Chapter 2
Craig piloted the little roadster expertly, dogging the water as it backed up to form a new breaker and then turning sharply and gearing down, causing the rear wheels to spin and slap until they bit into the wet sand and propelled the little convertible back toward shore just ahead of the new wave that would wash away the tracks. The powerful engine and Kathy's laughter were the only sounds to pierce the silence hanging over the deserted beach.
It was a warm and clear night, without a sign of fog or the trace of a breeze. The full moon played hide and seek behind the high drifting clouds, blinking on and off like a heavenly neon sign when a cloud passed under it. Had it not been for the dance at the country club, this was the kind of perfect evening that would have attracted the residents of El Camino en masse to their private beach. Fires would dot the shoreline and the steaks being grilled over the flames would compete with the smell of the sea air.
Playing tag with a rushing and retreating surf from Craig's car pushed from Kathy's mind the doubt she had felt when he veered from the highway and began the winding steep descent to the beach. Yes, it was a lovely night. And, yes, she would enjoy kicking off her shoes, the wet sand beneath her feet and the cool waters teasing her toes. But, contrary to their custom, Kathy had no prior role in making the decision. He simply had cornered sharply from the main highway and there they were, beach-bound. It was almost as if he had a secret plan for the balance of the evening. Once the car was heading down the narrow rocky road, Craig had asked the questions she could not answer honestly without sounding encouraging about the whole idea. What really bothered her was that while the incident with Grayson earlier that evening was a mistake due to her creative imagination, the bulge she saw in Craig's trousers at the dance was very real indeed. Worse, he knew she looked at it, making it a shared secret experience of the most intimate variety.
She was afraid of secrets. She worried when others wanted to confide in her, weighting her down with the burden of their trust. Kathy had only one of her own, one she had never revealed to anyone, not even Jean. In spite of her strenuous efforts to blot it forever from her mind's eye, it flared up time and time again, a cruel brushfire in her memory, when she was least able to drive it away. The scene from the past manifested itself in her brain while she slept. The defenses of her body fought to extinguish the flames by releasing cold perspiration through her pores until she snapped awake with a heart-stopping shock, soaking wet. The sound of her soft cries would fill the darkened room and the tears streamed from her eyes down the sides of her face until she convinced herself it was only the dream again.
Kathy dreamed of a little girl of ten playing quietly in the loft of a stable separated from the two horses below by a thin wooden flooring punctuated with knotholes. Her playhouse is an exciting place because, for her own safety, she has been forbidden to go near the large animals without the company of an adult. It is thrilling to disobey, particularly since the threat of punishment came from her father, an affectionate man who has never raised an unloving hand to her and who even had to work hard to appear strict and crabby when he issued the order.
The sound of shuffling feet and the welcoming snorts from the horses alert the little girl to the arrival of someone in the stable. Her body tenses with a fear of being discovered. Then there are voices, a man and a woman, the familiar voices of Jake, the handyman who has a gift for the horses, and her own mother.
The little blonde girl cannot resist the lure of a new game, one that carries with it a penalty if she is found out. She locates an apple-size flaw in the lumber floor and quietly crawls over to it, pressing her body flat on the rough unfinished grain with her eyes directly above the peephole. She has a full view of the stable floor and can hear without straining her ears.
Her mother, dressed in riding breeches, feeds an apple to her favorite, an Appaloosa mare named Candy. The hired man is standing strangely close to her mother, stroking the neck of the animal while she munches the apple and then nuzzles her mistress for another treat.
"That's enough for now. An expectant mother has to watch her diet. How long before she foals, Jake?"
"Another month or so. I made a note of the date we took her to stud if you want me to figure it down to the day."
Her mother lifts her face to the man.
"It must have been quite a sight."
"You ought to have a good idea, 141."
The girl is shocked. She has never heard the man address her mother with such familiarity before. Lil? No one calls her by that name. Even her father refers to her mother as Lillian. Jake slips his arm around her waist. The eyes of the little girl bulge in amazement.
"A horse has such a long thing. Does the stud actually get it all the way in?" the woman asks.
"Enough to do the job. Poor ol' Buck here would've liked the work if he'd been able."
Buck, the other riding horse, was a large gentle chestnut, given to the girl for Christmas.
"It's cruel to make them geldings. Does it really calm them down?"
"Uncut, that stallion would run wild all over the countryside whenever he smelled a filly. Wouldn't be much of a riding horse for your little girl."
Jake puts his hand in the back of the woman's riding breeches, sliding it from one side to the other, the knuckles showing through when he squeezes the flesh of her buttocks. The little girl's eyes fill with hot tears of protest.
"They should do that to you... to keep you from chasing the fillies."
Jake presses his other hand on the front of the riding pants and quickly lifts it up beneath her sweater to cup a breast.
"I don't go galloping after it. I just hang around and all the hot pussy I can handle comes right through that door, usually wearing khaki-colored riding trousers."
"You dirty fucking bastard. You heavy-hung Texas stud."
He kisses her hard and her mother's hand claws wildly at the front of the man's pants. The girl wants to cry out in pain. She had never heard her mother employ such awful language. She had never seen her in the arms of a man other than her father, accepting the stranger's hands on her private parts eagerly and returning his caresses with ones of her own. The woman's hand opens the front of the handyman's pants. She holds something.
The tears dry up at the source, the little girl overwhelmed by mounting curiosity. She had seen boy babies. She is aware that, different from her own body, there is a limp round tubular length of flesh between the legs of the male. But she has no idea it is anything like Jake's long thing being squeezed in her mother's hand.
The woman spins free from the hands prying into her clothing and faces the handyman. She unbuckles his belt and pulls Jake's pants and underwear down to his knees, stepping back to look.
"My, my, cowboy, you'd give Candy's studhorse a complex."
Jake looks down his shirtfront amused.
"That comes from pumping it when you're a growing boy."
The thin white flesh hangs down slack, the pointed end nearly level with the middle of his pale inner thighs. Behind it is a heavy-sagging wrinkled skin sack sprouting long black hairs.
"You don't have all your growth yet, country boy."
"That so, ma'am? You going to leave me with my ass flapping in the wind, or you aiming to do something more about it?"
"Oh, I aim to, all right, big fellow. Just make sure you aim when the time comes."
She reaches forward and lifts the length of flesh in her hand, gripping it from where it begins in his lower abdomen. More than half still is uncovered to the little girl's eyes. The other hand quickly envelops the remainder, and the pointed tip continues to elude the two-handed grasp. The woman looks down and intently tightens her fingers, and the penis begins to expand in her hands.
"God, each time I see you it's grown larger."
"In horse talk, Lil, you could say it's better'n two hands high."
The woman thrusts both hands forward and the little girl catches a fleeting glimpse of a shiny smooth-looking redness emerging from the pointed skin. It reminds her of the tubes of lipstick on her mother's vanity table and the way you can make the colored mounds appear and disappear with a turn of the fingers.
"Don't talk horse talk. Talk love talk," the woman says, her voice a harsh whisper.
One hand works the flesh forward and backward and the other reaches beneath to the wrinkled bag, first tugging it downward with a milking motion and then cupping it from underneath and gently circling upward, flattening the pouch and its contents high between his legs.
"You don't mean love talk, Mrs. Carlson. You want fuck talk. Why not admit it?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. You know I'm not afraid to say it now. I want you to fuck me... this minute. I want you to jam your huge Texas longhorn deep in my cunt, until your big balls beat against my asshole. I want you to make it hurt."
"My pleasure to serve you. If you'll just wet my cutting tool..."
The girl watches in bewilderment as her mother, pale and breathing hard, drops to her knees. Her hands clutch the man's bared hips and she begins to run her tongue over the erect pole growing from Jake's loins. The tiny pink tip of her tongue probes the pointed end as if it contains a secret something sweet to the taste. Then her tongue extends full length and bathes the instrument on our sides with long slow swipes.
The man's hands find her hair and hold her head rigid. He pushes the end of the hard blue-veined flesh against her lips.
"Open," he commands.
"No, I can't. It's too... aarghh!"
The protest is muffled as Jake thrusts his hips forward sharply, burying half of his shaft in her mouth.
"Hmmmmra," the woman croons contentedly, sliding both hands from his backside to the dangling hairy bag. The thumb and fingers of each hand locate something inside and press gently. The girl can see the outline of a walnut pressed tight against the flesh, and is wondering if the bag is going to inflate like a balloon as her mother fills up her cheeks blowing air into the white pole.
"Easy with my jewels, bitch," the man warns.
Gagging and puffing, making slurpy wet sounds when she gasps for breath, the woman little by little noses nearer to the oily matted hair at the trunk of his giant growth, tugging forward on the bag to pull Jake's flesh deeper into her throat. Finally she gives up and throws back her head, staring up at the man's face through glazed eyes, swallowing huge gulps of air.
"No one could take it all without strangling."
The little girl can see a pearl-colored dewdrop materializing at the end of the glistening pole. The woman spots it also and wipes it away with a swipe of the tongue.
"You'll do better with practice. You'll drink a whole tankload of my cum one day soon."
Her mother leaps to her feet, fumbling with the zipper on the back of her riding pants.
"Now, Jake, while you're wet and ready."
The man grabs her by the shoulders roughly and turns her around, duckwalking with his knees bound by his own clothing as he pushes her forward to where bags of feed are stacked. He finishes opening the zipper on her pants and shoves her belly down on a three-high stack, placing her raised buttocks slightly higher than his bared loins. He plunges his fingers under and wrestles the tight-fitting riding pants and sheer blue panties down her thighs and calves, slipping off one of her boots to fully free a leg.
The girl struck dumb and frozen in fear, sees her mother directly beneath her not six feet away, her creamy white buttocks exposed to the eyes and rough touch of the handyman. She still wears the beige cardigan sweater. The riding breeches and her panties hang to the stable floor, trapped by the boot. The other leg is totally bare except for the stocking on the foot. The trousers of the man droop about his knees and he is rolling his flannel shirt and undershirt one inside the other up the sides of his body.
"You being so taken with how horses fuck, it's time someone showed you first hand," the man says.
Her mother's buttocks grind forward, pressing her uncovered front into the coarse feed sacks as if straining to satisfy an itch.
"I don't care how. Just get it in. Fast!"
She sees her mother's face, turned to one side, wince as Jake plunges a finger deep into a spot somewhere between her slightly spread thighs. He moves it back and forth, pulls it out, and raises the finger to his nose.
"Yup, it's the right time to fertilize this hot little mare."
She twists her head.
"Hop to it, you cold-blooded sonovabitch, or you're never seeing me again."
The blonde girl's eyes widen as she sees the man take her mother's leg below the knee and force it up and out until the heel of her stockinged foot digs into a fleshy buttock and her thigh is pressed out as far as it will stretch away from its partner.
The man grips his stiff member and places it against the soft folds of hair-lined red flesh that must open to her mother's very insides. Why doesn't mother scream? If she cries for help, the little girl will rush down the ladder steps from the loft and rescue her. There is a pitchfork down there and she will plunge the sharp prongs into the man hurting her mother.
But she does not shout. There is no plea for rescue, and the little girl can only watch.
The man nudges his hips forward and she sees the end of his maleness disappear partway inside her mother. The woman squeezes her eyes shut and tightens her hand into a claw on the feed sack. She shifts the position of her hips, not to repel but to adjust them to welcome the awesome intruder into her body.
"Ready for more?" the man drawls calmly.
"This part of me can take anything you got, mister, with room for more."
The man chuckles and suddenly thrusts forward violently, burying the entire length of his tool inside the woman.
The shriek that is ripped from her mother's throat is forever burned in the child's mind. The little girl is dizzy, feeling faint, realizing she waited too long to help her mother. She saw her mother about to be speared and killed before her eyes and she hesitated. The girl finds the courage to look down again at her mother's bloody, still body. But she is not dead. She is an animated rag doll with arms and legs thrashing wildly, beyond control, as if being jerked by unseen puppet strings. The man over her body has his hands up inside her sweater cruelly twisting at her breasts while his loins pound a steady slapping cadence on her straining upraised buttocks.
"When you cum," the girl hears Jake telling her mother, "I want you to whinny like a horse. From now on you come running when I whistle and I'll make you whinny some more. You never going to have a better stud."
"Just don't stop. Don't ever take that horsecock out of me," the agonized female voice cries.
It was always the same sound that revived the sweat-soaked Kathy from the never-changing nightmare... her mother's frenzied whinny ringing in her ears.
As Kathy grew older and capable of forming her own moral code, she drew more heavily from that traumatic experience of her childhood than common sense would demand.
Kathy devised a doctrine made up of splinters, twigs and limbs from the faiths she studied, but never the whole tree of any one denomination.
When all was boiled down to the specific act of sexual intercourse, her code stated it was a privilege a divine power had bestowed only upon a man and woman joined in marriage, and for the sole purpose of procreation. Sexual relations outside of marriage, deviations and exaggerations upon the divinely described style of copulation, were expressly forbidden, the cost being a life of wanton lustfulness and eternal damnation.
Kathy had laid down her beliefs with fervor and conviction the night a year before when Craig slipped the engagement ring on her finger.
Craig listened quietly throughout the discourse, and she felt certain she was winning him with her sound reasoning and extensions of logic. They were on the couch in her living room. She completed her long and impassioned remarks with a flourish of one tying down the last knot of doubt securely. She turned to him with a beaming face, waiting for the words expressing his willingness to share a non-physical love until they were married and desired children. Craig stared straight ahead dumfounded.
"I just engaged myself to a kook."
With that his hand tickled up inside her sweater and latched on to a plump breast, the finger and thumb tweaking the nipple into a tingling hardness within the confines of the bra. It was Kathy's introduction to the involuntary work of her own lush young body.
"Honey," he said, welding his fingers to her breast as she struggled to push the hand away, her elbow brushing against an odd hardness in his lap, "that's the biggest crock of bullshit I've listened to in my entire life."
Kathy convinced him of her absolute sincerity and Craig, shaking his head perplexed, made no further advances. He had not tried to be physical with her since that evening. Kathy believed they were both agreed on the need to remain chaste until their wedding night.
She tried never to think about the after-effects of that first touch on her breast, how the strange sensation in the nipple lingered long after Craig took his leave, rippling down her body to the vagina entrance behind the golden triangle between her legs. Kathy experienced a twinge of doubt. Was her code of conduct in truth a crock of what Craig called it? Was it constructed on a foundation of intellectually defensible principles, or was it the twisted rationalizations of a frightened and disturbed young woman who never fully recovered from a sight she looked down upon at a tender and impressionable period of her life, that of a woman she recognized as her own mother absorbing a massive stiff male instrument first deep into her mouth and next to its hairy hilt, her buttocks rising high from the feed sacks and gyrating obscenely, in the orifice to the womb from which the same viewing child had emerged a short decade earlier?
Kathy wondered if she would ever reconcile this conflict that raged inside her.
The salt spray softly stung her face and neck as Kathy's fiance eased off the throttle and turned the wheel gently, guiding the sports car away from the water's edge and up the damp incline to dry sand. The car bumped over small soft dunes and abruptly came to a halt. Craig revved the high-performance engine and cut the headlamps before switching off the ignition. He reached under his bucket seat and withdrew a blanket.
"End of the line. From here the safari moves on foot."
Craig wrestled out of his coat and removed his tie. He unlaced his shoes and removed them, slipping out of his socks and wadding them inside. Craig opened his door and stepped out of the car. He crossed around the front to Kathy's side and opened the passenger door. Kathy leaned forward in her seat and slowly looked around the beach. Not another living soul in sight. No fires to add to the moonlight, no portable radios competing with the constant breaking of the surf, no tempting odors of flaming marshmallows and overcooked frankfurters to spice the salt air. She looked then at the face of her fiance and found it expressionless, the eyes appraising her coldly. Were they glazing over out of boredom while he patiently waited, as she had seen them a number of times when she was a half-hour late for a date? Or was it the same unfathomable look he had earlier when she rushed to his arms to be greeted by the unwelcome nudge against the softness of her belly?
If Kathy could not trust Craig, who could she rely on? Who or what could betray her? Certainly not her own convictions. She would be able once again to neutralize whatever blandishments, if any, Craig offered, no matter how enticing.
Kathy kicked off her heels and stepped out of the car, dismissing the ping pong game in her head as more of her girlish foolishness. After all, she considered with finality, if everyone had been petrified by all the "what ifs...?" each new challenge presented, man would never have left the Stone Age.
She allowed Craig to slip his arm around her waist as they strolled away from the car toward the never-still surf. Craig chose a spot on a rise overlooking the water and spread the blanket. He plopped down and drew up his knees, gazing out across the dark sea.
"Just think," he said, not looking at her, "out there lie Hawaii and Tahiti. How about honeymooning there?"
Still standing, Kathy found herself peering out at the ocean as if she expected the horizons of the faraway islands to materialize. The vision of spending their beginning days together in a thatched hut on a serene lagoon of a Tahitian outer island was appealing to her Platonic concept of their romance. Slowly she sank down beside him on the front of the blanket. Their shoulders and heads leaned together, and Kathy felt they were communing with the ocean sounds and star-t added darkness with the same eyes and ears.
"Tahiti would be wonderful," Kathy nodded, snuggling closer in her excitement. "To see the land and people Paul Gauguin painted, and to walk on paths Robert Louis Stevenson captured in words."
Craig took her chin in his hand, turning her face toward him. He kissed her on the lips lightly.
"Don't forget, we'd swim in the same waters as the mutineers from H.M.S. Bounty," he said softly.
Kathy smiled contentedly. What a wonderful preface it would be to the satisfying chapters that would follow. She found herself wishing the wedding date nearer, not a year away after both finished their schooling. Craig's hand found her petite foot, his fingers absently massaging the arch through the fabric of the panty hose, tightening and relaxing, a good sensation after the hours of dancing in high heels. She sighed and leaned more heavily against Craig.
"Umm, yummy, that's delicious."
Craig massaged the other foot tenderly, allowing his fingers to ripple slowly and tantalizingly on the sole, sending ticklish feathery arrows climbing up her legs. Kathy giggled.
"Stop, Craig. You know how ticklish I am there."
He took her beautiful laughing face between his palms and again kissed her, softly and enduring, ending with the tip of his tongue wetly circling her hot full lips. He held her against him tightly, pressing his mouth to her ear, first nibbling at the lobe and then darting his tongue lightly inside. His hand moved to her back and his thumb and finger gently traced the length of her spine on each side of the zipper of her dress, from the base of her neck down to her tailbone. She tilted her head to escape the teasing tongue and stiffened when she heard the soft whisper.
"Make believe we're in Tahiti, Kathy. Let's take a moonlight swim."
She pulled back and stole a quick glance at the front of Craig's trousers. There was nothing discernible, and his legs were now out in front of him so that it would be impossible to hide. It was a warm and lovely night, and they were sitting on a blanket only ten yards from the churning surf. What invitation could be more natural? Except...
"We don't have our suits."
Craig gave her a look of total exasperation.
"I can't begin to count the number of times we've been together and you've worn a two-piece suit that barely covered the essentials. Surely you have that much on underneath now. And I happen to be wearing very distinctive Scotch plaid boxer shorts."
Kathy couldn't fight the laugh, picturing Craig in the bright colorful underwear. Goodness, she thought, it's a wild, fun and outlandish idea, and all the more intriguing for being just that. Feeling the excitement mount in her muscles the way it did when she was stirred by rock dance music, Kathy reached behind her neck and unfastened the eye to her dress. She unzipped partway down her back until her arm could go no further and then caught the tab in the fingers of her other hand, pulling it all the way down. She leaped to her feet twisting her shoulders and the dress crumpled down to her thighs, sliding from there to her ankles. She stepped out and hooked her thumbs into the waistlining of the pantyhose and began peeling the clinging nylon over the hips and down her thighs.
"Last one in's an Army draftee," she shouted merrily.
Craig was stiff everywhere but where he would need to be, flatass frozen in place. I'm halfway home, he told himself, feeling like an Irish Sweepstakes winner, unable to believe his good luck. His chin dropped slack and his eyes riveted to Kathy's body as she hunched over working the panty hose off her legs. He could see her silhouetted against the moonlight. Her straight golden hair hung free across the side of her face, obstructing Kathy's view and making her unaware of his eyes nibbling greedily at her flesh. The broad plump breasts, incredibly aglow with whiteheat beneath her tanline, strained to escape-roll over the top of the brief lace bra as Kathy bent to free the body stocking where it was binding at the knees. Craig yearned to throw himself amidst the triangle formed by her legs and the arms down-stretched to her knees, to rip the titholder upward over the inhumanely imprisoned mounds toward her throat, and then to know the crushing impact of the mammaries falling free, one heavy weight to smother his face, the nipple elongating and stiffening under the prodding of his tongue and teeth and transmitting the electrical signal that would unleash the damwalls of her vagina, spewing forth her liquid ambrosia lubricant that he would blend with his saliva to create a gushing cuntal waterway against which his prick would swim upstream like a salmon to spurt a cargo of searing sticky cum to drown the fissures and faults of her willing wanting womb.
Craig blinked as he fully realized he was very close to claiming her cherry tonight if he continued to hang loose and play his hand in the proper sequence. And now he had to drive back the tightening in the crotch he knew would soon reshape his still-limp cock into a visible threatening foe to his virtuous Kathy. He struggled with the curtain to his masculine subconscious, concentrating on his aching testicles and trying to dull their stimulation the way he remembered doing in prep school when he had to discourage a hardon before the annual cough-cough examination by the nearsighted physician retained by the physical education department.
He ground his back teeth together and swallowed, as if this somehow would dampen the fuse that raced for the powderkeg in his scrotum. He ought to close his eyes, he felt, to black out the moving body standing before him. She was shedding the last of the snug-fitting hose, which had held as flesh-close as he wanted to be to the in-sides of her firm tan thighs, a silky curvaceous snake finally victorious in disposing of its unwanted skin.
Craig's eyes refused to obey. His fingers clumsily sought the buttons of his shirt, but he could not take his eyes off Kathy's living, breathing, moving profile. She wore hip-hugging bikini panties of the same white lace texture as the bra. They were more brief than her swimsuit pants, leaving a half-inch gap in the tanline on her hips and thighs, above and below the gripping elastic. Craig thought with delight the lines were top and bottom halos sanctifying the loins he worshipped-and intended to supercharge with stimulation from his fingers and tongue and then assault and enervate with piledriving pounding from his pressure-packed prick.
"Surfs up, slowpoke. You lose," Kathy cried, tousling Craig's hair playfully and then sprinting away from him toward the water, leaving him dumbly fingering his still-buttoned shirtfront. He marveled at the moment, her hair flying every-whichway and her firm slender rump bumping saucily, the cheeks, alternately grinding high and low. If harnessed, Craig conjectured, the friction energy from her inner buttocks might spark a nuclear power plant-particularly once he had split her figurative vaginal atom.
Without conscious effort on his part, Craig was on his feet, shirtless, seeing the surf suck up Kathy's calves and thighs to possess them the way he wanted to do. The gorgeous girl who soon would belong wholly to him turned and beckoned with a curving arm. His pants dropped to his ankles and he almost tripped and fell on his face in his rush to reach the water. Kathy had dived and disappeared in the midsection of a large wave. Then Craig saw her streaming hair bob up as he reached the water and thrashed in to join her. When the water covered his waist, Craig pulled off his shorts and left them to float ashore. The cooling water surrounding his balls caused the creased pouch to constrict, the nuts huddled for warmth closely to his loins. The drop in temperature, he noted with masculine pride, did not daunt his prick, which hung hot, hard and heavy in his hand as he worked his way nearer his girl.
Kathy, chest deep in water, watched Craig approaching and slapped water in his direction with the heels of her hands.
"Chicken!" she shouted. "Your hair isn't even wet yet."
Craig ducked under the water, pushed off with his toes and submarined at her legs.
Kathy guessed what was up, that Craig was going to grab her by the legs and pull her under, the smarty. Then she felt queasy. In the instant before she felt his hands reach her waist, she saw a flash of whiteness between Craig's tanned back and thighs. He was naked! Craig's submerged hands groped at her waist and then quickly slipped underneath the elastic of her panties and tugged them down. They were at mid-thigh before Kathy recovered sufficiently to resist.
"Craig, don't!" she screamed at the unhearing body under the water in front of her. Her hands rushed over the contours of her naked hips and thighs to do combat with his downpulling fingers. Craig outmaneuvered her. He locked an arm behind her calves and lifted Kathy's legs out from under her. Her arms flailed up and out automatically as she fought for balance. She felt the panties slipping first off one struggling foot and then the other as she went back-first under the water. Craig released her legs and they parted involuntarily, as though each limb was striking out as a separate buoy for her sinking body. The heavy dark water rushed in to taste samples from the bareness of her lions as Kathy's body sank in the shallowness until her nude rump gently touched the hard sand bottom. Despite her shock at Craig's dirty-minded trick, Kathy could not help but notice the unfettered sensation that came over her in that second it took her to pull her way sputtering to the surface, the saltiness of the clinging water unceasingly stinging softly the tender entrances to her loinal orifices.
"Give them back!" she demanded, pushing strings of wet hair away from her eyes. "I don't think you're one bit funny."
Craig took the flimsy briefs and rolled them into a rag ball, lifting them high over head like the panties were a prized trophy.
"Come get them," he taunted.
Kathy had the appearance of being held afloat by the fully inflated white band, suspended by two shoulder straps, that ringed her back and bosom. The cool water continued to probe her loins, trying to perform a healing miracle on the revealed crevices in her otherwise smooth flesh. While she was chest deep in the water, it only reached to Craig's navel from where he stood facing her some four feet away. Kathy speculated about the size of his male thing hidden beneath the surface, and then she realized she wanted to see it. She had absolutely no idea what it looked like.
"Toss them... from there," Kathy said, the anger gone from her voice. If she had such thoughts, Kathy mused, the very same ideas probably are running through Craig's mind. He wanted to see her naked body. Kathy held no views detrimental to the appreciation of the human body as an art form, studying the shapes and geometric precision of design. Her concern was with the abuses that could be inflicted upon the body in the name of free sexual expression.
"I'll bring them," Craig volunteered, closing the distance between them with long powerful strides against the pressure of giftwrapping sea.
"Don't come nearer," Kathy urged, turning away to move, to maintain the proper distance between bare genitals, but her feet churned futilely against the slow steady sucking of the undertow. Craig grabbed her shoulders, the hand scratching down her spine as his fingers found the elastic back of her bra. Kathy's forward lunging body was braked sharply by the tightening pressure on her breasts as the material edges of the punishing tit pockets dug into the tender flesh.
Craig clenched the wet panties in his teeth while both his hands struggled to unhook the bra. Kathy's thrashing feet painfully landed on his own as she fought to break his hold on the tit leash. Angered, Craig jerked back hard on the elastic, colliding Kathy's body against his own and folding the length of his still-hardening prick into the crack between her water-chilled buttocks. Craig's breathing picked up as he worked the first hook free, followed in nothing flat by the second and third locks. Next he dropped the hands to the front of her thighs, pressing tight against her tensed firmness, at the same time gently rotating his pelvis to inter his cock more deeply into the break between her muscular buttocks. The electric charge of contact made the sinews of her ass tighten and Craig's prick responded to the welcome pressure with growing stiffness.
Kathy fought at the hands binding her thighs and drawing her back against the living fleshy tool that opened the door the length of her buttocks and allowed water to seep inside to wetly kiss her tightly puckered anus. She elbowed loose and faced Craig, her hands over her breasts to keep the unlocked bra in place. Her initial suspicions about Craig's innocent beach outing were being confirmed, and it was becoming an ordeal. He had her panties in his teeth and his damp hair hung in his eyes to give him the appearance of a deranged stranger.
"You must be out of your mind, Craig. What's come over you?" she demanded, frightened, the tears coming to her eyes.
"Give me that," Craig growled through the skimpy underthings hanging from his mouth. His hand shot out quickly, finding an unguarded place in the valley between her breasts. He pulled and Kathy felt the evening air strike her hulking bared bosom. The bra straps burned down her upper arms as if the hide were being stripped by a skinner's knife.
Kathy never had experienced such a feeling of total humiliating nakedness, made even worse by the sight of Craig continuing to advance with a piece of her underclothes held in each hand. She hunched forward in the water trying to conceal her exposed breasts in her hands. They reminded Kathy they had a mind of their own as she felt the nipples tingle and stiffen against her fingers. In addition, the cool salt water teased mercilessly at her vulnerable asshole.
Craig rolled her lingerie into one wet rag ball and heaved it into the surf rushing toward the shore. He grabbed her by the hair and crushed her body against him, feeling the hard rivets of her breasts bore into him as the plump ripe globes flattened firm on his chest. He kissed her savagely, forcing his hot tongue through her resisting teeth and deep into her throat. His hands worked down the smooth unblemished surface of her back until they cupped the underside of her pale slender buttocks, his fingers digging deeply into the flesh as he lifted her up to the tips of her toes, the head of his hardening cock cleaving into the tautness of her stretched underbelly.
Her struggling had weakened. He continued to kiss her, trailing his hungry lips over her eyes, nose, cheeks and neck, savoring her salty flesh, famished to lip the nipples of her unnursed tits.
"Please... oh, please. Stop before we go too far," she pleaded hotly in his ear.
She shifted her belly slightly to ease the digging pain. Craig's rockhard cock lay sideways imprisoned by embracing bodies. His feet spread wide on the sandy floor, Craig pressed and nuzzled her mouth open wider as his tongue searched deeply into her throat. He heard the soft yielding moan as she began to answer his kisses, breathing hotly in his mouth as her tongue painted wetly on his own and she sucked it into her mouth.
Her knee climbed Craig's inner thigh, hesitating and then coming to rest easily against his tightened scrotum. Craig moved his hand along the underside of her hip, finding the top of the crack in her ass. He felt her shiver against him as the fingers worked their way inward from the rear passage, pausing briefly as they trailed lightly over the puckered rubbery ring of her anus and then coming into contact with the hair-lined lips opening to her cunt.
Kathy rolled her head, groaning uninspired protests into Craig's burning mouth as she felt the soft fingers digging in and spreading the never-before-touched hair-fringed tissue between her legs that guarded the mouth of her vagina. She considered dropping her raised knee to trap the hand and bring the tingling in her loins to an end, but that would mean removing it from the tight wrinkled sack between Craig's legs. She had no idea how her apprehensions had so quickly been consumed by curiosity and the raw pleasure from the mutual exploration of one another's bodies. She enthusiastically reacted to Craig's newest piece feeler by softly thrusting her knee higher into his bulging bag, harshly increasing the knowledge of her presence against the tightly enclosed orbs. Craig twisted his head and grunted into her mouth, pulled his hands from her body and backed free, staggering and clutching his lower abdomen. Kathy did not understand what had happened to bring pain to Craig, causing him to suck in huge breaths of air as he massaged his hairy belly. Kathy had to know if his hurt extended to the stiff flesh that had straightened out from its crimped place between them to float on top of the water like a huge fallen swamp tree with a weather stripped bulbous head still connected to the hairy roots at the base.
Craig's brief contact with Kathy's vaginal lips had set off a strange and furious chain reaction in her body, a series of eerie sensations she had never known so completely. When his fingers tenderly parted the fleshy gateway to her womb, they were greeted instantly by a rush of lubricant along the inner walls of her cunt and a further hardening of the nipples on her breasts, both already swollen to the bursting point. Kathy also realized her pelvis, on its own volition, lurched forward to meet the touch and then rocked there, setting off still another symptom, a squirminess in her anal passage. It was clear to Kathy that her female parts paid little heed to the commands of her obdurately catalogued mind and instead hungered for more of the dreamlike inner cunt stroking, the way a cat arches its back and rubs a leg to attract petting.
Kathy was amazed and bewildered by the feats her body performed with no conscious effort on her part. And she was intently interested in learning how, if at all, her self-powered stunts compared with the invisible forces in Craig's body that transformed his male thing from the semi-limp meat wiener her innocent buttocks had been forced to embrace into the thick fleshy rod that now periscoped up at her from under the water as Craig tilted backward sucking air, pushing down on his abdomen with clenched fists in an attempt to ease the mysterious suffering that besieged him.
She took the end of his hard member in the vee of two fingers, gripping it just behind the ridged dark head and lifting it as though she expected to keep it from sinking and drowning.
"What's hurting you? I'll do what I can to help," she told him.
Craig recovered quickly.
"Help me back to the blanket. I'll try to explain," he said through dying lips.
Craig put his arm around Kathy's waist, the hand slipping down to rest with a tight grip on her buttock.
"No, don't let go," he said hoarsely. "Keep hold."
Kathy shifted her loose two-finger grip and wrapped the front half of Craig's member in her hand, leading him as if by a tether connected to his groin, as they struggled, seemingly uphill into a strong wind against the jealous consuming forces of the water retreating through their legs, until they reached the dry sandy beach and the blanket.
Craig fell back on the cover with his knees in the air and opened his legs. The pain was gone, but Kathy didn't need to know. She sat close to his side favoring one bare hip, her knees pressed together and drawn up against the underside of Craig's raised thigh. Her anxiety over Craig's condition made their nakedness seem very minor. Craig had his first clear view of her remarkable breasts when she freed them of clinging wet hair. They were magnificent monuments out of proportion to her slim waistline, slender hips and delicate shoulders. How she was able to walk holding them erect and ever reaching outward, instead of stooping forward under the weight, amazed the young man. The nipples stood erect from dark brownish rings the size of small pancakes. He didn't think his mouth would cover all of one.
"Show me where you hurt," Kathy encouraged him.
Craig knew a suck would put him in heaven, but he stopped short of saying, "Kiss it and make it well," knowing also that it would spook the quarry out of reach. He had made it this far and wasn't about to jeopardize the final objective with a stupid slip. Instead he took her hand and placed it over his tightly wrinkled scrotum. He braced himself to withstand the spasms inside his prick from the warmth of her small hand on his balls.
"You pushed too hard and drove them up inside my stomach. It stabbed like the devil. A man's balls are sensitive, something like your nipples and clitoris. Rub them softly and you'll be able to feel them relax as the pain goes away."
Kathy followed Craig's instructions and gently fingered the tight pouch crowding up against his loins. She also used the time to further study his prick, rising straight up from his lower abdomen like a dark-topped long-stemmed mushroom.
"It helps if you hold the penis," Craig prescribed eagerly.
Kathy was happy he mentioned it, for she was very curious now that she finally had touched a man's prick. She tried to measure it with her hand. When she placed her thumb at the stump, the tip of her little finger reached almost to the slit on the peak of the ridged head. She circled it and her thumb and middle finger barely met.
Craig groaned.
"Keep your fingers tight like that and move them."
Kathy obeyed and discovered there was a giving looseness that permitted her to grip the penis firmly and still move the hand half an inch either way. The flesh became warmer and fuller in her hand. She saw Craig burrowing the back of his head into the sand beneath the blanket, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and staring blankly above.
"Something wrong?"
"God, no. Everything's right. Don't stop... donnn't!"
Craig's tight pouch was loosening, the tight flesh gourds hanging freer in the other hand as if being lowered gradually by rope from inside. She could pull the skin up and away from his thighs. She was reminded of bubble gum and how it is hard until softened by saliva and working teeth to an inflatable softness. Kathy knew she was ignorant about so many things and she was feeling secretly grateful to Craig for acquainting her with the male body.
Craig lifted an arm from the elbow, like a beggar pleading for alms, and cupped it beneath Kathy's right breast, the one with the twin beauty marks on the side as if from a vampire's bite. He tested the firmness and weight, a finger supping up from the underside of the mound to scratch gently at the nipple.
"Oooh, that gives me a funny feeling below," Kathy squealed.
"I know, baby. No, no, don't pull away. See how it's gotten hard."
"I ought to, I'm holding it."
"No, dummy, I mean your nipple, not my thing."
"Oh, yes. Now I understand what you said about sensitive nipples. But you also said something about the clitoris. What happens there?"
Craig lay still for a moment, opening his legs wider and burying his hips into the blanket, as if he were weighing an important decision.
"Stop! Now, quick!"
Kathy released the prick and looked closely at Craig's face. He was holding his breath, his face contorted as if fighting back tears. She turned back to the stiff flesh and saw that it was moving of its own accord, the veins bulging and lightly jerking. Then it was still.
"Too... too goddamn close," Craig muttered between heaving breaths.
"There's something coming out the end, Craig. Have I hurt you again?"
Kathy gently took Craig's tool in her hand and ran her thumb over the seepage at the end, spreading the liquid around the head, enjoying its running yet semi-sticky composition. It reminded her of diluted clear syrup.
"Let go, dammit, I told you to let go," a strange voice ordered.
Kathy pulled her hand back like it had been resting on a burner.
"You needn't curse. I only want to help."
"Okay," he said, catching his breath anew. "You want to help me and I want to help you. We're going to help each other."
"I don't know what you mean."
"I'll show you. You asked about your clitoris. Lay down on your back."
Kathy scooted up to the middle of the blanket and fell back, stretching her legs straight out in front of her. Craig moved down to her feet and rose to his knees over them, his prick suspended above her toes like the baton of an orchestra leader.
"The next thing you feel will be your clitoris," he announced.
Craig took one of her knees in each hand, spread them wide apart, and fell open-mouthed into the soft golden mink fleece covering her womanhood.
Kathy jumped as if the tip of his tongue on her clitoris was an icepick splintering her body into a million little pieces, and shocking back into place all of her strayed beliefs and backsliding resolve with cold exact precision. She sat bolt upright.
"Craig, what are you doing?"
Craig was on fire and butted her belly with his head, rooting between her thighs like a crazed hog on the scent.
Kathy was shamefully aware that she had gone crazy temporarily and allowed herself to lose control. She would lose more if she didn't act quickly. She had to snap Craig out of his sex-crazed spell before he did irreparable harm to their patient understanding relationship.
She slapped his face hard, the flat palm of her hand landing squarely over the opening to his ear, scrambling his brains with an aching stinging ringing. He flew back to his knees howling, instantly hauling back his fist to instinctively kill whoever was responsible for the agony in his head.
"Craig!"
He couldn't smash that face, those gorgeous innocent features that were even more beautiful with her cat-narrowed eyes disarming him as totally as if a six-inch pane of glass had been put between their naked bodies.
"You're crazy," he pleaded, fighting to gain back some control, the upper hand that had slipped away from him. "Look at us. We're completely nude... two young beautiful bodies needing to make love."
"No!"
Kathy's voice was cold. She jumped to her feet, trying to hide her naked body from him. She found her dress and pulled it over her wet hair.
"You can't leave me like this."
Kathy saw Craig gesturing toward his stiff thing and she looked away. He had hypnotized her, mesmerized her with touches and kisses, but she came out of it just in time. He had planned the whole evil thing this way, including a phony injury to enlist her sympathy. He had coolly planned her seduction and she almost stepped in the trap.
"You made it that way," she declared spitefully. "Now make it go away."
"Kathy, you don't understand. I've been trying to make you see the light. Girls turn on, not off, when a fellow kisses their clitoris."
It was the wrong thing for Craig to say.
"You've done that horrible dirty thing with other girls! You make me sick. Get dressed and take me home." Kathy stalked down to the water's edge to retrieve her underthings.
Craig watched disbelieving, his prick shriveling in dishonorable forfeit. He wondered why he hadn't popped her in the chops and fucked her then and there. It could have been a blessing, because things couldn't have worked out any worse. He had his big chance and blew it. It was weird, more than that, outright spooky, how a luscious piece like Kathy could transform herself from a yielding warm creature to a granite shell with ice water for blood. Where was his masculine violence? Why hadn't he creamed her and raped her silly, that abstinent nun in the flesh of a sex goddess? Craig was concerned that possibly his virility, not her frigidity, was to blame. Had he been lacking? But what could have been handled differently? He was gentle, considerate and conventional. That must be it! He was so fucking thoughtful she had no compelling reason to respect him as a man. Craig knew he was a man; the whore in the fraternity house told him after she turned him every way but loose. (Or was that something she told all the boys?) All right, Craig thought, he would score another round for her. He pulled on his pants. Fuck the shorts. Let some goddamn beachcomber wonder about them. Craig conceded the skirmish, knowing he would behave much differently in the battles ahead.
The drive home could have been in a snow shoveling truck for all the warmth Kathy radiated. Craig let her out at her front door. Kathy was away and fumbling with her key before he had time to crawl out his own side.
"Call you tomorrow," he called, not certain she heard him over the sound of the door slamming.
Kathy leaned against the door and sobbed. What had she done? She knew she had been a minute, an inch, a sensation away from willingly contributing her virginity. Somewhere in her own body was a chest that could be unlocked, and its contents were capable of sapping her strong reserve. It was terrifying to Kathy when she considered the numerous access routes to her strongbox of passion: a tender wet kiss, fingers on the nipples of her breasts, the tip of a tongue making obscene and unexpected contact with her clitoris. So many enemies to defend against.
Craig had gone mad, it went without saying, but Kathy's own emotions were in such turmoil that she did not know if she wanted to forsake or forgive him. If she allowed the relationship to continue, Kathy would be forced to maintain the decorum. Craig had sacrificed her trust. His flesh was weak and Kathy would need to be strong enough for both of them. She relented and decided to forgive Craig for his lust-crazed lapse, but she would not forget. She would be ever alert.
She tiredly trudged the stairs to her room, the sand in her wet underthings irritating the tender flesh between her thighs. She noticed the line of light beneath Kay's door at the far end of the hallway. She must be reading in bed, Kathy supposed. Maybe she, an older and more worldly woman, would give answers to some of the questions burning in her confused mind. Kathy quietly approached the door, pausing abruptly in her tracks upon hearing the muffled cry from inside the room.
"Simon, you master fucker, ram in your huge cock. Split me, you bastard." It was Kay's whiskey voice, strained as if life was being squeezed from her.
Kathy pressed an ear to the door and detected the sounds of wet flesh slapping, of the bedsprings creaking, of her own father grunting like an animal that's been run to the ground. The slam of the front door had shaken the whole living room, Kathy knew. Could they be so oblivious to the outside world that they did not know Kathy was in the house? Or didn't they care?
"Work your cunt like your mouth. Tight... tighter... pull!" Simon Carlson's voice directed with a detached hardness Kathy had never heard before.
They were coupled obscenely on the bed, Kathy saw without seeing. Her father and Kay were interlocking their loins like her mother and the hired man did those short years ago. Kathy was stunned by the generation of insight she had gained in only a few hours. She tiptoed to her room, undressed, chose a nightgown and slipped into bed. Kathy thought she could hear emotional profanities and the pounding of flesh on flesh from Kay's room, the way she waited and listened for the next drip after a leaky faucet had been tightened. Her chaste world was spinning in confusion, her mind reeling from an overexposure of raw sex being practiced out of wedlock. Kathy's beliefs were being put to a severe test. She needed an explanation to satisfy her immaculately catalogued mind in the light of this night's evidence. Jean was a peer who refused to shelter herself the way Kathy did. Possibly she would help unravel Kathy's moral dilemma. At tennis tomorrow.
Craig couldn't sleep. The dull ache in his swollen unrelieved testicles wouldn't permit slumber. He was thinking of the sweating young whore at the fraternity house, how she had admitted him a strong and handsome young man full of false bravado, and released him an hour later a quaking mass of jelly. God, that mouth, he remembered, a tingling chill gripping his scrotum and snapping his prick erect. He gripped his hardened rod firmly and pumped. That tongue... where she put it? He had almost jumped out of his skin. And what she did when she knew it was his time. How he had cum and cum and cum, actually crying out loudly in pain as the spent balls contracted themselves hopelessly dry. The hot prick in his working hand jerked and fired. Craig groaned and squeezed his eyes shut as the sperm spread over his covering sheet, trying to make himself believe that the ingenious whore was methodically working the cum out of him, spurt on top of spurt after spurt, but knowing sadly that he would never, not in ten centuries, convince Kathy to apply the prostitute's special techniques after they married, if indeed they married.