Chapter 5
The youthful summer of my debut saw only one more orgy. Bob told me then that Charley had other captive groups with which he also spent time. It didn't surprise me.
The second orgy wasn't so bad, though. Charley must have satisfied his first raging lust for youth and decided to wait till I was older and more suited to his saturnalian games. I managed to spend most of that orgy with Bob and was able to learn more of his gentle nature, though Carrie tried to monopolize him and I had to share what was left of his drained abilities with Sarah. Of all that group, he was the one I liked the best.
I spent that summer, and the next three, mainly in long walks in the country by myself, or alone in my room, reading and dreaming. Since my father's lessons had stopped with my induction into the slavery of lust, I had only the occasional orgies to relieve my tensions, though I only looked forward to them because of Bob. I often had to turn to my now-accomplished fingers for that purpose, finding in their slippery manipulations escape from the foreboding that often crept upon me.
I let my light brown hair grow during this time, till it hung down to my waist, a glistening carpet covering my back. I filled out, too. I lost the thinness that must have been saving me from many of Charley's attentions. My breasts swelled to the size of young melons, firm and smooth, tipped with dark brown nipples that swelled and ached whenever I thought of Bob. My hips broadened and the hair surrounding my pussy became thicker and darker.
As my charms increased, I found Charley's eyes on me more often, thoughtfully appraising my growing capabilities, and I began to avoid the orgies as much as I could. Even though this meant I would not see Bob, I could not stand the thought of having Charley, and Jim, who followed his lead. I would arrange to be away, or plead illness. I wasn't able to avoid them all, of course. It seemed that the more I avoided an orgy, the more frequently Charley would insist on having one, until finally he was able to have his way.
I supposed his attentions meant that I was becoming beautiful, or at least attractive, and my mirror told me he could be right. It was hard to admit it to myself, though. The horrible associations made me wish it weren't so. Only much later in my life did I decide that beauty was worth having.
The summer I turned sixteen I thought things had changed. I was walking, one day in July, along the edge of one of my father's fields. It was shaded there by the trees that grew between the field and the nearby stream. The sounds of murmuring water, heard faintly through the leaves, and the rustle of the corn blended softly in the light breeze.
One moment I thought I was alone. The next, a young man stepped from the trees ahead of me carrying a fishing rod in one hand. The creel at his hip slapped wetly against him as he walked. He seemed about my age, and he looked happy.
I tossed my head, making my hair sway in the breeze, and waved a hand. "Hi. Been fishing?"
"Yes. Got three nice ones, too." He smiled and patted the creel. "This your land?"
"My father's. I'm just out for a walk." I tilted my face up to look into his, shadowed by the broad-brimmed red hat he wore. "My name's Penny. Penny Pandergast."
"Mine's Rod Cramer. I hope it's all right for me to fish here. It isn't posted, and it's a lovely brook."
He stood quietly, waiting, his face expectant, hopeful. "I know. That's why I like to walk out there. My family doesn't fish, but Papa never says no to anyone, when they ask."
"Oh." He must have caught the slightly critical tone in my voice. "I didn't know who owned this land. I walked down to it from up near my house, about a mile from here. I was going to walk home by the road. Is it all right for me to fish here?"
"I think so. Maybe you'll even teach me how. It's kind of lonely around here." As if that explained my sudden yearning! I was so happy to see a kind face. I had never been able to enjoy Bob as much as I would have wished, with Charley always looming near, ready to ruin it. But here was the possibility of someone as nice as Bob, and someone who could be around more often, be more exclusively mine.
"I've noticed. There aren't many people around here. My family just moved in a little while ago. We lived down by Portland before." He smiled, began his easy stride away from the brook, toward the road, his rod resting on his shoulder, the creel again swaying with his motion. I hurried to keep up, taking two steps to his one. "Maybe I will teach you. It's a lot of fun, you know."
While we walked toward the road, about a quarter of a mile away, I found that we would be going to the same school that fall. It gave me hopes....
We parted at the road and I looked longingly after him as he strode rapidly off toward his home. I wanted him! Oh, how I wanted him! He seemed more mature, nicer than the other boys I knew. He also seemed to be a loner, like me.
Of course, I may only have been ripe for someone new. I'd known the boys at school all my life. They held no mystery for me; I knew them too well. I thought Charley and Jim foul, always ignoring my feelings. Even Bob, who was tender and considerate, could not be mine alone. He had a wife, a mistress, and even then he had to serve two others on demand. I didn't want to have to share my man.
For the next two weeks I walked beside that brook nearly every day. I wanted to see him again, but I didn't, till one day I rounded a clump of alder and spied him fishing a still pool in a bend of the stream.
As I watched, silently, making no move to part the last bushes separating us, a small trout took his fly. It was too small to offer much of a struggle, and it was only moments before he gently released it to the water. Only then did I call his name and move to meet him.
That afternoon he showed me how to use a fly rod, demonstrating the flip of the wrist, and the smooth retrieve, holding my arm to guide me through the steps. We laughed and got in each other's ways as he fought to free the results of my first clumsy effort from the bushes and trees that seemed to reach out to snare the line. Once, when he brushed against my breast, he blushed, unsure of my reaction, or perhaps embarrassed. I pretended not to notice, though the sensation sent a thrill coursing up and down my spine and weakened my knees. It was still too soon, I thought, to let him see how very ready I was for the kind of happiness only he could give me.
Finally, after many tries, I managed to put the fly in the water instead of a tree. Exultantly, I tried again and again, and succeeded often enough to raise my hopes that I might catch a fish.
Neither of us caught any more that day, though. When we parted at the road again I walked home feeling happier than I had in weeks. I'm sure I must have astounded my parents when I walked into the house. I bubbled with a new kind of joy. They were used to a moping and dull Penny.
The following weeks were happy ones. Nearly every day we met by that same pool, where he gave me further lessons in how to wave a fly through the air and bring it down upon the water with hardly a ripple. My first fish was a huge delight, for him as well as me.
During that time we began to walk hand in hand, or perhaps I should say that he began to dare to do it, for I was ready at any time, for that and more. When I would occasionally bring a lunch for us, we would he on the bank, my head pillowed on his arm, and talk, and grow closer still.
As the end of summer and the fishing season, and the beginning of school, approached, I became impatient. He had never made any kind of advance for me to accept, or decline, if nature would so have it. Hand-holding hardly counted. He'd never given a sign that he meant anything serious by it. It had been weeks since the last orgy, and I was feeling the lack of true release. One would probably be held before too long, but I didn't want to wait. Besides, I thought, if Rod was all mine, he would help me bear the weight of the degradation, just by satisfying me with his body beforehand.
The last Saturday before Labor Day, I arrived at our pool a little while before we had planned to meet. It was a warm day; the sun was beating down and the water hadn't yet begun to lose its summer warmth. I had brought a towel and a bar of soap.
I looked around from the bank, wanting to be sure there were no unwelcome eyes present, before undressing and hiding my clothes beneath a small shrub. Then, with the soap in my hand, I stepped into the water. I shuddered at its cool touch, winced at the roughness of the gravel bottom beneath my feet, but waded on.
Standing there I felt starkly primitive. I tossed my head, my hair swirling about my shoulders, its ends tickling the cleft of my buttocks, and stepped deeper into the water. As it rose and lapped at the juncture of my thighs, I felt a tingle of anticipation start there and rise to linger warmly at my nipples.
I turned to face upstream and let the soap float against the hollow of my loins, held there by the caressing pressure of the current. I dipped my cupped hands into the water and brought them up from hips to breasts, resting there until my body ached with the urge for fulfillment.
I picked up the soap and ducked under the water till my hair was soaked. I soaped my hair thoroughly then ducked under again to rinse. Then I stood and soaped my body, caressing the sensitive areas of my flesh, lingering over the lonely bud in my pussy. I turned, and there was Rod, standing with his mouth agape.
"Hi, honey. Just a minute. I'll be right out." I tossed the soap to the bank near his feet and let the waters of the brook close once more over my head, hiding me from his shocked view, hiding too the laughter that had risen unbidden to my lips at the sight of his fallen jaw.
Staying out of sight, I swam a few short strokes, letting the flow of water sweep off the soap, before I rose fresh clean and dripping.
His eyes bulged as he licked his lips and stammered, "Wh-what are y-you d-d-doing?"
"I just thought I'd take a bath while I was waiting for you, honey. Do you want one too?" My voice dripped sweet innocence.
"N-no! No! You're naked!"
"Of course. You can't take a bath with your clothes on, now can you?" A smile played across my lips; I was enjoying his uneasiness. "Does it bother you?" I asked, stepping onto the shore and moving slowly toward him, sweeping back my hair.
I came closer, till I could reach out to take his hand and hold it against my hip. "Maybe it'll help if you get undressed, too. Then we can both be naked. It feels so good!" I let go of his hand and spun once around, stopping so my breasts bumped his arm. I pretended to lose my balance and fall, but his arm caught me before I had hardly started, his hand landing on my right breast.
As I slumped in the protective circle of his arm, he gave a squeeze, and dropped me like a hot potato. This time I really almost fell, but caught myself and took his hand again. "Look, honey, you don't have to be so shy. Come on, let's sit down and talk."
"We can't. It's not right. What if somebody came by and saw us-youlike this?"
"How can it not be right? Why do you think we're built the way we are?" Still determined, I pulled him down on the mossy bank and covered his mouth with mine. We had kissed before, but never like this.
My tongue forced its way past his teeth. He responded, as if he had done it before, but had thought me too precious to risk offending. His arms went around me as he forced my tongue back and explored my mouth, tickling my palate and gums till I writhed upon him, rubbing against his manly swelling.
"Mmmm," I sighed. "That was nice. Let's not stop there." I ran my hand down his chest and stomach till I came to that bulge that had pressed so hard against me. I wanted to feel it, in my hands, my mouth, my aching cunt. I gripped it tightly through his pants, massaged it firmly in my fingers, heard him moan.
As I unbuckled his belt and pulled the zipper, I sighed into his ear. "Now isn't this more comfortable, Rod? Oh, it's so big, so lovely!" I had it out now, weighing its heavy length in my hand, feeling the need-swollen balls in their taut bag. I caressed the turgid staff, pulling its fleshy hood back from the swollen head, tickling it with my fingernails, sliding my hand up and down its lovely length, then across his lower belly and onto his thigh as I nipped his earlobe and swabbed his earhole with the tip of my tongue.
He groaned and tried to roll away, pushing at me, saying, "We can't do this, Penny! It's not right!"
I held him back and threw myself across him to still his protests with my urgent mouth and tried to unbutton his shirt. My frantic fingers were less than useless, but as the swollen lips of my dripping love cup pressed against his staff in our struggles and enfolded its length in moist entreaty, he let out a mighty moan of surrender, threw his arms about me, and our mouths met again.
"Oh, Penny, you're beautiful! I love you! I don't care if this is wrong. It's glorious!" He released me, his hands flying to his shirt, tearing it off. I pulled down his pants but was stopped by his shoes. I ripped those off, yanked his pants the rest of the way, and threw myself on his now bare body.
My stiffened nipples pressed into his chest and his arms embraced me, one hand sliding urgently over my hip and ass, pressing me against him. I rolled from him to lie by his side, our mouths still locked, so my roaming hand could explore his smooth, warm body.
I finally settled once again on his throbbing rod and caressed it as before. My mouth left his and tracked along his body-kissing, nipping, licking. My tongue delved deeply in his navel and, as he squirmed in response, his hands stroked over my shoulder and back, dived beneath an arm to cup a thrusting breast and finger the rigid nipple, sending thrills of pleasure through my body. I quivered, and he wrapped his fingers in my hair to hold my face against him.
When I reached his groin I dallied, kissing his swollen glans, tongue-toying with the slit that split it, and, inspired by its manly taste and odor, moistened it with my gently laving tongue and impaled my throat on its splendid length. I could feel the throbbing distension at the back of my throat; my nose just brushed his curly hairs. I enfolded it, caressed it, pressed it with my cheeks as I suctioned it till he groaned and writhed and bore down my head with his hands.
I would not let him come, but toyed incessantly, stopping when his heavings foretold imminent eruption. Finally, I slowly let him go, drew my head away, and stretched myself out full length beside him again.
His arms closed around me. He threw one leg over mine and pushed me back till he could lie upon me. His moist prick slithered across my thigh as he slid down to kiss my throat and breasts. I cupped one, held it for his lips, felt them close around the nipple, teeth rubbing, grating on that fleshy nubbin till I was ready to scream with the agonizing pleasure of it.
"Ahhh! Harder! Suck it harder!" His tongue complied, rasping over the distended tip, stimulating it even more, sucking till I felt it would explode.
"More!" I cried. "More! That feels so good." I moaned as his head twisted over my chest, switching from breast to breast, kissing, sucking, biting gently at one while his hand fondled the other. I tossed my head from side to side and squirmed my torso beneath his delightful weight.
His hand glided down, leaving the titillations of my breasts to fondle the soft hairs of my mound and caress the sensitive skin that edged my loving slit. His finger dipped into the crevice and found the tender twig that stands guard at the gates of love. He rubbed it, pinched it, soaked it in the freely flowing juices of my pussy. I was ecstatic! I screamed aloud in joyful agony.
"Oh, Rod! Stop, stop, no, don't, come here, here," I moaned, spreading my legs and pulling his weight in between them, reaching down to grasp his staff, pulling it toward my waiting cunt, guiding it to the goal.
With a sudden thrust he slid through my fingers and came to snug and welcome rest deep within me. I kept my hand in place, fondling his balls till he thrust again, sending a bolt of ecstasy through me.
I slid both arms around his waist, ran my fingers up to his shoulders and held them there. I held him tight and arched my back to force him out a little. Then I straightened and bucked my hips, forcing him so deep I could feel the pressure on my womb. I tensed my muscles, squeezed him till he groaned and began to move, plunging and withdrawing, his shuttling organ nearly flying from my lustful receptacle when I relaxed and suddenly released my grip.
He powered in again though, and kept it up till I cried out my joy in the first of many orgasms. On and on he went. His power seemed endless. Again and again and again I peaked, losing count of the number of times as his lubricious friction stroked my nerves to constantly blazing joy.
On he went, till my strength was almost gone and it was all I could do to hold on with arms and legs and occasionally spasm my love for him, till as joy began to black out the world, I felt him stiffen, race madly once again and stiffen in his final throes as he poured out his burning tribute.
I summoned a final spasm in reply, gripped him tightly with legs curled about his hips, heels pressing his buttocks down, holding him in as far as I could while my terminal contractions drained him dry.
Finally we slumped, side by side, breathing deeply, gasping, recovering. His prick had quickly shrunk to nothing, resembling now a limp, soggy noodle. I put my hand to it, gently fondled it, pressed against his side, my thoroughly bedewed cunt against his hip, and snuggled my face into his neck. He softly cupped a breast, nuzzled my hair and ear.
"That was wonderful, Rod," I sighed. "Do you really think it's such an awful thing to do?" I certainly didn't. I was warmly relaxed now, no longer chary of his possible response, enjoying the confident glow of satisfied love.
His voice was soft, unhurried, blurred as he answered me. "I could hardly dare to think of you that way, honey. You seemed so good, so ... so pure. The only girls I've ever known that would do anything like that were pretty cheap. And you're not."
"Oh, sweetie. Didn't you think I might love you, and want to do this, because of that? A girl doesn't have to be cheap to want to go to bed with the right man." It wasn't quite as noble as I made it sound. Right man or no, my early training had been such that I was ready, almost any time, to take on almost anyone.
"If I'd thought you'd want it, I'd have made a pass the second time we met, Penny, but I thought you just wanted to learn how to fish. Maybe 'cause there isn't much else to do around here."
"Silly! I liked you as soon as I saw you. You're so gentle and kind." My laughter bubbled forth as I pressed myself more closely against him and squeezed his drying, sticky noodle. "And just in case you're wondering why I'm so forward, I'll tell you. My parents gave me a real good sex education." A note of bitterness must have crept into my voice then; I felt it, and he started to turn to look at me. I held him down, though, and kept his attention on the business at hand. "I've had just enough experience to know what it's all about. I love it and you and I want you again."
I tongued his ear and kissed his cheek, ground my mouth on his and traded tonguing stabs. I pulled away, rose to my knees, never losing my hold on his stiffening member. I moved to straddle his thighs and bent my head to tongue its tip, engulfed, enfolded it. The mingled sour and salt of our juices was a strange, intriguing taste. It fired my blood, made me moan as I chewed the now swollen head and rigid length of his throbbing manhood. My hands and lips massaged him till he groaned and tugged at my shoulders.
I had to answer his pleading cries, and I loosened my grip, moved forward till I was resting on his belly, bent and kissed him. Then I offered my breasts to his loving mouth. He pulled me down, engulfing one breast so far I felt the nipple flicked by his uvula. His lips and tongue felt exquisite. I moaned and pulled away, swung the other one over his mouth, lowered it to be treated in the same wonderful way.
He released that tit at last and seized the nipple between his lip-covered teeth, pressing and rolling it, sucking, vibrating it with his tongue. I raised my hips, seeking the tip of his probing rod, found it, gripped it, and guided it into the seething channel of my love.
I plunged down, hips bucking wildly as I sought to keep his lips in place and still impale myself upon him. He moaned and gasped as I succeeded, sinking on him till I could feel the hairs of his sack tickle the slippery lips of love. I groaned and ground myself against him, mouth seeking his and opening wide. Our teeth grated with the pressure of that kiss as our tongues entwined and he began to pound against my grinding groin.
I pulled erect and hauled my legs beneath me so that I knelt astride him, breasts thrust forward to meet his fondling hands, head thrown back in ecstasy, filled with the glorious sensations of his pounding organ. It slowly withdrew and plunged, feeding my joy with its throbbing pulse, speeding up to spend its momentum on the resilient walls of my receptive well, my only possible response the steady clenching of my muscles, pressuring, increasing the friction between us till my screaming nerves blotted out the world.
Slowly, the initial thrills died away and left me capable of some initiative, able to rise and hover while his organ lingered at the gateway of love. When he ceased his tentative strivings to reestablish our deeper contact, I relaxed my legs and dropped upon him, letting him rush in again.
One last time he powered against me, and I gave vent to one long unending scream of orgasmic joy. He clasped my buttocks and held me down while he pushed in to his limit and held there, exploding in great gushes of love, saturating the thirsty walls of my tenderly throbbing cunt.
I collapsed upon him as he relaxed, sighed and moaned. I swooned, so great was my happiness. When I awoke, he had not moved. His eyes were closed. His breath was slow. He was asleep.
"Rod! Rod!" His eyelids flickered, opened. "Rod! I love you. I do!" Urgently, I kissed him. He kissed me back, hugged me close, and in his warm arms I felt secure, loved and safe. I dropped my head to his shoulder, cuddled close within his protective embrace.
"Oh, Penny! You're really something special. I never dreamed it could be so wonderful."
I blushed. Little did he know ... and suddenly I resolved that if I could help it he never would. Luckily, he hadn't met my parents yet; if I could just keep him away from them there would be no reason for him to find out.
I rolled away, keeping my face hidden. I felt that it must have shown my thoughts. His utterly limp prick flopped as I released it. I sat up and stretched, saying, "I'm going to wash off a bit, honey. Want to join me this time?"
He did, and we stepped into the water together to wash off the stains of our earthen bed. He had lost all of that timid shame that had marked our meeting and now he openly admired my form and flaunted his own, secure in the new sense of love so recently instilled. No longer the victim of my lust, he freely teased and tickled, caressing my hair, my breasts and thighs, a triumphant, strutting male, forgetting who had started this.
He took the lead and we played and splashed and laughed, leaving the water only when our rising passions made us realize it was getting late and that we both should be getting home. I knew my parents wouldn't mind if they knew, except that that would upset my own resolve. His were apparently a different story.
We dressed, delaying to touch the places recently revealed, so sweetly loved. He was entranced by the newness, I by the difference in character between Rod and all the others I had known. Even Bob could not match Rod in gentleness and consideration, erotic fervor and cooperation.
We didn't talk much as we walked back to the road, where we parted for that day. There really wasn't much to say that hadn't been said much more effectively and satisfyingly on that mossy bank. I knew we would see each other again.
While the weather stayed warm enough to make love outdoors, we met again many times. The bank of that pool remained our favorite spot, but we found others too. Sex wasn't our only game, though; we would lie still in each other's arms, gazing into one another's eyes, talking, but always ending by exploring each other's bodies and all the new ways of pleasure we could find.
In the quiet aftermath of love we were much more ready to listen than we had been before discovering each other's bodies. Then we had, like so many other people in this sad world, been too often thinking of what we would say next to really hear the other's words. But, after such enervating activity, we didn't have the strength to do more than listen. Of course, at first all there is to hear is one's own heartbeat, or his, but eventually one of us would summon the energy to speak. The quiet mood of oneness that so often follows the act of love between two people who are in love fosters communication. At least, we found it so.
I found out who Rod really was: a troubled fellow, a loner, following the common path from a misfit childhood to loneliness. Unable to hold his own in the games and fights of children, his only athletic ability his skill in fishing, he'd become a frequent underdog and scapegoat. He had learned to avoid the fights and rough sports in which he never excelled, turning to books and quiet games instead, lonely things which needed only a few friends. His gentleness had grown out of this, a reaction against the conflict he could not handle.
I could never imagine how he and the army would get along. Though the draft was inevitable, it was at odds with his gentle nature and I thought it must drive him to rebellion sooner or later. He would not be able to cooperate, might well flee, unable to avoid the fight in the ways he had developed in his life. I hated the thought that he might leave me eventually, particularly in such circumstances.
As I learned to know him, I came to love him even more. His flamboyant imagination, his gentle character especially, grew precious to me. Rod seemed what my stepfather might once have been. It reached a point that fall where I thought that I would die if anything happened to him, and I sometimes found myself wishing that I could feel the same for my stepfather. I had never known my real father. I had been too young when he died, but I thought of and loved John as my father. Real or not, it made no difference to me. But, real or not, his treatment of me was unusual.
Rod came to know me, too. I never told him much about my family life; I let him think my sexual skills were due to an earlier lover. I didn't mention Bill's name, of course, for he was still in our class and I feared some kind of embarrassing scene if Rod knew and they were to meet. I kept my secrets, even though I came to know Rod well and think him unlikely to be violent.
At school, my classmates were surprised. "Poor Penny," I'd heard them say in the past. "So stand-offish. She doesn't care for anyone." They were a little dismayed by my sudden change, shown by Rod's hand in mine, the look, the touch, as Rod and I walked in the halls and studied together in our study halls.
After a while, his constant attentions had the unexpected effect of increasing my popularity. I was asked for more dates than ever before, though I always turned them down. At school dances Rod was often cut in on, and I always tried to cut those dances short. I was too much in love to want to waste a minute. I wanted to spend every possible minute with him, studying, talking, or loving, in all the myriad possible ways. I became insatiable, my body hungering for him all the time, ceasing only with the satiation of mutual exhaustion.
He was just as bad. One night, while driving home from a basketball game in his Volkswagen, he was stroking my thigh when our hunger became unbearable. He pulled into a side road to park and we clambered into the back seat, tugging at our clothes to reveal the targets of our lust.
As soon as we were curled nudely into our snug niche, his mouth fastened on my breasts, hands caressing my hips and thighs. While with one hand I cradled his head lovingly to my bosom, I seized his organ and pulled it toward me, twisting, angling my pelvis until I could feel him surging against my hungry cunt.
With my knees beneath my chin and his arms wrapped around my thighs and back, I could only move those muscles that can so delightfully pressure a man. As he shuttled in and out of me I put them to such good use that he soon cried out and sent his seed spurting forth, long before I was ready.
I refused to let him go, squirmed pulsing against him, tried to turn his shrinking retreat. My legs unfolded, wrapped around him, held him close, pressed his slowly reawakening prick into the embrace of my avid pussy. This time, half drained, he lasted longer, and though I treated him as kindly as before, I peaked more than once before he spent his charge again.
We lingered long in close embrace, fondling our passion softened flesh till we knew we had to leave.
There were other basketball games, and dances, and many dates that ended in that way for us throughout that winter. We never took our love into either of our homes-he because someone was always home, me because I could not bear to let him see the site of my degradations.
There were only two orgies that fall and winter. The first was at Thanksgiving and was just as the others had been: unenjoyable, except when I could be with Bob, and even that was not as good as it had been, now that I knew what love could be with Rod. Charley and Jim were as coarse as ever, but they weren't unusually nasty that time.
The second orgy, held at New Year's, was another matter. Charley announced it suddenly, just after Christmas, when I had already promised Rod that we could have that night together. We had intended to go to a motel and celebrate our love in a proper bed for the first time. Instead I had to call him and say that I was sick. It was hard to keep him away, but I managed, though it hurt me terribly.
Our unions that last week had a desperate intensity that we had never seen. Rod couldn't have known the reason why, but I felt as if these must be the last acts of love we could ever enjoy. I clung desperately to him, accepting all he could give, demanding always more, though never saying why.
When the night of the orgy came, the call that cancelled our date threw me into deep despondency, left me dark and surly, drinking much more than I was used to, even at these illicit gatherings, so that when Charley called me to him I was so plastered I couldn't see straight. I wasn't surprised when he pulled me down with him to the floor, no foreplay and no delay, no respite from his upright tool, waiting, throbbing, beginning to pound even as I touched its tip. He was already horny, having ignored me while he dallied with my mother, preparing himself for the grand assault and leaving her to summon me.
So far there was nothing unusual about his brusque style. He didn't often try to excite a woman to match his lust. But when he called, "Okay, Jim. Now's your chance. Shove it in, man!" and I felt a sudden pressure on my asshole, I realized that something was amiss. But I was helpless; Charley's strong arms held down my chest and Jim's strong grip steadied my buttocks, spreading their cheeks for his penetrating thrust. I felt his snaky organ wind through my bowels as I lurched from his weight and a sharp pain radiated from my violated barrier. The discomfort didn't last, though.
I could hear my nerves begin to sing in spite of myself to the tune of their double intrusion, keeping time with the pumping and pounding of their united rhythm, but I felt no pleasure. My black mood and dislike for my two despoilers robbed the act of all its potential ecstasy. Though my nerves sang, my brain was cold.
My lack of response must have frustrated them, for when they had expelled their slimy inundations they thrust me away and seized Harriet. She seemed to enjoy this doubled joy more than I, and truly seemed to satisfy them with her wild gyrations on the double pivot, for when they were done they lay limp upon the rug, drained and exhausted.
I was soon able to slip off to the bathroom, where I showered off their foul stains, escaping then to a lonely bed, falling asleep, to dream that Rod was with me.
For the next few days I was barely able to face my dear Rod. It seemed that this perverse new twist had stained me, though I had gotten used to all the other degradations visited upon me at the family orgies. They had even become repetitious and lost their capacity to wound me. The worst of it was that I could not tell Rod. His very presence helped, but I felt the need to unburden myself. My plight was my family's, and I thought that to talk of it to anyone would be to cast us all down into disgrace and ruin. Only Bob was a possible confidant, for he shared the plight, and to some extent my thoughts, but I couldn't talk to him. Now that I had Rod, it would be too much like betrayal.
I could not be sure that Rod and I would not fall out one day, and the secret would then be out. I had the utmost faith in his discretion, as long as we remained in love. But I was not sure that telling him of my shame might not drive him away in disgust.