Chapter 4
Myra stood there, miserable, her small body trembling, her stomach churning in revulsion, as Uncle Ben's hand kneaded cruelly at her breast. She fought the treachery of her own emotions, emotions that made her shiver and feel hot at the same time.
Uncle Ben was reaching around her with his other hand, grabbing at her buttocks, pulling her closer against the bed, lifting, until she could feel herself toppling toward him and hear his exultant grunt as she fell against his flabby stomach, a gross mound of flesh sagging toward her, quivering with the efforts of his muscles to lift her across him.
The very contact with, his loose, obscene flesh sent waves of nausea wracking across her stomach. Yet, at the same time his hand on her breast, squeezing and kneading and the one clawing at her small behind wrought a renewal of excitement, a recreation of the heat and moisture in her little box.
Across Uncle Ben's gross mound of flesh she could hear Aunt Louisa's voice whining out of the dark corner, hear her restless movements of protest. "Leave the kid be, Ben. For tonight, anyhow. You done had Connie. Ain't oncet enough for you?"
"T'aint an' never was, could you remember," and Uncle Ben's hands shoved Myra around, hauling roughly at her body. "Set straddle, kid."
Aunt Louisa whined out of the dark, "Ain't give me nothing to remember by in so long I lost count."
Uncle Ben grunted with effort and the weight of Myra's body astraddle his stomach. He grasped her slim hips and slid her down on his huge legs. "Set there, kid. Jess set there a minute. Gotta get my breath." A deep heave of his stomach rippled the obscene flesh. His husky chuckle rasped on Myra's ears, frightening her more than the lifting which had scraped her legs, more than the roughness of his hands on her body. "Gotta git up some steam. Connie done took a bit out'n me."'
Myra sat across the hairy expanse of his legs, her own stretched wide to straddle him. The very pull of her stretched legs made her little pee-hole ache, a new reminder of Lem's treatment of her body, of his pecker thrusting into her pee-hole, of the pain and the treacherous excitement.
The heat of Ben's body, despite the waves of stale sweat and unwashed flesh, was rekindling that excitement, starting again those unwanted wants of her body. She shivered violently, and Uncle Ben chuckled nastily. "Gittin' up some steam y'self? You gonna like this, kid. Like nothin' you never had before. Fuckin' is good like this. Gonna tell you how we do it."
He breathed deeply several times, as if he hadn't quite enough breath for the effort. He half sat up, folding the mass of his stomach into great rippling pinkish tires Of flesh. His fetid breath blew at her, stale and odorous. "Seas kneel there. Stand up a little, then kneel. Sorta opens things up real good, that does. Go ahead. Squat. That's right, kid."
He dropped back, winded by the effort and wheezed into the semi-dark. "Lotta trouble, kid, jess to show you how to fuck good."
His hands reached out for her, grabbing her arms and shoving her around. And then rasped across her breasts. "Lotta nice bubbie there. Sure is. Wislit I could lay on 'em, feel 'em mashin' into me. That's awful good. Cain't do it no more only mostly it's on account I'd squish you if'n I did. This here way is better, anyhow. I can look at your bubbies and feel 'em. Feeling makes you het up, don't it? Don't say it don't, kid, 'cause I can feel your cunt heatin' up."
Myra sat straddling his legs, her own doubled; under her in a half squat, nauseated yet feeling the excitement of something trembling against her little pee-hole. Just a tip. Just a tremble of motion. But it shook her with the betrayal of feelings deep inside.
"Now, kid, slide toward me. Come on. I got my pecker up against your cunt and I kin feel the hot juices. You're ready, kid, I know. Yessiree, you sure are ready for old Uncle Ben to throw-it into you. Now, kid, don't you wiggle or I cain't stick my pecker in you and that's when it really gets good. When there's a real, man-size pecker sticking up your cunt. An when I let go my load, you gonna know you been screwed. Slide up me, kid. Easy does it. Easy." He was breathing in great, uneasy gulps.
Uncle Ben had one hand down by her peehole but he wasn't playing with it. He was doing something with his own privates, moving it so that his pecker was tight up against the lips of her pee-hole. He was moving his hips massively, wriggling to get his bulb right up against her pee-hole.
It was frightening and exciting at the same time, and Myra was breathing in quick, short takes, trying to still the tremors in her breast, the shivers that rippled across her stomach, the trembling of her legs.
Uncle Ben was, pulling at the bottom of his flabby belly, lifting the massive flesh away from his privates, shoving and thrusting and grunting in an effort to thrust his bulb into her pee-hole. One massive hand was wrapped around her buttocks, pulling her up on him.
She stifled a scream as she felt his pecker thrust past the lips of her pee-hole, sliding into her. Then, for a moment, she forgot the horror, the fetid odors, the ammoniac smell, the grimy sheets. It was exciting! Even while it hurt it was exciting. Her heart raced, her blood pulsed with the feel of that shaft sliding up her what was it he called it? her cunt. Yes, it. was no longer just a pee-hole, private and inviolate. It was a cunt. A cunt with a pecker thrust up it.
His hands on her little rump kept pulling her toward him, moving that shaft farther and farther up her body. Despite her disgust, she was liking it. And the strange and frightening things it was doing to her. Without willing it, she found herself thrusting too, moving her pelvis in and out, driving his shaft into her.
It was way up her insides, expanding her tunnel to new proportions, with hurt, with an unbelievable excitement. She could feel the great roll of his belly lying against her stomach, hot and moist. And he was heaving his vast body to move that shaft along the path of her tunnel, stirring up ferment as it went. In out a little then farther up.
Her nipples were stiff, hardened and erect. She could touch them and add to the excitement within her. Uncle Ben must have noticed because he brushed her hands away from her breasts and poked at her nipples with blunt fingers. Then pinched them, rolling his fingers so that she couldn't tell pain from thrill.
And all the time his pecker was moving, sliding like a great piston within her. She shook her head in denial of the thrills, the excitement that surged through her stomach, heated her pelvis and cunt to excruciating delight. And then couldn't stop its shaking or the whispered, pleading, "No! No! No!" that was as much directed, at herself, at her body for its betrayal, as at Uncle Ben for the vicious, horrible thing he was doing to her.
She could feel his shaft swelling within her tunnel, feel the pulse and surge of something. And Uncle Ben was heaving now and grunting, almost bouncing her off his great, hairy legs.
"It's coming! It's coming!" It was a hoarse chant, half surprise, half exultation, as he heaved at her, one great heave that he held, a high arching of his buttocks and pelvis. He groaned as if in intolerable pain and gave one final thrust, holding that.
Great gobs of something exploded into her belly, flooding her with heat, bringing on a wild, uncontrollable writhing of her own that seemed to make her little pee-hole convulse around his shaft, milking it of those hot, thrilling juices. And her own answered. Without knowing how she knew, she was aware that her own juices were flowing, that nerves twanged and zinged inside, and silent rockets sparked up her belly. Then it was over. Uncle Ben dropped back, his pelvis falling away from her, his legs slack. He drew a sharp, shuddering breath, his head far back, the whiter creases between his several chins showing in the semi-dark. His stomach heaved, rippling the vast mound of flesh and then he lay still. So still it frightened her, until she made out the slight movement of his chest.
His pecker was softening, dwindling, sliding out of her pee-hole. But even then it brought excitement, a dwindling series of shudders that wracked her small body. Slowly Myra folded forward, her flat little stomach resting against the flabby mound of his belly.
She ignored the odors that came up in waves from his body, the odd, acrid odors that emanated from their privates. She could ignore the slow, obscene ripples of his belly. Just to rest. To recuperate from the vast upheaval that had shaken her body, that still lived in receding excitement along her tunnel, in the small cavern of her pee-hole. Myra had had a double initiation into sex, hating it, fearing it and yet there had been excitement.
Uncle Ben poked at her. "You can git up now, kid. I'm kinda pooped. Cain't give you no more. Slide off easy. Easy, kid."
Myra scrambled off his legs, her own aching from the stretching across Uncle Ben's bulk. She stood uncertainly beside the bed, tugging at her shortie nightgown, trying to get it down to cover some of her nakedness.
"Ain't no point in standin' there, kid. I done shot my wad. Twicet!" He said it with a kind of awe, as if he didn't really believe it. "Done shot my wad twicet."
Out of the dark came Aunt Louisa's voice, weary, scornful. "Yeah. Your own daughter and a kid that ain't never had none before. Big deal! Big man! Ain't taking on no full-grown woman. Seas kids."
"Shut up, woman." It was said wearily, as if he were truly drained. "Shut up and leave me sleep."
Myra turned and stumbled across the room to fall on the pile of filthy blankets-and weep.