Chapter 5
By the end of the thirty-day trial, I had been to bed with everyone in the Royster home, and occasional guests. And I was surprised to learn that Brent actually intended to keep his part of the bargain. At his direction, Rhonda-a tear in her eye-packed my bags. A taxi was called for. And as suddenly as bondage and the perpetual orgy had begun, I was free.
I returned to my apartment in town with mixed feelings. I was angry because of what had happened to me. But, as Rhonda had predicted, I could never bring myself to tell anyone of the things that had been done to me in the big house. Everyone for miles around looked up to the Roysters. Yet there was something more: something I had not yet come to grips with. Although I had wondered about what Brent would do on the day the contract I had been tricked into signing expired-whether he would ask me to sign another or merely drop the charade-I had never expected to be dismissed with such finality.
And there I was. Home! Without a job! With money enough to last awhile, and memories enough to last a lifetime, but right back where I'd been before my interview with Mr. Phelps. I was at once confused and bitchy; and worse: although I tried desperately to shake the emotion, to avoid the implications, I was a little bit sad.
What I needed was time to think! I told myself. And occupational therapy! So I busied myself with dusting and getting reacquainted with the four-room apartment I'd lived in since graduation from college. Hair up in a bandanna, wearing faded jeans and the old flannel shirt Cousin Steve had donated to my housecleaning outfit, I paused to study myself in the full-length mirror behind the bedroom door. I was none the worse for wear, I decided. In fact, my figure was fuller, more appealing, yet my face had somehow managed to retain its youthful innocence.
It was true what they said! I thought, scowling. It didn't show! I had been fucked every which way, subjected to every perversion, and could no doubt still get away with walking to the altar in virginal white.
By early evening, the apartment was clean, but I was filthy, exhausted, and glad to be home where I could bathe and climb into bed without wondering who and how many would join me. But no sooner had I started the bath water than the doorbell rang.
"Oh-! Go away!" I hollered, not at all happy about the prospect of visitors.
The bell played the buzz ... buzz ... buzz-buzz-buzz-buzzzzz tune that was Cousin Steve's calling card.
Oh darn! I thought. I couldn't turn my only cousin away! Besides, I decided-I needed someone who understood me: someone I could talk to about things I wouldn't dare discuss with anyone else. I forgot the bath and my resolve to turn in early. Hastily I moved to the hall door, opened it, and smiled up into the gray eyes a shade deeper than my own.
"Well! If it isn't my long-lost sexy cousin!" Steve brushed past me, into the living room. He waited for me to close the door, then added, "I thought you were kidnapped or something. I've been here half a dozen times in the past month. Nothing! No lights! No notes! Telephone ringing! Where in hell were you, anyway?"
"You look well," I said, purposely avoiding the questions and admiring the brown-blond wave that hung down over his forehead ... the squareness of jaw ... the wide shoulders. My gaze dropped to his crotch. Although his cock was limp, I could see the bulge in the tight flares he wore.
Steve grinned. "You missed it, huh?"
"What?" I looked away.
"Coy? After all the times I fucked this up that hot little pussy of yours?" He clutched the hose in his pantsleg. "C'mon, cuz. Don't pretend you're not looking at me like a thirsty man just in from the desert stares at a tall glass of water."
Fire spreading through my cheeks, I moved past him: busied myself with dusting the newly waxed end tables at either side of the long, sectional sofa. I loved Steve. I suppose I loved him too much. But now, the memory of my thirty days in the Royster home still vivid in my mind, I needed him more as a friend than as the lover he'd been for years and years. "Is that all you ever think about?" I asked petulantly. "Sex? F-f-fucking? Is-is that all I mean to you?"
Steve sobered. "Man! Something's really buggin' you, huh kid?"
"Yesssssss!" I wailed, stomping my foot, and feeling silly and helpless and totally feminine.
"Okay! OKAY! I'm sorry already." He stepped close, took me by the hand and gently sat me down on the sofa. He flopped beside me. "Wanna talk about it? I mean-is it something you cart tell your favorite cousin about?"
"Oh Steve!" I threw my arms around him and buried my face at his neck. In a small, muffled voice, I told him about the interview with Mr. Phelps that had led to the Roysters-explaining that I didn't tell him, Steve, about the placement because I wanted to be sure: wanted to try the job for a few weeks before making up my mind, giving up the lease on the apartment and moving into the big old house for keeps. Then I told him what had been done to me ... about the first horrid rape, in the cellar; about Lonny and Brent and Rhonda, the chauffeur, the guests. I left nothing out. And by the time I had finished, Steve was holding me at arm's length-mouth agape, staring into my shame-reddened face with an incredulous look in his eye.
"Holy shit!" he choked finally. "Did they really make you do all those cool, kinky things? I mean-you're not exaggerating some, are you? I mean-well, shit! Wow! I never thought you had that kind-a swinging scene in you. You know? Carol? Baby? Sweetheart?"
"You're terrible!" I yelped.
"Well, for crying out loud, cuz. You never did any of that cool stuff with me. I mean-you're a straight-fuck expert. And a wild knobjob once in awhile. But multiples? And you never once let me near your cute little ass!"
"OooooohhhhhhHHHHHHH!" I wanted to belt him. His prick-his big stinking cousin swipe-was standing tall in his pants. It was as if he thought I enjoyed the horrible perversions the Roysters had subjected me to.
"Tell me about the chauffeur," said Steve. "Shit man! A fuckin' black! A hard ebony joint up your belly! I'd sure like to see that!" He pulled me close-cupped one tit and tried to kiss me.
"Steeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!" I tried to push him away. He held me. I felt his teeth at my ear ... biting ... nibbling like a shy mouse! I thought. Nibbling as Midge, the girl captive before me had chewed Rhonda's long clit ... as I had nibbled the glans of Brent's big dick. And the chauffeur: as I had nipped at the hunk of purple-black meat bobbing at the tip of his filthy, uncircumcised rod.
"Your nipples're hard," observed Steve.
"They're not!"
"Shit!" He traced one taut peak with a fingertip. His free hand went to work on the buttons down the front of the frayed shirt. I hadn't bothered with a bra, and when he saw my bare boobs, he groaned and bent to kiss the bright pinkness at the summit of one succulent mound of whipped cream.
"D-don't! Not tonight. You-you were supposed to talk to meee."
"You talk. I'll suck 'n' listen."
I shivered as he drew the point of one breast into the warmth of his mouth. "Oh-! I-I can't concentrate w-while you're d-d-doing th-that. Stop. Please. Steve?"
His hand dropped to my lap. He cupped his palm over the swell of my pussy. "Tell me about the black buck," he said, kneading my sex. "About how he fucked his meat into you. Was it good? Did you dig it?"
I closed my eyes, chewed my lip and tried not to think about the flashes of light his fingers and lips were causing. "He-he used to get me late at night," I heard myself saying. "The chauffeur. After the others were done. He-he used to sneak in my room, and wake me, and-and make me undress him. Then he'd lie down beside me, naked, and suck like a baby nursing on his mother. He loved my white titties. He used to suck and suck and suck me for hours and hours. Like y-you're doing now. Only harder. All the way in his black mouth. Half my boob." I gasped. I could see him, the chauffeur, inside my head: licking my breasts and finger-fucking my slit until I was half crazy with desire and jerking, jerking, jerking his unkosher cock. The vision was so clear, so real, I couldn't tell whether it was Steve or the insatiable black man unzipping the fly of my jeans.
"Sit on my lap," whispered Steve. "Lemme feel that fine little ass on my joint."
"No Steeeeeeeve. Nooooooooo."
But he already had the jeans open, and was probing, seeking the elastic legband of my pink panties. "Lift up," he told me, "so I can get these fuckin' things off. C'mon, cuz. I haven't seen your sweet pussy in a month."
The words set my cunthole aflame. I lifted-first one hip, then the other, allowing him to work the worn denims down my thighs, off. I looked down at myself. Tiny blonde curlicues peeked from both sides of my nylon underwear. I couldn't blame Cousin Steve. I couldn't blame anyone. My sex, my adorable white-blonde wedge, held fascination even for me.
"Boy!" exclaimed Steve. "It looks better every time. I must've screwed you four million times since that day in the attic. But it's always new. Like gold. You never get tired of something that pretty." He coaxed me onto his lap ... onto the stiffness, the throbbing, full-grown hose in his pantsleg. "What about the chauffeur?" he persisted. "Did that black motherfucking white titsucker ream out your rear?"
"Owww!" I felt his rod bend beneath me, and nuzzle-like a bow almost ready to shoot its cum-arrow-in the crack of my soft ass. My vulva was dripping, wetting the panties, soaking through and staining his pants. He should take them off, I thought. So they wouldn't be ruined: ruined as the chauffeur's uniform was stained the time he came into my room and was too hot, too horny, to take off his clothes, and fucked his dick into me, and left the bed with white gook at his fly. "He-he never d-d-did me back there," I breathed, remembering where he had done me, and how, and how good it was after he humped his swipe in. "He-he didn't dig asshole. 'I ain't no bandit!' he told me. 'I likes my white pussy straight. Good 'n' hot 'n' snappin' on my John Paul Jones!' He-he told me that every time. Because he always came in after Brent-oh, fucking Brent!-had reamed out my rectum. Then, after the first time, the time I r-r-ruined his best uniform, he always stood at the side of the bed, made me sit at the edge and take off his clothes-piece by piece! And by the time he was stripped, his cock-oh, his black wonder!-and hard and long and dancing-that hunk of uncircumcised meat at the tip coming closer and closer and closer to-oh! Ohhhhhh! T-t-to my f-face!"
"Ummm!" Steve worked the panties aside and wiggled his middle finger up my pussy. "Did you blow him?"
"I-I-I-"
"You sucked his black cock!" he supplied.
"I-I didn't want to! Oh, I didn't! I didn't! But-bb-but he said, 'You'll mouth it, white girl! You gonna gimme some face else I'll beat yo' ass with the belt like Mr. Brent do. Hear?' Then he shoved it at me. That meat! That big hunk of pork at the end of his dong. But inside oh! Inside! There was a tiny red glans like no other. Bright red and fiery. He-he showed it to me. He-he drew back the foreskin, and grinned and said, 'Ain't he niz? Put you tongue there! Lick it some!' I-I couldn't say no.. I couldn't! My ass was already sore-all welty and bruised from the whippings. So I licked him. I-I took the little red tip in my face, and sucked. Then I drew the rest of it in-all the way. He-he wasn't so big. Ten inches. Nothing like Brent. Or Lonny. Only the chauffeur's was black and smooth, with no veins. And big flabby balls he made me wash with my tongue after every suck." The vision of the black prick inside my head, the one beneath me jerking spasmodically, I reached behind and under, to the fly of Cousin Steve's pants. The zipper came down. I groped inside.
"Yeah! Oh yeah, cuz-take it out! Man! Hold it awhile. In your hand. Jerk me off." Steve tore at my fragile panties. The seam gave. He flung the nylon from my hips. "Christ! Yourpussy!" he groaned. "Chrissakes! Oh man, chrissakes, lookit the fucking thing, Carol. Your hot little cunthole's breathin' like a motherfuckin' guppy sucking air."
I looked. He was right: my cuntlips puffed out, then in, as if drinking oxygen. It was the silliest thing! But my clit-the sweet mushroom pinkness protruding from the top of my slit-was anything but silly. It was beautiful! Rigid and ready! Pleading for something stiff! Moving back, wiggling my bottom into position in his lap, I opened my legs and set the fat tip of Cousin Steve's rod at the gaping wet folds of my sex.
"Wow! Holy shit!" With one upward thrust, he was in me; buried to the open fly of his pants.
"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh Steeeeeeeeve!"
"Finish telling!" he gasped. "About the chauffeur. How he did you after the blowjob."
"I-I-oh GOD!" I fucked myself down his stiff pole ... rose and slipped down again ... and again and again and again ... drunk with the feel of stiffness, of manmeat up my round belly once more. But I was remembering the black rod ... the big black lips at my nipples ... the white cream spewing from the tiny red tip up my hole. "He-he always propped me up on a pillow," I continued in a grating voice. "Southern style! 'Set that good pussy up high!' he said. 'So's I can drive down! Get it all in! Up you tight cunt! Ain't no white girl ever been fucked till she been fucked by a black man southern style!' Then-oh then! He-he made me raise my knees. 'High 'n' wide!' he said. 'An' plant yo' feet on the bed! So's you can push with your heels!' I did like he said, and oh! Oh G-G-God! Then he kneeled, between my spread thighs, and made me steer that hard veinless black dick up my pussy. So easy. So good. So-so oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh!" I kissed Cousin Steve. I held his face in my hands, drove my tongue into his mouth, and showed him with my lips that his prick was good, too.
Steve broke the kiss. "Baby. Let's do it that way. Like you and the chauffeur."
"Oh no. Not now. Don't stop. Keep oh! Oh God, Steve, keep it in me because I'm almost ready to c-c-commmmmmmme!" I fucked my hips faster ... churning and grinding ... bouncing like a jack-in-the-box up and down the length of his cock ... straining to reach orgasm.
Without withdrawing, Steve, swiveled me toward him: using my cunthole as a fulcrum. Then he knelt and dropped me flat on the sofa. He fucked his dick in, to the hilt-the move designed to lift me over the brink. It worked. I squealed and went rigid, then limp. He held for a moment more, then said, "Christ! I hate to do this. But-!"
A cool breeze from the window across the room licked my gash as his long, slippery cock pulled free. I moaned and went rigid again: climaxing a second time from the heat of my body meeting the cool air-slapping together like hot and cold water in a clanging steampipe.
Through a haze of desire, I watched Cousin Steve strip the clothes from his muscular body. "Hurry!" I pleaded. "Oh Steve, hurry and fuck me again. Like when we were kids, Stevie. Remember? Like in the attic and out in the toolshed. In the hammock. Everywhere. When you never wanted to stop. All day sometimes. One fuck after another."
"And when I used to sneak in your room at night," said Steve, coming out of his shorts, caught up in my madness. "Boy! Do I fucking remember! Who could forget! After the first time, you used to drop your drawers at the snap of a finger. Cousin or not, baby-you're the best cunt I ever had!" He kicked off his shoes. Black stretch socks the only thing marring his nakedness, he came at me.
I opened my arms and legs to him. His weight covered me. His hungry lips rediscovered mine. I felt his coarse cockhair scratch my belly ... then slip lower as he positioned himself for reentry. Then he was there ... burrowing deep in my cunthole ... filling the wet pulsing emptiness he'd vacated moments before. His hands covered my titties, squeezed. His palms taunted my nipples. His hips began to move: fucking his dick in-out, in-out, in a slow but steady and delightful rhythm.
I paced him. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, and sucked the knob of his cock with the delicate pink muscles at the top of my vagina. My knees shot up. My legs followed. I wrapped myself around him-locking my ankles at his waist, my arms about his broad shoulders.
No longer was I thinking of the black, uncircumcised cock. Now I was remembering: recalling girlhood and times when Stevie and me sneaked off to screw in the first hideaway we could find. I remembered the first time I sucked him off: months after the first fuck, when I was used to having a stiff dick piss cum into me. In the dark, dilapidated woodshed, I thought, closing my eyes tight, fucking my hips up at him and reliving the scene ... on my back but imagining myself on my knees and almost able to taste the pistoning rod dipping faster and faster and faster and faster and faster into the trembling pink pocket between my thighs. Bludgeoning into me. Boring. Deeper. Deeper still. Fucking toward the cumload I could feel jacking itself up the throbbing shaft grating again and again against the tip of my sensitive little clitoris.
"Carol, baby!" Steve gasped against my parted lips. "Oh mother! Oh!" His hands shot from my tits, to my jiggling buttocks. He gripped the soft flesh-spread the halves of my ass and drove his finger roughly up my rectum.
I screamed into his mouth: fucking harder, faster, more intensely. I wanted his gism. I wanted every ounce of hot cream in his big, hairy balls.
When it happened, it felt as if the top of my head, my skull, had become a gyroscope. My legs turned to mush, fell. My belly became a tight little ballbearing. And my cunthole! My pussy hair stood on edge-seemed to uncoil and spring back in place-and my gash became a wild, nipping, ferocious white-blonde tigress ... milking ... sucking up semen ... making Steve pant and groan and go rigid as the slippery inner folds ripped hot joy from his loins.
We rested a moment, flesh to flesh, bodies united and basking in the warm afterglow of good fucking. It had always been good with Steve. But with Brent! I thought. God, with Brent! With Brent and Lonny I had experienced Something not even Steve could surpass.
But it was dirty! I chastised myself mentally. Perverted! And now it was over, and I was home-with no candlesticks stuck up my asshole, and no filthy black swipes popping off deep in my face, disgusting me.
I forced the thoughts from my mind. "Let's take a bath," I cooed in Steve's ear. "Together. Like when we were kids. I was about to when you came."
Steve raised up on outstretched arms and grinned down at me. He made his slack prick pulse inside my pussy. I squirmed. "I'm gonna come again before long," he told me.
"Silly. I meant when you came to the door! Now c'mon. You can wash my back." Before he could stop me, I unshafted myself and twisted out from beneath him. I stood. Cum dripped down the inside of my leg. I crinkled my nose. "C'mon!" I yelped. "I'm all icky!"
"Okay! OKAY ALREADY!"
I cocked my head and smiled and held out my hand to him. How nice it would be if we were children again, I thought. Without worries. Without jobs to find. Without memories other than those of the attic, the woodshed, the hammock, and wherever else we had dropped our impulsive young love seed.
In the bathroom, Steve became the playful boy he'd been when we were kids. He pinched my buttocks when I leaned to run fresh water into the tub, and leaped out of reach when I tried to swat him with the wet washcloth. "Sadistic bastard!" I yelped when he did it again.
"Sexy bitch!" He slapped my left tittie.
"Fuck!" I chased him into the living room, over the sofa; into the kitchen and around the table and back to the bathroom-where he held up both hands in surrender.
By then we were breathless and laughing so lard we could barely summon strength enough to step into the steaming water.
"Hey!" said Steve, grabbing the soap from the dish in the tile wall and stepping up close behind me. "Does washing your back include these?" He cupped his hands beneath the outward curve of my ass, hefted the halves.
"Ummmmm!" The warmth of the water lapping gently against my calves, my shins, was soothing. I wanted to sleep: to lie down in the tub, Steve beside me, and let the room fill with rich billows of steam. I felt Steve's hands soaping my shoulders, then down. When was the last time we had done this? I tried to remember. It was long before the time in the attic, I recalled-remembering the day Auntie, Steve's mother, first noted the down on my cuntlips, and "laid down the law!" No more baths with her Stevie! she'd informed me. We were much too old for such continued shenanigans!
"I can't believe it," murmured Steve. "Huh?"
"Your asshole! Your fucking behind looks too small to take a rod the size of the one you say that guy Brent has."
I faced him, scowled. "Bath!" I yelled, snatching the soap from his hand, and rubbing it vigorously over his wide hairy chest. "We're supposed to be taking a bath. Bath! Bath!" I sniffled and scrubbed a thick lather over his upper body. It coasted down his navel and bunched at his cockhair. His rod was beginning to stiffen again, I noted. "B-A-T-H!" I reaffirmed.
Scooping the suds from his chest, Steve grinned and spattered a handful at my neck. A speck leaped into my eye.
"Darn!" I lifted one hand to my face. "Oh-! You're just as dumb as you were when-"
"Don't rub it," he cautioned, stepping close-so close his rapidly swelling dickhead brushed my bush. His lips covered my eye. He washed the soap away with saliva. Then his lips slid down my cheek, to my mouth. His strong arms closed tight around me.
"Ste-eve!" I pushed at his chest.
"Is that the way you thank me for saving your eyesight? Some cousin you are!"
"Oh-!" I let him kiss me. I knew what he was after. Yet I let the kiss grow heated, and mumbled only a cursory protest when his hands slipped down and over the flare of my hips, to my bottom. I let him bend me back ... forcing my pussy into his hardening cock. I let him finger my anus. I let him drive his tongue into my mouth and begin to grind before I tried again to push him away.
"I still can't believe it," he said in a voice thick with lust. "A prick that big up your brown! Shit! You won't have any trouble at all taking mine!" Abruptly he spun me. Locking his arms at my waist, he rubbed the tip of his rod up and down the pinched crack of my jiggling ass.
"You bastard!" I struggled, slipped and fell forward. I reached for the tile wall. Hands splayed, I caught my weight on outstretched arms.
"Hold it like that," said Steve.
"Noooooo!" I was spread-eagled in the stance I'd seen cops force suspects into for frisking. And before I could move or protest further, he was there-standing between my thighs, opening the cheeks of my ass with the anxious fingers of one hand, and setting the glans of his stiff dick at my asshole with the other.
"Don't fight me, Carol. Baby? I've wanted to fuck it up you like this since the first time in the attic. Remember how I felt your behind? It was smaller then. Not as plump. Not as fucking pink and round!" He pumped ... embedding the tip ... moving his hands back to my hips to hold me while he completed the penetration.
"Oh Steve! I-I'm gonna fall!"
"I'll um! Um, that's so fucking good 'n' tight 'n' hot. I'll hold you, babe. Don't fret. Just bend. Let go of the wall, put your hands on your knees and ah! Bend! Bend fucking double!"
I obeyed. There wasn't much else I could do. And although I was angry with Steve for having tricked me, Brent had conditioned my asshole. It was drawing him in ... sucking him up the shit-slimy walls of my rectum. Pulling at the knob of his joystick. Breathing. Biting.
"Carol! Sweet Carol, cousin, baby!" Digging his nails into my flesh, Steve pulled me back as he pushed. His dick-hard and fiery, but not nearly as long and thick around as what I was used to back there-drilled in. Inch by jerking inch it disappeared between my upturned buttocks.
"Owahhhhhhhhhhhh!" I sobbed, unable to resist the delicious friction teasing my sphincters. My hips began to buck out of control-round and round, back, forward and back and back until the whole of his rigid cock was planted up my tight chute.
"Damn! Keep ah! Ahhhhhhhh! Keep m-moving it just like that! Wow! Oh wow! Oh m-m-motherfucking WOW!" Steve began to push slowly in and out.
Looking down and back, past my belly, my wedge, I saw his fat cubes bouncing. Frantically I reached for them.
"Jeeeeee-susssssssss!" Steve fucked faster, slamming it into me, making his nuts leap like huge jumping beans in the palm of my hand. "Honey! Sweet baby! Christ! Oh man, go! Wiggle! Move it, cuz! F-fuck that cute ass around!"
I knew how he felt. The breathless pleasure was building in me, too. His prick seemed small inside me-in the deep nipping tunnel that was used to 18-inch candles and cocks almost twice the length of Steve's. But it wasn't the size that mattered. It was the pistoning stiffness. The heat.' The stuff that would fly from the tiny aperture in the bloated, pink, red and purple, lovely glans.
"Harder!" I cried. "Real hard! Oh! Oh, Stevie! F-f-fuck it out! Ream me! Shoot!" The gyroscope that had taken possession of my head earlier now controlled my pelvis. I leaned far forward, until his rod almost popped from its glove, and lunged my ass back at him. I fondled his sacs. My rectum became a wringer: a hungry vise tightening, loosening, tightening on his stiff, driving tool.
Steve's hands moved suddenly up my sides. Leaning over my back, breath hot at the nape of my neck, he sought my firm breasts. His fingers captured the nipples. He pinched. "Best asshole fuck ever," he groaned.
I thought about Lonny: best pussy! I imagined the giant's incredible meat up my rear. Could he like it that way? I wondered. Up my asshole? Would he, as Steve was doing, pant and tell me how good it was back there? Momentarily I regretted not having taken the giant's rod up my shitter. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, how adamant I was about forgetting the big house and what had been done to me, Brent and Lonny, their cocks-most especially their awesome meat dipsticks-were constantly lurking at the back of my mind. It was as if I had, after all, enjoyed the perversion, the shame.
Again I forced the troublesome thoughts from my mind-admitting to myself only that it had at times been good, and ignoring the implications. Now there was another dick in me: smaller, to be sure. But Steve had a way, a technique of his own, that made up for the lack of hard inches. Where Brent had screwed his cock up my ass in straight, even strokes, Cousin Steve fucked erratically-driving in at an angle, shifting his hips, pulling back from the opposite side, and holding a second with the knob at my sphincters before repeating the maddening maneuver.
"The-the water!" I gasped, noting the level had risen to the rim of the tub and was splashing over and onto the tile floor.
"Fuck the water!" barked Steve.
"But-"
Steve knocked the breath from my lungs by ramming his dick so hard up my asshole I had to again reach for the wall. "The only fucking butt I'm interested in is yours!" he rasped. "I-I'm almost there. C-coming!"
"Oh God! God, do it! Do it!" I forgot about the rising water: thought only of the cream about to spurt off in my rectum. My cunthole felt swollen, empty. I wished for another stiff cock ... wondered what it would be like to have two bloated rods pissing sperm up my belly. "F-finger my pussy," I wailed, envisioning Rhonda's candlestick dildo fucking my chute while Brent popped off in my face.
Steve obliged me. His hands moved from my tits, down and over my belly, to my soft, inner thighs. He spread the lips of my vulva. Cunt-juice dripped out and down, and mingled with the bath water. Two fingers on each hand slipped deep in the wet folds of my sheath.
"Owwwwwwwwwwwww!" I fucked faster. My cunt muscles nipped. My asshole grew sloppy and wild. Why-with all the perversions they'd subjected me to, I thought-hadn't the Roysters, Brent and Lonny, the chauffeur, the guests, ever tried sticking two lovely hard swipes in me at the same time? One up my twat, the other stoking where Cousin Steve now was planted.
"Babylove!" Steve shoved his meat in, to the hairy roots, held and began to ejaculate.
I moaned. I strained. I wiggled my ass and joined him-the hot flow of pussyjuice washing his fingers, and mingling with the other, thicker, stickier cream seeping from my engorged asshole.
Simultaneously, our legs gave. We dropped to our knees, in the tub, thigh deep in warm water. The cum continued to pour into me ... each spurt accompanied by a sigh from Steve. I straightened ... closing the cheeks of my ass on his pulsing dick ... squeezing off the last drops. Reading, writing and 'rithmetic! I thought. Those were my subjects little more than a month before when I walked into the principal's office at Community High. Now my majors seemed to be fucking and sucking!
"You're great," breathed Steve, dick less full but refusing to relinquish its burrow. "Beautiful! Your ass-Christ! I never o thought-I mean, I never knew anything could be that fucking groovy."
"Pull out," I whispered.
Steve chuckled. "No way, baby."
"But you-you're going limp."
Steve breathed more gruff laughter into my ear. His hands crept back to my breasts. Affectionately he kneaded the turgid, creamy mounds. "You just keep doing whatever in hell you're doing up there, cuz. In a minute your asshole'll have me even fuckin' harder 'n before."
"I love you," I cooed, unable to help myself, craning my neck to kiss him. Shivers raced up my spine. Goosebumps popped out all over my body. Since the Roysters, I thought-since the day crazy Lonny raped me in the cellar-the mere mention of a prick growing hard was all my pink little cunthole needed to blot out morals and logic, and make me a sex machine.