Chapter 3
Miss Prunella Garfield dropped the hook she was reading and jerked to an upright position on the bed. The scream lingered, echoing through the building. She listened. The sound was not repeated, and she resumed her reading. But presently another desperate shriek reverberated. Several more followed, then sudden, ominous silence.
Miss Garfield swung her bare feet to the floor. She put on a robe, unlocked the door, padded along the corridor until she reached the unlighted stretch. Then she hesitated. She heard muffled sounds that seemed to come from behind the closed door of the disused storeroom. Her lips clamped in a thin, firm line. Whatever student folly was going on, she would soon put a stop to it. It was disgraceful the way some of the older students behaved. She could smell whiskey. Scuffling noises strengthened her resolve.
She flung open the door, recoiled from the combined odors of liquor, urine, and body smells. The moonlight no longer penetrated, and all she could see was blurred figures.
Miss Garfield groped, depressed the light switch. She uttered a sharp, penetrating scream then, stood as if petrified, gaping blankly, incredulous, horrified, at the spectacle of four youths, all of whom she recognized, two of them stark naked, grouped around a nude girl who, with long hair disheveled and hands tied behind her back, was draped belly down over a dust-sheeted vaulting-horse.
One youth, James Dent, held the girl's left ankle in one hand, his erect penis in the other. David Roach gripped the girl's other leg. He too was handling his inflated penis. Rockwell Mason, naked, crouched in front of the captive, whose face Miss Garfield could not see, and was pushing his grossly turgid organ into her distorted mouth, his buttocks hollowing and tensing with effort, his face convulsed in a hideous grimace. And Fletcher Boone, positioned behind the girl, between her taut thighs, grasped her hip* firmly and furiously thrashed his enormous, revolting appendage into the inflamed split so obscenely revealed. The girl's breasts hung down, flapping and jerking.
Utterly appalled, shocked beyond description, Miss Garfield stared. Her sudden intrusion provoked a tense silence followed by a frantic scramble. Amid oaths and startled exclamations, Boone whipped his steaming prick out, spunking in spasmodic, jerking spurts, and made a desperate lunge toward the boarded windows. Timber split, splintering before his berserk lunge. His dark figure hurtled through the jagged gap into the night. Rocky Mason followed him, clambering recklessly. Dent and Roach huddled in a corner, confused, flaccid pricks dangling. But their hesitation was brief. Dent picked up an empty-whiskey bottle and threw it at the light bulb, shattering it. Hot glass fragments spattered Miss Garfield. She was thrust violently aside and sent staggering against the wall, where she slumped in a faint. Footsteps pounded along the hall, faded, diminished, ceased altogether.
A pool of urine, trickling from the corner nearest the door, formed around Miss Garfield's outflung hand.
Sober, Boone and his friends had cause to regret their impulsiveness. Any of the other teachers might have thought Phyllis Dexter got no more than she deserved, anybody except Miss Tremaine that is, but not Puritan Miss Garfield, who considered the whole sordid incident a personal affront and blurted out the entire damning facts the moment she recovered consciousness.
Expulsion, of course, was inevitable. Boone and his friends expected that. But they were not prepared for more far reaching consequences involving police action and their subsequent trial for rape. Only the fact that Phyllis Dexter refused to give evidence saved them from prison. It was her father, the dean, who brought the matter into court and pursued it with vindictive aggressiveness. Miss Garfield, pale and austere, looking sexy as a nightclub stripper despite a somber grey two-piece and her thick spectacles, requested permission to give her testimony in writing.
The judge, summing up, stressed the seriousness of the offences. Defending counsel emphasized the amount of liquor consumed by the accused prior to what he called their "misguided folly and youthful extravagance." With the exception of Boone's mother the parents of all the youths were in court. The judge's ruling, two years detention at Borstal reform school, was received in shocked silence. Boone, as the self-confessed leader, received an additional six months. All four were heavily fined. They left the court looking sullen and defiant, obviously crushed by the sentence imposed. Boone, from the top of the steps leading to the cells, shouted abuse.
"I'll get you for this, you fuckin' squealer!" he yelled at Miss Garfield. "I won't forget you, Miss cuntlickin' Garfield! You'll be sorry. I'll get you . . ."
He was dragged away, but broke loose long enough to voice a threat against the dean.
"I hope your lousy daughter is pregnant!" he mouthed. "I hope the bastard is born with two fuckin' heads. And I'll make you sweat blood and shit when I get out, you sanctimonious old cunt!"
He disappeared from sight, leaving Miss Garfield white faced and the dean frowning and embarrassed. Miss Tremaine, sitting with Phyllis Dexter, met Prunella Garfield's blank stare and smiled sympathetically. The look was so obviously an invitation that a flutter commenced in Miss Garfield's hot groin and spread into her back passage then into her belly and formed a pleasantly tantalizing knot of concentrated sensation. She nipped her luscious thighs together and regarded Miss Tremaine with revised interest.
October passed, merged into the bleakness of November. For Miss Garfield, the approach of Christmas held no special significance—it merely involved seasonal formalities, dinner with the Dexters and Miss Tremaine, the latter now a close friend and confidante with whom Miss Garfield eventually reached a certain level of patient understanding that permitted endearments and caresses, kissing, and even genital exposure and mutual nudity, but Prunella Garfield could not finally cross the frigid barrier into the ecstatic realistic world of sexual expression and fulfillment. She played at sex, tormented herself and Dorothy Tremaine, merely increased frustration, weaving wildly emotional fantasies around Miss Tremaine but still masturbating in secret, guiltily, unrewardingly. Recently, while brushing her hair after emerging from a warm shower, Prunella had forgotten to lock the bedroom door. She had been posed, naked, in front of the closet mirror, examining her vagina, alarmed by a slight redness and irritation, when Dorothy Tremaine entered quietly, wearing only a flimsy negligee. Dorothy had stared, blushed, then turned the key in the lock and slipped the negligee from her shoulders. She had approached Miss Garfield and, yielding to impulse, kissed her on the mouth, and at the same time had dared to intrude her hand between Miss Garfield's sumptuous thighs.
Prunella had cried out, knocked the hand away, then instantly regretting her rejection of the younger woman tried to breach the gap. But the spark had gone out. When, a month later, Miss Tremaine accompanied Phyllis Dexter to Italy, the drab seclusion of Miss Garfield's sexless world was complete, her loneliness absolute.
It was a warm spring night. The sky was overcast but briefly shafting moonrays occasionally relieved the darkness. Where the freshening breeze stirred the drooping foliage of tall, spreading elm trees, an open sports car was parked beside a shallow stream. Two closely embraced figures occupied the rear seat, sighing, clutching, gasping, writhing in the throes of acute sexual excitement.
The girl, a slender blonde with small, compact breasts and prominent buttocks, was more amorous than the man, who seemed reluctant to reveal his inexperience yet trembled with eagerness as he fumbled under the girl's clothing, laughing nervously when she pushed him back against the red upholstery and deliberately grabbed at his distended fly, jerking the buttons undone, intent on getting his cock out.
Her rather pinched face was flushed, her eyes bright, the color of cornflowers. The front of her cream blouse gaped, exposing the swell of pale, fleshy mounds not yet ripened into maturity. Impulsively she seized the bulging front of the man's crumpled pants and gripped his genitals fiercely.
She kissed him, thrust her tongue hotly into his mouth. It fluttered, provoking, stimulating, teasing, curled against his teeth and the roof of his mouth. He groaned, slid down further, swore as the impetuous blonde ripped his pants open and delved her hand inside. He voiced a cry that was part protest, part ecstasy.
His penis reared, thick and swollen, the bulging head enclosed within the girl's clammy fingers. She opened his fly fully, pushed the flaps back and bared his hairy balls, eased them into view. She squeezed his penis, sucked in her breath. Her breasts lifted, thrust out.
"It's lovely!" she muttered. "God! You have a beautiful cock, John. I want it, darling. Oh, I want it. I want to kiss it and suck it and hold it in my mouth, all big and throbbing.
Like this—"
She leaned forward, across his supine body, with her shoulder digging into his stomach, pulled at his- prick, stretching it grotesquely, ridging the scarred foreskin, then bent her neck and touched the tip of her pink tongue to the tiny, gaping orifice in the center of the glans, explored the wet cavity before licking all round the straining knob and then fluttering her tongue rapidly up and down the long, fat shaft, still gripping it in her left hand and squeezing its spongy mass fiercely.
John Merton groaned. His penis jerked. Sperm oozed from the glans opening and was instantly licked away. The blonde nymphomaniac cradled the man's testicles, lifted his cock and buried her nose and mouth in the hairy folds of skin below the thick roots of his tremendous organ. Intoxicated with lust, she inhaled the musky male odor. It inflamed her senses even more, and she quickly captured his prick again and conveyed it to her large mouth, engulfed the pulsing knob and began writhing her loose lips up and down the tumid stem,—dragging them right to the broad glans and compressing the shiny, purple bulge, then taking the whole immense roll into her mouth and pressing down on it until the knob beat against the back of her throat and her face was forced into the warm, shuddering pit of his sweating crotch.
Merton thrust a hand inside her blouse and cupped each breast in turn, fondled the pointed cones and exposed their creamy lusciousness. He rubbed and tweaked the elongated nipples, but was unable to perform adequately because of his awkward position. He desisted, contented himself with lying there while the blonde sucked and massaged his bloated penis, watching it sliding into her distended mouth and studying the conflicting expressions twisting and clouding her reddened face.
"I'm coming!" he warned presently. "You'd better stop—unless you want it in your mouth."
The blonde rejected his tool promptly, but retained her hold on the rigid, straining member. She shook hair out of her eyes, smiled lasciviously.
"I would," she declared. "But I want it between my legs, darling. Was it nice? I enjoyed it. I wouldn't mind sucking you off, John. You know that. But another time, eh? Let's get out of the car. I want to be fucked, lover. Real hard, my darling. I want all this lovely cock inside me. Ooooh, yes. Fuck me, John. I feel so terribly wicked tonight. Do you like to hear me say it straight out, like that? Fuck me. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! Oh, God-I'm burning up! Get out now, you gorgeous bastard. Fill my cunt, sweetheart. That's what I want, John. But first you must kiss it all over and lick it. You want that, don't you, darling?"
She laughed, pushed him. He opened the car door, slithered out, taking the blonde with him, flopped onto the long grass and rolled with her into a shadowy hollow, finished up sitting astride her stomach, but promptly moved back and freed her legs. She completely unfastened the blouse, removed it, then lay back and spread her thighs, hitching her skirt up. Merton raised the garment past her slender waist. He kissed her bare belly, then hunched forward and assaulted her naked tits, savaging the dark nipples and biting them, teasing the firm buds with his tongue.
The blonde reared up, intruded a slim hand between his legs and pulled his cock away from the impediment of gaping pants and shirt flap. Merton thrust her back;-Has hesitation was gone now, and his awkwardness. He hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of the girl's brief, pink panties and deftly eased the garment down over her hips as she helped by raising her bottom. Merton slowed the operation then, gradually exposing her gently swelling mound with its bush of glinting, golden hair, then, by degrees, savoring every exquisite moment, revealing the pouting lips of her deceptively small vagina.
Rocking back on his heels, he parted the fleshy folds, crudely inserted two fingers in the moist, ruttish cavity. The blonde moaned. She thrashed about, clutching her breasts, belly taut and quivering, her eyes pleading, staring fixedly. Merton tugged the panties right down, and again the girl raised her bottom to facilitate the removal of her flimsy briefs, murmuring passionate entreaties when Merton, tall and muscular, and much older than she was, tossed the garment aside and suddenly plunged his face into the dusky junction of quivering thighs and soft abdomen.
Dominated by lust, he slavered and grunted like an animal, licked her strong-smelling vagina eagerly, sucked the whole yielding organ into his mouth and closed his lips firmly on its rubbery mass, provoking wild, excited cries and savage convulsions. Presently, he held the vulva wide and exposed the elongated clitoris jutting like a reddened stump, stabbed his tongue repeatedly at it, then sucked the stiffening stem of erectile flesh voraciously, rolling his tongue around it.
Finally, he lifted the blonde's legs and she, anticipating his requirement, drew up her knees and spread her thighs wide apart to afford Merton an unrestricted view of her sweetly rounded bottom and small, wrinkled anus, exposing every lurid, intimate detail to his lecherous stare and avidly questing lips while he squatted with his bloated penis beating strongly, alternately whacking the grassy earth and the girl's extended arm, often encountering her groping, clutching fingers but throbbing just beyond her positive reach.
Abruptly, uttering a harsh, irritable complaint, she twisted erect, pushed the man away and fumbled with the buckle of the belt supporting his trousers, meanwhile gazing in rapturous fascination at the formidably jutting penis that shivered deliciously every time she touched its twitching massiveness.
In her desperate need she almost sobbed, moaning and panting with the seething fury of her carnal desire. She got the belt undone, jerked the man's pants down, pulled and tugged until she had them off, then stubbornly persevered until, with Merton's help, she removed his striped undershorts. He knelt there then, smirking, holding his stiff penis and flopping it up and down, shaking it, pulling the foreskin right back then rolling it forward to cover the glans, and immediately exposing the purple knob again.
"Now, darling!" the blonde urged. "Oh, John! Fuck me now. I can't wait."
She lay back, pulled him down on top of her and parted her supple thighs wide, grasped his penis and quickly guided it to her palpitating quim, gasping when he entered his huge knob and promptly thrust in urgently. The blonde relaxed then, lay back with eyes closed, but soon became tremendously agitated and clamped her long legs round Merton's narrow hips, entreating him to greater exertions. She was a coarse, vulgar little tramp, vitally alive and panting for love, but shrewd enough to combine business with pleasure.
She lifted the man's shirt and uncovered his white, bare buttocks. They gleamed in the pale half-light, smooth and hairless, rippling with muscle, emphasizing the great bag of his scrotum swinging and slapping against the crease of the blonde's ass as he battered his great stalk deeper into the hairy folds of her splayed, astonishingly resilient vagina, spreading the displaced split until it opened round his prick like some dark, exotic flower, then clung wetly, squashing and dragging, a hot, limpet-like sheath that gripped and clutched and sucked, insatiable as a carnivorous animal, a powerful clam endowed with a convulsive, contractile power all its own, swollen, pulsating, weeping mucus and moisture each time the frantic girl writhed and squirmed and impaled herself continually more violently, pleading and exclaiming, farting and snorting, digging crimsoned finger nails into her lover's naked back until they were cruelly embedded in his flesh.
The brown pit of her asshole fluttered, protruding like a tiny, puckered mouth. Merton's energetically laboring buttocks tensed and hollowed. His balls were drawn up now, the bag tight and wrinkled like an enormous walnut, the huge, slick rod of his penis plunging rhythmically, relentlessly, stabbing, slapping, screwing, withdrawing, trembling on the fleshy brink, poised and monstrous, then disappearing again with ponderous deliberation.
Sweat lathered his face and forehead. His tongue protruded. He was coming, jerking his spunk into the sobbing, gasping blonde in rapid, spurting gushes, furious spasms, hot and thick, incredibly copious.
The girl, nearing the second orgasm, even more intensely thrilling than the first, clung to him, blurting lewd appeals and frantic encouragement. The insides of her wet thighs were ridged and taut, the sinews standing out like violin strings. She increased the tension of her scissor-grip on the man's waist, and Merton swore with the sudden, painful contraction pinching his lower ribs and belly.
"More!" the blonde begged. "I'm nearly there. I'm coming, John! Harder, darling! Fuck harder! Faster! Don't stop now, for God's sake!"
"I've come, Kathy. I'm assholed."
"I know, you bastard. But you've got to finish me." "I—I can't. It won't stay in. Maybe if I rest for a while." "NO! Don't pull out. Oh, damn you! AH right, lie still for a while. It's murder but I'll bear it. Hold me close, John. Play with my breasts, anything. You can get hard again. I know you can. It won't need much effort to make me come, darling. I'm almost there."
"Maybe if I put my finger in. Or I can suck you off." "No. I want to come round your prick, darling. The other is nice but . . . Just hold me. Think of all the nice things we've done together. I'll help you."
She reached past her glistening vagina, between her elevated legs, and grasped the man's testicles, massaged them gently, fingered the roots of his drooping penis. John Merton was not a young man. He was as virile as most men his age, but could not expect to equal blonde Kathleen Corbett's youthful vigor.
He rested, prick twitching, dribbling, and toyed with the girl's breasts, fondling the pale cones, concentrating his mental faculties and his vivid imagination, trying to force an erection and failing through over-eagerness, remembering other women he had known, the sight and feel and smell of delightful, naked bottoms and succulent, inviting twats, the touch of avid fingers on his penis, the thrill of exposing it to young, impressionable girls, his first sexual encounter with a virgin ...
The dormant organ stirred, responding sluggishly. It began to thicken. Kathleen clutched its dangling flabbiness. Merton nodded.
"That's it," he encouraged. "Toss me off. Make it stiff. I'm sorry, Kathy. I wish I was younger, the way I used to be. I could have it ten times a night then. Now if I manage once I'm exhausted. But if you play with it for a bit it'll stand up eventually. Help me, kid."
Kathleen nodded. She smiled, mindful of the money she intended to extract from Merton before they parted, another "loan". The stupid bastard would give her anything she asked for.
"You're the best, John," she lied blatantly. "The first time was wonderful. I'm never satisfied, that's my trouble."
She seized his penis impatiently and began rubbing it, rolling the foreskin back and forth, covering then exposing the glans, sighing at the slowness of the response. The seething vortex of clawing desire swirling in her own loins, the awful, gnawing torment, was as intense, as intolerably demanding. She smiled into Merton's strained face, and thought—damn the fool.
Grasping the flaccid organ tighter, she chafed it more rapidly, expertly applying friction and pressure, and finally, in sheer desperation, lowered her head and took the partly erect penis in her mouth.
Less than a mile away from where the lovers sweated out their mutual frustration, dark figures were scaling an ivy-covered stone wall. Four shadowy forms dropped lithely one by one onto the deserted highway screened by rustling bushes, and darted quickly into the dense growth.
Panting, chest heaving, Fletcher Boone paused in the shadow cast by a tremendous oak. He leaned on the gnarled trunk, scowling as he fingered his close-cropped hair.
"The fucking, lousy bastards sheared me practically bald," he complained bitterly. "It'll take months to grow out."
"Balls to your hair," Rocky Mason said. "Let's get away from here. I think you stiffened that guard."
"Serve the bastard right. You heard the cocksucking creep threaten me with what he'd do if I didn't drop my pants. He's a stinking queer. They all are."
"So where do we go from here?" Dave Roach demanded.
"As far as we can get, man," Boone told him. "We'll steal a car and drive south, maybe get across to France. But first there's some unfinished business to take care of, right?"
"What'11 we do for money?" Jim Dent asked.
"How the hell do I know? We'll make out. I've got what was in Dawson's safe, and my mother will help us once we reach Rexford, if only to avoid any more scandal. Come on."Back in the clearing John Merton was preparing to mount the impatient blonde, having finally attained a sufficiently adequate erection. Kathleen again spread her legs, swore at Merton's fumbling, and voiced hoarse pleasure when he eventually achieved entry.
Merton shagged slowly, concentrating, holding back, fighting hard to curb the flaming core of rapturous sensation already gathering in the swollen, reddened extremity of his penis.
Then, through the fog of reviving lust enveloping his brain, he heard a car start up, doors slamming, and recognized with an acute spasm of shock and agitation the sound of his own machine's powerful motor. He reared up, supporting his weight on stiffened arms, saw the sports car moving away and the grinning quartet occupying it, and scrambled to his feet mouthing vile oaths, ignoring the blonde's angry objections. Wrenching free from her restraining hands, he stood gaping, penis slack again, dribbling, and shouted threats and abuse as the car gathered speed and swiftly disappeared among the trees.
"The car!" he yelled desperately. "Somebody's stolen my car!"
He stumbled forward, dangling cock swinging about obscenely, trailing watery semen, but tripped and sprawled among the rank undergrowth.
Kathleen Corbett, sitting upright amid crackling ferns, almost in tears, red faced and seething with angry frustration, glared savagely.
"Fuck your bloody car!" she answered venomously. "And fuck you, John Merton—you useless bastard!"