Chapter 9
Bobo Tolbert giggled and kicked his legs above him while the lady in bed next to him, a widow - Marianne Davis was her name - watched him with a satisfied look on her face.
Bobo was the town idiot, although he was not exactly an idiot. But he was feeble-minded at the least, and relied on others for direction. He was not very tall, only about five feet nine inches, and he had something of a hunchback, but his body was strong and supple, and he had large, strong arms with which he Could pick a woman up easily. Everybody liked Bobo. He always grinned at people as he shambled down the street, and they said nice things to him. "How are you, Bobo?"
"It's good to see you, Bobo." Things like that. Of course, some of the men in town didn't like him - men he had never even spoken to, let alone offended - but the ladies simply drooled over him.
Bobo felt remarkably lucky. When he looked in the mirror he saw a fellow with a beetlebrow, shaggy dark hair, and a receding jaw that made him look a little like a Neanderthal man, if Bobo had only known what that was. And that hunchback. But somehow there was something in his manner, he knew, something in his personality, that made him irresistible to women. He realized that he must be a clever devil to be so irresistible.
In fact, Bobo's charm was all located between his legs, and it was over twelve inches long, for bountiful nature had lengthened his cock as it had shortened his intellect. And that was why Widow Davis was laying there beside him in her queen-size bed, watching him with amusement and affection.
Widow Davis, as the townspeople knew her, was herself a remarkable person. Tall, statuesque, she had, at the age of thirty, a body that was as bountifully endowed as her nature was passionate. But this passion - Bobo knew all about it - was a well-kept secret in town, for Widow Davis was the social leader in town, or at least thought that she was.
She was filthy rich; her husband, a guilt-ridden old fellow who died of a heart attack a year ago, had left her several hundred thousand dollars, and the widow knew how to spend it.
The town was just right for her. It was small enough so that she was the richest person in town; large enough so that there was someone to lord it over. Coolly and casually she had taken over; she arranged the dances in the local gymnasium, gave talks at the ladies' clubs, flirted shamelessly with all the best-looking men in town, and had the attention, if not the love, of all the women.
But Widow Davis disliked and distrusted women. When she approached a man - tall, willowy, her breasts humped charmingly out of her dress - the women in the vicinity bristled instantly. Widow Davis could see it. She had a way of touching men - touching them everywhere - and the women were indignant every time she did so.
But the place she liked to touch them the most - well, Bobo knew all about that too.
Bobo knew about that because he worked for Widow Davis, day and night. In the daytime he plowed her fields, in the nighttime he plowed Widow Davis. That was what he liked most. She would feed him a good meal and then take him upstairs to the soft, canopied bed that she slept on, where he would take off his dusty clothes and, although sweaty and dirty from his work in the fields, would climb under the covers. As for Widow Davis, she would be stately and grand one moment, but passionate and animal like the next.
Disrobing, she would run her hands over her body for a moment, watching herself in a mirror. Her breasts were plump, for a woman so tall, and they still had their shape, for Widow Davis took good care of herself.
Then she would turn to Bobo. "Bobo, do you want it?"
He would nod eagerly.
"Then come on, Bobo."
Standing there in the nude, before the mirror, legs spread, she would watch herself, holding her breasts, while Bobo scampered up to her and came up underneath, mouth open, to suck on her queenly vagina until she told him to stop. That was the way she liked to have her first orgasm. She liked to watch herself during her orgasm, to watch Bobo's head bobbing and bumping against her crotch, while his busy tongue licked and twisted in her vagina.
Then she would think up games for them to play. "You're a bull, Bobo, and I'm a cow. Now what do you do?" And Bobo would mount her like a bull, bellowing loudly and thrusting his absurdly large cock into her bovine cleft.
If the townspeople only knew! she said to herself at times. But Widow Davis was discreet, she never let anyone even suspect. And the townspeople were all so stupid that they wouldn't have been able to figure out what was happening if they actually saw her and Bobo rutting in the bedroom of her stately mansion.
She lay back with a sigh of contentment. For some reason Bobo was unusually active today. He had gored her again and again, making her come a half-dozen times at least, and now she just wanted to watch his giggling antics.
As for Bobo, he was excited for a reason. He didn't remember much, but he remembered that something good was going to happen today, this evening, because that fellow from the camp had told him so. When the doorbell rang he just knew that it would be his friend.
The doorbell rang for a long time before Widow Davis answered it, and when she did she was furious. "Go away!" she yelled at the person ringing the doorbell. "I - Burt Conroy coolly pushed the door open, over her protests, and walked in.
"You - " Widow Davis was speechless. Naked, she drew herself up to her full height and ordered him out of the house.
"Where's Bobo?"
"What -?" Widow Davis stared at him, feeling terribly disquieted all of a sudden.
"Bobo. The guy you shack up with. I've got some work for him."
The Widow Davis looked indignant. "If you mean Mr. Tolbert, he's not here. I assume he is at his home."
Bobo Tolbert came down the stairs. He was stark naked and his heavy cock was swinging between his legs.
"Bobo, let's go. We're going to be late." Burt turned around to leave.
"Come back here! Bobo - Mr. Tolbert - was just using my bathroom to shower, he was just - "
"Ah," said Burt, turning around and looking her up and down. Widow Davis tried to cover her breasts with one arm and her crotch with the other. "In town they told me that you were shacking up with him," said Burt. "They claim a guy can get a good view of your bedroom from the sycamore outside." He shrugged. "But you know how people talk."
"You -!" Widow Davis took up a plaster-of-Paris figurine and hurled it at Burt, who grabbed Bobo's hand and dragged him out into the front yard. Bobo did not protest, but Widow Davis came running out after them, throwing things at Burt, and even when he had pushed Bobo into his car, a Lincoln Continental, she railed at him, standing spread-legged by the window, her splendid body naked and running with sweat and the grime from Bobo's filthy skin.
"You bastard, you pig!" she screamed.
Then someone laughed out near the sycamore tree. Widow Davis shrieked and scuttled across the lawn to the safety of the house, her breasts flopping in spite of her efforts to control them. She already felt the town slipping away from her; already imagined the knowing grins she would encounter there, all because of one tree.
When the door banged against the chain, "Burt Conroy was seized with a sudden fury. He gave a sudden push and the chain ripped free. Ellie was in the front room, fully dressed now, a look of terror on her face, Burt strode over to her and grabbed her. It was dark outside, and as Burt dragged Ellie across the threshold and out to the car no one observed them but Claude Branch, the football player, who had heard Burt's car drive up and now watched through the window.
What he saw puzzled him. Ellie went along with Burt quietly. Claude Branch could not know that she was simply too terrified to- struggle against Burt, and he shrugged his shoulders as the car moved away. But then he came out of his cabin and watched as Burt drove through the camp. He saw where he was going. He knew that he was going to Spindler Creek, that for the first time since Claude had come to the camp, Burt Conroy would be up at Spindler Creek. And Claude had a reason for wanting to see him alone.
He ambled toward the path to Spindler Creek. There was plenty of time, and Claude Branch had infinite patience.
At Spindler Creek everyone was present but Burt Conroy and the gnome like fellow named Bobo Tolbert, but no one was concerned. Burt was certain to get there eventually; he lived for such parties. Anyway, everyone was having so much fun that Burt's absence was not noticed.
The Terry sisters were performing, for one thing. They were two thirteen-year-olds, blonde and incredibly developed for their age. Identical twins, they had each of them sufficiently womanly bodies for a girl of eighteen. Their performance made it amply clear that they had the instincts of a woman of thirty. At the moment they were both on the ground, laying on a pile of old sleeping bags and blankets, and Lisa, the more aggressive of the two, was "raping" her sister Gabriella with a huge plastic dildo. Their mouths were locked together, their tongues twisted and darted within them, and the dildo relentlessly pushed past the puckered lips of Gabriella's modest cunt while Gabriella's cream sloshed out plentifully.
Nearby a young man on vacation from college, bearded and earnest, wearing nothing but steel-rimmed glasses, was talking to a girl from the local high school. "What it is," he was saying, "is a systematic exploration of man's bestial nature, an exploration of the 'deviate' within each of us - that aspect of your nature that you cannot escape, whatever your feelings, whatever your opinions. Because you have to realize that while our soul is of God, so to speak - taking God to be the moving spirit within the universe - our bodies are of the world. And since God created them, they too are holy. Which is why we spend these evenings exploring their possibilities. It's not sex for its own sake; we're involved in something higher, more serious than that. It's a matter of finding out man's limits, of exploring the universe within us. Do you see what I mean?"
"Sure," said the high school girl uncertainly.
"You're really very mature for your age, you know?" he said, taking her hand. They sat there quietly, hand in hand, watching the Terry sisters.
Nearby, a young man was petting a Shetland pony. The pony, a young filly, stood quietly and munched on grass. The young man had brought the pony from town, along a back trail, and he now was looking forward to Burt Conroy's arrival, for Burt had told him that he had someone who could fuck the Shetland pony, as well as someone who would let herself be fucked by the goat that someone had brought from a nearby farm. He patted the flank of the pony and wondered if Burt had guessed that he himself had fucked the pony before, and if he would have the nerve to do it tonight in front of the crowd.
The Terry sisters were still at it, only now they had switched the dildo and Gabriella was fucking Lisa with it. Their mother, a buxom woman of thirty, was cradling Lisa's head in her arms and smiling at her. She was Yvonne's only competition in the matter of endurance, but lacked the smoldering urgency that was Yvonne's trademark. Lena Terry was a mother figure, not a sexpot. She loved men, loved to have them around, and they swarmed like bees when she was in the vicinity. Blonde, full-bodied, she spent all her time lounging around her house, receiving visitors. She and her daughters lived on an annuity provided her by. her father's estate, and she had seemingly devoted her life to making men happy, as she expressed it. Innocent, fetching in her lack of understanding (unlike her daughters, who were clever), she was content to remain at home all day with her skirts up and a smile on her face, waiting for the men who were sure to visit her. Laborers came at their lunch-time, bankers at three o'clock; all types of men came, loved her briefly, and left feeling better for the experience. It was a matter of indifference to Lena what color they were, or even how they wanted their sex. She was content to oblige them, although secretly she preferred to be underneath them in an expressly submissive position, for as simple as she was she understood the necessity that a man feels to be dominant, to ride his woman, to slap his thighs against her haunches and ram his cock into her for the purpose not only of spilling jism but of expressing his dominance. Her patience with men was infinite; her sexual energy endless, although not explosive. It was characteristic of her that she had never had an orgasm, and it was also characteristic that she did not even care. She simply liked the warm, thrusting male organ between her legs. It comforted her and left her feeling satisfied. It would never have occurred to her to take money for what she did, for sex was a matter of giving of yourself, wasn't it?
She watched her daughter Gabriella's frantic, thrusting movements and smiled. She had wished for a boy, so that she could instruct him in love, but her daughters were a curious combination of tomboy and woman; they were active and sexual, and she loved them.
"You can't judge other people, you know what I mean?" said the college boy. "Like, there's this famous psychologist - I forget his name - who said that the murderer is the victim and the victim is the guilty one. You get that? It's because the victim has brought the murderer to murder him - he's caused it, really." He put his arm around her and let his hand rest close to her breast. The girl looked frightened and doubtful.
"I'm not - " she said. Then she stopped, unsure of herself. "I was just, well, watching. I'm not really into all this, you know, group sex -and all."
"Sure," said the college boy. "Sure. I understand perfectly." But his arm remained where it was.
Timmy Holstead, the young man with the Shetland pony, had led it off into the darkness beyond the fire. The pony was quiet as he led it, and when he got it into the darkness, where no one could see them, he began to stroke its flanks, coming nearer and nearer to its rump. When he first touched its cunt, the pony flipped its tail and stepped away from him, but he patiently rubbed near its tail until the pony began gradually to respond.
The animal lifted its tail slightly, and Timmy put his hand on the warm, mushy vagina. It was a mere slit, but it gradually opened up as he felt over it, and finally his hand slipped into it and felt around in the soft, wet area inside. Then he felt it happen. The pony's cunt twitched slightly, then jammed down hard on his hand in a series of rhythmic contractions as the pony experienced a sudden and violent orgasm.
Almost instantly it was over, and the pony switched its tail down, brushing his hand away.
Impatiently it stepped away from him, but Timmy was masturbating by now and followed the pony, trying to get his cock into its fat and sloppy cunt. Nothing helped; the pony was through, unwilling to stand still, and Timmy, angry and frustrated, finally let his load of jism spurt out onto its flanks. Then he fetched some wet moss from the river and washed the pony clean so that no one would notice. He heard someone laughing over at the campfire and quickly led the pony back, hoping that his absence hadn't been noticed.
The laughter" at the campfire was over the two young girls, Lisa and Gabriella. Gabriella, taking her male role seriously, was no longer merely fucking her sister with the dildo but was actually trying to rape her with it. Lisa had had her orgasm and wanted to quit, but Gabriella clung to her and fucked her furiously, driving the dildo deep into her cunt. Soon they were in a vicious fight, squealing and scratching and rolling on the ground, but Gabriella's dildo remained lodged where it was.
The fight ended abruptly. Lisa, excited by the fight and her sister's insistent fucking, became excited herself and suddenly turned submissive. She lay under her sister, her youthful body sweaty and trembling, her gaze distant, her lips parted slightly. Her face was flushed and hungry. She let her hands drop to her sides for a moment, then lifted them and touched them to her sister's delicate breasts. The nipples hardened under her touch.
Lisa's face was grim and determined. It was if she was taking over her sister, making her submit once and for all.
Then they kissed. Lisa's body arched over Gabriella's as her mouth found Gabriella's and came down over it. For a long time they remained like that, frozen, motionless, nothing moving but Gabriella's hips, which thrust forward and back very slowly in a rhythmic motion until finally, with a sudden, explosive force, her sister had yet another orgasm.
The sound was startling. Her breath was expelled in a sudden gasp, explosively, while she flung her hips upward, letting her sodden cunt swallow the dildo whole. For a long time she jerked spasmodically on the ground. Then she was still.
"It's an experiential thing, you know what I mean?" said the college boy. His arm was around the girl and his cock was growing heavy, like a lump of soft clay. The girl was trying to smile and was shrinking away from him. "Man doesn't know his own limits, is the problem. By systematically experiencing life in all its forms he learns not only about life but about himself." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the neck. She sat absolutely still.
"You've got a wonderfully warm nature, you know?" The girl tried to smile. Then she jumped up and freed herself from him. "I'm not - I don't want to - " He got up and touched her arm, looking earnest-in her eyes. "You can't be afraid of it. You can't be afraid of life, of sex, because then it's got you down. You've got to meet it." He put his arms around her gently.
When the girl felt the lumpish, heavy cock rising against her body, she gasped and turned to run. The college boy grabbed her.
"We're just talking," he said. He sounded angry. "I'm not going to do anything to you."
He held onto her while she struggled, but suddenly she got one hand free and, in her desperation, raked her fingernails across his face.
"Goddamn it, you - " He hurled her to the ground. The crowd, in a momentary lull now that the Terry sisters had subsided and were laying happily entwined, on the ground, responded instantly to the sight of the struggle. Two or three of the men, half drunk and randy, yelled encouragement to the college boy. The women had spotted the girl as a virgin: lithe and tawny, she had that wide-eyed look, that look of softness, of innocence, that lasts until perhaps the eighteenth or twentieth year. And her body, sensuous and perfect, the breasts rounded and humped up pertly, was too beautiful. There were women in the group that would have loved to embrace her, to kiss her young body all over, but to do that they would first have to accomplish her deflowering. And because of their jealousy, because of their hunger for her, they laughed and jeered when the boy grabbed her and - out of control, hardly knowing what he was doing - began to thrust his hips forward blindly, slamming his heavy cock against her body.
The girl's fingernails raked him again. With a groan of anger, a shuddering sound that rose from deep within him, the boy flung her to the ground and dived headfirst at her. He held her down, seated on her hips, and his hips jerked spasmodically.
"He's lucky Yvonne isn't here," said one of the women wryly. "She'd scratch his eyes out." The boy gradually rose up until his hips were about five inches above the girl's body. Her face was screwed up with fear, but for some reason she had not screamed, perhaps because she was aware that no one would help her. She watched, terrified, as the boy's hips moved back and forth in a steady motion, his cock pointing upward, a thin fluid dripping from it. His cock was not even touching her.
But the boy, as if in a trance, did not even seek to enter her. His body kept up that mesmerizing motion, forward and back, while his cock thrust out over the girl's terrified face.
Then, with a sudden jetting flow, he came. The curling jism spurted out over the girl, flung itself over her face. Curiously, she did not even raise her hands, but simply watched the jet of thick, white jism descend on her in a lacy ropes until her face was running with it and her hair was sticky from it.
The boy jumped up and tried to speak, but in this moment he could not speak clearly. His voice wavered and stuttered. It was clear that he was trying to apologize, to explain himself, but he was never to have the chance.
He never had the chance because the other men in the group had already begun to descend like wolves on a lamb. The girl looked up suddenly and began to rub the boy's jism off her face. Then she saw the men who were crowding around her. Davey Wilson, a tall, strapping fellow, mellow and almost meek of temper, had a strained, unsure look on his face. A pleasant fellow, well-liked by everyone, he was usually courteous to women, even chivalrous. His Texas accent entertained the group, as did his huge, thick cock and splendid powers of endurance. But Davey looked strange; his face was tense, taut with some strong emotion, and his cock seemed to be straining away from his body, as if it wanted to take off on its own.
When Davey took the girl by the arm she screamed. It was as if her nervous system gave way suddenly in a massive failure. Davey shook her. At the same time, Don Pearce, a squat, pugnacious fellow who was as unpopular as Davey was popular, tried to come between Davey and the girl. For a moment Davey didn't notice him. Then he stopped for a moment and looked at Pearce almost stupidly.
"That's not necessarily yours," said Pearce. He put his hand on the girl, who looked fearfully from one to the other. Davey struck his hand away. Pearce hit him hard in the chest. The girl ran, cheered on by the onlookers.
For a moment Davey was stopped by the hard blow landed by Pearce. He tumbled backward, then got up, looking around as if in a daze. Pearce ran after the girl and caught her at the edge of the circle. Even as he landed on her his cock was searching for her cunt. His movements were frantic and furious. The girl, for all her apparent coyness, had creamed profusely, and one could see the liquid glinting in the light of the fire.
In the next moment Pearce would have found the place down there, for all the girl's struggling movements. But by that time Davey had recovered. His tall, raw-boned body straightened suddenly and with one bound he reached the struggling pair. He grabbed Pearce by the hair.
Pearce, snarling, turned on him and ducked low to swing at him, but in the moment it took him to do this, "Davey bad slammed his arm sideways against his opponent's jaw. Pearce sagged for a moment.
In the next moment Davey drew back and slammed his fist into Pearce's body. A deep, explosive sound emitted from Pearce's mouth as he sagged, wide-eyed, then tumbled to the ground.
Davey stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. The girl was looking up at him, wide-eyed. Pearce lay there, breathing heavily. His voice was slurred when he spoke.
"You son of - "His breath caught in a sob. "You - " But then he stopped talking. He crawled to the edge of the circle. One of the women disdainfully handed him a cup of wine and he took it to his lips.
Davey stood there above the girl who no longer struggled. It was as if she recognized that this was to be her fate - as if she recognized it and accepted it. At this moment it was as if she was transformed. As if her awkward, girlish body acquired the lines of a woman, the sensuous lines, the hungry look - as if all her innocence, all her sprightly, girlish charm, were gone for good, to be replaced by a full-bodied and sexy womanliness. She was looking up at Davey with a lustful expression. The crowd suddenly quieted down, not knowing how to interpret what they were seeing.
The girl got up in a kneeling position. Her legs were wide apart and the bush of streaming-wet hair was visible between her legs. She watched Davey with a half-proud, half-wistful look on her face as her hands traveled slowly to her breasts. A few of the women tittered when she cupped her pert breasts in her hands, but the men were silent. Davey reached down and lifted her to her feet, everyone was silent.
He led her to the piled-up blankets and sleeping bags. The girl went along with him quietly, lifting her breasts proudly, not even aware of the spectators.
She did everything asked of her. Two of the older women came forward and spread her legs for Davey, holding them apart. When he lowered himself over her, she clutched him hard, as if asking for that security that a man can provide.
One of the women took hold of Davey's large cock and directed it to the fragile, petal like lips of the girl. The college boy was protesting, but not very loud. He said something about rights and dignity and respecting individuals, but no one listened. Another of the women took him by the arm and, reaching down to stroke his softening cock, brought it to life again. He stopped talking and let her lead him away into the shadows, but at the last moment he looked back at the girl. She didn't so much as notice. Davey's cock was nestled in the lips of her delicate vagina. She had her eyes closed and held her arms around Davey. For a moment they held that position, not moving. The girl was holding her breath.
Davey's body lurched forward in a sudden explosion of spasmodic passion, like a taut bow suddenly released. His heavy cock thumped against the girl's liquid vagina, then, after a moment of hesitation, burst through and deep into her.
The girl screamed suddenly, but her scream was broken off as Davey's body arched again and his heavy cock began to thrust back and forth in her. The people watching were open mouthed and silent at the display. It was only a moment before the jism boiled out of Davey and into the girl's small vagina which couldn't hold it but let it spill forth and soil the blankets and sleeping bags underneath them. The clotted jism was mixed with the bright blood of the girl's hymen. When Davey got up from her, she reached her hand down and touched it to the broken lips of her vagina, then stared, open mouthed, at the mixed blood and jism. Then she settled back on the blankets and lay there in an extraordinarily lewd pose, her body curved in a suggestive S-shape, while the others gradually lost interest in her.
"There's Yvonne," said one of the men. He took a deep draught from a jug of red wine.
"Now things ought to get hot."