Chapter 6
I had been hearing a lot about Mark, the guy who brought me to Hope House, and the next day I met him. Nothing outstanding about the man, good shoulders, warm blue eyes, a standard kind of face, ten years or so older than me.
When we sat alone in the shabby living room, I asked him why he'd taken the trouble.
"You were sick," he said, "and often one alky can see that in another."
"Hell," I said, "I'm sick now. But I think I had something else in mind when you asked me to come with you."
"Probably," he said, "but I couldn't take you to bed in your condition."
"Plenty of guys have," I said bitterly. I was suddenly conscious of the perfume rd borrowed from Janet, something fluffy and light, too young. It wasn't the musky, stirring scent that fitted me so well.
"Take it easy," he said. "You're putting yourself down harder than anybody else will, around here. That's something we all have to get past--thinking we're no damned good, that we've poured ourselves down the drain."
My hands were shaking, and I tried to decide which I needed most, a drink or this calm, self-assured man. He held a lighter to my cigarette, and I took the opportunity to brush my fingers over his wrist. Our eyes locked fore a long, breathless moment, and I knew he felt it--that stuff that emanates from me like a bitch in heat.
It wasn't something I often did consciously. It was just a part of me, the sensuous female of me reaching out to attract the male, damned near any male. But it didn't go any farther just then because Darla--she was the tall, quiet woman with the patrician face--came in and asked Mark if he'd like to take a Twelfth Step call on some street or the other.
"Sure," he said to her, and to me. "Later, Patti. Hang tough."
Darla stood there after he'd gone, not looking directly at me,, twisting her hands together. Then she said, "Can I get you something, fruit juice, coffee?"
When I lifted my eyes to hers, I knew that Darla was sensing me, too, that there was a hunger in her like that I stirred in men. This sedate woman was a lesbian, and trying hard not to show it. I said, cruelly, "Forget it, baby."
Face going pink, she turned away and left me to shake it out by myself. I thought over my chances of getting back on the street, of finding enough money to kill the tremors that were tearing me up, and decided the odds were against me. td better get some strength back, try to get straight here, before going off on another wild tangent. Besides, there was Mark, who interested me.
Did the boss-man Dan interest me, too? I couldn't shake the idea that he was so much like my father, and I didn't want to think about that, not at all. It was like thinking about incest. Belting my robe tighter at the waist, I stood up and went to the coffee pot, wishing that the spout pumped beer, instead of coffee.
"Hi," said a gravel voice. I looked around to see Johnny, the man with the scarred eyebrows and crooked nose. I said "hi" back and stood close to him while he drew a cup of his own. He wasn't Mark, but he was a man, rugged looking and strong, and he could at least soothe one of my nagging itches.
Damn, I thought, how long had it been since I had really been screwed? I had a hazy recollection of some clown fumbling with me in a motel and of a sweating guy who didn't want to do anything but eat me. It was lice being cut off from alcohol, not having a good hard prick once in awhile.
"You don't talk much, Johnny," I said huskily, brushing my hip against his. "Why are you in Hope House?"
He rolled his shoulders, a movement that seemed to go with the unconscious, shuffling pattern of his feet. "I was sick and tired of being sick and tired."
I felt his biceps. "You don't look sick. You look very strong."
He cocked his head. "Where Pm sick, it don't show. My timing's gone and my gut's soft, account of the booze. I got to find another business, and I don't know what."
"Another business?" I let him take a peep into the front of my robe, where my breasts swelled intriguingly.
"I'm a pug, Patti. Or I was. Don't it show?"
Perhaps a man would have noticed, and now the signs fell into place for me, the marks of a modern gladiator, overlapping tissues from glove wounds, the battered nose, his nervous feet and hands.
"I'll bet you were a good fighter," I said.
"Kind of. Took fifteen straight as a pro, then I got beat. Not bad, but it showed me I wasn't the greatest. I got drunk, and I kept getting drunk, and then they started to punch me all over the ring."
Picturing the blood, the brutal glory of the ring, I got even more excited, and I didn't worry any about Johnny's problems. All I saw was his hard young body, the cat grace of his gladiator's body. I saw those swift fists smashing other faces, beating them down in sweat and blood.
I pushed the hardened nipples of my breasts against his arm. "Why don't we go down in the meeting room and you can tell me some more about your fighting?"
A tiny spasm washed over him and fine sweat suddenly beaded the skin above those tortured eyebrows. Following me to the stairs, he trailed me into the deserted, darkened room, hypnotized by what I promised him. I went straight to a ragged couch and snake-hipped out of my robe.
Johnny's hands were hard on my hips, puffing my body fiercely to his, crushing me to him with a desperate eagerness. "Hurt me," I hissed, the words breaking against his teeth. "Hurt me and beat me down, Johnny--conquer me! Fuck me until I beg."
Sounds struggled in his throat as we fell on the sagging couch together, and I ripped open his shirt, yanked. at his pants. Then his smooth, warm skin was sliding nakedly over mine, his stiff cock was snugged into my hand, and my tongue ran wild inside his mouth.
He was rough, and I loved it. He brutalized my breasts with strong fingers, and I adored the little pains. When he cupped my pulsing vulva, I ground it into his calloused palm, needing to be taken, raped, mauled. It had been so damned long, so long since I had been fucked by a rain-paging, powerful man.
When I bit his lips, Johnny thrust a thick finger into my cunt lips, and I bucked savagely upon it, fighting back at this intruder, yet welcoming the combat. My hips rolled and I arched my back, snarling at him. "Fuck me, damn you! Force this hard prick into my hot pussy and fuck it, fuck it!"
But when he tried to pry open my legs, I fought him until he slapped them apart. I bit his chest and he slapped my face; head spinning, I dropped back and felt him cram his swollen cockhead into my seeping labia. They gave gladly, stretching to accept this new and violent prick that was pushing so hungrily between them. His shaft slid powerfully into my aching vagina, and the satin sheathing closed gleefully around it.
"You flicking bitch," he hissed into my ear. "You want a hard prick? You're gonna get it, all right. Here, you hot bitch--here!"
Johnny slammed it home with a wrenching motion that thrilled me, that made my fits bounce and my head rock. Savagely, he hammered his rigid pole up into my shivering pussy, raking the cockhead hard against the rippling walls, grinding viciously with the base until my clit leaped erect. In and out, he sledged that round, long piston, rodding me deep and mean, pounding it to the balls and backing off for another series of pile-driving strokes.
Against my eyes, tinged with red and in spinning shadows, the figure of a man grew, an olive crown ringing his silver hair, robe of royal purple fluttering in the wind, standing high and arrogant above the arena wall. The gladiator stumbled and fell defeated to the bloody sands; the emperor lifted a gracious, merciless hand, and turned the thumb down.
The sword went into me, the spear lanced my vagina, but I would not beg for mercy again. I struck back with the hammer of my pelvis, battering him, twisting upon the blade moving in my belly. I fucked him just as hard as he was fucking me, banging my crotch into his, squirming and heaving, wrapping my legs around him and trying to squeeze the need from his lunging body.
"Damn you, damn you!" he moaned, gripping my thighs and plowing his meat into me. "Oh you bitch--I'm gonna' come, come!"
The wild maelstrom built within me as the head of his prick flexed. I quivered around his" shaft and sucked at it with the strength of my vagina, ground at it, tried to destroy it within my pussy.
Johnny went off in me, hosing his man juice thickly into my hot and gloving hole, spewing his semen full force into the folds of blazing flesh that would absorb it forever. I felt the gush of his come, the creamy eruption that drenched my womb, and I met it with a surging hunger of my own, a ravaging barn-barn-barn of greed that climbed my feet along the cheeks of his clenched ass. I made it big, starved for the orgasm that changed the world, trembling and swiveling my hips, winning, winning it all.
Fine-stubbled, a cheek grated against my own. Something wet and salt trickled onto my lips. When I opened my eyes, the arena had disappeared, and Johnny lifted himself from my sprawling body, dragging his softening prick from the wet gripping of my cunt lips, leaving a little trail of semen along my thigh. He moved back and away. I had no words to stop a man from crying.
Jerking up his pants and jamming his shirt into them, he ran to the side door of the meeting room as I lay there in a nearly contented lethargy, in a warm blanket of completion. Johnny wrenched at a knob and plunged out into the gardened back yard of Hope House; the door slammed behind him.
What the hell, I wondered, we were just getting started, and the guy started crying, then split. I wanted him to do a lot more to me, to cram that rugged face between my thighs and eat my wet pussy. I wanted to go down on him, to pump his cock into my mouth and use my tongue on it and drain him of every drop of his semen. I wanted to be fucked again and again, until his body had no strength left in it.
But he ran out on me, like some kind of psycho, crying. But I was still all warm inside, the sharp edge gone from my passion for the moment, a man's come dissolving slowly within my vagina. Just in case, I reached down and drew the robe over my body, propped my head on a pillow and drifted, relaxed for the first time in weeks. If I only had a bottle, I thought, if I could take a few long drinks, everything would be just about perfect.
Johnny the gladiator had failed to conquer me, just as all of them had failed, in the end. Because I fought them, not really wanting to, pretending to be pliant and submissive, but doing battle where it counted, and I always won. Damn it, I always won. Closing my eves, I remembered other big rooms, where couples mixed with each other's mates, where men crawled from one naked woman to another, where women went down and. men applauded, where the most intimate sex acts were robbed of any tenderness they might have had, because they were acted out upon a stage.
I met Will Landson in the last place in the world I'd expect to find such a man in a club. His wife Elizabeth had just about dragged him there, all pumped up about outside sex saving their marriage: She was a handsome woman, but she'd reached the desperate age where romance seems to be slipping past, where she felt unwanted and hopeless. I guess it happens to most women, but they don't go searching for romance in a sex club.
Maybe Will was at a precarious age, too; it works the same for men, I've found. They start eyeing very young girls, and hold in their bellies and try to hide their wrinkles. Will was no youngster, like some husbands in the club, and there were younger girls than me available, but somehow we got together at the bar. I was usually at the bar.
He was hesitant and shy. I had to lead him upstairs by the hand. I was smashed and excited by his gray hair and wise face, by his gentleness and a hidden sensuality I could sense.
When I got him in bed, I left the lamp on, and stripped slowly for him, enjoying his embarrassment, a pressure building in me that I couldn't understand. He sat on the bed, uncertain and somewhat ashamed, and told me he had never done anything like this before, that he hadn't touched another women in more than twenty years.
"Now is the time," I said, sway-hipping over to him and taking his gray head to press his face into my stomach. I was so damned turned on that my pussy was trembling and lubricated itself before I even got his clothes off.
I got a real kick out of treating him as a child, mothering him as I helped him off with his shirt and pulled down his slacks. His skin was pale, almost as white as his underwear, and my fingers shook as I stripped away the t-shirt and shorts. Then I stared hungrily at the erect cock that rose from its nest of silver pubic hair. Silver pubic hair! It hypnotized me, made me run my fingers lightly through it, awed by its silken feel, trembling inside as if I was a virgin and this was the first prick I had ever seen.
"You you're so young and beautiful," he murmured, and I kneeled at his feet to kiss his knees, to rub my cheek along his thigh.
"You're so beautiful, too," I said. "Oh daddy, you're so beautiful."
I don't know why the hell I said that, why I called him daddy, but I moved my face in to snuggle between his legs, to fondle his balls while I drew my lips gently over his swollen glans. Will Landson had a nice, solid cock, medium-sized and with a polished head. I kissed that head over and over again, but I didn't take it into my mouth right away.
He was breathing hard, but his hands were gentle upon my hair, stroking it, treating me as if I was an impossible dream suddenly come true for him, treating me as if I was a wayward daughter that he could not resist, could not deny.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked him, willing to try anything, to make him happy, to show him I was more than his wife, younger and stronger and better in all ways.
"Please turn out the light," he said, and I obeyed, then climbed onto the bed with him and we found each other in the dark. I could feel him tremble and hear the pounding of his heart, but he didn't reach for me right away. He merely fondled, caressed, petted and stroked my flesh, lingering at the curves of my ass. His fingers delved lightly and delicately into the cleft there, flinching back when they touched my hole.
Into his ear, I breathed it hotly: "Is that what you want, darling? Is that what you need me to do for you? Do you want to screw me there?"
"I--" his voice was small and soft, apologetic. "I never did that with anyone. I always wanted to, but she--she would never let me."
In a frenzy, I slid down his body and bathed his cockhead in my mouth, made it slippery, and rolled over to make my body a bent bow, presenting my ass to him. "Come on, daddy--take it; fuck me there, in my ass. Come on, daddy!"
Quivering, his hands found my cheeks, and I felt the warmly throbbing head of his prick reach tentatively for my hole. I backed it into him, settled it where it ought to be, and pushed.
"Shove it on into me," I hissed. "Oh darling daddy, push it right on into my hole. It'll stretch for you."
Still, he was gentle, working that cockhead slowly into my ass, as if I was a precious and fragile doll he couldn't bear to harm in any way. Wiggling, I helped him, guided him, forced my tube to open wide enough, so that his glans finally slipped inside. Rolling my hips, I seated the full length of his dear cock into my ass and felt his balls come up against the backs of my taut thighs, those balls cloaked in beguiling silvery pubic hair.
Will came alive when his prick was buried into my narrow tube. He began to work it back and forth and his hands stole around to caress my hairy mound, to finger gently along the wet and aching labia as he stroked me in back. Oh, it was good! It was fantastic, and I was glad that nobody else had ever gotten around to screwing me in the ass. I was a cherry there for him, for this fabulous man who loved me so damned much.
Quivering in ecstasy, I came furiously upon his finger as he loosed his long withheld load of semen into my ass.. It flowed generously, oiling my tube, loosening it so, that his darling cock could slide easier. I didn't want to let him out, and clamped my cheeks down to hold his shaft inside me, squirming upon his buried finger, loving this strange but completely familiar man with all the warmth of my surging body.
Just as if I was normal, and could actually love.