Chapter 6

For weeks, living off the money Brent had given me, I didn't do much of anything except sleep late, soak in the tub, and while away the day doing housework and watching TV until Steve arrived. Each evening now, almost as if we were married, he came straight to my place from work. And usually, before the supper dishes were cleared from the table, he was at me-taking what he wanted in the kitchen more often than not.

I didn't mind, I suppose. I had always loved fucking, and Cousin Steve. But the arrangement began to go sour one evening when he arrived with his boss-a short, rotund man, who reminded me of Jackie Gleason-explaining in a harried whisper that he'd been late for work that morning, and had invited Mr. Nash to dinner figuring I could charm him out of being mad.

"Plus they're thinking of pushing someone upstairs," Steve added. "Can you imagine? Christ! If I make it, I'll be the youngest assistant vice president the firm has ever had. Be extra nice to him, Carol. My promotion may depend on what happens here tonight."

"How nice do you want me to be?" I countered hotly-but out of earshot of Mr. Nash, who was watching me with the eyes of a man hungry for more than a hot meal.

Steve steered me into the kitchen. Before I could protest, he had his hand beneath the hem of my mini, and was kissing me. Fingerfucking my slit until I was passive, he said, "The old goat thinks he's a lover, Carol. You know what I mean. He's harmless. But if he pinches your ass when I'm not looking-well, do your Christian duty and turn the other cheek."

"What in heck do you think I am?" I balked.

Steve laughed and drove his fingers hard up my pussy. "C'mon, cuz. I'm not asking you to take the old bastard to bed. Just be a little bit nice."

"I won't!"

"Oh no?" Again he kissed me-this time driving his tongue deep in my mouth, and forcing the fingers not working my cunthole into the down at my anus. He kept it up until I was gasping and fumbling to get his cock out. Then he pushed me away, and added, "Now you're hot enough to be nice to a snake. And if you want me to do something about it after Mr. Nash leaves-well, like I said, do your Christian duty."

I listened to Steve and Mr. Nash talk shop all through dinner, and tried not to notice that the latter's gaze spent most of its time darting away and back to the deep cleavage at the low-cut neck of my dress. I knew he was thinking: I'd sure like to suck on her tits! Draw her nipples into my mouth while her tight pussy draws my swipe up its warmth! I'd sure like to fuck her!

But the rotund businessman did no more than look and compliment me on the meal until we were finished eating and I began to clear the table. Then, just as I was beginning to believe what Steve had said about him being harmless, and as Steve was starting for the living room, Mr. Nash said, "I, ah, I'll help your lovely cousin with the dishes, Steve. You go ahead. I'm used to donning an apron. The wife, you know."

"No, really," I protested. "It'll take only a minute if I do it myself."

"Nonsense!" insisted Mr. Nash. With a dish in each pudgy hand, he brushed past me, to the sink.

I glanced pleadingly at Steve. He winked. "Okay," he said. "You two do the K.P. But what we really need now is a good after-dinner wine. So I'll just run down to the liquor store, and be back in maybe fifteen minutes."

There was an unopened bottle of wine in the cupboard. But before I could open my mouth, Steve was gone from the kitchen, and Mr. Nash and I were alone. I heard the front door open and close. Oh darn! I thought. Oh darn! Oh darn! Oh darn it all, anyway!

Mr. Nash eyed me. "Don't we have an apron?"

Nervously I motioned to the utensil drawer beside the sink. I watched him smile, open the drawer, find the folded apron and shake it out. I never wore aprons, I thought to mention. But he was already coming toward me. And again before I could open my mouth, he was reaching to tie the cloth belt around my waist. His arms-weren't very long. And as he fumbled behind me-face much too close to the cleavage he'd been ogling all through dinner-his leg brushed gently between mine.

"I-I'll do it," I told him.

"Nonsense! I enjoy doing things for young ladies. Particularly when they're, um, when they're as lovely as you."

I stood rigid and allowed him to continue to fumble. My cunt began to tighten. Steve's earlier manipulations had left me in a state of desire. Now, as the elderly businessman's upper leg brushed my crotch, my pussy, I yearned for a stiff dick. I felt his breath at my breasts, and thought God! God, I had met the man only an hour before, didn't even like him, and my body was ready to open itself to his lust.

"Steve tells me you're a teacher," said Mr. Nash, tying the belt finally, but allowing his hands to linger at my waist.

"I-I've had only one job since graduating from teacher's college," I managed, voice hoarse. "As a private tutor. To-to the Roysters."

"I know. Steve told me about that." He smiled wickedly.

Oh Lord! I thought. Steve wouldn't! I backed into the sink, trying to escape but managing only to trap myself. The leg between my thighs pressed harder, more intimately. "Wha-what d-did he tell you?" I gasped.

Mr. Nash's hands moved down over my hips, to the curved underside of my bottom. "Not much. Not as much as I'd like to hear, anyway. Only that Brent and Lonny Royster taught the teacher a few things, and that since you came home, the only thing you seem to want to do is fuck.

I was horrified. "S-S-Steve t-told you that?"

"He was right, too. I've been watching you, young lady. Like now. You're pretending to be outraged, but your eyes say different, and I'll bet your pussy's itchin' like a bitch in heat." He hefted the cheeks of my ass, used his leg to spread my thighs, and pressed what felt like a stiff hot dog into me.

"Don't!" I gasped. "Oh don't, please. I-I-"

"You what?"

"I-I'm not what you think! They forced me! They-they kept me locked in a room, and-and made me do all those terrible t-things."

Mr. Nash chuckled. His hands slipped beneath the mini in back. He traced the split where the panties were sunk deep in the crack of my ass. One finger wiggled into the space between the back of my thighs. "You mean like I'm forcing you now?"

"Yes! I mean, nooo! I mean-oh! Oh, I d-don't know what I mean anymore."

Again Mr. Nash chuckled. "Then I'll show you," he said, nuzzling his face into the warm valley he'd been ogling. The pudgy hands beneath my dress moved up, to the waistband of my panties; and, while he rained wet kisses over the creamy upper side of my breasts, began inching the nylon underwear down.

"S-Steve may come in," I whispered.

"He said fifteen minutes."

"But you can't...."...." Fuck in fifteen minutes?" he supplied. "Why, at the office the secretaries call me a three-minute egg. Just show me to the hot water, and watch me boil." With that, he pushed the panties down my thighs, and made me step out of them. Then he guided my hand to the hard hot dog in his pantsleg. "Take it out for me," he directed. "Steve says you like to play with a cock for a while before it goes in."

The pig! I thought. Cousin Steve! Oh, the filthy, loudmouth bastard! He was worse than Brent: worse than Lonny and Phelps and Rhonda-even worse than the ugly black chauffeur! But as my fingers touched the hard little bulge at Mr. Nash's fly, a shiver ran through me. And when he worked the zipper down, and steered my hand inside, to his miniature shaft, my cunt grew so wet, so anxious, that I forgot everything except the few minutes we had before Steve returned.

"Don't jerk so goddam hard," groaned Mr. Nash as I freed the thin, red dagger. "I've been watching you with half a hard-on since I got here. And I don't wanna shoot off anywhere but-" he cupped his hand at my pussy, "-right here!"

"Then hurry," I moaned, spreading my legs, leaning back against the sink with feet wide apart, and setting the bulbous glans of his stiff little cock at the wet lips of my vulva. "Do it quick. Before, um! Before Steve gets back."

My hips shot forward as he drove the tip of his hard peg into the pulsing pocket between my thighs. I wrapped my arms around his neck, dropped my head to his shoulder, and worked to draw the length of him in. He wasn't very big: seven, maybe eight inches, I estimated. But he was a man. And he had balls. And no matter how small his equipment was, there was good hot cream waiting at the end of the thing fucking its way up my tight, blonde wedge.

"Y-young lady. Oh, lovely young lady," sputtered Mr. Nash. His pudgy hands returned to my ass-moved slowly, gently over the soft mounds of flesh, fingers probing until one found my asshole. The finger slipped in, and matched the tempo of the rod climbing higher and higher up my pussy.

"Suck my tit," I told him, already nearing orgasm. Shrugging one heavy breast free of the low-cut dress, I thrust the taut nipple at him.

"Yes. I've been wanting to." His teeth clamped tight on the tender, pink bud.

A stab of pain shot through my breast. I sobbed. Why was it that every man I knew seemed to enjoy hurting me? I wondered. And why was it I no longer objected, but found even the pain delightful-had come to accept it as part of the sex act?

"Incredible!" gasped Mr. Nash, fucking the last of his miniature prick up my belly. He rested with the fly of his pants flush to my cunthole. "Steve sure wasn't lying. You're as good as a cherry. Better!"

Be nice to him! I thought, recalling Steve's words. It was obvious now: Cousin Steve had promised his boss a piece of me in exchange for the promotion. But it no longer mattered. Nothing mattered except the meat embedded in my love hole. I lifted one leg ... moved it slowly up and down the outside of his thigh ... stretching my cunt ... opening and closing on Mr. Nash's throbbing cock. The month with the Roysters, and the month since my return, had wrought strange changes, I was learning. Not only had I begun to accept pain as a part of sex, but talk, dirty talk, particularly when it was about me, turned me on. "D-do you like me?" I breathed. "My-my pussy? Is-is it g-good?"

Mr. Nash bit down hard on my nipple-making me whimper. The finger probing my rectum dug deep. Pulling back, until he almost popped free, he slammed his rigid dick all the way up my twat. "I love it!" he growled. "Your cunt, your ass-everything! I could fuck you all night. All week. ALL YEAR! Put-put your legs around my waist."

"Oh-!" I had been hoping he'd ask for that. I loved to screw standing up, all wrapped around a man. But-except for Steve, when he wanted a piece of my ass, and Lonny and Brent a few times-I seemed to be the only one who did. Hurriedly, I raised one leg, waited for him to get set and grip the underside of my thigh, then raised the other. I locked my ankles. "Oh yes," I sighed, cunt gaped all the way open, sucking pants and all up my belly, it seemed.

Taking firm hold of my ass, Mr. Nash began to hump and grunt. His little dick stoked rapidly. I paced him ... churning my hips, my ass ... squeezing with arms and legs ... spewing cuntjuice down the front of his pants. I wished we were naked. I wanted to see him but the minidress, although short enough to bare my sex, hid the action. I wanted to watch his cock grow slimy with my goo, and slip in and out, and grow fatter and harder and redder at the moment the cum began to inch up from his balls. Leaning away, I glanced down between our straining bodies. But it was no good. All I could see was the hem of the dress moving in and out each time he lunged.

But although I couldn't see him, I could feel. I could feel his rod beginning to jerk: swelling each time the glans reached the top of my sheath. I could feel his nuts slapping against my downthrusted ass even through the pants. And I could feel his finger high in my rectum-feel the tempo of both cock and finger increase as I worked my inner cunt muscles, and the gism, the hot cream I craved, began to make the journey up his stiff shaft.

A three-minute egg! I thought, coming, filled with the giddy wonder of orgasm. I fucked faster-driving myself with all the strength in my body onto his pistoning cock. Then he was coming, too: filling my cunthole with gook, groaning and grunting and fucking the stuff up my pussy.

It was over not a moment too soon. For I had just unwrapped myself, and was climbing into my panties when the front door burst open, and Steve, a brown paper bag in hand, stepped into the living room, in line with the kitchen door. Quickly Mr. Nash hid his limp, sticky cock. But what if Steve had caught us? I thought. Hadn't he told the rotund businessman all there was to know about me, and brought him to the apartment with me as the bargaining point in his career?

And, I speculated, smoothing the front of my minidress, perhaps if Steve had walked in a moment sooner, and caught us, I'd have gotten my secret wish: one in front, one behind-two stiff dicks pissing cum up my belly at the same time.

"I think a glass of wine is just what we need to put the finishing touch on, ah-an excellent dinner!" said Mr. Nash as Steve, all smiles and awareness, stepped into the kitchen.

"Well, never let it be said that my Cousin Carol left a guest wanting," replied Steve-as if I were the only one in the room who didn't know what was happening, what they were grinning about. "Bring some glasses to the living room," he told me. "Mr. Nash and I have to talk about my promotion."

Hands on hips, cheeks burning with shame and panties wet and uncomfortable, I watched them leave the kitchen. I still wore the tiny apron, I realized. And the dishes still lay unwashed in the sink. And worse: my little blonde pussy still ached ... wanting more of what Cousin Steve had interrupted.