots. The hands on my titties clutched cruelly. Linus and Rhonda stiffened-the former groaning, the latter brought home by Lonny's tongue lapping her anus. My own little clit shot out from between my swollen pink cuntlips. And as the giant, dim-witted but wonderful brother ground his coarse cockhair against my soft curly bush, grunting and lapping the maid while depositing gism in me, my belly turned over inside, my twat tightened thankfully, and I came. I came in tune to the joystick flooding my rectum ... accompanied by the one pouring cream into Rhonda's face. I thought sure I would die: drowned in a sea of semen.
I sobbed joy and laughter. What was it Cousin Steve used to say when we were kids, and I kidded him about fucking himself to death? Yes! I remembered.
"What a way to go," I gasped into Brent's mouth.