Chapter 6
He continued to study her bruised tokus, frowning slightly. "The wound is not mortal. Oh, my name?" He flicked a grin at her and went back to a concentrated study of the scraped derriere. "It's Bruce Caldwell. Happy to know you, Miss Jennifer Lorn. Now, this little tokus... Hmmm. Not bad in this light. Or any other, I might add. It is a very satisfactory little rump, though slightly brush-burned at the moment. A little Merthiolate-or maybe potassium permanganate. Have you any choice in colors? Red for Merthiolate. Purple for potassium. Or we could work in a little iodine-brown-if you don't mind the sting. And then a salve."
Jennifer began to feel a little faint, a weakness as he touched her small reddened rump. It was a weakness that had nothing to do with pain. It was, on the whole, a rather exciting weakness in a deliciously languid way.
"Merthiolate it'll have to be. There's some in this medicine chest. And Noxema. That ought to do it."
He sprayed the Merthiolate over the scraped areas of her buttocks while Jennifer watched with tightly held breath, her eyes big as she studied the man who had, three times now, seen her naked-and whom she had driven away. Well, not the third time. He was still here. But he was going to walk away in disgust.
He had seen her twice under circumstances she preferred not to think about. And the third time he seemed to think she was trying to commit suicide. And he was doctoring her very private little rump, painting it a Cherokee Indian red. What man wouldn't walk away from that horror?
Now he was smearing the soft white cream over her behind, with a very special gentleness, it seemed. He caught her looking at him and winked, a very gay, friendly sort of wink. Not salacious. Just friendly. "You have a very delectable tokus-especially when decorated with whipped cream. It seems worth biting. Very luscious. Very!" And he leaned over and kissed one buttock, just at the edge of the salved area.
Jennifer gasped and rolled away from him, almost burying her buttocks against the wall, forgetting that it exposed her entire front elevation. Or had she really forgotten? It was a point that was to trouble Jennifer only briefly.
Her young breasts stood erect, her nipples already hardening after the brief kiss that still tingled on her rump. And her stomach, taut and lean, was tense, close to quivering. And her legs... One of his hands stroked her leg, the inner part of her thigh, stroking gently, a light caress that stirred her, deep in her throat, 'way down inside her stomach, and in the hottest spot of all, her loins.
Jennifer reached up, throwing her arm around his neck, drawing his head toward her mouth, sweet and waiting.
He slid an arm under her shoulders and lifted her, burying his face in her throat, kissing the great artery where blood pulsed to a newer, wilder rhythm. Jennifer threw back her head, accepting this, and the soft tracing of his tongue down her throat and across her breasts, to tease at a nipple.
Her arm tightened, pressing his face closer to her breast, feeling the nipple slip between his lips, his tongue caressing it. Jennifer moaned softly, writhing as he teased at her nipples, as his hands sought to caress her thighs, to reach up and touch her pussy.
The touch of his fingers on her pussy brought a breathless, writhing moan, an expression that was close to ecstasy as she threw back her head, her mouth open, her eyes staring at the ceiling, her mind checking the ways he delighted her.
She realized that her legs, without will or approval from her, had opened with delicious weakness and that his hand cupped her pussy while one finger tapped out a gentle rhythm.
She drew a soft, shuddering breath as his mouth moved upward, releasing her nipple, kissing her throat and, at last, as she had wanted so long, closing over her mouth. His tongue speared into her mouth, momentarily startling her, and then she was responding, her tongue to his in an ecstasy of writhings.
His hands slid around her waist, lifting her so that her breasts once again brushed his chest. She moved, twisting, so that her breasts rubbed against him, against the texture of his shirt. No, that wasn't his shirt, that was his chest and a tangle of hair.
She couldn't recall when he had slipped out of his shirt, but now, with her arms around him, she was exploring the muscles of his back and shoulders, caressing him in return, as his fingers dug into her back, crushing her against him.
"You are a sweet child, Jennifer. Very sweet. And I'm taking advantage of you-horrible advantage..."
She whispered back, "Darling, you know it's what I want, what I have wanted. What I went to see Cass to get. Only it wasn't right with him. It is with you. So very right."
"You don't know. You're a child yet. Oh, yes, I know about Mother Dear, and how she has- babied you. And even if I am taking advantage, I'll be loving you for allowing it. And I'll be gentle."
He was gentle. His hands caressed, his tongue touched and made new magic within her body, made her breasts swell, her nipples stand valiantly erect, and her little vulva open like a blossoming flower, to display its pink inner lips, swollen now with passion, waiting for his entry.
Jennifer could see his prick-his joystick, one of the books had called that great shaft with pulsing blue veins and a shiny reddish-purple head like a bulb. How had he slid out of his trousers? She hadn't even been aware of it, so absorbed was she in her own delicious reactions, in the agonizing intensity of waiting, of feeling something tremendous impending.
His shaft was rigid, a great, quivering stick that aimed at her pussy, her waiting, anxiously waiting pussy. And this time she would not panic, would not fight, would not strike back with that unwittingly cruel blow, as she had with Cass.
This time was for real.
Even though her little tokus still stung from the brush burns, from the Merthiolate and the gentle application of salve, she sank back on it, letting those legs fall languidly open, so that his prick could reach her "heavenly gate"-another phrase from a book.
He aimed it, moved slowly up on her, kissing her throat, twisting around to kiss one breast, and then clamping his mouth on hers, in another sweet exchange of kisses.
She could feel the head of his prick pushing at her vulva. Sudden panic struck her. His prick was so big! Her little pussy was so small! Suppose she screamed with the pain of it? Suppose she bucked away from him, as she had with Cass? That would be the end. She would find that place on the boat deck-this time deliberately-and plunge overboard. It would be over quickly, and she wouldn't even care if the sharks got her body. It would be no more use to her...
Oh, dear God, his head had pushed-was pushing against the wet hotness of her vulva. She could feel skin and muscles stretch to accept it. She gulped at her fears and thrust upward with her pelvis.
His prick slid in!
Only the head, but he was within her body. His prick was driving slowly up her cunt, where she could feel each new move of his bulb, each additional millimeter of shaft. It hurt, yes. She could feel her flesh and muscles stretch to accommodate that head and shaft. But it also thrilled.
The very movements that pained also brought new ecstasy, new thrills. She arched her back and then sagged, thrusting with her pelvis to drive his shaft deeper. And something within her was spouting juices that made the passage of his shaft easier-and more exciting.
The slight motion of his chest across her nipples stirred new longings, new desires, and the wild urge for deeper and deeper penetration.
His hands reached up from where he was bracing on his elbows, and pressed her breasts, moved them gently, so that they stroked his chest and his chest in turn stroked her breasts.
And the rhythm of his drive up her pussy was increasing, the tempo stepped up. And she was moving with him, in a sensual counterpoint.
She could feel the swell of his head within her pussy, far up that most accommodating tunnel-how could it take so much shaft? A pulsing rhythm seemed to say something to her, even though she had no previous knowledge.
He was going to come, going to explode his semen far up her passage, 'way up into her, farther up, it seemed, than her bellybutton. She knew it with her body, with all its wonderfully exciting reactions, not from any reading, certainly not from experience. This was woman-stuff, to know your man, to know when his rhythm was at its peak, when his shaft was ready to explode.
And to explode with him.
Her body had accepted his shaft, had built its own rhythm, and was now tight and tense, with delightful but almost excruciating tensions.
Her hands were digging into his back, in a seeming attempt to pull him impossibly closer. And his hands caressed her back.
Suddenly she flung her legs up, wrapping them around his legs, squeezing him deeper into her, one last, extra millimeter of drive up her pussy. Her heels beat a frantic tattoo against his buttocks, and her pelvis drove up and slammed into his in one great surge. It held there, as if they were suspended in some delirious era of time. And then she dropped back, her pussy bursting with juices as his shaft exploded far up her in one great, one terrific surge of passion.
And then collapse. Jennifer subsided slowly, her legs sliding off his, her arms dropping limply to her sides. His body sagged onto hers, his breathing deep and shuddering. They lay like that for a long moment, Bruce supporting much of his weight on his arms, his chest barely caressing Jennifer's breasts, his pelvis still locked closely with hers.
Now he slid downward, dragging his prick slowly from her pussy, wet now and limp, but still sending shuddering thrills through her as it came out.
He fell heavily on his side, rolling off her, and smiled at her, his eyes tender and caressing. And Jennifer smiled back. She whispered softly, "Thank you, Bruce. Thank you for saving my life-and a new excuse for living it."