Chapter 5
At home, June felt grubby, dirty, guilty. For a long time, she stared at herself in the big bedroom mirror and wondered how she could have permitted four strange men to use her body so vilely. Just the "guilts", she told herself. Everybody, all over the world is getting off with animals, weird 'perverts, "street people." So I had a little fling with three well-washed tennis-type guys. So what? You know you want to swing, you know you still need the excitement of The Caves and crave whatever lies in store for you there, so cut out the old self-flagellation. You're grown-up now; you don't want to be a "square" any longer. So dump those guilty feelings. Take a nice hot bath and get on about the business of living, baby.
Once the tub was filled with steaming water, June eased her pawed and sexually-sated body into the heat of it and lay almost totally immersed, her knees up, her shoulders flat, her head propped up against the back of the gleaming white porcelain tub. Carefully but leisurely, she ran the soapy washcloth over her breasts and then, raising her buttocks, she scrubbed her vagina, her somewhat torn rectum. The cloth felt so good, a kind of balm for the "guilts" she had felt as well as a purifier of her violated, smooth, firm-soft curves. She sighed, closing her eyes.
Briefly, she let her mind dwell on just how much George, young Dick, Rod and Bill must have enjoyed her body, her sex-crazed state of mind. Yes, it must have been truly wonderful for them. And, of course, it had been a bodyand mind-blowing affair for her. Suddenly, without even realizing it, she had lowered her hands from her erect nipples to her vagina. She raised herself again slightly and let her fingers probe and explore her cunt and asshole. Yes, she thought, it must have been sheer heaven for them ... their big, hard cocks had poked her in her most pleasurable and secret of places.
Involuntarily, she began fingering both of her holes. She even placed the washcloth in her mouth and began reliving the cocksucking of Bill and Rod. She could recall almost perfectly the tangy, somewhat salty flavor of their sperm as it had spurted into her mouth. She bit down on the washcloth and drank down the water that oozed from it. "Ummmm," she groaned aloud, and then, despite herself, she was fingering her clit and finger-fucking her holes hard, at the same time.
In a few minutes she came, gasping, almost sitting upright in the tub, it was such an intense orgasm. She did not question the perversity of her desire to masturbate so soon after incredible orgasms from four men. All she knew was that it felt good, and now that the "guilts" had gone away she felt joy at the discovery that she was a sexual animal after all-slowly but surely losing her crippling inhibitions. She had even visualized and conjured up the memory of the four men assaulting her body as she had climaxed here in the tub.
When her shuddering had passed, June just lay in the warmth of the water, totally relaxed. She reached up with her toe and turned the hot water tap on until the wet cocoon in which she lay became still hotter. Almost immediately her mind toyed with The Caves again. True, she had been angry, terribly angry with Gene Lewis for letting her down, but she saw clearly that her only route to the sort of frantic "group sex" she still craved (something even to top the experience at the tennis pro shop) rested with Gene. Was that true? she asked herself suddenly. Couldn't she make a few discreet inquiries about The Caves and locate the premises and the times and dates of the assemblages on her own? Perhaps....
June toweled herself dry very carefully, turning this possibility over in her mind. Then she dressed in fresh denims and a lavender button-down-the-front, man's type blouse and sandals. She then sat at the living room table, a cup of coffee before her and called Mandy Lewis. Very discreetly, she inquired as to the whereabouts of The Caves. Mandy knew nothing. The place had been in Venice, but like Gene, she said she had heard they'd moved it to somewhere in the Santa Monica area. June made small talk for a few minutes and then hung up. She went out, got in the car and drove to the site of an Adult Bookstore which was right next door to an Adult Theater. In the store she asked the man behind the counter if he had ever heard anything about an "unusual" club called "The Caves."
He shook his head and his manner was totally noncommittal. At the box office of the theater next door, she made the same inquiry of the manager. He seemed to smile knowingly, but he would reveal nothing.
Discouraged, June drove to Downtown Los Angeles, to what she imagined was the "sleaziest" part of town. She parked and then strolled past all the down-and-out looking people: the whores flaunting their wares, the bums with dead eyes and hopelessness in their walks, the strutters all dressed up in expensive threads on-their unemployment or welfare money probably. Either that or from muggings, robberies, pimping, pushing dope, she imagined. Finally, she mustered up enough courage to ask a few whores about The Caves.
Nothing. Everyone she asked looked at her as if she were insane. Finally, she decided that her trip to this part of Los Angeles was all part of her deranged, fantasizing mind-all part of her curious brain that had always romanticized, distorted and reveled in either the Pure or the Degraded, what she imagined to be Perverse or Proper.
You, young lady, she thought, have been one weird chick for a very long time. With you it's all blacks and whites, no grays, and it's always been the good guys and the bad guys, or the sweet girls or the tramps. Well, maybe this "group sex" obsession will straighten you out. And somehow, June sensed that this was so....
En route to the parking lot where she had left her car, June impulsively turned into the doorway of a very seedy-looking hotel, climbed the stairs and strolled down the hallway. The place seemed to stink of urine, or vomit, of cig arette smoke. But she loved the stench that filled her nostrils as much as she admired the worn carpet beneath her feet and the faded wallpaper with the grimy fingerprints. She could hear a man and woman, very drunk, screaming at each other somewhere up on the next floor.
She inhaled deeply, fascinated at this seamy side of life that was so distant from her quiet and uneventful, prim and proper upbringing in West Los Angeles. As though hypnotized, she slowed her pace, wishing she could enter one of the rooms and play the role of whore there-at least for one night.
Just ahead, to the right, she sighted a slightly-open door. Her heart beat faster as she approached it. She could hear a radio playing symphonic music-Mozart, she guessed. When she reached it, she stole a glance inside and saw a young bearded man lying on a fold-down bed. He wore tattered pants and she could see holes in the soles of his shoes. Her heart beat very fast now, and boldly she stepped into the doorway and said, in a very low and earthy voice: "Hello, handsome."
He stared at her in disbelief. He even rubbed his bloodshot eyes. There were empty wine bottles on the chipped dresser and a half-full bottle on the little table next to the bed. He gave a sort of sad grunt, reached over and took a long pull from the bottle. Then, wiping the back of his mouth with his tattooed forearm, he said, "I can't afford you, bitch. Go and hustle somebody else."
So degenerate, June thought. So beautifully and elegantly "needy" and degenerate.
"I'm not a whore," June said evenly. "I've never sold my body in my life and I don't intend to start now."
Through bleary eyes he was staring at her, puzzled. Hope seemed to flash across his handsome, dissipated features, but then it faded and the dark disillusionment returned.
"Go away lady," he said in a hollow voice. "You're in the wrong part of town."
"Today I'm where I belong," she said. "I belong here-in this hotel. In this filthy, stinking hotel ... I belong here, right here, today."
He squinted, tilting his head to the side. He seemed genuinely concerned suddenly. "Hey, are you OK, lady? I mean, do you feel all right?"
She stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. "I feel splendidly, baby. I feel so good I'm gonna suck you and fuck you. Do you mind?"
Now he looked rather frightened. "Listen, lady, it's very obvious that you don't belong here. Do yourself a favor and go away. Really. Listen, do you want me to call you a taxi or something? Give me a dime and I'll call a cab. What do you say?"
"Jesus," June said, unbuttoning the front of her lavender blouse. "And you're even nice. I never would have believed it. What do you do? I mean, when you work what do you do for a living?"
"I used to be a student-a music studentbut then I was a-a soldier. I was in Vietnam and now I don't care about writing music and sometimes I don't even care about listening to it anymore. Now give me a dime so I can get you out of here. Please?"
June ignored him and went over and sat down on the edge of the bed beside him. She reached out and ran her hand over his firm chest, slipping her rippling fingertips beneath the faded worn shirt.
"I love a hairy chest on a man," she said. He began breathing fast.
"Lady, please go home to your husband or whoever. Please go away, will you?"
"Yes, I will. But first I have something to do. You wouldn't deprive a lady of something she really wants, would you?" His breath came very fast, and she stood then, slipped her denims and panties to the floor and tossed the shirt on top of the heap. Naked, she stretched out on the bed beside him.
"I really like you," she said. "What's your name?"
"Donald," he said, his eyes closed as if the pain and nearness of her naked body were too much to bear.
"I'm June," she said, "and I just want to spend maybe half an hour in your arms. All right?"
He didn't say anything. He just stared at her breasts, and then his hungry eyes roamed the length of her body. Gently, she reached down and gave the bulge at his crotch a squeeze and almost instantly his prick grew into a full erection. She pressed her parted lips to his and he permitted her to kiss him long and hungrily. Before the first long, wet kiss had ended she managed to get his prick out. It was very, very hard and it dripped mightily. She gave his face a kind of massage with her lips, and then she lay her cheek on his stomach and teased herself as she admired the fullness of the young man's erection. It bent slightly to the left. She liked that: this day she welcomed small imperfections. She unbuckled his belt, then forced him to lift himself so she could lower his pants to midway between his genitals and knees.
"Lady, I don't know who you are or what you want, but-Oh, Jesus! I want you, but I think maybe you're just a little disturbed. I think maybe you should go away. Now. Before it's too late. I don't want any trouble for either of us."
June reached out, her head on his abdomen again, and began playing with his cock and balls. Immediately, his objections ceased and he began breathing almost convulsively. His hands reached out and gently began kneading her breasts as she massaged his rock-hard organ and the two enormous almonds within his very tight scrotum. She spread his legs a bit in order to threaten the teasing of his rectum. Slowly she worked herself down until her face hovered directly over the dribbling cock.
"So hard," she purred. "Sooo hard and lovely ... and it wants something hot and moving on it, doesn't it?"
He couldn't answer. He merely groaned, little hisses of breath coming through his teeth. And then she let her mouth settle over the lovely head of the hot male meat. She treated it with reverence, twirling her tongue about the brownish-purplish sensitivity of its dribbling, pulsing need while Mozart on the radio crescendoed.
Suddenly she imagined she was sucking off young Mozart. Then as the music flowed her fantasy grew until she was nursing, in fact, not on Mozart but this modern, some-day-to-be world-famous composer. She drew the thick prick deeper, deeper, more and more lovingly into her mouth as she maintained a steady, firm manipulation of his testicles.
He was groaning and the tempo of his hands on her breasts increased. Gradually, with one hand he dared to explore the roundness of her hip and, finally, his hand was on her ass, her stomach. With a gasp, he tried then to part her legs and thrust his hand into the wetness of her waiting cunt. He turned onto his side, wanting to fuck her. "Ohhhh, please?" he said, bucking involuntarily.
Gently, June eased him back onto his back. She kissed his forehead maternally while her hand continued to work up and down on his aroused and engorged flesh stalk.
"Easy, baby," she cooed. "Not yet, baby. We'll fuck if you want ... we'll do anything you want, but first let me kiss your beautiful prick for a while. Do you want to suck my pussy? Do you?"
"Please ... Please ... Please...." he said, and his voice was right in time to Mozart's music
"Well, okay then, but just be a little patient."
June kissed her way back down to his prick again, and then she dined at leisure there for a long time, taking the needy prick of this splendid young man deep into her throat, performing wonders on its infinite beauty.
She was pleased when the young man just went ahead and let himself go. Yes, all of a sudden, he clutched the back of her head, thrust up hard with his hips, jamming his cockhead very hard against the roof of her mouth, and let his delicious load fly.
He caught her by surprise. She had settled into a very leisurely steady tempo of cocksucking (Stravinsky playing on the radio by now) but when she felt the thick member jerking and the balls bobbing in her caressing hand she immediately picked up the tempo, hollowing her cheeks and drawing in and constricting her throat so as not to let a single drop of her precious ball fluid escape the inspection of her taste glands.
"Ummmm ... Erghm ... Yummmm," she crooned and gurgled as the tangy, indescribably delicious male river of thick white goo filled her mouth to the brim. She refused to swallow it all at once. Instead, she let it fill her mouth absolutely so that she could wash it around in her mouth, splashing it about his tingling hard-on to increase the orgasmic sensations wracking his body. Finally, when she was certain he craved no more nursing on his rod nor the heat of her loving mouth to ease him back to this earth, she removed her mouth, gargled with the sperm far back in her throat and swallowed, savoring each gulp and staring down at the flesh pole that had delivered such unspeakable pleasure to her taste buds.
She lay back then, playing with her own tits and fingering her clit a while. "What's y-your name again?" she asked.
"Donald," he said.
"Donald, you are magnificent," June said. "I don't ever remember enjoying doing that to a man more than just now. Really, I mean it. And, Donald, I am not crazy. Going through some kind of strange phase, I guess, but not crazy. So don't feel guilty."
He smiled, looking tremendously fulfilled and relieved, and said: "Woman, you are something else!" He kissed her temple, then put his arms around her and they lay there in silence, listening to the last of Stravinsky's Petroushka.
When it ended, his prick stood straight and hard again in response to her coaxing. The announcer was talking.
"I don't know where you came from," Donald said. "But I was just lying here, dying of need for a woman, feeling very sorry for myself and wishing I had enough money for a whore-even though I can't really make it well with whores-and all of a sudden an-an angel appears in my doorway. I'm very grateful."
He babbled on that way, expressing intense gratitude over and over again, and then he propped himself up on one elbow and began making exquisite love to her. Tenderly, adoringly, he kissed her face, her neck, her eyes, all the time maintaining a lovely light circular motion on her swollen breasts, and he did not let her nipples go ignored.
June closed her eyes and let him work, let him rid himself of his intense sexual need. The blowjob she had given him was, of course, pleasurable, but his need was total. He had to fondle and stroke and make love to (not have love made to him) and, eventually, mount the female beside him. June understood this and she lay cuddled in his arms as his male need mounted and the strength of his embrace grew fierce.
Eventually his mouth on her tits was a gulping hungry thing of desperation. His beard did not bother her. In fact, she loved its scraping against her sensitive breasts, then her stomach, the insides of her thighs, and then his mouth settled into gulping, greedy urgency.
She could not remember when a male had desperately needed to eat a female's cunt so badly. His need was a thing of awe, of wonder. He had her buttocks up on his chest and he drew her flesh lips deep into his mouth, noisily drinking every drop of cunt juice he could manage to ingest The sound of his drinking from her love hole filled the room now that he had turned off the radio. Alternately, his anteater-like tongue would thrust itself as far up into her cunt as possible and then dip lower into her anus. He was totally insatiable. Every pore of her crotch was being cleansed by his relentless mouth. And all the while, he maintained a sense of sanity, for his middle finger worked like a flesh baton in a steady cadence on her clitoris.
The sounds that came flooding up from her throat spurred him on as he drank gulpingly from the cradle of her desire. She would tell herself: "Please, body, give him all the cunt juice he needs to make his need go away," and she knew that her cunt gushed fluid in enormous quantities for his ingestion, for he kept swallowing and she could hear the gurgling of her juices in his throat.
Only once did he stop his crotch feast-to remove a pussy hair from his throat.
And then-she hardly knew when the transition had been made-she felt him sliding up so that he was upright and staring down at her heaving, twitching body. With his right hand under her ass and his engorged prick in his left hand, he began wagging his cockhead back and forth against her expanded clit, at times inserting the big head of his prick into her channel partially, but then returning to the rubbing of his cockhead against the clit.
It was heaven-sheer cock-heaven-and the sounds of her appreciation filled the room. It was a delightful position for fucking. Her buttocks rested on his upper legs, as though she were almost sitting on his lap, and yet she was on her back-flat on her back and writhing and he was in a sitting position.
Finally, he began the insertion in earnest. His prick was up there-really up there-and he fucked her mightily, really stabbing at her cervix while he continued the manipulation of her clit with his finger.
"My ass I" she cried suddenly. "Stick one finger up my ass!"
He complied and went on with the fucking, one hand wagging on her clit, the other fingerfucking her asshole.
In total passivity, June flung her arms above her head and moved her body like that of a belly dancer in response to his spearing, ravenous plunges. Each mighty stick of his prick seemed to lift her a foot off the bed, and he emitted a sound like a prize-fighter makes when he lands a punch each time his pelvis crashed against hers.
"Hard, baby!" she snarled with each stab. "Fuck it hard! Hard!"
She came several times as this occurred-but lightly, skimmingly-and then as he moved directly on top of her, really driving savagely downward into her cunt, she felt the biggie approaching. It welled up from her asshole. She could feel its beginnings in the most primitive seat of her brain, then spread and course throughout her entire body. His grunts were rasping in her ear with each mighty stick of his pole and he was clutching her ass into wadded flesh when she peaked.
Her screams were terrifying to her own ears, and the moment the first bursts broke forth resounding throughout the room, she knew that he had saved himself and timed himself with infinite care.
"COMM-MMINNNG!" she cried.
"ME, TOOOOOOO!!" he cried back.
And then they both breath-burst their way to completion and lay gasping, his prick ever so gradually dwindling until at last he rolled off her and lay staring at the ceiling.
They both had a cigarette, and then she rose with effort, dressed and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Standing in the doorway, smiling at his nakedness, she said, "It was wonderful, Donald. Thank you." She shrugged. "I mean, what's a girl supposed to say?"
He shook his head, smiling the same evil-saintly smile right back at her. "I wish you'd come and sit on my face."
"Please don't tempt me," she said, still grinning.
He shrugged, pointing at his open mouth invitingly, and they both laughed. "I-I don't suppose you'll tell me where you live-where I can ever get in touch with you?" he said.
She shook her head. "That's not possible, Donald-even though you're worth it. God, are you worth it!"
He simply raised his hand and waved a sad bye-bye, fluttering his fingers. But there were tears in his eyes. "Worth it?"
She blew him a kiss. "Bye-bye, baby," she said, sniffing and holding back tears herself.
"Bye-bye, angel," he said. "I do feel worth it now."
And she left him there lying naked on the bed and knowing all her life she would think of Donald whenever she heard Mozart or Stravinsky.