Chapter 10
Habit awakened Martha early, despite having been awake for several hours after they'd let her go to bed. It took a moment for her to remember that it had not been a dream. She sat up in Joan's bed, listening. Not a sound was to be heard. Hurrying for no reason she could name, Martha got up and put on her robe, lamenting the fact that her own clothes were in the wardrobe in her room, and that there were two lean, dangerous Negroes sleeping in her bed. While she used Joan's brush to straighten her hair, she worried about what staying up with the ugly Claw had meant to her daughter. And she was afraid she knew. The thought gave her two kinds of shivers; one was based on pure terror and revulsion, the other began somewhere in Martha's spine and it was not so repulsive.
Quietly, she went out into the hallway, still listening. She tip-toed toward the living room, hesitated at the telephone, debating the proper thing to do, then decided to be sure she could dial and talk without having one of the Black Panthers on her back. When she saw Sam, sitting on the sofa, his huge bare feet sticking out from the bottom of his peg-top trousers, she sighed with relief that she had not tried to telephone. He was bare to the waist, obviously having been routed out to take over Claw's job of watching for trouble.
He was dozing fitfully. Martha stood and looked at his lean youth, black, not clean, but very much a man. Her nostrils flared, remembering Joan's vivid description of how Sam had come on to her from behind, his huge penis charging straight for her daughter's virginal vagina. Raped by a Negro; driven half out of her mind with passion once the shock was over and the meaning of a big cock had reached full understanding. Martha breathed heavily. He had, seen her naked. He had seen the dildo affixed to the spinning wheel. Last night, he had felt of her ass and grabbed at her tits, and there was no doubt in her mind that sometime during the day, not only Sam, but the other two, would turn the apartment into the site of nearly a Roman orgy. Or an African orgy.
She had, she thought, two choices. She could half-crush Sam's closely cropped skull with the vase on the end table and telephone, taking a terrible risk, and perhaps endangering her life and Joan's. Or she let the robe fall loose and wake him up. Even at seven o'clock in the morning, her body trembled with sudden eagerness. It had been a very long time since she had the feel of a man's prick in her hand, and she had already admitted to Joan that the dildo on the spinning wheel had certain irrevocable faults. Like no foreskin to roll and stretch and no pulsation, and certainly, none of the sweet heat that came from an excited prick. Well past the age of feasible pregnancy, she thought about feeling the surge and fire of spewing jism. Her face flushed and her cunt twitched. Martha moved forward, letting her robe fall open slightly and when she was standing in front of him, Sam opened his eyes and jerked upright. Martha held a shush-finger to her lips and he blinked. Then he reached for her, his hands sliding through the robe front to come cool and possessive around her hips. "Wowie," he muttered.
"Sh-hh," Martha hissed, and her right hand wedged down between his hard black belly and the waistband of his trousers. Her fingertips met his cock growing and solidifying and he unsnapped his hip-huggers. Then while she took firm hold of his big black prick, he felt her ass and the smooth rounds of her inner thighs, finally finding her cunt with his long, large-knuckled fingers. She lay half off of his lap, pushing her legs apart and hunching her ample hips to his frenzied digging. He hurt her cunt, opening it roughly, stretching the tissues still sensitive from the long hours of abuse with Joan, the previous day. But the fingers were mobile, seeking and strictly male, not gentle and subtle like Joan's. Martha jacked him off with equal vigor, thrilling to the way his prick distended and thickened in her fingers. Finally, she let go of his penis and fell back, turning her opened crotch up in impatient demand.
He grunted some unintelligible words and turned over, his cock seeming to extend like a telescope and his ass reared high. It hung down, swaying stiffly, jerking with readiness and showing moistness at the little fish mouth at the tip of the glans. Martha began to lose her aggressiveness. She lay, shuddering, waiting and inhaling his sour musky odor with inverted fastidiousness. Then the cock came down and the broad head bumped her pubic mound, moving around as his ass searched for her. She reached down and gripped his organ with a full hand, and she yelped with excitement as the head snugged into her vulva. With a hard upthrust, she sent the thundering prick in a full four or five inches, then held her hips up, vibrating and clutching while Sam sent the shaft full in and let his balls lay hot and tickling to her asshole.
She took his seven-inch prick easily but not indifferently. It did not saw and ripple with mechanical consistency. It moved slowly, exploring each newly tightened segment of her sex, spreading its exciting heat and turning slick with her instantaneous exudences. His bare chest squashed heavily on her flaccid, tingling tits, and his hands were frenzied, feeling her sides, her back and finally, under to lift her ass to his thrusts. She put her hands to his sides, then up on his back, pleasantly startled by the velvet texture of his black skin. Her eyes closed; she had not gotten used to his facial ugliness, arid it was better to shut out any reminder that he was a dirty Negro, a lust machine, and a criminal. She tried to take him all, cock and swinging balls into her all and small moans of passion rode on her breath to his corded neck. She made all the movements the dildo had taught her, and a few more, spasmodically writhing to screw herself on and on to the plunging monster. She felt orgasm coming quickly and she made no effort to hold back; he would never know and she felt she could fuck forever if he could last forever. As the tensions climbed, she needed more of his organ. Her legs lifted and he sensed what she wanted. His arms hooked under her rising knees and folded her legs up until she was bent double. The rounds of her ass tautened and stretched, letting his hips come in hard. Open and seeking, she felt his prick glide up and up, and she tried to work secret muscles to hold the surging tree, only to have him drag out from the milking tissues, causing her a mewl with fresh sensation. Her cum was squeezed into convulsing and she let it thunder, fighting to extend its too-quickly fading ecstasies. Then as if nothing had occurred she intensified her fucking back, trying desperately for one more flash of paradise before Sam's cock erupted and terminated the exquisite fuck.
"Hey, you going to get it!" he abruptly gasped. "Tight, uptight! Come on, old Mama, and make the scene!"
His furious words jerked her from suspended effort into flaming need and when he rammed deep, forcing, grunting, her cunt caught the first glob of charging jism with a frenzied gulping and she cried out as her second cum split open and dragged him into the very center of her being. She thought they were making a great deal of mouth noise, but she couldn't choke back her cries and he didn't seem to care. Then she didn't care. He let her legs flop down, and he became a sweating black weight on her weary body, his prick bloating her belly, his sperm churning like sweet acid in her vagina.
"Oh, my, my!" she breathed.
He chuckled. "I bet you were something forty years ago," he panted. "Goddamnit, my balls are busted!"
"Dear boy," she murmured. "I have all the nice little pieces up inside me! I do think you need a bath, however!"
The shock came at breakfast. Joan, who had been forced by Claw to sleep between himself and Snake, who had fucked her furiously then fallen back to sleep, stood with Martha beside her and listened to the three black men laugh and make long, detailed explanations of how they had been sucked and fucked by the whitey broads. She knew then, that a second trap had closed on them; instead of softening the desperate men, they had cheapened and belittled themselves in the eyes of the ghetto denizens.
"You-you are horrible people!" she husked after Claw had described the 'real gone blow off, right up her ass' and the way she had 'come onto my cock, licking and sucking like a three-buck whore' and he laughed about her failure to get his prick hard again.
"I sure got her when Claw brought her to bed," Snake boasted. "I don't think white pussy beats black, but you got to say it's more fun. Like you're banging her white ass, knowing she's been thinking all her life about a nigger stud. Ain't that so, baby?"
"You-you beast!" Joan gasped.
Sam got up and came, with arched back, his groin pushed out, to Martha. "I'm for you, old woman. You got a real yen, and that makes up for the flab, Mama! Jesus, I got another hard-on!"
"Oh, Mama!" Joan wailed in consuming anguish.
"It's all right, darling," Martha replied. "Dirty talk, you know. I-I didn't get hurt, darling."
"Now, we got to fix that," Claw decided. "Ain't no female been taken care of right, less'n it hurts a little."
"Let's all get to the skin and see about it," Snake suggested.
"You think good, kid," Claw agreed. "Strip out, cunts!"
Joan looked at her mother, and Martha let a small smile half break her face. Then she slowly untied the sash around her waist and let her robe fall free. "Darling, It-it can't hurt and I'm a very, very old woman!'' "Mama!"
"He said you sucked his penis," Joan was reminded.
"Like no chick I ever knew in Sugartown," Claw laughed. "For firsts, make the rounds, four-eyes!"
But there was hatred now, fear, self-revulsion and disgust. Joan stood, watching the three of them open their trousers and dig out their huge, hardening pricks. The morning light eradicated the mystic lust she had known in the half-dark living room. Every detail was sharp, from the different shapes of three rampant cocks to the filth of their clothes. "No, no!"she protested. "I-I can't!"
"Okay, Mama, come onto us like wow," Snake said.
Stunned, Joan watched her mother remove her robe and stand among the trio, her voluptuous body quivering at breast and buttock. She seemed impervious to the quickly out-thrust fingers, feeling of her fullnessess and hollows. For the instant, Joan forgot the night of weird passion she had just spent and saw only the sordidness; the small kitchen, the three ominous black men and the table littered with dirty dishes. And in the middle of it all, her mother, nearly slattern in her careless stance, looking from prick to prick as they were stroked into hardness by idling fingers.
"Mama!" she managed to gasp.
Martha turned and slid her hands from her fleshy hips upward to lift and bulge her huge tits. "Oh Joan," she protested. "After the spinning wheel, what's our-what do you call it, Sam?"
"Hang-up, old woman."
"Yes. What's our hang-up?" Martha giggled, then moved to go to one knee between Claw's lean parted thighs. Fascinated by horror, Joan watched how her mother took the huge cock in her fingers, frigged it slowly a time or two, then dropped and enveloped the blood-gorged head with her mouth. The shriek of protest rising in Joan's throat was choked off as she remembered how that same cock had seemed in her own lips. And when Snake got up and came around to stand over Martha's back, his cock a jutting black club, she seemed powerless to move, even though his intentions were obvious.
He leaned down and hooked his hands under Martha's belly and lifted; still clinging to Claw's cock with her lips, Martha came up on stiffened legs, her feet well apart, her big ass reared up to the rub and kiss of Snake's prick. There was movement, the lewd, hunching search, directed to the hairy valley under the big bold moons, then Martha's ass began its own rotating exploration, and with a grunt, Snake's prick shot in and in, urged by the curl of his spine and the strong muscles of his thin black legs. As he started to fuck, Joan's spine turned to water, and without realizing it, she sidestepped until Sam's hands found her, and she stood with her hips hard to his chest while they both watched the building drama of Martha caught between the two ebony pricks.
Sometimes the bang of Snake to Martha's ass dislodged Claw's penis from her mouth but she quickly recaptured it and resumed the up-and-down movement of her head, gradually timing it to the slosh of Snake's cock in her exuding cunt. Joan, her ass being felt and explored by Sam's, fingers, began to feel faint, her mind flowing forward into her mother's abused body. She could see how Snake's prick was coursing in the dark red nest and she could feel it ripple, as if it were in her own vagina. Claw now was holding Martha's head between his big hands and his fingers curled down to her jaw, following the movement of the muscles under the billowing and sucking cheeks. When he turned his head to grin at Sam and Joan, his eyes were half-closed, as if he didn't see them but knew they were there to appreciate his ecstasies. Then Snake howled and sent ram after ram into Martha's cunt, his legs trembling, his belly heaving with stress. He seemed to hang in her, atrophied by orgasm, stiffened by lust and shocked by the frenzy of his cum. When he was obviously spent, he fell backwards, stringing long thin lines of viscid jism as his prick left her cunt. He grunted as his black ass hit the linoleum. Martha's head came up.
"Oh shit!" she exclaimed, then after a twisting glance at the helpless Snake, she turned and sat down, wriggling and rearing until Claw's cock went into the abandoned emptiness of her cunt. He wrapped his arms around her, hand and claw filling with her swaying tits, and with a roar of glee began to fuck up as Martha screwed and bounced down. Fire splashed through Joan in furious waves. "Oh, Mama, Mama!" Joan wailed.
"Oooh, ooh, ooh-ho-hoo!" Martha cooed. "Will you shut up, baby?"
"Stick a prick down her goddamned throat," Claw gasped.
But Joan had turned and already melted down, Sam's penis found her cunt as she straddled him and she fell forward, bounding up and down so her tits rubbed to his high chest and his cock shot deep and deeper and finally, filled her vagina with massive throbbing and shrieking heat. The straight chairs creaked, the hiss and roar of breaths filled the tiny kitchen and the smell of sex overpowered the fading odor of bacon and eggs and simmering coffee. Even when Joan discovered that her smearing lips were wetting Sam's closely curled ear, she had not the power to remember anything but the thump and surge of his organ in her pussy.
She dreamed that the house was falling down on her and she couldn't escape because her hands and feet were tied; when she awakened fully, her hands and feet were still tied but the house was not causing her bruises nor hard blows. She was numb, hurting from head to foot. The converted porch-room was cold and streakily lighted from the morning sun. Bonnie lay for a long time, twisting to ease the agonies in her shoulders, trying to wriggle her swollen hands, trying desperately to think. It was probably the next day, she thought, and the house is too quiet. She shifted, groaned, then started to cry.
Presently, she had to urinate, and with whimperings she managed to turn and sit up, thrusting her bare legs over the edge of the cot. Her toes seemed to be one big flipper, the thin black feet were fat, and where the sash cord clothesline wound around her ankles, the black had turned to a sickly gray. She leaned forward and tested her weight on the flippers. She fell sideways and tried again. Standing, she swayed, nearly fell, then found a balance. "The dirty mother fuckers," she murmured without emphasis. Then she began to hop toward the bathroom. She made it, but when she sat down, exhaustion caused her to fold forward.
Her urine burned furiously through her lacerated and swollen cunt, and when she evacuated through her abused asshole, it was like big rocks. She sat there a long time, crying, gasping and cursing.
Finally, she thought about her father. Unable to wipe or flush the toilet, she stood up, whimpering at her helplessness. Then she hopped out into the hallway and down to the door of her father's room. To her surprise, the door was not locked, nor even closed. Fearfully Bonnie bumped it on open with her shoulder.
Ben Price was on the bed, apparently asleep. His hands were tied to the head of the bed and his ankles to the brass rods at the foot. A dirty rag gagged him, hiding half of his round-cheeked face.
"Pa?" Bonnie called. He didn't stir. Bonnie hopped to the bed and called again. Then she saw that his eyes were wide open and rolled up. "Pa!" she screamed.
After awhile, she determined that he was dead.
"Damn you, Sam, you should have known!" Bonnie screamed. "Oh, Pa! He knew about your nose! He knew you couldn't breathe with that fucking rag over your mouth for hours and hours! Oh, poor Pa!"
So she set to work on getting her hands free with new determination. Folding her slim body, she got her hands down under her bottom and up in front where she could use her teeth on the wrist ropes. It took a long time and left her limp and shaking. Her fingers wouldn't work very well, even after she rubbed and petted the stinging needles from them, but when her ankles were free, she lay down beside her dead father and cried until the hysteria sickened and faded away.
After that, she knew what she had to do.