Chapter 7
Laura stayed in bed both Sunday and Monday.
She called in to the desk at the library and lied about her condition. She told them that she was ill with a fever, but the only fever which burned within her was deep in the matrix of her cunt.
She wanted to be fucked desperately, and all the long Sunday she expected Mike Barton to knock apologetically on her kitchen door. But he didn't, and her paranoia grew from a dull, broad point of self-pity into a sharpened spear of anger.
How dare the arrogant little bastard!
In the middle of the agonizing Monday morning, she locked herself in her bathroom and smeared the handle of her hairbrush with thick globs of vaseline. With that uncompromisingly stiff, household dildo, she relieved her itching pussy at last. As she worked the breadth of the handle in and out of her slavering slit, she thought of all the images her sister had so teasingly painted of the hired hand, Willy. She doted on imaginary pictures of his enormous prick, and dreamed that he was there in the bathroom with her, grinning lazily and fucking her into a coma of bliss.
The hairbrush brought her to a squirming orgasm-one so deliciously violent that her liquids spat like sea spray over the insides of her legs. But the instant the undulations of her artificial joy had abated, she was as horny as before. There was, after all, nobody to twtich her tits or rub the lips of her moist cunt in the afterglow.
"Damn Mike!" she hissed, bitterly. "If he won't satisfy me-then I'll find somebody who will!"
And she knew who that nameless somebody would have to be: it would simply have to be a prototype of Willy, a nice, lean, mindless young animal of sex-one with a prick the thickness of an axe-handle, and one who would have no scruples whatsoever about the privilege of servicing a cunt, even if that cunt were his own sister's or mother's.
With an irresistible desire blotting out all senses of caution and propriety, Laura decided to go after her prey. In the late hours of the Monday evening dusk, she bathed and perfumed her hungry body. Then she drove her small car toward the western edge of the city.
She knew that part of the city only by reputation. It was the slum section, an area filled with transient kinds of people: poor whites, bored and starved off their rocky farms; bums, drunks, and the shiftless scum who had neither the ability nor desire to hold jobs longer than it took to buy a bottle or to move on to the next hellish pocket of need.
And, again, not just any male would do; she knew exactly what she wanted. Her sister had been woefully wrong in believing that a girl of ten would remember nothing about the sexuality of an adulterous male like Willy. She remembered every detail of his appearance, and she was sure that she could recognize the type on sight.
And she did.
She saw him coming out of one of the dozens of cheap bars that fringed the side street she was cruising. She knew he was just what she was looking for by the lump which lodged in her throat, and the burning grip the sight of him had on her pussy.
He would be her fuck-horse for the night-and Mike Barton be damned!
She drove the car past him twice before he noticed her. He was walking slowly up the street with his hands stuffed into the empty pockets of his soiled pants. He was of medium height, well-proportioned but spare, and he looked to be anywhere between twenty-five and thirty. He had something of the tired, beaten look about him, as if life had kicked him in the groin more times than once. There was something else about his lean, sexy face with the unkempt sideburns-but Laura couldn't quite put her finger on what it was. Perhaps it was a tinge of cruelty about the wide, sullen lips ... or something in the eyes . . . something shifty, imprisoned . . .
She circled the street once more, and by this time he knew. He was certain that his body was the prize she was seeking. He stopped finally and leaned against a battered parking meter, his legs crossed casually, his arms folded over the nub of the meter, his grin half-formed, expectant. Waiting.
He was like the male dog being circled by the bitch in heat, waiting for a chance to have his balls sniffed.
She pulled up beside him and searched his face. The sad, dangerous, bored cruelty was there-but so was the sexual talent, the need to be asked to warm another human body.
"Care for a ride?"
Laura was amazed that her voice did not tremble over the brazen invitation. After all, she might as well have been saying will you fuck me, stranger?
It was the most daring thing she had ever done in her life.
He hesitated perhaps a half-second, as if sizing up all the possibilities inherent in her bid for him, then he stepped off the curb and walked around the car. He got inside her, and she drove quickly away.
"I was just riding around," she said, lamely.
He grinned at her, then dug for a cigarette in his shirt pocket. He offered her one, and before she could think, she told him that she didn't smoke. His grin widened a bit at that, but he still said nothing.
She didn't like his unwillingness to communicate. It frightened her, and she began to call herself a fool.
"You got nothing to drink?" he asked, abruptly. And with the welcome sound of his voice, her fears began to evaporate. His voice was a bit grainy and weak-and above all, polite. He was a docile wolf, she decided-a dumb, sexual wolf like Willy.
"I can buy you something to drink," she said. "What do you want."
"Whiskey."
"I'll get a bottle."
He was looking at her again, the cigarette dangling loosely from the corner of his slack lips.
"Anything I can do for you-for that whiskey?"
She didn't look at him. She didn't dare. Instead, she took a deep breath and nodded at the windshield. "Yes-I want you to fuck me."
He grinned.
"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, politely. "I'd be glad to do that for you . . . after you git me that bottle."
This time she glanced at him. Some wanton little voice made her say her next line: "Do you like to fuck strange women who pick you up like this?"
"Don't make a bit of difference to me. Most times I don't think much about pussy one way or the other. But give me a couple of pulls on a whiskey bottle, and I can fuck all night. I'll give you your money's worth, baby. I'm one of those guys that can keep a hard-on long as it's necessary-and that means 'til I've made you come three or four times real good."
She stopped at a liquor store and gave him the money to buy his bottle. She waited in the car, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel until he returned. As she drove away again, he was tearing off the seal at the neck of the bottle. He drank thirstily for a few seconds, then smacked his lips and shifted the bottle in her direction.
"I don't drink, either. Sorry."
"Fuckin' is your sin, eh?"
"Yes."
He shrugged. "Drinking makes fucking better, for both of us. It's fun sober, but it's better drunk-or kinda drunk. You never been drunk?"
"Never."
"You oughta let me fuck you drunk sometime. You'd like that shit. It'd make you do things you never thought you'd ever do."
She glanced out of the corner of her eye toward him, amazed by the slow, casual drawl of his voice. There was neither the suggestion of guilt nor passion in how he spoke. It was as if he had himself been picked up every day by women on the prowl. Like Willy, he seemed to take the biological function between male and female as a natural, animal pleasure. While she felt licentious and sinful, he merely felt good.
She headed back to her duplex, greedy for the kind of simplicity his sexual code had to offer her cunt.
She wondered if his prick would be big-like Willy's-but she fought down the impulse to ask.
It was dark when they arrived at her apartment. She parked the car deep in the garage and took him in through the back door. It would be foolish, she knew, to let Stella or her stepson see that she had a man. Once inside, she would lock the doors and they could do as they pleased.
Safely in the kitchen, her pick-up stud emptied the bottle and tossed it onto the table. His face was flushed now, his grin loose and lewd.
"Whereabouts you want me to fuck you, honey?"
"The bedroom."
"Let's go."
Just as she had led Mike Barton, she now found herself leading a mature man into her lair. He was close behind her, the smell of whiskey hot on his breath. He patted her butt once or twice, feeling of the firmness as if she was an animal he was about to buy.
They undressed in silence. She was naked first. She turned down the covers on the bed and snapped off the wall light. A lamp from the narrow hallway gave just a hazy enough illumination to the room so that he could see her body.
She lay down on the bed and watched him struggle out of his clothes. She could tell that the whiskey had made him a bit clumsy, but she hoped the alcohol had also taken the final edges off of any restraint he might have. She wanted him to be like Willy-a simple, lusting young animal who would fuck her into a sweat. No middle-class hangups, no shyness, no fake guilt feelings. She'd had all of that she needed from Mike Barton.
He was down to his shorts. As he pulled them over his lean hips, she stared at what he had between his legs. To her enormous delight, she saw that his prick was long and husky and already beginning to grow abusively stiff.
After he was naked, he casually stroked his cock with one hand, making it grow into a solid column.
Then he came toward her.
She leaned back softly into the middle of the bed and opened her legs. He crawled on top of her and slipped one hand between her thighs, feeling the furred apex of her cunt. The lips of her pussy were already pliant and moist.
"Ready for it, ain't you?" he husked, grinning above her and blowing his whiskey breath into her face.
She nodded, and pushed the hollow of her loins upward, as if searching for the bloated cockhead with the gape of her slit.
He didn't move. He merely hovered above her on all fours, supporting his naked body on stiffened arms, his knees dug in on either side of her hips.
"How much you aim to pay me for fuckin' you?" he breathed.
Her heart skipped a beat.
"Pay?" she echoed, stupidly.
He grinned. "Hell, yes, pay! You don't think I'm gonna fuck a tramp like you fer nothing, now do you?"
Her brain whirred with the unexpected development. She found it impossible to believe what he was asking. It was not only unkind of him-it was damned ungrateful!
"I-I bought you whiskey," she muttered.
"Big damn deal. You bought me that bottle so's I'd loosen up and fuck you better. That don't make it, baby I'm a stud that gits paid for his services. I'll screw man, woman, or beast-long as the pay is good. You give me twenty bucks and I'll make your lonesome old pussy dance a jig. You don't pay me, and you can stick your goddamn cunt down a rathole."
She felt both fury and pleasure searing through her blood! The white trash hovering over her naked body was actually insulting her, actually demanding money from her like a whore.
"How do I know you're worth it?" she heard herself demand.
His finger went down to her heating cunt and slid expertly between the meaty folds of her labia. He went high up inside her crack and found her clitoris. He teased it, turning it from a spongy nub of tissue into a fang of lust.
"I kin satisfy any woman made," he rasped. "I know how to fuck so as to rub your pussy raw, crazy raw. I kin tell by the size of your clit that you ain't never had it worked on right. Fore I'm through fuckin' you tonight, baby, that thing will be sticking out between the lips of your cunt like a big red thumb. That way, I kin suck it like a tit and keep a finger up your asshole at the same time. You'll come yourself to death before I'm half through ..."
His lewd words-the mad teasing of her already swelling clitoris-would have made her promise him a castle on the moon!
"Fuck me, you unromantic bastard," she moaned. "I'll pay you to do it!"
He grinned. "You're talkin' sense for once in your life. A twenty dollar fuck is gonna be about the nicest thang that ever-"
"Wait a minute, damn you! For twenty dollars I want more than a fuck."
"I done told you. I aim to play with your pussy good, suck that old clit of yours, tickle your asshole, git your tits swole up good and hot so's I kin lick on your nipples-"
"That's not what I meant. I want more than that."
He stared at her uncertainly, his animal eyes a bit dumb in the half-light. His finger hesitated over the slippery knob of her clit.
"Spell it out, lady. What the hell do you expect a man to do besides ride your hole and eat it."
"I want to suck you."
He chuckled hoarsely. "Blow my big peter? Sure, sweetheart, I'll treat you to some meat. You kin lick it and love it all night-just so it feels good to me."
She settled back again into the pillows, lifting the sultry arch of her legs until her calves were resting on the rounded leanness of his buttocks.
"Fuck me, superman," she hissed. "You talk a good screw, let's see if you do it!"
With the bargain sealed, he wrapped one hand around the base of his stiff prick and guided the oversized head between the flaps of her soft cunt.
She felt the hardness spreading the walls of her pussy inch after inch until his balls were nestled deep against the crack of her asshole.
Then he began to fuck her with a steady, drunken rhythm that turned to delicious rapture in her loins.
She groaned and dug her fingernails into his back. He was being rough and brutal with her, and she thought of how it might have been with Willy in the bam when she was only ten years old. How lascivious it would have been if she had been ambitious-and knowing-enough to have enticed Willy's dick into her hairless, tight young slit.
The idea was murderously obscene, but her pussy responded to the fantasy by contracting like an oily fist around the stroking tool of the cynical hustler astride her.
The more he fucked her, the more she wanted to be fucked. She bucked and thrashed her hips, trading him thrust for thrust, pushing the elongated points of her tits hard against his heaving chest with every bounce.
"Yeah-work with me baby-work!" he grunted. "Show me how much you want it! Screw, bitch, SCREW!!"
The bed creaked and graoned painfully under them as his knees dug deep holes into the mattress. She spasmed long before he did, and the lubrication oiled his prick so that he rammed deeper, harder into the remotest corners of her cunt.
His hands came up and grabbed her bouncing tits. He stroked and pulled at them, rolling the erect nipples under his thumbs while she fucked her lungs out. He knew when she began to come again by the sucking, clasping muscles of her heated cunt-and he chose that moment to flip the ends of her tits in circles so that her orgasm would be not only wild, but fanciful.
His prick was still hard as stone inside her. He rolled her over roughly, and started fucking her again-this time for his own selfish pleasure.
Before he shot his glut of sperm into her bowels, he made her come yet again.
He lay over her sweating body for a few seconds, then pulled his half-swollen prick from the pucker of her cunt. It came out with a sluttish noise which made her tremble with a fresh urge to be pleasured.
"Don't take it out!" she whined. "Keep it in me-fuck me again! Fuck me like a horse all night!!"
"I want it sucked on first, like you said. Let's see if you know how to eat a big one, babydoll."
He crawled around and squatted by the side of her head. He held out his half-hard, glistening prick and offered the swollen meatus to her lips.
"Lick it. Lick the come off, then suck that sonofabitch hard!"
The odor of his maleness wafted into her nostrils. She could smell his fuck-stink, and her own. The whole column of his husky cock was wet with the juices of their mingled lusts.
She twisted her head to one side and stuck her tongue out as far as she could. He put the bloated head of his prick on top of her tongue like a big gumdrop, and she lapped at the salty pungency of it.
"That's right, sweetie-lick it. Tongue the head. Taste a real, man-sized rod!"
The slap of her tongue against his meat echoed lewdly in the half-darkness of the bedroom. His prick began to stiffen under her fluttering licks, and as it rose, she lashed the underside of it with long, wet strokes until it throbbed. "Now suck it, bitch!"
As if she had been born for sucking a man's cock, she began to eat him. He fed his turgid inches into her throat until she gagged. But even then he didn't give her respite. He grabbed the back of her head and rammed his prick so deep into her mouth that his balls slapped against her chin.
As her tongue lashed at the head of his cock, he was mouth-fucking her. Her need became shameless, and when his passion was throbbing to a peak, she drove her palmed hands under the firmness of his buttocks and pulled him greedily toward her.
Such wanton madness made his balls explode, sending a torrent of thick, hot sperm hissing down her throat. He fell over her on his hands and knees, his prick still vibrating inside her yawning mouth.
She sucked him at her own speed. Like a baby with a huge pacifier, she drained the last creamy droplets from his warm balls.
When they parted, it was with the mutual groan of two sated animals.
They lay side by side for a long moment. Then he stirred up on one elbow and stared at her through slitted eyes.
"You can suck, baby."
She tried to speak, but her throat was still full of his sperm.
He leaned closer toward her, his drunken breath rank with the smell of sex. "Where'd you learn to suck a prick? Tell me whereabouts you learned to eat a man so good-who taught you to lick the head of one like that, fer Christ amighty sake?"
Her swollen tongue stirred in her mouth. Her lips drew back in a savage, vengeful little grin.
"My sister," she whispered.
Then she rolled her head back between his legs and sucked the big softness of his wet prick back into her throat.
He lay back on the bed with his arms behind his neck, letting her get it stiff all over again.