Chapter 3

The scars were still there: the charred, gutted buildings, the skeletal remains of steel structures that had been burned, smashed and looted during the riots. The ghetto riots had shaken the entire city. Trish had read about them in college. And when she told her parents about her desire to help people, she was referring to the dwellers in the slums of her own city.

From the window in the tenement apartment that she and Acid Head had rented, Trish had a sweeping view of the entire district in which she intended to live and work. "What's first on the agenda?" Acid Head asked.

"No grass," Trish said, more to herself than to Acid Head, as she continued to stare out the window.

"I've got grass," Acid Head said. "And I've been itching for a smoke."

"That's not the kind of grass I meant," Trish said with a smile. She never questioned the personal habits of Acid Head or any of her friends. If they had a need for grass or acid, that was their hangup. It wasn't for her. Her own personal satisfaction came from helping people. And now she knew exactly how to help the people of the ghetto. "Look out this window," she instructed her companion.

Acid Head peered out and made a face. "It's not exactly the Taj Mahal," he said, pointing to the rows of grimy brick buildings, garment factories, parking lots and gasoline stations-and everywhere the heavy and oppressive layer of soot-peppered smog that seemed to drain the color and life from everything it touched.

"It's not the Taj Mahal," Trish agreed. "There's greenery around the Taj Mahal. There isn't a blade of grass within miles from where we're now standing."

"But this is the ghetto," Acid Head reminded her.

Trish nodded. "True. But where does it say that these ghetto people aren't entitled to a little park, a few shade trees, a little something to remind them of nature, of growing things." And after a pause, "It could be a cool, green place in this dirty asphalt jungle where they could come and take hold of-themselves before they let their rage get the better of them again. What I'm saying is that just maybe a little bit of a park might be able to avert another riot."

Acid Head looked back at Trish with the wonderment and respect he'd never felt for anyone else. Trish was so much smarter than himself. And her beauty had always dazzled him from the very beginning. But ever since he'd adopted acid as a way of life, he'd been unable to raise an erection. Trish was his one great incentive to bust out of the acid trap. "Right on," he said. "A park would be just great here."

"Thanks," Trish said in a soft voice. "I've always respected your opinions. And valued your support."

Acid Head went suddenly shy. It was the only time in his life that he felt tongue-tied. "It's more than your respect that I need, Trish," he mumbled.

Trish nodded. "I know, darling. But I don't love you that way."

Acid Head sighed. "Yeah. I know. If I could only get a hard-on. If I could only give you the kind of fuck you deserve. Then you'd know how much you mean to me. And maybe I'd mean something to you. But I don't blame you for not wanting me when I can't perform."

Trish said seriously, "You're right. I could never love a man who couldn't send me into orbit with his love prick. But we've tried, darling. We've tried. And nothing happened."

"I know," Acid Head said shamefacedly. They had met during the freshman initiation week, and from the very beginning had had rapport. They both agreed that college initiation rites were for very small children, and had ducked out. Later, Trish went up to Acid Head's room, where she had already made up her mind to go to bed with him. The boy was capable of a great love, she felt. And love was something that had long been missing in her life. It was an ingredient that had been sorely lacking in her home life. At seventeen, Trish had experienced many mastubatory acts. But she was still a virgin as far as a cock was concerned. In that room, alone with her companion, she could hardly wait to feel Acid Head's prick slide into her cunt.

They both undressed and stood staring at each other's naked bodies. Acid Head had an extremely tall, lanky frame, a hollow chest, narrow, rounded shoulders, and a cock that hung down halfway between his crotch and his knees. Trish had seen a few exposed cocks, and had once studied painting with live models, but she had never seen a penis as long as the one that hung down between the long, bony legs of her college sweetheart. "It's beautiful," Trish had told him. "Simply beautiful. You'll be the first boy who has ever fucked me."

Acid Head kept looking back at Trish's naked body as though he wanted to devour her with his eyes. Her dark red nipples were shaped like long, thin pyramids. The flesh of her breasts was firm and edible-looking. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her lithe, shapely body. The stomach was flat, and the hair that curled up around her cunt seemed to have magnetic qualities. Each and every curled hair seemed to pull Acid Head down towards the girl's cunt. And when she turned around, he had gasped at the perfect shape of each ass cheek. This was one girl whose ass he could tongue and love every minute of it, he thought at the time.

But Trish was not a beautiful statue to be stared at. She was a girl, almost a full-grown woman. She wanted a male penis, stiff and throbbing and alive for cunt. Acid Head's cock remained soft. And it continued to remain soft even after she played with it, sucked on it, tongued it. And even after Acid Head had licked her cunt, lapped her ass, and attempted to blow her with his mouth, his cock still remained flaccid and lifeless-looking.

Now, alone in their tenement apartment, both girl and boy remembered that moment. A humiliating moment for Acid Head. A frustrating moment for Trish. She had finally had to masturbate to reach a climax. It was a moment in their lives that they seldom referred to. But now Acid Head wanted to talk about it. "Acid turned me into a eunuch, a creature without balls. You're the first girl I've had a desire for since I've been acid tripping. And believe me, I want to go straight again. I want to taste your cunt. I want your love. The kind of love a girl feels for a normal man."

Trish touched the boy's arm. "Don't torture yourself, darling. Someday, perhaps. And until that day happens, I'm not giving myself to anyone else. Now forget it. We've got work to do. We're going to build us a park in the ghetto."

"Groovy," Acid Head said. He took the girl in his arms. "Promise me you'll wait. Hope for you is the only thing that keeps me going."

Trish kissed him lightly on the lips. "I'll wait, dear. Now get your mind off it. I'm only human. And that cock of yours is something I've wanted for a long time."

Acid Head turned away and looked out the window again. "That park of yours," he mused. "We'll need help to get it going. My old man has got connections downtown in city hall. As much as I hate his guts, I'm going to ask for help. I won't be asking for myself."

Trish took hold of his hands. "That's why I love you, darling. There isn't a selfish bone in your body." She nodded. "All right. Go see your father. I'm not proud. We can't afford to be. The poverty and neglect down here is high as a mountain. And we're going to need all the help we can find to get it moved."

Acid Head started for the door. Then he stopped and thought a moment. "Just happened to think of something," he said. "The guy who owns this fleatrap of an apartment house. His name is Turk Crumm. He's a wheel in local ghetto politics. A ward heeler of some kind. But he's got connections with the big boys downtown."

Trish sounded elated. "He'll help us!"

"Maybe," Acid Head said. "But he's worth a try. Put a bug in his ear about the park. Get his reaction. He could be a big help if he wanted to be."

"I'm on my way," Trish said. And immediately after Acid Head left, she phoned the landlord, who was indeed listed in the directory as Turk Crumm. When the landlord didn't answer the phone, Trish walked down the steps to the first floor, where the owner's apartment was located. But a cleaning woman, slatternly in appearance and with a lewd look on her wrinkled face, informed Trish that "Crumby Crumm's in the basement."

"Would he mind if I disturbed him?" Trish asked politely. She was going to show everyone in the ghetto that she respected them regardless of their occupation.

The cleaning hag cackled at Trish's question. Then, eyeing the young girl up and down, she nodded approvingly. "Crumm ain't the type to turn down young pussy."

Blood rushed into Trish's face. The old woman's reply knocked the wind out of her for a minute. Then, recovering, she decided to dismiss the old crone as merely an eccentric. She was probably given the job out of the goodness of Mr. Crumm's heart, Trish rationalized. Then, without another word to the woman, Trish walked past her and found the way to the basement stairs.

It took a few minutes for Trish to get adjusted to the dark and musty-smelling area that was crammed with empty crates, old newspapers, and, it seemed, enough worthless junk to allow the owner to go into the business. There was no sign, however, of Mr. Crumm. Trish began to grope her way past old dressers, discarded washing machines, and kitchen tables with missing legs, but still there was no sign of any life. She was about to call out for the landlord when she heard subdued voices that floated over to her from behind the furnace. Something inside Trish warned her to remain silent and on guard, but she continued on her way. Finally she was able to make out the shape of two reclining figures. As she moved stealthily forward, she was able to definitely identify one of the figures as Mr. Crumm. The other person was a big-hipped black woman. The woman Trish recognized as a tenant in the same building who lived on the third floor with her husband and several children. Trish took a deep breath and remained very still. This episode, she decided, would help her determine the character of Turk Crumm. And Trish wasn't beneath a bit of honest blackmail if it meant getting Crumm to help with the park.

Trish sucked in her breath. She wasn't quite prepared for the scene that almost leaped up at her from the basement floor. Both Crumm and the black woman were naked. And both were engaged in a rather heated argument. Although the couple were completely nude, they had apparently struck a snag in the financial arrangements. The black woman had misunderstood Crumm's original intentions regarding payment. Or Crumm could have lied in his teeth. "I ain't giving you no free month's rent for one lousy fuck!" he said, and there was determination in his face and voice.

"You lousy, lyin' bastard," the black woman retorted. "You gets me down here, takes off my clothes, and then chickens on the payment. You're like all those whitey assholes. Well, no free rent, no fuck," she said emphatically, and struggled with her enormous bulk to stand up and dress.

Crumm reached up and pulled her back down beside him again. "Cool it, Hazel," he ordered. He was used to giving orders, and more used to having people scramble about when he spoke.

"Set your ass down, and hear what I got to say!"

The huge, black, cushiony cheeks of Hazel's ass bounced back onto the mattress. But she pushed Crumm's hand from her waist. "Talk, white man," she said, still miffed. "And keep your hands off my hide."

Crumm nodded. He respected people who could bargain with authority. "Spoke to some people downtown. They're gonna find a job for your husband. In short, he's gonna be comin' home with some bread instead of some white woman's cunt juice all over his fly."

Hazel thought about it for a moment. Having a husband come home with a paycheck would be a new switch. And a welcome one. And she knew that Crumm had the kind of political connections that could get her worthless husband a job, and a steady one. Her entire attitude changed as though she had been touched by a magic wand. "Gee, honey, that's real sweet of you. 'Course," she added with a flirtatious smile, "you'll throw in a new dress too for a piece of my chocolate-coated sugar."

Crumm thought a moment. Then: "Provided you fuck me twice a week. And every week."

"Deal," Hazel said with a broad smile on her lips. "How do you wants your fuck?"

From where Trish was hiding behind a large packing crate, she felt slightly nauseous. There was no love here, and not even much affection.

Two rather grotesque naked bodies, one white, the other black, rubbing against each other for an exchange of goods and services. Of course she realized that this sort of thing happened on Park Avenue and many other kinds of avenues in the big city. But this agreement for sex between the black woman and Crumm was made with such dispassion that the entire scene chilled Trish. They were too concerned with the material aspects. Now she became more determined than ever to build a park in the ghetto. Perhaps if these people could get out to a place where there was grass and trees and flowers, they'd become more attuned with nature. They'd grow less crass, less cold, less selfish. But selfish or not, she had to inwardly agree that Crumm and the Negress were enjoying the feel and sight of each other's naked bodies.

To do the black woman complete justice, Trish had to admit that she had a certain animal-like grace and beauty to her. And now that she could see more clearly in the gloom of the basement, Trish was surprised to realize that the black woman had quite a handsome face. Her black tits were pendulous and hung down almost to her erotically wrinkled navel. And although her skin was black, the nipples of her tits were even blacker. Those nipples were now erect and porous-looking. She fell into the arms of Crumm, whose one hand smeared itself over the broad expanse of the woman's cheeky ass. The feel of ass flesh excited Crumm, for he kept kneading and pulling on the ass like a baker shaping dough. And every now and then his fingers would plunge into the valley between the cheeks. They'd penetrate deep into the woman's asshole. And when they did, Hazel would squirm and maneuver around to assist the penetration. The rectal tube was one of her more erogenous zones. And all the while Crumm was probing her black flesh and exploring her asshole, the Negress kept whimpering, "Oh big white lover man, fuck your black cunt. It's all yours sweetheart, darlin', precious. It's all yours, white prick of my heart."

Black female flesh fired Crumm's passions. Black meat! That was his bag. And now he was literally swimming in it, drinking it, eating it. His mouth fastened, leechlike, to a tit. His mouth engulfed the nippled and almost half the entire black breast. Saliva gushed out of his mouth and slithered down the breast. And while his mouth was thus engaged, his fingers clung tenaciously to the area of her black cunt. They were digging, probing, pulling fingers. And finally they located and clung to the sugar located deep in the heart of every woman's cunt. The clitoris! And when Crumm yanked out the black female cock between his thumb and forefinger, his black sweetheart threw her head back and vomited out a groan that came from the very depths of her being. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible in her round black face. "Ohhhh," she babbled on and on. "Tease my cunt. Don't ever stop. Please don't ever stop. Please don't..."

Despite her feeling of total disgust, Trish watched with a certain fascination. At the age of fourteen she had discovered the clitoris in her own body and could play with it by the hour. By manipulating it in such a way between her thumb and forefinger, or between any two fingers, she soon found that she could reach a very satisfying climax. But her own clitoris was quite small, slippery, and difficult to find. Until that very moment, she had thought that the clitorises of all women were about the same size. She couldn't have been more mistaken, as she now discovered. The clit on the Negro woman was in proportion with the rest of her body, which was huge. In fact, there were men with penes that were no larger than the colored woman's clit. And every pore of the black female sex prong was alive with nerve endings which were now in an extreme state of excitation. And that's what created another problem between the white and black couple. "Eat my cunt," the black woman moaned, and her large, black eyes rolled about as though they were transfixed by some ecstatic vision of the white man's mouth lapping her genitals. "Oh, please, white cock man," she kept up her pleas. "Go down on me. Suck my cunt in your mouth. I want to feel a hot tongue wriggling inside my pussy."

Crumm stiffened. This was an unexpected wrinkle that had caught him off guard. And he tried to dismiss her pleas with a brusque order. "Roll over on your back and spread your legs, black woman. I want my fuck!"

The black woman responded by hugging the white man's naked flesh against her black body. The grip of her thick, meaty arms was so powerful, her huge tits almost flattened out against Crumm's chest. Her desires weren't going to be so easily shrugged aside. "Eat my cunt first," she said, and her voice sounded less sweet, less submissive. She knew what her body craved, and she wasn't going to be conned out of it by a slippery white man.

Crumm was in trouble. Light from a basement window slanted down and illuminated the couple. Trish could now distinguish Crumm's features. He wasn't a particularly big man, but his blunt, high-boned face and powerful arms exuded an aura of raw, naked force. Trish couldn't help but think of a storm trooper's heavy jackboot stomping down on the exposed face of some helpless victim: Of course, Trish realized, it took this kind of brutal force for a man to become a political ward heeler in a big city ghetto district. Crumm was going to be a difficult man to deal with. But Trish was busily taking down mental notes about his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Was he cunning? Trish would soon find that out, too. Obviously Crumm had nothing but a stomach-upsetting distaste at the thought of tonguing the black woman's odoriferous cunt. How was he going to squirm out of it and still fuck her as he originally intended?

Crumm took a firm hold of the problem and turned it around the other way. "How's about you going down on my cock bone?" he asked. "Then I'll eat you all you want."

But the black woman was quickly on to his guile and was equal to the occasion. "Why sure, honey," she replied in a voice that sounded too sweet. "I'd just love to taste that white cock bone in my mouth. But you can be sniffin' and lickin' my cunt at the same time."

Crumm's face turned the color of yellowed parchment. "How in hell can I do that?" he asked.

"Sixty-nine," the Negress replied triumphantly. "You eat me. I eats you. That's the only way to go, white cock man."

Trish stiffened. For the first time she was beginning to feel a certain excitement crawl up her spine and tingle in the very pit of her genitals. The walls of her vagina began to flutter. She felt droplets of moisture ooze out of the cunt crack and lodge in the curly hairs that framed her love valley. Of course she had heard about sixty-nine at college. But college kids did more talking than acting when it came to sex. They used up all their energies demonstrating or rioting on the campus. She knew that sixty-nine involved a simultaneous act of fellatio and cunnilingus. But she had never actually seen the act performed. And as imaginative as she was about everything including sexual fantasies, she could never correctly figure out how a man and woman ate each other at the same time. Relishing every moment of her role as the discreet voyeur, Trish slipped a hand under her hot pants and felt her furnace-hot cunt. Her clitoris was in a full state of excited erection. "Ahhh," she murmured in a low whisper of relief when she seized her own female cock with her fingers and gently began to strum it.

At the moment, Crumm was anything but ecstatic. In fact, his penis was already wilting beneath the chilling thought of performing cunnilingus on a black woman. A strong sickly sweet odor flowed unremittingly from the ebony-haired cunt and skin of Hazel. But she was determined to have her way. "Me on you? Or you on me?" Hazel asked in a voice that demanded an immediate answer.

Crumm had bitten way more off than he could chew in the personage of Hazel. But there was still time for him to retreat and call the whole thing off. Crumm was still boss in his own tenement building, and a political power in the ghetto district. But Trish was to learn something about Crumm's character. He wasn't a quitter. He didn't break and run when the going got rough. As it was right now.

"You on me," Crumm replied in a barely audible voice. And then, as though he had finally cornered his guts, he roared, "You on me, black woman. And right now!"

Hazel looked back at the white man with a certain respect in her face. She understood the mental anguish Crumm was experiencing. Yet he didn't turn tail and run. Her own husband was the kind who turned tail and ran whenever the going got rough. Crumm had guts. He was the kind of man she could really go for. When she spoke, it was with a soft and caressing voice. "It won't be so bad for you, honey. You'll see."

Trish, who was massaging her clitoris with a slow, gentle stroke, grew excited enough to increase the tempo of her self-love. Crumm's guts appealed to her too, since she admired strong men. And the anticipation of actually watching a black-on-white sixty-nine excited her enough to generate a series of minor orgasms which could lead up to one terrific climax. The outer surface of her genitals was already quite moist with myriad droplets of vaginal fluid which clung and shimmered brightly in the black hairs of her cunt. And this excitement of her cunt in no way detracted from her firm belief that sex had to be a part of love, or at least affection. As she strummed her cunt, she visualized Acid Head with her, an Acid Head who was potent, vigorous and virile. Acid Head was definitely in her mind. But her eyes remained glued to the white and black couple who were preparing to engage in the sixty-nine kind of lovemaking. Someday perhaps she and Acid Head would be able to treat each other in the same way. Trish didn't want to miss a single detail, for Crumm and Hazel appeared to be experienced sixty-niners.

Crumm was still in a state of minor shock when he stretched out on his back. He looked as though he had just swallowed something very disagreeable. His cock had softened completely, and he approached the task of sucking Hazel's cunt with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner facing the firing squad. His obvious distaste and reluctance were nicely balanced by Hazel's enthusiasm and broad smiling face as she positioned herself for the simultaneous suck-off.

Trish made a mental note of the way Hazel and Crumm arranged their respective bodies. As Crumm assumed the horizontal position on his back, Hazel squatted over his face, but her mouth was aimed at the man's badly shriveled cock. Then she knelt over all the way, took hold of the flaccid penis, and stuffed it into her mouth. Now all that was visible of Crumm's body was his face and legs. Every other part was covered by black flesh.

Crumm's face was not in a very enviable position. The enormous cheeks of black Hazel's ass hovered over his mouth like twin hills of curving black flesh. Her cunt was also a fraction of an inch away from the man's lips. Hazel's genitals, like the rest of her body, were on the gargantuan side. The cunt gash was almost wide and deep enough for Crumm to penetrate with his entire face, and the brushlike cunt hairs were short, stiff and wiry. They fanned out on either side of the slit in such a wide arc that they could have completely covered Crumm's face. And Hazel's clit zoomed out at Crumm with a vibrancy and zest for the suck, as though it was a separate entity with a life and desire of its own.

Crumm ran a hand over each of Hazel's ass-cheeks and pondered the situation. The odor that flowed strongly out of both of the female cavities very clearly nauseated him. And in a few seconds, he was going to have to eat her cunt. He was fast losing his grip on the courage he'd formerly mustered with such great difficulty. But now he was in a more awkward position than ever to back out of his commitment. Panic clawed at his rough-hewn features until he looked as timid and hesitant as a fairy.

Meanwhile, Hazel was attacking his cock with the gusto of a starving man seated at a banquet table. She possessed the typically thick, black lips of a Negress, and now these lips worked to her full advantage. Spongelike in texture, the lips clamped softly down over the reluctant penis and pulled on male flesh until it slowly began to swell out again. And once the penile shaft made its first timid appearance, the woman began to noisily suck on it with the voracious abandon of a cannibal. Slowly, ever so slowly, Crumm's penile shaft slid upwards. And Hazel's mouth was never still for the merest fraction of a second. Once the cock was standing weakly upwards at a semi-vertical angle, Hazel ran her mouth up and down the shaft with the driving force of a jackhammer.

In no time at all, saliva was gushing out of Hazel's mouth and streaking down the man's cock shaft. The saliva must have been hot, for as it began to accumulate, Crumm winced. But the lines in his face no longer reflected anguish. It seemed to Trish that he was beginning to enjoy the mouth-on-cock activities of the frenzied black woman. And this again was reflected in the more rigid condition his cock was assuming.

Finally Crumm was adjusting to the sixty-nine suck-off with the black woman. But then another problem struck him and demolished these early gains in his attitude. Now, it seemed, there was going to be no end to the demands made by Hazel.

Hazel pulled her mouth reluctantly off the stiffening prick and shouted over her shoulder. "Before you eat my cunt, I wants you to tongue my asshole. A tongue inside my ass really sends me!"

"No," Crumm replied in a hoarse, almost terrified voice. "No. Eating a woman's ass. That ain't normal. I'm no goddamn degenerate!"

"Just eat my ass and shut up!" Hazel shrieked in a voice that shook with rage and contempt. And before Crumm could protest further, she slammed both cheeks of her enormous black ass over the white man's face. In fact, the entire face of the man became wedged between the woman's asscheeks. Sink or swim was an adage that was now being rudely demonstrated to Crumm. With his face firmly lodged between the huge asscheeks, he was going to have to perform, or quit and face Hazel's wrath. His mental state was again reflected in the condition of his cock shaft, which slid downwards until the entire penis was in its flaccid, wrinkled and diminutively normal state. And despite the quick return of Hazel's mouth over the cock, the male appendage refused to budge out of its dormant and useless state.

When Crumm had seen Hazel's cheeks moving downwards, he had taken a deep breath and held it. Now, finally, he was compelled to release his breath. And when he did, he made a startling discovery. The odor between the black woman's asscheeks wasn't as stomach-upsetting as he'd first imagined. Cautiously at first, he took another few sniffs. To his utter amazement, he found the odor pleasantly refreshing. And from this first cautious reaction, Crumm was able to arrive at another conclusion, a conclusion based on actual facts instead of prejudgment based on hearsay or a squeamish mental attitude. Yes, if it was possible, he'd shout it aloud. The smell in black Hazel's ass was not only a pleasant one, it was an exciting one. And this new change in attitude was reflected in a resurgence of cock bone, which slid stiffly upwards inside of Hazel's mouth and almost lodged in her throat. Hazel realized what was happening inside Crumm's mind, and she became all the more frenetic in her attack on the prick with her mouth.

On the other hand, Crumm was less hurried, and at almost a leisurely pace began to explore the valley between the cheeks with both his lips and tongue. First he pursed his lips together and kissed the fleshy but firm asscheek.

The sensation filled him immediately with lust. And then, throwing all timidity and caution to the winds, he covered almost every pore on Hazel's cheek with his lips. After which Hazel widened the cleavage by spreading her cheeks farther apart. Then she pressed backwards. There was no doubt in Crumm's mind that Hazel wanted the feel of a tongue thrust deep into her actual asshole. And for the first time in his entire life, Crumm felt psychologically prepared to undertake such a task.

Slowly at first, he pushed his tongue out and proceeded to lap at the ass flesh. The spongelike flesh gave way under his tongue, and then bounced back into place again. This flesh action intrigued him, and soon he was biting, nibbling, and pulling the ass flesh back and forth with his lips. Then, when he sensed that every pore in Hazel's ass was tingling with excitement, he thrust his tongue out as far as possible, contracted the tongue muscles until it was as taut as a spear, and then drove it deep into the cavity. He felt the wiry black rectal hairs give way under the tongue's onslaught. But the hairs didn't stop the forward advance of the tongue. The first penetration of the anus was a shallow one, but Crumm was not deterred. He pulled his tongue back and then drove it forward again with renewed vigor and determination. This time the tongue slid into the anus and down the rectal tube.

Hazel's rectal passage was one of the most erogenous areas in the black woman's body. When the soft clothlike tongue was finally stuffed entirely into the ass tube, Hazel threw back her head as her eyes rolled crazily around and her lips ripped apart to emit a silent scream. The sound of lust became lodged in her throat, and for the moment she was speechless and dazed with ecstatic lust. Now that Crumm had the hang of tongue-fucking a woman's ass, he threw himself wholeheartedly into the performance. Grabbing each cheek with his hand, he thrust his tongue as deep into the hole as possible, and then he pulled it back. As he repeated these in-and-out movements with his tongue, Hazel's ass chamber was lustfully ravaged by the white man's tongue. Saliva spilled out of the corner of his lips and streaked down his chin and throat.

When Hazel returned to mouth his cock, Crumm pushed the woman's ass up a bit, pulled out his face, and then proceeded to attack her cunt with the same educated tongue. This time the black woman almost leaped up to the basement ceiling. But Crumm had a firm grasp of her waist and kept her stationary as he alternately sucked her cunt and her ass. Hazel fell into this movement very quickly. She'd feel his tongue in her ass for a few thrusts, and then she'd lift up and expose her cunt for the same treatment.

In a very short period of time, Crumm's face was awash with sexual fluids; the fluids were secretions from both the vaginal and rectal cavities as well as from his own mouth. The excitement was strong enough to rip at Trish's genitals, and she increased the tempo of her own jack-off movements. And as she strummed her clitoris, she gyrated her hips in the same way a stripper races towards a grinding climax.

Hazel, too, knew she was going to orgasm, and in a copious way. Crumm's prick had enlarged to its maximum dimensions and the color of the penile flesh was a deeper red than the setting sun. "Ohhh," Hazel uttered in a choked voice as the walls of her vagina kept fluttering on the verge of the one tremendous spasm.

Crumm felt cock juices boiling deep within his own genitals, and nothing could impede the gushing flow of his cream as it sought an exit at the tip of his swollen cock head.

Every organ in Trish's body was pulsating for a hot mouth or prick as she continued to frantically pluck away at her clitoris. She, too, was perched perilously on the edge of a precipitous orgasm. And finally it happened. Her vaginal walls shook, and so did every organ in her body. Cunt juices flowed out the slit, and she had to very quickly yank her hot pants down below her knees lest she drench them with her own effluents.

Crumm's turgid cock exploded inside of Hazel's mouth. But she didn't even think of pulling her mouth away. On the contrary, the woman increased the tempo of the suck, for she was determined to swallow every drop of the thick, rich white cream that had spurted out of the head of Crumm's prick. And even after the penile shaft was no longer ejecting effluence, her mouth continued to hungrily work over the cock flesh. And when she noticed several rather large globules of cock cream wedged under the man's nuts, the black woman dipped her head and proceeded to lick the balls until they were shorn of all of the cream. The taste of a white man's cock cream excited Hazel, and the reason was probably rooted in the history of the black woman. But now motivations were immaterial. All that mattered was the act. And the act of sixty-nine had been consummated with perfect skill by both practitioners. Now Hazel rolled off the white man, and the couple remained side by side on the mattress. Both remained silent, and both seemed immersed in their own respective thoughts about the sixty-nine and the derived satisfaction.

Finally Crumm broke the silence. "You still owe me a fuck, black woman."

Hazel protested. "But I gotta make supper. The old man's gonna be back soon."

Crumm didn't argue. The chances of getting another erection on were quite slim. "Okay," he agreed. "Tomorrow, you give me the rest of the fuck. And that don't count towards the twice-a-week fuck you just naturally owe me."

Hazel shook her head sadly. "You don't give nothin' to nobody. You're the tightest white bastard I ever did know."

Crumm chuckled noisily. "I take that as a compliment, black woman. You gets nothing for nothing in this asshole world. And don't you forget it!" Crumm had just stated his philosophy of life, and he warmed to the subject. "I've been hustlin' ever since I was old enough to jerk off. And no one, I mean no one ever give me nothing. And I don't give nothing to anyone 'lest there's somethin' in it for me."

Hazel started to dress. "Maybe that's why I love my old man," she said. "When it comes to makin' money, he ain't worth a shit. But he's always giving something to somebody. Sometimes it ain't no more than a smile or a pat on the back. But giving is his nature."

Crumm spat disgustedly. "Sure it is. That's why the poor bastard ain't got a pot to piss in. And I'm top dog in the district. Even got connections with the big shots downtown." He gave a vicious tug to his pants as he pulled them up.

"Think that one over, black woman!"

Trish was the one who gave the most thought to the philosophy stated by Turk Crumm. The man was selfish, self-centered, tough and arrogant. He gave only if he received doublefold. There wasn't an ounce of charity in his entire makeup. The pathetic little man had been kicked and cuffed by life. Now he was kicking and cuffing his way back. And this was the man on whose assistance Trish had to rely.

Back in her apartment, Trish bathed, powdered and perfumed herself. Then she selected the tightest sweater and pair of hot pants in her wardrobe. She would have preferred to be screwed by a snake, and had absolutely no intention of letting the small-time ward heeler get in her pants. But now she was armed with a few bits of knowledge of the little man's character. The young girl felt she could deal with him effectively. But as her father had lamented when Trish left for the ghetto, "She doesn't know what she's getting into!"