Chapter 7
Though safe at the moment, Maybelle realized she was trapped. She couldn't spend the whole night in the bathroom.
Defiance flared within her, proving she was no longer the meek little girl she used to be. Too much had happened recently, changing her attitude toward life and men ... and toward herself, as well. It was complex, and Maybelle didn't completely understand her new awareness. But she was no longer going to let her uncle or anyone else push her around, if she could help it.
There was a way to handle him, something told her. It was daring and not pleasant to think about, but it would be better than submitting to another punishment such as she had received that afternoon. She had the power to control her uncle, she believed, and the time had come to use it.
She opened and door and stared at the white-haired man in his baggy pants and suspenders. In his fiery eyes she read both self-righteousness and lust. It seemed to her as if she had never seen her uncle so clearly before.
"Please don't spank me again!" she cried, and dropped to her knees in front of him.
Hobart stared down at her in surprise. "You got a spanking coming, girl, and you know it! Now get into your room and lie down on the bed!"
"No, Uncle!" Maybelle said, and reached toward his shapeless dark trousers.
The man was dumbfounded as his young niece unzipped his fly. Conflicting emotions swirled through his mind, immobilizing him for as long as it took her to withdraw his long, meaty penis which was covered by a leathery foreskin.
She stared at the warm, soft organ that she held. Hobart also stared down, unbelievingly.
"Wh-what are you doing, girl?" he found the presence to ask.
"Watch, Uncle!" she said confidently, realizing from his tone and manner that she had him on the defensive. She intended to keep him that way . . . until she had demolished him.
As she rolled back the thick foreskin from the head of his cock, the pinkish bulb swelled and gave off a strong fragrance-stronger than Maybelle had detected with either Nick or Johnnie. Her stomach lurched, because the scent was not appetizing, but she remained determined to go through with her daring scheme.
She bent closer to her Uncle Hobart's thick, soft penis, which she held curving upward, two fingers and her thumb encircling its hairy base where it protruded from his fly. She tried not to inhale.
"Maybelle!" the old man exclaimed, breathing hard. Though his voice registered shock, he didn't attempt to push his niece away. He was becoming strongly aroused.
When her pink tongue came out and touched the tip of his penis, his arousal was immediately manifested by a stiffening of the member and a swelling of the knob at its end. Its raunchy scent engulfed Maybelle, its tart taste stinging her tongue.
She shut her eyes and drove herself onward, circling her uncle's bulbing cockhead with a moist lingual caress. The stiffening of his shaft was completed, and his glans was like a ruddy tomato. He hadn't sported such a vigorous hard-on in years!
The dismayed man panted through spread, flabby lips. He could scarcely believe that his innocent young niece was licking his prick-yet he thrilled mightily to it. He could no more have ordered her to stop than he could have ordered the sun not to rise the next morning.
Maybelle didn't have to hold his thick, rigid shaft any longer, and she let go of it. The thrusting organ waggled a bit as she lashed its swollen head with her tantalizing tongue. She was getting used to its strong smell and taste by that time, and these no longer bothered her. She was filled with a sense of power such as she had never felt before, keener than she had known with Stebbins or Nick. She had her Uncle Hobart exactly where she wanted him, she realized. She believed she could twist him around her little finger from then on.
She let her rosy lips spread wide, and she took her uncle's bulging, rubbery cockhead into her mouth. As his prick soaked in her warm saliva, she sucked on it.
Hobart groaned raspingly. A lustful tremor passed through him.
Maybelle cocked an eye upward as she sucked his big prick, and she was pleased to see the confusion and helplessness etched in his face.
The old fool! she thought, and sucked his cock harder. Her brunette head pumped up and down, her lips skidding smoothly on his throbbing shaft, riding the film of saliva which her mouth had spread.
"Uuuuuhhhhghg . . . oooooh ..." he panted. "Maybelle . . . ! Don't stop, girl!"
She had no intention of stopping until she had disarmed him completely, just as she had disarmed Nick earlier in the evening. It wasn't so unpleasant, either. Uncle Hobart's thick, hard shaft was stroking her lips delightfully, and his fat glans was bearing against her lapping tongue. Her rhythmic suctioning on his large knob drew slippery juice from it which further stimulated her taste buds and dribbled down her gulping throat. Most of all, she felt a sense of command, which was heady in the extreme. She had turned the tables on her uncle completely and was dominating the tyrannical old man as she would never have believed possible. Except for his stiff cock, she had reduced him to quivering jelly!
The thrilled girl sucked more fervently on his eight-inch rod which stuck into her mouth. Each lunge of her head seemed to take more of the monstrous member past her encircling lips, along her tongue, and into her clasping throat! She learned that a girl could orally ingest more prick than she would ever have thought possible, without a bit of gagging, when she wanted to do so. She had once watched a sword swallower at a circus and had wondered how he could possibly perform his amazing feat. Finally she knew. The sword swallower just let it happen, as she was letting her uncle's blunt, sword-like prick skewer her hot throat.
Excitement swirled within her, firming her nipples and making her pussy damp. Her clitoris became stiff as she scissored her warm thighs against it while she bent forward in front of her uncle.
She pumped her mouth on his prick faster and faster.
"Aaaaahhhrgh . . . ooooooh . . . God damn . . . !" he said stranglingly.
Maybelle knew he was about to come, and she made her sucking lips fly up and down on his upthrust, throbbing prick. Her tight throat opened and closed around his blunt-headed penetrations. Her tongue lapped wetly against his gliding shaft.
"AAAAARGH!" he rasped, and his cock jerked between the girl's lips, forcing her to rise a bit, for fear it would rip her throat.
His prick exploded against her tongue, his hot spurts striking the back of her throat. She kept sucking and gobbled his thick cock-cream down, though some of it spread backward along her tongue to ooze out between his twitching column and her clasping lips. The goo dribbled down her chin.
Maybelle continued sucking on her uncle's spitting prick until all the tension went out of it . . . and from him, as well. His shank, which had been pipe-like, became a wiggly rope between her lips. Finally she raised her head, letting his soft penis flop free.
"0ooooh, girl!" he said, rolling his eyes. 'That was . . . wonderful ..."
Maybelle stood and swiped his spilled semen from her chin. Seeing no reason why she shouldn't suck off her finger, since she had swallowed the rest of his cum, she did so while he watched. His eyes rolled again, as if he still couldn't believe what had happened.
"Now, there won't be any more spankings or ordering me around," Maybelle said. "I have the right to go out with anybody I want, whenever I want, and you're not going to say anything about it. Okay?"
"Yes ..." Hobart breathed heavily, his eyes downcast.
Shame obviously was afflicting the old man. But strangely enough, it didn't bother Maybelle this time. She was too imbued with the new sense of power she had realized while she was sucking off her uncle.
"I'm going to bed now," she announced, "and I don't want to be bothered."
"Y-yes, Maybelle," her chastened uncle said.
Feeling proud of herself, the young woman went to her room and shut the door behind her.
Pride was supplanted by another, more urgent emotion as she took off her clothes. Her vibrant young body throbbed for fulfillment. Sucking her uncle's cock had given her a passion which had not been quenched.
She wished Johnnie were there, but she felt she couldn't call him and ask him to come over at that late hour. Anyway, she didn't want to let him believe she was that dependent on him.
She slid into bed, nude, and turned off the bedside lamp.
Her right hand glided beneath the sheet that covered her, and she fondled her full, tingling breasts. She played with her nipples, causing them to swell and extend until she feared they might burst.
Her caress extended down across her undulating belly, where she felt the dried residue of the cum Johnnie had spilled on her. Shutting her eyes, she visualized the handsome youth with his prick stiffly extended.
Ooooooh, yessssss! she told him in her mind. Stick it into me, Johnnie! Fuck me with your beautiful, big cock!
As her fingertips toyed with the lips of her pussy, she imagined that the tip of Johnnie's prick was pushing for entry. She glided two fingers deep into her throbbing hole, and it was like Johnnie fucking her.
She stroked her fingers up and down in her twat, rubbing the tip of her clitty, and visualized Johnnie's earnest, boyish face above her, his husky torso pressing against her breasts.
"Ooooooh, fuck me . . . fuck me, Johnnie!" she whispered. "I love it!"
Her fingers glided up and down in her lathered, heated cunt, and she bumped her hips briskly. Her other hand squeezed a plump tit, her thumb and forefinger twisting the nipple.
She dizzily ascended the breathless peak of passion, then tumbled over it and was fulfilled
. . . because she had imagined Johnnie in bed with her.
She loved him very much, she realized. Perhaps she always had, but had been so prudish and repressed until recently that she hadn't dared admit how she felt.
Well, no more.
She would be honest with herself from now on, she vowed.
It was with a warm sense of satisfaction that she drifted into sleep . . .
The early light of day was beginning to seep through her draped windows when Maybelle woke up. But it wasn't the light which had awakened her, nor the chirping of the birds in the branches outside.
She had been awakened by the pressure of a body against hers-a big, flabby body pressing down atop her and, more specifically, a hard, thrusting prick that was poking between the dewy petals of her cunt.
Maybelle's eyes popped wide open as the cock sank deep into her yielding flesh, and she stared at the unshaven, wrinkled face of her uncle.
"No!" she exclaimed heatedly, and tried to push him away.
But he was in full possession of her by that time, lying between her splayed legs, his bulky weight heavily upon her. She shut her eyes.
The sweetness of being fucked by Johnnie the evening before was mocked by her uncle's repulsive rape. She tried to steel herself, as if that would save her from feeling the old man's prick knifing into her, his big balls plopping against her crotch.
This was the man she had looked upon as a father while she was growing up and who, to all intents and purposes, had been a father to her. But he certainly wasn't acting fatherly right then.
Could she really blame him, an inner voice asked, after she had given head to him of her own accord? Why shouldn't he conclude he could do anything with her?
Their power positions had flip-flopped once again, and Maybelle was on the receiving end- very literally, as his hard cock drove lustfully into her hair-fringed and oozing hole.
"Stop!" she cried. "You'll give me a baby!"
Uncle Hobart kept fucking her, as he breathed hard.
Maybelle's mind wavered dizzily. She hated what the old man was doing-it offended and humiliated her. She didn't want to respond to him. But she became excited from the stroking of his huge, bulb-ended prick inside her. His knob rippled her cuntal passage, and his shaft saw against her hot clit.
"Oooooh, Uncle . . . Uncle . . . !" she mewled, half-disgustedly and half-accepting. She flopped her head from side to side on the pillow, her dark tresses tangling against the pale linen.
As her uncle's deep-reaching strokes into her pussy accelerated in tempo, she found her youthful hips rising to his thrusts. Her fleshy buttocks bobbed against the mattress. Her heels skidded on the sheet, and then lifted as she kicked the air.
"Oooh, girl, what a hot, tight cunt you have!" her elderly uncle rasped as he fucked her like young stud-as vigorously as Johnnie.
Oooooooh!" she moaned, and clamped her legs around his bulky form.
She still felt offended, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her awakened sensuality had to be appeased. As her uncle's strong breath burst rhythmically against her face, and his b' belly pressed down against her, she yearned for the spastic throbs of pleasure which his invading prick could provide.
She didn't have to imagine it was Johnnie who was screwing her. A screwing was a screw! when she was this hot.
She drummed her heels against her uncle's flabby butt and bobbed her pussy hungrily against his deep-thrusting cock. She gasped and moaned. She gasped again, holding her breath.
Her brain reeled giddily . . . and then she came, lurching and vibrating as blissful warmth streamed through her vagina and rippled up and down on her uncle's driving rod.
He pulled out.
Dazedly Maybelle saw his immense, red-headed penis lurch in his fist as it spat globs of whitish goo onto her breasts and belly. He had pulled out only because he couldn't face the shame of getting her pregnant, she assumed, but she appreciated it, anyway.
She lapsed quietly and shut her eyes.
The bed creaked beneath her as her uncle climbed off. She heard his bare feet padding across the floor, then the door opening and closing. He was gone from her room without a word.
Was this what she had to look forward to, if she continued living in this house, she wondered- having him creep into her room in the early morning hours or during the night, to rape her whenever the urged moved him.
"Oooh, God!" she said softly to herself, and rolled onto her side, facing the faint light that was coming in through the windows.
She was troubled to fall back to sleep. After a little while she got up and went to the bath room where she soaked in the tub for twenty minutes. She wanted to cleanse every trace of he uncle's vile touch from her body.
He remained in his room as she prepared break fast for herself. He didn't even get up to see her ol to work, for which she was grateful. The less she saw of him, the better.
Thoughts of Nick and the scheme he had mentioned involving the bank, gave her added worry as she walked up the residential street to Main. What did he have in mind, she wondered, and what did he expect her to do?
If she were to refuse to cooperate, could she face up to the humiliation of having him spread naked pictures of her all over town-those awful photo that showed her with her legs open and his fingers holding the sperm-flecked lips of her pussy apart?
What about her duty to the bank? The scheme that Nick had in mind, whatever it was, surely involved some kind of fraud. That mean, if she cooperated, the bank would lose money because of her. And she would gain nothing, except the right to go on living as she had-a hypocritical person in a hypocritical town.
Was it worth it?
"Maybelle, precious . . ." Sam Stebbins purred, his eyes glowing, as he unlocked the door for her. "Are you feeling all right this morning?"
"Yes, thank you," she replied impersonally, and tried not to look at the unctuous little man.
Her cheeks glowed as she thought about what he had done to her the day before-spreading her legs on his couch and licking her hairy, soft slit while she throbbed, taking illicit pleasure. He still had her panties, she recalled.
"As soon as you get your station all set up and ready for the day, I want to see you in my office," he said softly.
"Why? What is it, Mr. Stebbins?" She had wild thoughts about Nick, that he already had started something.
"Oooh, it's nothing to worry your sweet head about," Stebbins soothed. "I just think we should have a nice, long talk and reach some kind of . . . uh . . . understanding."
What did he mean by that, Maybelle wondered, as she hurried to her teller's station, conscious that the man was watching her shapely buttocks undulate in her straight skirt.
"Feeling better this morning, I trust?" Hattie Osterfeld inquired in her brittle voice from the next station. She was in her fifties, a dried-up old stalk with a hank of gray hair, like Spanish moss.
"Yes, thank you, Miss Osterfeld," Maybelle said, though it was a lie.
Her gaze fell to a large package on the counter in front of her. It was from the early morning delivery, and she could tell by the printed form pasted to its top that it contained the checks of Delman Industries-hundreds of them.
She felt a twinge of apprehension.