Chapter 3
Maeve knocked lightly at the kitchen door of the Lunsford house. When there was no answer, she opened it and went in, for she could see through the glass-paned door that there was no one in the kitchen. Uncertainly she stepped across the shining blue-tiled floor. Wistfully she wished her own kitchen could look so neat all the time... but then she'd have to give up her art if it did.
Suddenly she stopped. A glass lay overturned on the white table, and there were crumbs around a small plate and a crumpled blue-checked napkin was soggy with spilled milk. It was as though it were a sign. No use crying over spilled milk, the old saying went.
Betty had never left even a little mess like that in her life, Maeve was willing to bet. Something was going on. Should she call or go back outside and walk around to the patio? But she had no time to do anything, for she froze where she stood, one hand on the back of a white bentwood chair.
"Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-od-d-d-d!... fuck me... fuck me-e-e-e-e-e!" Maeve just stood, dumb at the sound of Betty's voice screaming out the obscene words. She didn't know where they came from, but they came to her unbelieving ears like a pain. Somehow she knew that Carl was the cause of those words.
"Tha-a-a-a-at's itttttt... baby... Oh, God... hurrrrrrry!" Carl's voice had the same screaming urgency. Maeve didn't have to see to know what they were doing. FUCKING! That's what they were doing. FUCKING! Carl and that slut were FUCKING!
Without her volition, Maeve's body became operable and started moving toward the sound of the voices that stabbed through her eardrums straight to her heart. When she got to the doorway she could look across the dining room to the living room, and she recognized the flailing naked bodies.
Like writhing white muscular worms, they contorted and curled and backed. She could hear the slap of Carl's balls as he pounded his great prick in and out of Betty's wet pussy. The sucking wet obscene noises were audible as the organs labored on each other. Their ragged breathing hung in the stillness like smoke.
Maeve hung onto the door frame with both hands, afraid of falling in horror, but she could not tear her eyes away from their lurid and wild contortions. Carl. Bitterly she remembered last night. His way, he'd said... and she had given it to him his way. And here he was fucking this cheap little slut when he hadn't wanted to touch his own wife for three months. Her whole world was shattering into the crystal fragments that her tears made of her vision. Carl was FUCKING that woman... that cheap bitch! Oh, God!
They were so enmeshed now and the pitch increased so that Maeve knew they were close to their climaxes. Then she saw Carl's buttocks clench and the muscles in his back ridge and cord as he lunged, throwing himself deep into Betty's body with the force of a maddened engine. "CUMMMMMMMMMMMMM! CUM W-I-I-ITHH ME-e-e-e-e-e-e-!" he screamed. Maeve heard Betty answer in an agonized cry. "YESSSSSSSSS! GODDDD... I'm cummmmmmm... innngggg!"
The tears were pouring unheeded now down Maeve's face, and the sobs came out silently in tiny chokes. Blindly she made her way back through the kitchen and out the door. She would be blind to everything now but the branding scene she had just witnessed... it was burned into her soul with red-hot iron in a scar that would never heal, she knew. Oh, God! What would she do? Where would she go?
She ran across the road and up the driveway and into the house, clutching her abdomen as though holding in guts that threatened to spill out of her in gore. The bastard had killed her! He'd killed her!
Sirens went off in screaming wails that were red explosions of sound and color inside Betty's head as the raging spasms of her climax convulsed through every atom of her straining body. Oh, God! This was an Everest above the little mountain peaks she'd reached before. The sirens screamed red, and she was impaled on the very tip of a rapture so exquisite that it was pain and agony of incredible, blinding beauty that threatened to take her very breath right out of her heaving lungs. It went on and on and on! The jerking spasms went on, and she felt as if she could cum forever!
Carl gasped, the breath coming out of his open mouth in spurts with the jets that spewed from the head of his cock in great streams deep inside the grotto of her hot cunt... the altar of her womb washed with his offerings. Jesus Christ! He'd never felt anything so god damned good! As his whole load of thick creamy sperm-laden semen pumped out of him in blinding gushes of lascivious pleasure, he could feel in the back of his mind the signalling little thought that he was going to fuck again... and again and again! He wanted to start before he'd even finished! This was one hot woman he was going to fuck and fuck and fuck... no matter what.
"You're the goddamnedest hottest woman I've ever had in my life," he muttered against her neck, his breath still chopping his words into little short gasps.
Her hands ran down over him tenderly, caressing the furrows her nails had made like thin stripes down his back. "I told you I'd spoil you rotten. You are rotten, Carl darling... rotten." She sighed, rotating her pelvis and then grinding it up in a jerk that sent another shooting stream of his decreasing cum into her.
"Yeh, baby. Spoil me... just keep spoiling me."
She couldn't be here when he finally pulled himself up off that slut's rutting body. She couldn't look at him. She didn't think she could ever look at him again. Away... just away. Anywhere.
Maeve sat on the couch in the living room, rocking and holding her arms around her waist in an effort to still the pain in her gut. Pounding hammers beat in her head, and she felt slightly nauseous. She had to get away. But where? Where?
In the reeling screenplay that rolled in scenes through her head she plucked out a phrase... "Are you going down to Bendemeer's Stream for the weekend?" The trailer, of course. She could go to the trailer parked down at Bendemeer's Stream Campground in Big Sur. Harry had asked her about going down for the weekend. The Neil trailer was right next to theirs... but she could just shut herself in and paint. She didn't have to see the Neils. She'd just paint and paint and paint until she forgot. She'd drink while she painted... anything until she could forget.
Oh, God, quick! She couldn't be here when Carl came back across the street with the sticky orgasm of that slut still on his cock under his pants. Maeve flew through the house... gathering her painting paraphernalia, a few jeans and turtle-necks, and underclothes and boots. Sweaters and an old polo coat. It got cold in Big Sur sometimes in the summer. Bathroom stuff. Food. She jerked open the refrigerator and grimly gathered up the steaks, the champagne, cheeses and part of a baked ham. Her celebration dinner she'd planned for Carl! The tears flowed again as she packed the things in a huge grocery bag.
In frantic haste she carried everything to her little VW bus, knowing she was probably forgetting half the things she'd need. But time was running out. At last she had it all in, and she slammed the door of the bus, leaving the house wide open.
She backed out of the driveway in a burst of gravel and swung the bus down the winding hill, not daring to even look at the Lunsford house. The weight in her chest was unbearable... like a load of cement that was crushing the life out of her. She opened the window of the bus and tried to breathe deeply to relieve her heavy chest.
It was as though an automatic pilot had been turned on in the little bus, and it found its way down the valley road to Highway I and turned left, heading for the wild, craggy Big Sur country. The Meadows were soon left behind and then the Highlands, and she was in open country that spread out in wide grassy slopes where a few cattle grazed high above the lapping Pacific.
Carl walked up the graveled driveway, feeling the first twinges of guilt, until he saw that his car was still alone in the double carport. Maeve wasn't home yet? He looked at his watch. Six-twenty. She'd never been that late from a class before. Maybe the car broke down and she'd tried to call him. That thought brought another more chilling one. Maybe it was a hospital or the Highway Patrol that had tried to call.
He began to feel bad. Very bad. Christ! Supposing she had had a wreck while he'd been diddling Betty! He half ran into the house. "Maeve. Maeve?" He called even though he knew she wasn't there.
The vacuum cleaner stood silent in his study, still plugged into the wall socket, and all the toys had been cleared away. Well, that meant she'd been here. He was positive the vacuum hadn't been out.
He walked on through the house. Drawers were open and clothes hung like limp tongues out of her dresser drawers as though someone had jerked them open in haste and left them. There were hangers lying in a maze of tangled wire on the pale carpet. Even the bathroom looked different. Her toothbrush was missing!
Carl rushed back into the bedroom and looked through her closet. He couldn't really tell what was missing, but it didn't seem as full as it usually did. In the living room he found her empty glass, the ice cubes just frail little slivers in the bottom now.
He sat down heavily. She hadn't had a wreck. She'd been home and now she was gone, he thought dully. Gone with a few clothes, at least. Wearily he went into the laundry, pretty sure by now that her painting stuff would be missing, and it was. There were a few stubby old brushes and twisted old paint tubes, half-empty bottles of turpentine, and the huge old easel. The portable easel was gone, the paintbox, the stool and the huge jar that had held all her good brushes.
She was gone. For how long he didn't know. He just knew she was gone without a word. Rubbing his forehead, he went into the kitchen and looked around in a daze. He opened the refrigerator door and stared into its cold depths stupidly, not really knowing what he was looking for. It looked pretty empty, too... but he couldn't be sure. He closed it and leaned against it.
He poured a stiff Scotch and slugged some down. It would have to be something very unusual for Maeve to just take off like this. She wasn't a sneaky girl at all. Still nursing his Scotch, he stretched out in the big chair and put his feet up on the ottoman.
When the jolt of the Scotch began to take effect, he tried to sort all the possibilities in his mind. It was as though he'd had to have the drink before he could face the possibilities... and he knew even before he started what the only logical explanation could be. He'd known but couldn't face it. She had seen him with Betty! It couldn't be anything else. Not Maeve. It had to be something she would find that earth-shaking for her to just take off like this.
He didn't want to believe it. God! The thought of Maeve watching him shag Betty Lunsford in that hot little session was too much! It had been too much for Maeve, too. Christ! Why had he been such a fool?
When Maeve saw the cluster of buildings to the right of the highway she came out of the almost hypnotic trance that had held her for the long drive. The lights were still on at the small grocery store, but the garage was closed and the wrecker stood parked in front of it like a huge medieval mythical beast.
She slowed down for the campground which was just around the curve. Even though she'd slowed, Maeve hit the high old bridge across the river a little too fast. It creaked under the bus. There was a huge stop sign at the end of the bridge, for the Campground office was there. Farleigh Flynn, who managed the place with the discipline of a Prussian officer and the humor of his wild Irish ancestors, insisted incoming campers all sign in with him, even the permanent tenants who used their trailers for summer homes.
God, she didn't want to talk to Farleigh now. Maeve drove straight through and on around the curving dirt road. The music was blaring from the outdoor jukebox, and the kids were shuffling and shaking in their weird rock music dances that didn't look like dancing at all.
Wearily she parked in front of the rough high redwood fence that stretched across their lot to enclose the trailer. She unpacked the food and toilet articles and clothes, leaving the painting equipment for tomorrow. She locked the bus and lugged the things inside the trailer. It smelled musty from being shut up.
Maeve had always loved the trailer, but now it looked bleak and depressing. The wide sofa-bed lounge with its paisley cover and deep pillows looked somehow shabby... the gay Mexican paper flowers forlorn. Stop it, she told herself. She had to hang on to herself.
Keep busy. She lifted the large grocery bag and went into the tiny kitchen and dining area to put the food away. Suddenly the door banged open and the trailer seemed to shrink to Lilliputian proportions, for Farleigh Flynn edged his burly shoulder and big head in.
"Why the hell didn't you-stop and sign in, Maeve?" he shouted. He was a huge man with a big head of unruly wavy auburn hair and fierce blue eyes under shaggy brows that made gloomy eaves when he frowned. In his rough denim jacket and jeans, he looked like the hero's buddy in a Western, gruff, tough and masculine, but with a heart of gold under all that bluster.
"God damn it. I've told you a million times I can't keep track of the people here at the Stream if you don't let me know when you come and go."
Maeve just stood in the kitchen looking at him with big wounded eyes, her shoulders sagging. His disapproving, shouts brought the tears again. That was all it took. Helplessly, she just stood there, feeling her throat tighten and close.
"Hey...?" He came in and grabbed her by the shoulders with his big meaty hands. "God, honey, I didn't mean to make you cry." His arms came around her, and he patted her awkwardly... just as though she were five years old and her doll had broken.
Sympathy wasn't what she needed, either. "Oh, Farleigh," she sobbed against his big chest. "It's not you." He just held her a minute and let her cry it out.
"What's the matter, honey?" He called everybody "honey" when his great big sentimental slobby heart came through his rough exterior.
She shook her head, still choking with sobs. Finally they eased a little, with Farleigh's great rough hands smoothing her shoulder blades and squeezing her waist and holding her tightly against his huge hard body. Shudders still racked her, but the comfort of being held by this great big, burly man wrapping her so close in sympathy began to slow the tears.
He tilted her face up to his, and one huge paw pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and carefully, gently, wiped her wet cheeks. "If it wasn't me made you cry so, who was it? What is it, honey? Spill your troubles to old Farleigh."
Looking up at his big kind face with the forbidding eyebrows, concerned blue eyes and wide humorous mouth, she realized he always referred to himself as old. She'd always taken his own evaluation of his age and thought of him as old, too, but he wasn't old at all! His skin was fair and un-lined. Why he couldn't be more than thirty-five at the most. She looked up at him, amazed.
He bent his head and kissed her forehead as naturally as if she'd been a sister in trouble. Then she felt his lips touch her damp cheeks gently. He was so good to her, and if she had ever needed kindness, she needed it now.
"What is it, honey? You don't have to talk about it, mind you, but if it'll help you just tell me all about it."
"It's... Carl," she whispered. "He...'I saw him with... the neighbor. They... they were...!" Her breath refused to push out more words, and her chest had that excruciating weight again, for she could see them! In her head she could see their lewd thrashings and screams of lust.
"You don't need to say any more. I get the picture, honey. That's a pretty rough thing for a little thing like you to take. Guess you must love him an awful lot to be this cut up."
She pulled away from Farleigh's arms to look him in the eye. "I hate him!" she blazed. "I never want to see him again!"
"Course you do, honey. But I'd sure be mighty proud to have a woman like you hurt that bad over me."
"I'm not hurting over him. I'm..." But it was no use lying to Farleigh.
"Look, honey." He led her over to the sofa bed and made her lie down. He sat down on the edge and removed her camel boots, rubbing her feet and flexing them. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea with a big slug of rum in it. My grandma always used to do that. I don't know why it makes the world so much brighter, but it does." He drew the coverlet over her, and his big hands patted it around her, over her breasts in the orange jersey, around her suede-covered hips.
"But I don't have any rum here."
"Don't you worry about that. I'm going to put the kettle on and run over to the office and get my rum. I'll be back in a jiffy."
"You're very sweet, Farleigh... but I'm all right now. Really."
He turned from the tiny stove where the flame licked high around the kettle. "No, it's not all right. Not yet. You just lay right there and I'll be back in no time. Close your eyes and rest a little."
She was too tired to do anything else. Her eyes closed obediently, and she heard him leave, the trailer door banging a little as he maneuvered his big body through it.
Farleigh ran at a dogtrot over to the office. He had to hurry before Maeve Crandall got over her mood. It wouldn't take much in the state she was in to convince her she needed vengeance more than anything else. And he was just the guy who could give it to her. Give it to her! God, would he give it to her!
He could feel his prick hardening already in his pants. Jesus, she had the biggest tits he'd ever seen on such a little gal. They had to be at least a 36-C or D... and no sag at all. She didn't even have a bra on under that jersey. He wondered about that, since he'd never seen her without one before. He could still feel those globes in his palms when he'd pulled the covers around her.
"Bob." Farleigh burst into the tiny office. The young man looked up from the map of the campground. He was trying to find a vacant campsite for the transients in the camper outside the big window.
"Yeah?" His serious young college boy face looked up.
"Take over for a while. I'm running out of steam. See you in three or four hours." The young man looked amazed and then proud. Farleigh had never trusted him alone in the office that long before.
When Maeve stirred and opened her eyes, Farleigh was bending over her with a cup of steaming tea. She'd vaguely heard him come in, but she'd needed the little doze so much that she hadn't bothered to even open her eyes.
Farleigh looked down at her with deep concern in his eyes. He took in everything about her, nevertheless. The big brown eyes and pert nose and slender long neck that made her look a little like Audrey Hepburn. But there was where the resemblance stopped. The coverlet had slid away, and her breasts thrust against the orange turtle-neck, the two big mounds completely outlined under the clinging nylon. The nipples showed plainly, and he was going to be biting those little knobs of sensation soon. He could feel his cock straining hard inside his tight jeans.
"Here." He set the cup down on the bench and sat down on the edge of the wide sofa bed again. He caught her around the rib cage with his big hands and lifted her to a half-sitting position, stuffing pillows behind her back. He understood that a man had to have a little strange stuff now and then, but Carl Crandall didn't have to be so goddamned careless.
Maeve felt his hands lift her up, hands that almost spanned her rib cage. The lower curves of her breasts were spilling onto the backs of his hands, and the feel of those hands made her remember she hadn't even bothered with a bra when she'd dressed for Carl. She'd been happily looking forward to their lovemaking. God! What a fool she'd been.
The tea Farleigh handed her tasted so good. She sipped it gratefully. It was good Darjeeling that had been liberally laced with dark rum. It hit her stomach and spread out in fingers of warmth that seeped through her in relaxing paths. She smiled up at him.
"Thanks, Farleigh. I guess I needed that."
He nodded his shaggy head, putting his own cup down. "Good for what ails you. I reckon you're gonna need another thing, too, if I know women." His big hand engulfed her free hand and warmed it in friendly fashion. "You're gonna need vengeance. A little old-fashioned tit for tat."
Maeve stopped the cup to her lips in mid-air. The thought hadn't occurred to her, but the minute he mentioned it she felt a grim and satisfying need to dally with it. Give him some of his own medicine. Go to bed with one of his friends, for instance. There was Harry. The sudden vision that leaped into her head of Harry Neil naked made her shudder. No. He was too unattractive.
She shook her head to clear it. What was she doing? Thinking of lowering herself to Carl's level just to get even. It was ridiculous. It would serve him right, but she couldn't do it. No.
"I couldn't do that, Farleigh. I just couldn't. It would be like... well... lowering myself. Do you know what I mean?"
He nodded again. "Yeah. I do. But it's kind of a hollow victory, isn't it? I mean... he's having all the fun... and you're having all the heartache." His hand smoothed up her inner arm, as gentle and quiet as his voice.
Maeve felt all the tension flowing out of her. The rum and hot tea were doing their work, aided by Farleigh's quiet voice and his gentle hand on her arm. The warmth of his hand warmed her whole side, and she remembered the feel of his big hands just under her breasts as he'd lifted her. Suddenly the thought occurred to her that, of course, he could feel that she had no bra on, and she blushed. What must he think of her?
But Farleigh had probably seen just about everything, considering some of the people who came here to camp. Rumors flew about Farleigh's women. People snickered over drinks on trailer patios about Farleigh's reputation as a stud, but she'd never ever heard him say anything about his supposed conquests. She'd heard the talk, but she had always assumed it was just gossip... idle cocktail party talk. Feeling his hand on her sensitive inner arm and the warmth that flowed from it... she wondered and speculated. Then she chided herself. He'd been so sweet to her.
"Yeah," he repeated. "You're having all the heartache and none of the fun. And that kinda riles me. Pretty little thing like you shouldn't be miserable."
Maeve handed him her cup, empty now. "I'll get over it, I guess, but right now... it seems like I won't. It was such a shock. I... you must have work to do, Farleigh. You're always so busy... and here I am keeping you. You shouldn't have to be nursing silly women."
His hand tightened on her arm, and he bent his head to her. "You're not silly women," he whispered, looking right into her eyes vehemently. "I've watched you for a long time. You're a good, sweet, tender woman, and I don't know how any man could go chasing around if he had you. Why, I'd..." He grabbed her then, and his arms came around her in parentheses that closed in an unbreakable lock.
Maeve cried a little involuntary, "Oh," before his mouth closed on hers in a strongly tender kiss. She tried to pull away. This was wrong. Just because Carl and that slut... didn't mean that she should, too. He held her fast, his mouth locked on hers and his arms crushing her close. She pushed vainly at his shoulders with little clenched fists which he didn't even notice.
Farleigh held the little wriggling thing and refused to let go, knowing she'd stop jittering in a minute. She was as soft as he'd known she would be. He could feel the swell of those big rounded mounds of tits against his chest, knowing they were naked under the thin orange jersey. He'd have them naked in his mouth in a minute.
Maeve pushed and pushed on his shoulders, but he was an immovable rock. She felt his great muscular arm that was behind her back capture both arms in a brutal hold, and his free hand found her heaving breast and covered it tenderly as though he'd captured a fluttering little frightened bird. Her breath came even faster and in rasps through her nose. She could smell the clean denim and tobacco and leather smell of this great man who held her as easily as he could hold a child. Against her will her breast snuggled into his hand, the nipple popping out in a quivering button against his palm that so tenderly covered it. No... no... she cried out in her own head, and then she was still, knowing it was useless. If he wanted to rape her, he could. There was nothing she could do about it. He was too strong and too big. She went limp in his arms, hoping he'd take pity on her. He'd been so kind before.
That was better, Farleigh thought, as she went limp in his arms, her breast swelling in his palm with the nipple turgid and stiffened to a point. He forced his tongue between her little white teeth and probed deeply in her mouth, and she tasted like the good rum. He tugged at the jersey tucked into her suede skirt, seeing her great white mounds of breasts in his mind's eye. Both her arms were still pinned to her sides by his arm and steel hand. She was limp now, but he had to heat her up a little more before he could ease up. He didn't like scars on his face... not even fingernail scars. Jesus! She was a little thing, but wild! He'd always known, from the first, when the Crandalls had bought the trailer from the Taylors, that this little thing was going to be his one way or another. That had been two years ago, but then Farleigh Flynn was a patient man. He was very patient when it came to quality tail. There was plenty of ordinary tail around and available and panting when you managed a campground.
Her brain was a magpie's nest of bits and pieces, flotsam of all her years of living, and the thoughts tangled in a maze of uncertainty. Mentally she held her breath as the big man pulled her jersey out of her skirt and his hand touched the tender, naked skin of her waist and slid slowly up to claim her swollen breast. It was an alien hand, but it talked a body language her breast understood and responded to no matter how many times she told herself it was wrong. She could feel the blood rush to it and a pervading warmth and a tingling that spread from the nipple in radiating waves that reached to her toes and her scalp. Maeve sensed a point of no return was rapidly being reached. She must stop him NOW. With a superhuman effort she tore her mouth away from his.
"No... please... no!" she gasped. His hand came up to grasp her jaw. His deep blue eyes were inches from her own, and they spoke a language too that she not only understood but could not help responding to.
"Be still, little girl," he whispered fiercely but gently.
She stared back at him, captive and still frightened, but tingling with the excitement of playing this out. His wide generous mouth began to softly kiss her face and throat in quick little kisses.
"Oh... please... Farleigh," she begged, a lassitude sweeping her now that turned her limbs to jelly. She could feel her moisture now dampening her tights, the shameful moisture that meant she was truly responsive to this great, gentle man.
"I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to take away the hurt," he explained, sliding his tongue down her throat while his hand roved over both naked breasts that quivered up to his touch involuntarily. He could feel her breath quickening as he kissed his way over the lovely contours of her face and ears. This was going to be worth having waited two years for. Her big beautiful breasts that rose like mountains from her narrow rib cage were heaving now and swelling, the nipples reddening from rose to coral-red, little stiffened ingots poking out in fiery desire. Farleigh could feel his own interior furnace blazing with a bright flame, his prick stiff as a crowbar, hammering in pulses inside the painful prison of his tight jeans.
"Oh... hhhhh... hhhhh," she breathed as she felt his mouth close damply around her nipple. His tongue washed it in circles, swirling round and round the quivering nub. Her eyes were closed to shut out everything but the hot mouth working on her breast, his hand holding it up like a cup that he drank greedily from. Some life-giving elixir seemed to be pouring from her out that tap of her nipple and into his voracious mouth. Her hand patted feebly although it was still imprisoned at the elbow, but he seemed to sense he could ease his hold now. She was prisoner of her own responding body, a better jailer than his strong arms. With the release of her arm, her hand came out and ran fingers through his thick shaggy hair to urge his head even closer on her aching breast. She held him to her, mashing his face into the soft mounds of her.
"Ah-hhh-hhh-agh," she moaned as his teeth sank into one red-hot, rock-hard nipple. Farleigh could feel her spine stiffen and arch, her head thrown back in passion. He knew from his hiding place at her breasts without even looking that her eyes were closed and that she held her blind face up in a supplicating plea for more. More he had plenty of. His hands moved up to ease her arms out of the jersey till it lay in folds around her neck. Slow, now. Don't spook her just when you've got her going. His hands found a short zipper at the back of the tight turtleneck, and he unzipped it. Reluctantly he pulled his mouth away from her heaving swollen breasts to ease the turtleneck over her head. She opened her eyes to look at him. Those big hurt brown eyes were glazing with the heating up he was administering.
"Come here, honey," he whispered, catching her to him and kissing her further into the trance he'd started. He explored the soft membranes of her mouth and the sharp little points of her white teeth, then plunged his tongue clear to her tonsils in mock fucking. She received him eagerly, sucking his tongue greedily and panting hard through her nose. Mentally he was beating down the raging animal cock that was banging the bars of his jeans like a maddened beast. There's plenty of time. Take your time.
His hands worked at the tie at her waist where her suede skirt fastened. Still fucking her mouth in a long French kiss, he pulled at the suede strings, seeing in his head those beautiful orange-covered legs under the short scrap of suede skirt. Finally he had the damn thing open. One big hand slid up her thigh and underneath to cup her buttock and lift her up enough so that he could slide the skirt out from under her. He pulled away then and looked his fill at her naked white loveliness. Slender, fragile white arms and softly rounded shoulders that led his eye down to the great swelling masses of her globular, thrusting breasts, tipped with ruddied red areolas and nipples. Those rising breasts were supported on the narrow white column of her rib cage that looked too fragile for their great weight... and the ribs narrowed even farther to a tiny little waist he could span easily with his hands. Her hips swelled out gradually in a divinely restrained curve that went in one long sweep down her thighs and calves. He could see the dark patch of her pubic hair mashed inside the brilliant orange pantyhose that still encased her from the waist down. A line from an old movie on TV came into his head. "There ain't much meat on her... but what's there is choice"... only Spencer Tracy had pronounced it "cherce." Well, the meat on his little thing was absolutely choice... and he was going to eat his fill.
Maeve lay still, not sure if she was resigned or hypnotized, watching Farleigh fling his denim jacket away, his eyes laving her body like a hungry tongue. Without her volition, her thighs were stretching like a cat and her breath came in quickened shudders. An interior voice was urging her on to greater indiscretion, telling her she deserved more than one man in this life... and Carl was all she'd ever known.
Still another voice was scorning her and calling her slut and bitch-in-heat and whore. But she didn't feel like a whore. She felt beautiful and desirable and voluptuous and tender and good under Farleigh's expert eyes and hands. She felt exalted and drawing to an awesome experience that she must have, at all costs.
Farleigh could see her huge eyes widen with amazement as he tore off his shirt and his powerful chest with the curling mat of auburn hair was revealed. He jerked the buckle on the wide leather belt and skinned off his jeans, freeing that snarling, voracious penis that leaped out in a wild spring to stand out from his lean loins in a great thickened shaft of attention. She was attending its huge size and shape and color with unbelieving eyes, not missing the vein-laced surface of its skin or the darkening head that wept slowly from its one eye or the eager jerking of its length. She looked terrified by his massive instrument that jutted up from his body like an estrous stallion... but she'd soon be begging it to slice her again and again.
Maeve couldn't take her eyes off this huge naked man who stripped his body of clothes in quick ease and complete assurance. He looked even more enormous without clothes, the great shoulders and arms and chest bulging with muscle, his belly flat and hard as a dancer's, his great thighs bursting with powerful long muscle tissue. As for that thing, that huge, gigantic thing that jutted up from the auburn pubic hair! It would split a woman in two!
He knelt by the bed, never taking his eyes from hers, which watched him in snakelike fascination. His hands spanned her waist easily as he bent his unruly-haired head to kiss both nipples lightly. Easing the elasticized waistband of her pantyhose with his fingers, he stripped the thin nylon down her belly and hips... off her thighs and calves and off her feet in a long easy movement.
"I always knew you were beautiful, but..." His eyes finished the sentence as he took in the strangely long, perfectly shaped thighs and calves so unusual in such a small girl... the silky brown hair triangle covering her mound of Venus, the hollow little bowl of her white belly. No wonder the world was filled with statues and paintings of naked women. There was nothing more beautiful than a beautiful naked woman... naked tits and naked cunt, made for the delights that only a man could bring her.
He stood up then, and Maeve could feel those powerful arms catch her under the knees and back, and he lifted her up and moved her farther into the wide bed. Swiftly he was beside her, gathering her to him so her whole body was pressed against his huge bulk. Every soft hollow and swell of her fitted his hard leanness, and she turned her face up eagerly for his mouth that came down more fierce than ever. She felt one great hand clench her little white bottom and press her against him, right over his huge throbbing penis. It throbbed in pulses that her own vagina echoed by tightening inward deliciously.
Not caring any more and shutting her mind resolutely to all the puritanical admonitions and threats her conscience could devise, Maeve gave herself up utterly to the indescribable ecstasy of the naked, lusting man beside her. She wanted him inside her! She wanted him to do what he was going to do!
Her hand came down between them, and she wrapped her little white fingers around his mammoth bull cock, loving the feel of the blood coursing through it and the wild appreciative jerks it made against her palm. She shuddered again at the thought of the pain it could inflict, but her body kept responding and urging her ever closer to the huge instrument that looked more suitable for mounting a mare than a woman.
"Oh-h-h-h... woman... oh-h-h," he groaned deep in his throat when she slid her hand up and down, pulling the thick foreskin in a rapturous rhythm. His fingers pinched her nipple till it felt the blood was going to come out in droplets to stain his hand. She could feel the incredible heat of his skin against her, warming her to a fevered state, and she reached with her toes but could only reach as far as his ankle, her head cradled under his arm on his hot chest. She looked down the length of their pressed bodies in wonder at the disparity in size... for she looked like a white doll or a child against his hairy massive body.
Suddenly he pulled her over him until she lay full length on top of him, her breasts mashed sensuously against the prickly auburn hair on his huge chest and his enormous cock pulsating wildly against her little belly.
He gathered the small globes of her ass in his big hands and squeezed her to him, burying his maddened prick deeply between their bodies, sandwiched like an enormous sausage that threatened to split its skin. Their tongues sucked and fucked in salivating fury, and their hearts beat a twin-hammered beat that was building unbearably. Oh, God! He had to taste that pussy!
"Oh-h-h-hhhhhhh... Farleigh," she moaned piteously as he let her mouth go, pulling her by the buttocks so she straddled him. He bent her knees and cushioned them on his heavy shoulders so she was jackknifed with her cunt open and splayed right over his face. He could see the delectable pink flesh of her vulva, the lips swollen so that she was opening like petals, soaked with the juice that flowed from deep within her. The glistening lips shone in the dim light, and he wanted to lick up that sweet juice so more would flow. He bent his head forward and sent his tongue questing over the slippery, shiny swollen skin in a long swiping lick.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed softly, arching her pelvis to him in abject surrender. The touch of his tongue sent slivers of red-hot crystal shattering through her nerve ends, nicking her in a thousand delicious places. Her brain had slipped down between her legs and sent out its messages in flashes of ecstasy. Maddeningly his tongue was licking her entire cuntal mouth, the gates to her womanhood widening and opening to his onslaught.
Farleigh licked the sweet musky womanly fluid from her pussy lips, relishing the taste and smell of this beautiful hot luscious female. Ambrosia could not taste better, he decided. The fleshy portals opened wider and wider to receive him, and as he licked more fluid flowed to bathe her again. She quivered and moaned against his mouth, and he could feel her tailbone stiffen where he held her ass in his hand. He increased the lashing of his tongue on her wet cunt, and she was shuddering and moaning her appreciation. He pulled away momentarily to look at the lasciviously moistened open and quivering pussy, outlined with the soft brown hair that was matting around the edges, and then he kissed the vulva lips as he would her mouth and plunged his tongue deep into her vagina.
"AGH-GH-GH-GH-GH-ghaghhhhhhhhH!" she screamed and jerked her loins, clamping her knees around his ears. The red-hot poker of his tongue had impaled her very vitals, sending searing flames through her weakened veins. She bent forward, doubled over his head like a primitive maiden on a marriage stick, only it was his wild pillaging, ravishing tongue that was the stick. She caught his auburn-haired head in her hands, tangling her fingers in the hair, to push him inside her. It was as though she had to have his whole head in her, deeper and deeper inside her till she had ingested him with her female organs.
Farleigh caught his breath, feeling his lonely cock down below jerking like a puppet pulled by the string of his lusting mouth on the soaking, desire-quivering pussy. Then he plunged his hardened tongue again, feeling her vagina walls, muscular and ridged, suck on his probing, invading member. As he brought it out he slid it up to ravish her pulsating little clitoris, erect as a little penis. Swirling his tongue in circular motions, he began to suck too. He sucked on the little organ as though it were a hard candy that had a particularly delicious soft center. She went mad, above him, trying to shove his whole head up her pussy.
"OHHHHHHHHH... GOOODDDDDDDDD!" she shrieked, her body swaying and jerking in wild contortions, her hands almost pulling out his hair in her convulsive spasms as her fingers clenched and unclenched in his hair. Jesus! She was the hottest little piece he'd ever had! He sucked harder, and her juices flowed copiously over his mouth and nose and tongue, and his saliva mixed with it and ran down to moisten the crack between her little white buttocks.
Maeve felt the waves of sensation wash her, and she knew she was reduced to an unreasoning animal, jerking to the lascivious oral manipulations, with no thought in her head other than to get closer and closer to the source of all her incredible and exquisite pleasure. She was as instinctive as a salmon swimming upstream against all reason or sense, propelled by dark forces within her that answered to no authority but sensations of pleasure.
She did not even protest when she felt his finger working at her puckered little asshole. He could do with her as he willed. His finger stabbed into her tight virginal little orifice till the whole first knuckle was inside the muscular walls. It hurt! She shrank from it by jerking her pelvis forward, but he held her and kept stabbing, forcing his finger farther and farther into her very bowels! Suddenly something gave, and she could feel his long finger deep inside her asshole while his tongue still fucked far into her pussy in front. She was invaded-Both orifices filled with the giant man who'd reduced her to a whimpering mass of shuddering feeling! He was fucking her in two places at once. Oh, God! What dirty thing was he doing? Fucking her rectum with his finger! Fucking her cunt with his tongue!
"NO-O-O-O-OOOOOOOOOO!" she wailed at the unnatural pain in her tight, shrinking little asshole. She could feel his big palm slap against her round buttock as his huge finger drove up into her. But his tongue never let up, sucking and licking and scouring her whole vulva and vibrating vagina.
"No... no..." she sobbed, the tears beginning to flow down her cheeks at the pain in her back end and at the maddening tongue that brought her such delicious, sensuous sensation in front. She was stretched to a taut, wailing, writhing creature desperately seeking release.
Suddenly the pain began to lessen, and a creeping pleasure began to climb her shattered nerves. She eased back on his finger, riding it, and the pleasure increased! Her lust-soaked pussy got its lick on the rise, and she began to pump up and down. Oh... she was getting close... close. A golden carrot of fulfillment was being dangled just out of her reach.
Farleigh could feel her arching and writhing, pounding on his finger now in a lust-maddened dance. She was getting close. His prick was jerking wildly and his balls felt as though they had been blown up to monstrous proportions like balloons on the point of breaking. Suddenly he withdrew his finger and his mouth and caught her little quaking body just under the breasts. Straightening his thick long arms, he held her up and off him.
"Oh... Farleigh... darling... lover... please," she was babbling and moaning, hanging from his hands.
"Tell me what you want, baby," he crooned. "Tell Farleigh what you want."
"You-u-u-u-u-u-u," she wept.
"Well, you're gonna have me, baby," he grunted. "Now, what part of me do you want?" he asked, like a teacher instructing a particularly stupid child.
"Cock... co-o-o-o-o-c-c-k-k," she wailed.
"That's right, honey," he congratulated her, pulling her down to kiss her in reward. Then he half sat, spreading her legs even wider over his belly. He lifted her again by her rib cage and set her down on his upthrusting prick, feeling her twist down over his shaft like a beautiful butterfly impaled on a sharp pin. Jesus Christ! She encased him tighter than a thin kid glove. But she was such a little girl, he remembered, and he was a big man by anybody's standards.
"GO-O-O-O-OD-D-D... baby... ohhhhhhh!" he gritted through his teeth. He could feel his rod jerk deep inside her, jerk her very flesh, for there was no room for a prick as big as his. Even his forehead felt the pressure like a band just around his temples, and he could feel the blood beating and swelling out his veins to bulges. Damn! This little thing was like a twelve-year-old virgin despite the fact she had two children. He'd never felt a cunt so tight in his life. It was almost too much, and he wondered dimly if he really was injuring her.
His hands moved up her satiny ivory sides to her big tits, which shook as his hands closed over them, and then she ground her hips in a belly dancer's grind, moaning, "Darling," and he knew it was all right.
Experimentally Maeve moved her hips a little, wondering if she were bleeding from the huge knife of his penis that cut her so deeply that she felt the tip of his thing must be coming up through her, all the way to her throat. She was so filled that even her lungs felt constrained and tight as though being pressed aside by that enormous prick that impaled her. Timidly she moved her hips again, and felt him jerk inside her like an enormous bell clapper, sounding and reverberating through the hollow bell of her body. She shook with the vibrations that sounded on and on and on.
Farleigh laughed and squeezed on her breasts, raising his hips up to dagger her even deeper on his happily pulsing prick. "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross," he sang lustily, bucking her up and down, "See a fine lady upon a white horse!" She clung to his hairy arms with her little hands, and her creamy mounded breasts jiggled like soft pillows in his hands. "With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes," he went on. "She shall have music wherever she goes!"
"Oh, Farleigh," she laughed, falling forward on his chest, and he held her close, wrapping his great arms around her body and shoving upward with his loins, sending his readying cock up even higher into her tight, constricted little cunt. He kissed her greedily and began to rotate his hips in a grinding motion that set her pussy afire with the fevered sensations of a building bonfire.
"God... baby... oh Jesus." Scintillating spasms of lust were emanating from his cock, and he could feel the great Niagara damming up in his balls to a steaming, explosive force that would send them skyrocketing! She sat up, and he held her breasts as she began to pound his pole like a merry-go-round! Up and down, up and down, grinding it round, up and down. His breath was rasping out his nose in steaming gusts. Bucking like a wild bronco, he heaved her up from underneath with a mighty thrust, and he could feel her vaginal walls clenching him even harder as she pounded back, skewering herself on his massive, blood-gorged shaft.
Maeve didn't know when or where. She only knew she was about to reach the zenith of her existence as a great tide pounded closer and closer, rising ever higher and higher. Farleigh was grunting and groaning unintelligible sounds, and his great hands clutched her in huge bruises that would only appear later. Every stab of his gigantic, lusting penis sent her nearer heaven, slicing into her very vitals with a rapture she had never known! Her senses had left her, stranded on this shore of pure feeling where nothing mattered but the thundering raging rod she rode to heaven!
"AH-H-H-hhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she breathed, her hands digging into his steel-hard arms. She could feel the ridges of muscle that stood up in hard hills and hollows.
"Come...on... honey... come... on...." he panted, begging her to join him in a fevered quest for Nirvana. He knew he couldn't hold out much longer... and any second he was going to blow higher than the sky... straight up to heaven.
God damn! He distracted himself. He'd had a lot of women in his thirty-three years... about two hundred and fifty, he reckoned, since he was fifteen... but he couldn't recall any as good as this little puny, brown-haired thing who rode him now. That guy Carl had to be nuts!
Maeve's head was rolling from side to side, and her fingernails were digging his forearms in stripes that would leave him clawed as if a wildcat had mauled him. It was beginning! She could feel the exquisite, unexplainable, incredible, never-to-be-forgotten orgasm about to happen.
"Hon-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-y-y-y-y-y-yy!" Farleigh screamed, his rock-hard hips lifting so high off the bed that she was raised on his raping rod, his huge hands clenching her hips like claw hammers! She could feel the teaming, boiling spurt hit her cervix like a blazing firehose, searing her and triggering her own orgasm.
"Nowwwwwwwww!... Cum with... meeeeeee!" he begged as he bucked and bounced and strained beneath her.
"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!... AH-E-E-E-E-I-I-I-I-I-I-E-E-E-E-E!" she screamed in the agony of ecstasy, stuck on his blasting cock like a victim. The fiery shots sprayed through her as her body erupted from the pit of her cunt and showered outward to make even her fingernails pulse in the mighty shaking quake!
Farleigh held her hips as if they were a life raft and he would drift forever if he lost his grip. Great hoses of creamy sperm-laden semen were bursting inside the hot hollow of her beautiful little clenching pussy. She was milking him with the muscles that clasped like hands, squeezing him... squeezing him... dry. But on it came, gush after gush after gush. It seemed that gallons of his seed were shooting up into the hot cavern of her vagina. "Go-o-o-o-d-d-d-d-d!" he grunted, throwing his hips up to plunder her milking pussy in a bliss that seemed never ending.
"Fuck, baby... FUCK!" But Maeve needed no urging. Her hips were caught in the vise of his hands, and he pounded her up and down on his hot pole. She could feel her vagina suck him ever tighter into her depths, her orgasm going on and on in exquisite waves of pleasure. Her ears were roaring like the sea in a cave, and the world was worlds away and she was only an erupting, pulsing, convulsing record of joy and unattainable bliss!
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" The breath came out of her body in a great racking sigh, and she fell forward onto him, limp and spent in an exhaustion so complete she might have been rags instead of satiated flesh.
He could hold her like this forever. He knew his cock was deflating slowly, but it still twitched and jerked, spewing the last drops of his cum deep in her belly, and her legs still twitched as her pussy still worked rubbery muscles, sucking him dry!
"Hot damn!" he whispered against her hair, cradling her against his chest. She was one tired little girl and the best fuck he'd had in many a year. Yes, sir... the very best.