Chapter 8
Joe's demand for a screw from Myra and her almost casual demand became a minor classic among the soda-shop group. It also established her as the girl who only fucked for money and at the highest going rate among the crowd. Joe's defense, circulated among the boys primarily, for paying a whole quarter for a second go at her after Eddie had paid, set her up as being highly desirable, a commodity to be sought after.
It resulted in an inordinate amount of local lawns being mowed along with an intensified drive among those with paper routes to add new customers, so that the generally thin pockets of soda-shop habitues jingled with extra quarters, with which they hoped to purchase "some of that quail tail."
Myra was unaware of the havoc she wrought in local economics. It was a very simple thing to her. If she was going to endure being fucked, she was going to get paid so that she could build up her "Escape Hatch" fund and find cleanliness without males.
Her objective was vague a lot of money but she had no idea how much. So she simply hoarded. That irked Connie who had expected to share liberally in Myra's take. Yet she couldn't-object. She had become a sort of adjunct to Myra. They had to take her along in order to get a piece from Myra. That was Myra's dictum for reasons obscure even to her. And her price had risen from an occasional dime when a boy was flush to a regular ten cents fee each time. But it boosted Connie's ego and her intake of sodas. Also her poundage.
Now a typical day for Myra was a stroll down to the soda shop, swishing her small rump and thrusting out her other visible assets, her bubbies. She was learning to merchandise the product. About two weeks after the new regimen had been established, she and Connie came down to the soda shop, to stand around awaiting Myra's customers with the overflow for Connie.
Joe had now taken a proprietary pride in Myra as having established her as desirable piece and acted as her unofficial pimp. He introduced the boys to Myra. And, oddly enough, demanded no concessions. If he wanted to fuck and had the essential loot, he paid. He had tried for a free ride once and been coldly turned down. So he paid.
Joe brought up Cullen Winters, a gangling youth nearly six feet tall whose voice embarrassingly shifted gears, often in mid-sentence. "Cull, this here is Myra I tole you about."
Cullen flushed, murmuring something indistinguishable, and scraped his feet on the sidewalk in a sort of shuffling walk that took him nowhere. He finally got his voice going, fortunately all in one key. "Could you and me go up by the cemetery?"
Myra looked him over, smiling slowly. "Have you got a quarter?" At his nod, she agreed and held out her hand. This was an innovation, being paid in advance, and Cullen was startled but he handed over his quarter.
Joe brought up another boy, Jeff Salter, a would-be lady killer who smirked at Myra.
"We'll have a ball. Yeah. Outa this world, kid."
Joe offered hesitantly, "Bill Jennings. Myra. Bill's got quite a reputation around town."
Myra glanced at the insolent, bold eyes and then turned to Joe. "Has he got a quarter?"
"Sure, sure. I got plenty o' money. Just so's you an me . . . " His bluster faltered before Myra's placid stare.
Myra held out her hand, waiting.
Bill turned to Joe, scowling. "You mean I gotta pay first?"
Joe shrugged, disclaiming any responsibility for this idiosyncrasy, and Bill reluctantly dug in his pocket, fetching up a quarter. He put it in Myra's hand, starting another bluster. "This better be good or . . . "
"You're second," Myra informed him, demoralizing him completely. He slunk off muttering, to join Cullen.
Three more came up, two of whom, Chuck Bently and Boyd Simmons, had been with Myra before and paid with a degree of eagerness; the third, Sandy Stone, surrendered his quarter with considerable dubiety, studying Myra's breasts with interest, but finally paying.
Myra turned and marched into the soda shop, handing, the five quarters to Sep (for Septimus) French, the proprietor. "On my account," she said, and strolled out, waggling her small hips.
Connie had asked her why she turned her money over, to Mister French and Myra had given a bland answer, "Did you ever try screwing with a handful of quarters ? " Since this good fortune had never befallen Connie nor was likely to, she accepted the explanation.
Myra did not give the other reason, which was that, no matter how carefully she secreted her hoard around Uncle Ben's house, someone always found it and appropriated a quarter or two. With Mister French as her banker, she felt her hoard was safe. And growing. There was now $7.75 in her "Escape Hatch" fund, which represented thirty-two screwings she had generously treated Connie to a two-bit sundae on one occasion, which accounted for the missing quarter.
Sep French was meticulous in his handling of this odd account, feeling obscurely that something very unpleasant would happen if he did not such as Myra might run to the police. The ensuing investigation of Mister French and the soda-shop rendezvous could be disastrous. Especially since he was about due for a visit from the boys up North. They, in turn, would resent any interference with their local pick-up station. And their resentment, he was certain, would be unpleasant for Mister Septimus French. Like a very thorough beating, probably with tire chains. So, for reasons unknown to Myra, her hoard was safe.
Myra strolled off with an eager but uncertain Cullen Winters who kept shooting avid glances at Myra's swaying bubbies as she switched provocatively along. Behind trailed her next prospects, two by two, eyeing, her provocative little rump and making low-voiced, sniggering comments. Behind them came Joe and Connie, who was anticipating some action from Myra's overflow, as well as one assured fucking from Joe, who was temporarily broke and therefore out of Myra's league.
Gang fucking was not new to Connie. She had been known, on one memorable occasion, to take on ten in succession, which she privately considered some sore of local record. She had induced Myra to try it, first with two Eddie Wanger, Myra's first commercial customer, and Joe. Later, seeing the financial potential, Myra had taken on four boys. This time, five was her most ambitious effort, and would add to her hoard. That was all that counted now, the "Escape Hatch" hoard.
She didn't mind the physical discomfort of lying on hard stone, legs stretched wide, or the weariness of her small body when it was over. She just let her treacherous body take over, allowing it to respond wildly to the prick rammed up her cunt, matching automatically, the rhythm of sex and exploding with silent fireworks far up inside. Almost the whole time her mind was given to her endless prayer to Mommie . . . "This is for the "Escape Hatch," Mommie. I'll find it somehow, clean, with fresh air and flowers. And I'll never look at a boy again. Not ever."
Cullen watched her with hungry eyes as they sat side by side on the slab, his face red, his mouth gulping air and his ham-like hands clutching spasmodically between his knees, his pecker already swollen, pushing out the crotch of his pants.
Myra hitched herself up, sliding out of her panties. She had not yet made up her mind to use Connie's simpler approach of not wearing any. Panties were her last barricade. With them on when she went to the soda shop she could tell herself she didn't really mean to fuck. If anything "happened," it was something Unplanned, something the Fates had thrust onto her. Her thinking wasn't that clear, but panties were an essential part of her emotional security. In them she was temporarily inviolate.
She set them carefully aside and hiked up her dress to her bellybutton and lay back on the slab, already feeling the insidious weakness in her knees, the heat emanating from her cunt, the hardening of her nipples.
Cullen looked down at her, wetting his lips. "Could I see your titties ? "
Myra nodded and hiked the dress higher, exposing her breasts and the amber-pink of her nipples. Cullen reached out and touched them. Myra felt the touch and the growing excitement within her and sighed.
Cullen drew back his hand hurriedly and began a frantic fumbling with his pants. A moment later he was on top of her, moaning with frustration as he tried to stab his prick into her cunt.
Myra felt the inexpert jabbings at her cunt and wriggled to help, feeling the heat and moisture in her pussy, knowing she was ready.
Suddenly Cullen gave a frantic heave at her. She felt the heat and wetness of his come and the trickle of it down her crack.
Cullen had shot off before he could get his prick in her. He fell to one side, whimpering, tears streaming down his face, "Please don't tell! Please don't tell ! "
Myra her body frustrated and eager, gulped. Her body demanded completion yet she herself was relieved. Not that it mattered. One less didn't really make any difference. Yet she felt relief. She patted his arm. "I won't tell. Just stay a few minutes longer. They won't ever know."
She had realized, with feminine, intuition, that be feared ridicule. And even though her body was tense with its own expectations, she smiled at him. "Want to kiss my titties?"
Cullen sat up, nodding as he gulped for control. His own body was satisfied. It had reached climax and release of tension. Only bruised male ego remained. "Can I ? " At Myra's nod, he leaned over and kissed first one and then the other of her titties, sighing deeply as he straightened up. "It was worth a quarter!"
"Better get Bill now."
Cullen scrambled to his feet, struggling to fasten his pants. "Sure. And you won't tell?" When Myra shook her head, smiling at him, he grinned and swaggered off, a very good imitation of the conquering male. And Myra smoothed down her dress to modest length.
Bill Jennings came in, undoing his fly intent on the process so that he didn't really look at her. And Myra knew then that much of his male bluster was pretense, that be had to nerve himself to each new encounter. And he was building up to one now.
He looked up, scowling at her. "I figured you'd be nekkid. I like my women nekkid. So I can see what I'm gettin'. "
Myra shrugged. Nakedness, after the sessions with Lem and Uncle Ben, was nothing new. She caught the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, laying it aside, displaying the slim, perfection of her body, leaning back on her arms to thrust out her breasts. "So now you can see."
Bill stopped in the act of stepping out of his trousers to stare at her, whistling softly between his teeth. "Gosh! You really built! Wow-eee! What titties! I could eat 'em up!"
He dropped his trousers and underpants in one motion, coming dazedly toward her, his pecker standing sharply erect. It was big, bigger maybe than Lem's or Joe's, and for a moment Myra felt panic. Could she take it? All that shaft, that gleaming, purplish bulb?
Then the mechanics of her body took over, wetting her cunt, bringing heat and excitement. Her little cunt was opening up even before her legs were spread. She lay back slowly, her eyes on his dong.
He leaned over her, one hand touching her breast, for a moment curiously gentle. Then he flung himself on her fumbling to ram his prick into her. She wriggled, moving her hips and pelvis and felt it slide in.
He drove it in all in one long tearing motion that made her squeal. And then, as he reached far up her, his pelvis clamped against hers and began his hurried pumping motions, her body responded, moving with his, feeling the fire and heat and excitement deep inside.
His hands played with her titties, massaging them a shade roughly but stirring up even more excitement. They pumped together in a fast, urgent rhythm and in a moment it was over.
Climax! She felt her body explode into white-hot fires, juices flowing, her own release from intolerable tensions a special excitement of its own. Then she lay limp, waiting as Bill slowly folded, breathing in great shuddering gulps. And his prick slid out, a tingling excitement of its own.
He rolled over and lay beside her, shivering. "Jeee-zusss! You sure do know how to screw! I ain't never had no woman could screw like you."
Her own body was shaking with the release of tensions, with the remnants of titillations that still ran through it. She wanted to lie there, her body exposed to the dappled sunlight through the trees, and rest. Rest. But there was that money for the "Escape Hatch." She sighed, shuddering. "Better fetch Chuck. He's next."