Chapter 4
He pushed her onto her back, and Cindy settled back agreeably. "I want to see it," he told her. He took hold of one slender leg and raised it, then leaned closer to the parted thighs which had shielded the girl's crypt. Her gold, fluffy ringlets were of such a gossamer nature they almost needed to be touched to determine their existence. Bobby stared hungrily at the crinkled pink cupcake nestled in its blonde bower. Finally he lowered his head and kissed it.
Cindy quivered from the sensation of his hard lips on her most intimate place. Her hips writhed slowly as he traced its outline with his tongue, licking at her pouting cunt. "Ohhh!" she moaned softly. "Ohhh, Bobby! Bobby!"
He stopped his teasing of the delicate flesh. "Okay," he said briskly. "That's the dessert. Let's get the meat and potatoes out of the way."
He got up and moved onto the bed beside her. He lipped a perky breast into his mouth, sucking at the nipple, then alternately licking its stiffening bud. His right hand parted her thighs again and frigged her tight little sanctuary. Cindy sighed heavily. "I'm going to . . . explode!" she pleaded.
He stopped momentarily to look up into her pink face. "Got to get you good and wet so you'll stretch easier," he explained, then went back to work.
"I don't . . . think I was ever ... so wet in . . . my whole life!" Cindy got out through clenched teeth.
"Okay," he said at last. "That fat little cunt of yours should be about ready."
"Don't pay any attention if I holler," she said anxiously. "Mother says I'm a big baby."
Her nipples had lengthened and protruded while their color changed from a rosy pink to a flaming red. Bobby raised her hips and placed a pillow under them. When he parted her legs again, the pink, wet cunt gaped up at him. He lowered himself upon her tensed body until his prick rested against her downy grotto. "Relax," he said. "I'm trying," she whispered.
He wriggled himself more firmly aboard her belly, then reached down and took the leathery head of his robust rod and inserted it in Cindy's virgin pussy which he searched out by touch. The stalwart cock gained entrance and eased inward slightly while Cindy held her breath.
Bobby joggled his hips, up and down and side to side. His rigorous fleshy organ pressed onward fractionally. Cindy blew out her breath in a stifled gasp as she felt her tender pussy being stretched unmercifully. "It h-hurts!" she whimpered, her attempt at stoicism fading.
He felt the knobby end of his prick come to rest against her hymen. Bobby reached down and took hold of Cindy's soft, round buttocks and drew her up to him. "Here we go!" he said.
At the words he lunged into her. Cindy shrieked as he rebounded from her hymen. He lunged again, and she felt a searing pain amidst a tearing sensation inside her stuffed vagina. "Owww!" her voice soared. "Bobby! It stings! Oh, it s-stings!" She pushed at his shoulders, trying to remove him.
"Hold . . . still!" Bobby panted, resting on her. "You'll be ... all right now."
The smarting in Cindy's pussy subsided to a burning itch as Bobby remained motionless upon her. He kneaded the supple globes of her bare behind, then traced with a finger her perspiring rupture. His finger probed at her shrinking anus which she sought to clench against the intrusion. "That's not nice, Bobby!" she protested.
He had accomplished his purpose by giving her something new to think about. He began a slow rising and falling motion upon her smooth stomach. "Ouch!" she exclaimed, but in a more normal tone. Her cunny still hurt, but not nearly as much as when it was being expanded by the monster now residing inside it. "Is there any more to go in?" she asked fearfully.
"You've got it all, baby," he responded, lips compressed from the effort to prolong his ride. He wanted Cindy to come, although he was afraid she wouldn't this first time. He slid his rock-like penis slowly in and out of Cindy's chalice which expanded almost imperceptibly to accept it.
Cindy lay on her back with her eyes closed. She was almost as aware of Bobby's hands clutching her bare behind as she was of his intractable prong skewering her. The burning itch had subsided to an occasional twinge. Then a hot, glowing coal ignited suddenly in her depths, and her eyes flew open. "Bobby!" she blurted as her elevated legs tensed. "Something's . . . happening down there!"
He didn't answer her, concentrating upon maintaining an even pace in his fucking. He felt the round stomach beneath his own arch upward tentatively as the girl's breathing accelerated. The yielding hind cheeks took on an independent life of their own despite his grip upon them. Cindy's bottom galloped madly as the glowing coal in her interior was fanned to a fiery conflagration. "I think ... I'm dying!" she gasped as her interior walls began to twitch. Her hands on Bobby's shoulders which had previously tried to push him away now clutched him tightly to her breasts. Her cunt seized more firmly its fleshy intruder. "Oh!" Cindy exclaimed. "I'm boiling . . . over!"
He felt her come in a series of jumping motions and he settled his shoulders to make his own run. He plowed Cindy's freshly lubricated furrow with a new intensity, and her murmured exclamations died away as she cradled him firmly in her arms. When she felt the tip of his prick begin to tremble inside her, she rubbed the back of his neck gently and made soothing sounds.
"Ahhh, God!" he groaned as his cream jetted into her stretched cavern. His movements slowly ceased, and Cindy felt a gradual slackening of the husky cock still immersed in her. Bobby remained prone upon her until she became afraid he had fallen asleep.
"My legs are aching," she whispered finally.
He laughed and raised himself from her. Cindy heard the diminished penis emerge with a slight sucking sound. She sat up and looked down at the stained pillow upon which she was sitting. She started to reach down to explore her ravaged arbor but was ashamed to because Bobby was watching her. "No permanent damage," he assured her solemnly, then grinned.
She found herself smiling in return. "I'm a baby. It really wasn't all that terrible, but I kept expecting it to get worse. And then at the end . . . Oooh, wasn't that something?"
"It'll be twice as good next time," he told her confidently. "Want to clean up?"
She nodded, and he led her into the bathroom. She stood submissively while he washed her stained pussy and thighs. Back in the bedroom he started to take her into his arms again, but she gently restrained him. "I'm going to have a hard time explaining to my mother why I'm this late," she said.
She stooped to pick up her panties from the floor, and Bobby dropped to his knees, seized her middle, and pressed fervent kisses all over the luscious amplitudes of her white posterior. "Bobby!" she protested, but her lips were curved upward in amusement.
He released her reluctantly so she could begin dressing. "You wait till next time, baby," he promised. "I'll make that gorgeous ass of yours whistle Dixie."
He performed one final act before they left the apartment. He stripped the blood-stained pillowcase from the pillow, found a thumb tack in a bureau drawer, and tacked the pillowcase to the wall above the head of the bed. "The guy who lets me use the place an' I always hang up a flag when we score," he explained.
"I don't think that's very nice," Cindy disapproved.
"I didn't ask you to autograph it," he grinned.
"It's a good thing you didn't, Bobby Maxwell!"
He laughed and led the way down the stairs to his car.
Men, Cindy reflected, were certainly strange creatures.
Curt Sylvester looked up from the accident report he was laboriously making out at the sound of steps on the stairs leading down to the basement office of the sheriff's department. He leaned back in his swivel chair as Bobby Maxwell appeared.
"Well, nephew," Curt said sarcastically, "does it always take you a week to get around here after I leave word I want to see you?"
"I figured if it was important you'd get back to me," Bobby said laconically.
"I'll get back to you with my foot in your ass," Curt rasped. "When I tell your mother I want to see you, you jump to it, y'hear?"
"What's so important, Curt?" Bobby tried to keep his tone neutral. He didn't want to provoke his uncle unnecessarily.
"A couple of things. Number one, I hear you're drivin' the Gaynor girl home from the library afternoons."
Bobby hesitated. Did Curt know anything else? "A couple of times," he said cautiously. "Why?"
"That's too good for you," Curt informed him. "I've had my eye on that since it was in rompers."
"You? Why, you're old enough-" Bobby checked his remark.
But his uncle didn't seem angry. "I'm old enough to appreciate a good piece when I see it. I'm not so sure about you." He paused. "Unless you're fucking Monica?" His stare probed his nephew.
"I just took her in out of the rain," Bobby protested.
"Not a bad night's work," Curt agreed. "I might even owe you a favor for that. If you don't get too big for your britches. Well," he waved a dismissing hand, "I don't have time to talk to you about it now, but I've got a program for you in connection with the little blonde."
"Little blonde?"
"The Gaynor girl," Curt said impatiently. "Oh. A program? What?'
"It'll keep," Curt said, pushing back his chair. "See you later."
Bobby went out the basement entrance and climbed the outside stairs to the parking lot where he had left his car. He could feel a damp spot between his shoulder blades. Curt affected him like that quite often; the famous temper was a tiger barely on a leash. This was worse than usual: Curt and Cindy? It was ridiculous.
The best thing he could do was stay out of Curt's way, especially since he was seeing Cindy again the next afternoon. And he was really looking forward to it. Now that her shell had been cracked she should really bloom sexually. He was looking forward to that, too. He drove out of the parking lot with Cindy so much on his mind that his Uncle Curt had already been relegated to a point far in the background.
Curt climbed the inside stairs to the first floor city offices and walked out to the Sheriff Department's black and white cruiser at the curb. He drove rapidly to the city limits, then began watching doorways. He slowed when he saw Monica Simpson's bright red head. She crossed the sidewalk to the cruiser and climbed in. Passengers were illegal, but departmental strictures never fazed Curt Sylvester. He hadn't seen her since the rainy night episode, and he looked at her face critically. "Pete must be losin' his punch," he opened the conversation.
"It's make-up," she responded. "Did you find a place?"
"Sure did. I told you it'd be easy." The cruiser was moving again, farther out into the country. "People are always leavin' keys with me to check their places while they're away on vacation. An' this place is really isolated. It's a cinch if you don't lose your nerve."
"Forget it," she told him. "I've been waiting for this. Stop at the next pay phone."
"Okay," he said, satisfied.
Monica hefted a shopping bag she had brought with her. "You don't know how I've been waiting."
"Okay," he said again.
They rode in silence until he pulled into a crossroads filling station with a pay phone.
Isabel paused in the act of drawing on her gloves when the telephone rang in the master bedroom. "Isabel Fairbanks here," she said crisply when she picked it up.
"Elaine Rogers is sorry to change the meeting place upon such short notice," a feminine voice said, "but she wonders if you could make it at the Harris place on Columbo Road."
"The Harris place?" Isabel repeated.
"It's about five miles out of town. You go-"
"Oh, yes, Columbo Road," Isabel remembered. "I believe I called at the Harris home during the last drive. Well, fortunately, I have the car. Tell Elaine I might be a few minutes late."
"She'll be expecting you."
Isabel hung up and finished drawing on her gloves. It would be a coup if Elaine somehow enlisted Mrs. Harris in the church's auxiliary program. The Harris family was one of the wealthiest in the area.
She drove to Columbo Road without difficulty. She slowed then as she tried to read the nameplates over the archways of the crushed-stone driveways leading to the imposing residences. She almost passed the Harris place before she saw the name affixed to the wrought-iron fence.
She backed up and turned into the driveway which wound through flower beds for a quarter of a mile. There were no other cars visible when she reached the house, and she hesitated momentarily before leaving the car. It looked as though it would be Elaine who was a little late. It would give Isabel a few moments a few words in private with Mrs. Harris, however.
She pressed the doorbell and listened to the six-note chime inside before she noticed that the door was slightly ajar. She pushed it open and walked inside. "It's Isabel Fairbanks," she called. "Elaine seems to be-" She broke off sharply when she saw Monica Simpson standing to one side in the foyer, a shopping bag in her hand.
Isabel heard the sound of the door closing behind her, and she turned to look. A burly man in a khaki uniform was standing with his back to the closed door. Isabel returned her attention to Monica Simpson. "What's the meaning of this?" she demanded. "What are you doing here? Where's Elaine? Where's Mrs. Harris?"
"The ground rules of the meeting have been changed slightly, Isabel." Monica's voice was clear and firm.
Isabel was annoyed at the use of her Christian name by Monica no less than at the half-smile on her face. "I should think you'd have the decency to remain away from places you're not wanted," Isabel responded coldly.
"It was my phone call that brought you here, Isabel. Where it's nice and quiet and we have plenty of privacy." The mocking note in Monica's voice caused Isabel to steal a quick glance at the uniformed man who was standing with his arms folded across his broad chest. A knowing grin shaped his hard mouth into scarcely more attractive lines, and an alarm bell tinkled faintly in the depths of Isabel's nervous system. Monica smiled when she saw Isabel's change of expression. "Beginning to get the picture?"
"I've had enough of your impertinence!" Isabel snapped. She turned and walked to the door where she confronted the man standing in front of it. "Kindly stand aside!" she demanded imperiously, willing herself to show no trace of the alarm she had felt previously.
Instead, he took her by the arm. Monica Simpson, approaching silently, seized her other arm. "Stop it!" Isabel raged, trying in vain to shake herself free.
"You can leave in twenty minutes, Isabel," Monica said with another smile. "After I've whipped your ass."
"Whipped my . . . Ohhh!" Isabel sputtered as she was half-marched, half-dragged from the foyer of the handsome house to a bedroom in its rear. Could she really have heard right? The bedroom door closed, and she felt trapped in the smaller space. "I'll report this manhandling to the police!" she stammered, still trying to keep her rising panic from reflecting in her voice.
Her heart was pounding at an accelerated rate. The grinning uniformed hulk, she'd seen him before. Wasn't he a sheriff's deputy? With an unsavory reputation? What was he doing here with Monica? And then recognition dawned: this man was Monica Simpson's lover! And she, Isabel Fairbanks, was cornered by the unholy pair. This couldn't be happening to her!
The uniformed man spoke for the first time. "She's gettin' the picture now, all right," he said. "Show her, Monica."
Monica Simpson faced about, bent over, and flipped her skirt up on her back. She had worn no underwear, and Isabel Fairbanks found herself staring in dry-mouthed disbelief at Monica's plump bare buttocks with their bluish stripes, orange at their cores. Monica straightened up and smoothed down her skirt. "You let me in for that, Isabel. How do you think you'll like it when your own bare ass is turned up?" she asked. Her smile had turned malevolent.
Isabel couldn't speak. She was having difficulty trying to breathe. She felt a hard knot of fear in the pit of her stomach. Monica actually intended to brutalize a Christian woman! It was unbelievable.
"How you gonna do it, Monnie?" Curt Sylvester asked.
"You get her stripped and over the end of the bed. I'll take care of the rest."
"What're you gonna use on her ass?"
Monica opened the shopping bag and removed a lengthy item from it. Isabel's stomach lurched sickeningly when she recognized a trimmed-down version of a sorority paddle. It was about eighteen inches long, four inches wide, and it had a hand-carved grip. Two messages were emblazoned upon the hard looking wood: APPLY WHEN NECESSARY near the handle, and HEAT FOR THE SEAT near the business end.
"That little toy?" Curt Sylvester said contemptuously.
"I'll show you it's not toy, Curt."
"Listen, I got a little number out in the cruiser -"
"I'm aware of your affection for leather, darling," Monica said sardonically. "But this is my party, correct?"
Curt shrugged beefy shoulders. "Suit yourself." He advanced upon Isabel. "Shuck it, girlie. All of it."
"N-no," she said faintly.
His smallish, close eyes glared at her. "I can have you naked in seconds," he rasped. "But then you'll have nothin' to wear home afterward. That the way you want it?"
Panic blended with the knot of fear in Isabel's quivering stomach. She was dreadfully frightened. "No!" she cried out in renewed alarm as Curt Sylvester reached for her impatiently.
"Then strip!" he glowered at her.
She found herself removing the jacket of her suit. Her fingers were icy as she unzipped her skirt, slipped it down, and stepped out of it. She paused with her blouse half-unbuttoned. "Please!" she said, unhappily aware of the begging note in her strained voice but unable to help herself. "Please don't make me-"
"Peel it, sister!" Curt barked.
Hopelessly Isabel removed her blouse. She pulled her slip off over her head, automatically fluffing her hair back into place. Isabel Fairbanks, half-naked before these two grinning idiots! She couldn't believe it!
"C'mon, c'mon!" Curt rumbled. "Speed it up. There's plenty of help handy if you don't." He winked at Monica who had the paddle in both hands and was practicing level, waist-high swings. Isabel experienced a sudden, terrifying loosening in her bladder. With shaking hand she unzipped her girdle and worked it downward from her capacious, solidly fleshed hips. Curt Sylvester whistled. "Now that's a real piece of meat," he said admiringly. "C'mon, girlie, unveil it. Get rid of the pants."
Numbly Isabel pulled down her panties, plain white and without adornment. The air felt chilly upon her nude flesh, and she half-crouched in front of the watching pair. She felt half-dead with embarrassment as the man's cynical gaze fastened upon the profuse black hair triangulating her upper thighs. "That's the fourth minister's wife I've seen with it out in the breeze," Curt said to Monica, "an' every one of 'em had more beard than a rabbi has on his chin. You don't s'pose it's a requirement?"
Monica made no reply. She had continued to perform her swings with the paddle. Curt turned to Isabel again. "Off with the bra, Mrs. Righteous. Then Monnie'll teach you to dance in four-four time."
"Will you stop talking?" Monica complained. "Just get her ass over the end of the bed."
At an impatient gesture from Curt, Isabel removed her bra. She held it in her hands for an instant, then nervously dropped it to the floor. The bedroom's cooler air caused her nipples to crinkle and stiffen. She felt terribly ashamed of her heavy, swinging breasts with their dark, protruding crests, but with her entire body exposed to the lustful gaze of this loathsome man Isabel experienced a paradigm of mortification almost paralyzing in its intensity.
Curt unfastened a pair of handcuffs from his belt and approached her. "No!" Isabel cried out, backing away fearfully. He paid no attention. He seized first one wrist and then the other, forcing them into a single claw of the cuffs, then snapped it shut. He half-led, half-dragged Isabel over to the comparatively low footboard of the bed.
"Throw me the pillows," he said to Monica. When she complied, he arranged them on their long axis over the footboard, then swiftly pushed Isabel down over them with his hand on the back of her neck until she was completely doubled-up. He passed the dangling loose cuff through the openwork slats at the end of the bed and snapped it around Isabel's left ankle, leaving her immobilized.
She was horrifiedly aware that her taut, spread, bare behind was now the highest part of her, and impotent tears squeezed from beneath her tightly shut eyelids as she pressed her face into the bedcover. This was simply awful!
"Will you look at that ass!" Curt breathed reverently.
"What about her free leg?" Monica questioned him.
"I like to see 'em kick," he responded. "Livens up the performance when they're flashin' their cunts around, too. C'mon, let's see what you can do with that thing."
Monica positioned herself to one side and slightly behind her victim, paddle at the ready. Isabel struggled for composure. She must maintain what dignity she could. Afterward she would have these creatures arrested and jailed. But this was no moment for threats. Best to suffer it through with a minimum of outcry. She wouldn't give these animals the satisfaction of hearing her plead again.
Monica stared avidly at the white-fleshed broad expanse of Isabel's nude rump. The heavy-looking hemispheres were so solidly fruity with bulging, firm flesh that the crevice between appeared shallow. Monica leveled the paddle at a point several inches behind the white backside. "Now let's see how you like it!" she gritted, and brought the paddle back, then swept it forward again with surprising speed, and it bit deeply into Isabel's bare seat with an obscenely explosive-sounding THWACK!
"Ohhh!" Isabel gasped despite her resolution to be silent. The handcuffs jerked her back into position for the next swing of the paddle as she tried in vain to evade it, the bed creaking from her violent reaction to the stark white imprint of the paddle upon her agitated posterior. The imprints rapidly turned pink, then vermilion.
THWACK!
"Ohhh!" Isabel exclaimed. The pain was unbelievably more intense than she had expected. It quickly flared, then continued to burn.
THWACK!
"Owww!" she cried out, ashamedly conscious of the girlish nature of her outcry but unable to suppress it. "Oh, please-"
THWACK!
"Oooh!" Isabel kicked backward with her free leg in involuntary response to the smarting in her bottom.
"Told you we'd see her cunt," Curt quietly observed. THWACK!
"Oww! Oww! Oww! You're ... killing me!" Isabel gasped, all thought of restraint gone with the excruciating flame in her tender fanny.
Monica aimed the paddle carefully, searching out areas of the ample target as yet untouched by the paddle. Her face was a study in concentration as she snapped the smooth wood into the disquieted, crimsoning globes which danced wildly between searing impacts.
Isabel shrieked at each stroke, dignity forgotten, everything forgotten except the scalding heat in her excoriated flesh.
"You're really gettin' to her," Curt remarked interestedly.
Isabel kicked wildly, but was totally unable to remove her hot, pulsating seat from the explosive-sounding impacts of the paddle.
Monica sadistically paused just long enough between blistering swings for the bolt of the paddle's impact to spread in wildfire shock waves through the entire sitting area. Then she swung the paddle again. Isabel's plunging globes, mostly pink and crimson, were turning maroon in some places.
Curt Sylvester watched closely as the minister's wife's big, bare behind nearly turn itself inside out in convulsed abandon. Isabel's outcries had turned to quivering moans. Her unrestrained tears were soaking the bedcover, and her hard sobs were wrenching her stomach muscles painfully.
"About two more shots an' she's gonna piss herself," Curt announced a dozen spanks later. "See those muscles in her thighs flutterin'? I've seen it before." He hitched at his belt. "Christ, I dunno if it's her or me you're gettin' to. I've got the goddamnedest hard-on I've had in months."
Monica stopped the paddling. She ran the palm of one hand lightly over Isabel's bare seat. The former silkiness felt rough from the paddling. "She's hot, all right," Monica said. "But I think she can stand three more."
Isabel moaned hoarsely after each of the three, but her glowing backside danced only minimally after each smacking report of the paddle on her burning posterior. She hurt so badly over so wide an area that the law of diminishing returns had set in. Monica stepped back after a final inspection of the reddened, meaty-looking sacrifice and thrust the paddle back into her shopping bag. "There!" she exclaimed with intense satisfaction. "I feel better now that she knows how it feels."
Isabel sprawled limply over the bed, almost in a complete state of collapse. Her twin globes, swollen slightly and still twitching, swayed from side to side in slack-muscled, cleft-exposed total abdication of all womanly reticence. Isabel's long, sobbing breaths sounded loudly in the bedroom.
"What do you think of the paddle now?" Monica asked Curt.
"Not bad," he admitted grudgingly, his eyes on Isabel's mossy bush at the bottom of her widened thighs. "But I'll still take my quirt for real action. Say, Monnie?"
She turned at the note of tension in his voice. Curt had unzipped his breeches, and in his hand he held his rigid, thick-jointed, purple-headed prick. "Put that away, Curt," she said impatiently.
"Like hell!" he retorted. "You had your fun, didn't you? An' you couldn't have done it without me. Now I've gotta blow off some steam. I wanna fuck you."
"We can go to a motel and-"
"Right now! I'm gonna fuck you right now!"
Her eyes widened. She glanced at the bed. "In front of her?"
"In front of the pope an' his mistress!" he exploded. "I'm gonna fuck you!"
"Not here, Curt. I don't want to do it. It's not-"
"I'm not askin' you, goddamn it, I'm tellin' you!" It came out between his gritted teeth. "You shag out've that dress an' get your ass on that bed!"
Monica hesitated only a moment longer before pulling off over her head the dress that was her only article of clothing.