Chapter 7
After a long weary time, she came to a portion of the city she half recognized. An electric clock in a darkened service station told Bonnie it was three fifteen in the morning. Her flats were worn through and she was cold, but she had walked away the soreness in her back place and a good deal of her anger. She couldn't think very well, and sometimes she had a small fit of sobbing.
Presently, she came to a very familiar corner. She stood back in the doorway of a store, ready to run if a police car appeared, and looked across the street toward where she was sure Joan Gilbert's apartment would be, two blocks away. Bonnie knew she had no business even thinking what she did, but somehow, it was exciting and warming to know that by knocking on her teacher's door, the immediate problem of weariness and hunger and worry was over.
The other alternative was neither promising nor pleasant, but just a few blocks farther on would bring her to the fringes of Sugartown and to a more realistic end of the horrible night. She had even decided that if they gave her too bad a time, she might pop with three or four of her hidden dollars, any desperate thing to buy her the comfort of her own cot and a chance to rest. Joan's apartment and warmth would be nicer, but it had complications. She and her mother would want to know everything, and Bonnie wasn't sure she could deny them right answers. She didn't feel very strong nor determined; one wrong word and the fuzz would be swarming in on Claw and Snake and Sam and no matter anybody's guilt or innocence, the fuzz would have Christmas banging on Black Panthers. With a huge sad sigh, Bonnie stepped out of the doorway and trudged on toward home.
She was so burdened with her own woes the police car was at the curb before she even saw the headlights. "Come here, young lady," a heavy voice commanded. The passenger cop had snapped open the door and he looked very formidable in his blue and brass and the egg-shaped helmet. Bonnie debated running, but he seemed to be ready to chase her and she was too foot sore to run. "What are you doing on the street at four o'clock in the morning? What's your name? Where do you live? Come on, speak up!"
She blinked. They were not Sugartown fuzz because both were white. They were just fuzz. "I got lost," she said. "Lost from where?"
"I-I live in Sugartown. I was on the bus from downtown and went to sleep. I went clear to the end of the line, mister, and didn't have the forty cents to get b-back. I'm all right. It is just a little ways farther, I think."
The officer turned and said something to his partner behind the wheel. Then he reached back and snapped open the rear door. "Get in," he said. When she obeyed, he closed the door but left the bright dome light on. "What's your name?" he demanded. "Bonnie."
"Full name and don't be smart." "Bonnie Price."
"Where do you live, Bonnie Price?"
"Four-ten Adler. With my father. He-he going to be some worried I'm not home. Could you take me home? My feet-" He turned back and began to talk into the hand-mike. She heard him ask questions, half words, half numbers. He consulted a clip-board with a swift running finger, then she was discussed some more. Finally, as the tears started to well up in her eyes, he said. "Will do. Ten four and out."
"Clean?" asked the driver.
"No want on her and no report. Jake says take her home and see that she gets into wherever she lives. They need another coon kid in juvenile like they need a hole in their head. Let's go."
"Adler is a tough street," the driver observed, and put the car in motion. "Been on special report since the Burnham killing."
The riding officer turned. "You know a black boy with a crooked hand? Call him Claw. Runs around with a fag called Snake Vinson."
"N-no sir. We don't have any t-truck with black cats."
This seemed to amuse him but he didn't ask any more questions until they pulled up in front of the house she pointed out.
"That dirty little shit-eating bitch!" Claw rasped. "She brought the fuzz in on us!"
Sam, half dozing on the sofa, leaped up and went to the window. They could see Bonnie sitting on the edge of the back seat while the law talked to her. But to Sam, it didn't look like Claw had guessed. It was not a special patrol, neither man was colored and there were no riot guns in evidence. And if Bonnie had de-gutted to them, they wouldn't be talking, they'd be charging.
"No sweat! They're just bringing her home. You and Snake split for the kitchen. I'll get pa!"
He dashed for the hall and turned the key of the bedroom. Ben, fully dressed and only half asleep, came to his feet. "She home?"
"Yeah-the fuzz brought her. Don't look like trouble, pa, but you better be ready to meet 'em at the door! Make like the worried father, and you make a mistake, Claw will kill you, y'understand?"
"Yes, yes," Ben gasped, rubbing his stubbled chin and trying to straighten his shirt. "You got her in trouble, didn't you?"
"Go on, man! There's no fucking time for talk!"
As his father stumbled forward, Sam eased back to the kitchen where Claw stood with his switchblade open, and Snake backed him up with the well-worn butcher knife. They had opened the small window over the battered sink but the screen was uncut.
"He got the scene straight or is he going to turn gray nigger?"
"He'll be all right. I keep telling you, man, pa's fine."
Then they went silent, crouching in the darkened kitchen, trying to hear. They heard Bonnie crying and Ben growling sympathetically, and then the cop was explaining about picking up the lost girl. Sam nudged Claw as the questions and answers came with innocent regularity. Then the cop, only one of them seemed to have come in with Bonnie-scolded Ben for letting his daughter roam the streets with no money and no supervision. Ben apologized; the cop was long-winded.
"We could take him," Claw whispered. "Get his gun-that what we need, his gun. We had a gun-" "Yeah," Snake hissed. "How we get the one outside?"
"I get the gun, I get the one outside," Claw growled.
"You get us all killed, that's what you'll get," Sam husked. "One shot, the fuzz be in off the streets like the goddamned army!"
"I had me a gun I could take care of them," Claw said, but Sam knew it was talk. Claw made no move, and presently they heard the front door slam. Sam moved through the house to peek, and when the patrol car moved away, he called his friends.
Ben was sitting on the sofa, his arms wrapped possessively around Bonnie, his lips caressing her forehead while she cried. For a moment, Sam was very angry, and when Claw and Snake came in, he nearly turned on. Then he realized that much, if not all of the trouble was as much his fault as theirs.
"What happened, bitch?" Claw demanded. "You bring us something?"
It was more like a secondhand shop for small cheap merchandise than a pawnshop. It was long and narrow and the walls were lined with sagging shelves, displaying everything from three-stringed guitars to piles of folded shirts and electric clocks that didn't keep time. The good stuff was in the back, half-good things in a small glass counter, the quality jewelry in the huge iron safe beside Nigger Jack's old roll-top desk. He conducted most of his business at the desk, his grossly fat body seldom leaving the battered swivel chair. Now he sat, fat eyes narrowed as he stared down at the old gold watch Bonnie had placed on the desk.
"Where's Ben?" he grunted.
"He home. He feeling bad. Didn't work all week, that's why he want to pawn the watch, so's we can eat," Bonnie explained.
"And that no-good brother of yours is too hot to go out beating coinboxes, huh?"
"Hasn't been home-for a week. Pa says you always loan him five bucks. Can I have it now, please?"
Nigger Jack leaned back and folded his huge black hands over his spotted vest. He looked at her so hard she felt his eyes like knives, cutting through her gingham dress and rubbing their glistening edges over every inch of her body. Bonnie didn't care. They had cursed her out and slapped her around, but in the end, they had let her go to bed and sleep for a few hours. It wasn't so much being tired from the harassing night as it was being hungry. Her plan to give Claw and Snake and Sam four dollars had been impossible. If she had gone to her secret hiding place they would have guessed that she'd had the money all along. In the end, they would have found it all, and Bonnie had been afraid because after five days, they had become viciously mean. Hungry, scared and killer mean. They had thumped her father half to death to get his watch, and now she stared back at Nigger Jack.
"Please," she said. "Pa'11 buy it back soon as he feeling better. Five bucks? " "Three," he said. "Gold getting worn mighty thin. You want to make up the extra duece, you say so."
She had expected that and had already made up her mind. "I guess so."
He thumbed over a fat shoulder. Bonnie nodded and walked around the desk. Nigger Jack got up with grunts and shuffling, then went to the front of the shop to lock up and put a closed sign on the door.
She knew some other Sugartown girls who had been thumbed to the pawnbroker's back room, but this was the first time she'd seen it. No wider than the shop, it was a dozen feet long, the space taken up with a three-quarter bed, badly sagged, a hot plate and a small tin sink. In one corner was a battered chest of drawers and Nigger Jack's clothes were piled, hung on nails in the plaster walls and tossed. Some dirty pictures of white girls were thumb-tacked to the back of the door. He came in and shut the door, towering above her, his bulk like a reared high bull. He put out a pudgy hand and felt of her neck with the fingers while his thumb rubbed her lips. The other hand took hold of her arm high up and his fingers dug into her moist armpit. He chuckled.
"How you want it?" she asked.
"How you do the best with it?" he countered.
"Two bucks?"
"Two bucks."
"Give it to me," she demanded, holding out a trembling hand.
He let go of her arm and brought two folded bills from a torn side pocket. Bonnie bent down and stuffed them into the instep of her shoe. Then she unbelted his pants, the buckle nearly buried in the flabby rolls of fat above and below the thin bell. She ran his zipper down and thrust her hand through the fly of his gray-white shorts. The smell of him was strong and when her hand shoveled out his huge half hard cock and his shortly sacked balls, the odor increased. He chuckled again and moved to sit down on the edge of the bed, fat thighs spread, his feet braced out. Bonnie knelt and began to frig him. The rolls of puffy foreskin were pinkish on the underside, and as she took them back, his prick shot forward, red-brown and sleekly shanked, to the thickening head. She rubbed the gray sebacious funk away with a thumb, shaking his penis so the small rolls of malodorous cock-cheese dropped to the floor. It was a funky prick, she thought and he was a dirty nigger, but to go home with only three dollars would have turned Claw and Snake into raging animals. She leaned down and took the cock in her mouth, surprised at how huge it was. Not so long, but fat, and it filled her mouth from cheek to cheek and made her drop her jaw as far as she could manage. She rolled her tongue around it, found the eye and made Nigger Jack twitch with sensation. A big hand came out and curled around her head, pulling her to his throbbing sex. It held her there, so she closed her whole mouth around the huge black club and worked her cheeks and tongue while she frigged the dry half of his cock.
"Hey now," he husked. "That's what I call paydirt!" He let go of her head and leaned back, panting, raising his fat belly so his cock seemed to gain length as it pushed up from the nest of layered groin. Not reluctant now, Bonnie came up to purse her lips around the coronal ridge, her fingers smearing her own saliva down the loose black skin to where the curly wool collared the sturdy root. A feeling she had known several times before came over her; the man above and the ugliness around her faded and she began to squirm with adoration for the pure shape of cock and the excitement it brought to her throat. She shuffled her knees apart and began to work her hips, seeming to feel the huge flesh rod in her cunt as deliciously as in her lips. She played the monstrous prick, running her fingers under to caress the thick tube through which she'd draw his jism, feeling of the cords and veins now standing out in furious response to her avid sucking. Her cunt, so deeply abused not a dozen hours before, became crawly and oozy, and she almost climbed up and on the thundering pole. Nigger Jack was beginning to hunch and urge, his fat body writhing on his massive buttocks, his thighs twitching and jerking when she did a particularly claiming thing with her mouth. Her fingers, no longer needing to frig the penis skin, moved under to feel of his balls and the fat rounds of his tensing ass. She began to need his cum; her cunt was gulping, convulsing, building tightness in tempo to his quicker twisting and urging. To sustain the tempo, to lick the pulsating column, turning her head to lave all sides and to lick the pulsating column, turning her head to lave all sides and shapes with her scarlet tongue. She had never seen a prick stand higher or stiffer, and she tensed it into even greater distension by tiny nibbles around the glans; playfully she put one nostril over the fish-mouth and distorted her broad nose with excited turnings, her tongue darting to touch the shaft with whipping fire.
"Aheioo!" Nigger Jack warned her.
Bonnie opened her mouth and went down on the jerkin' member as far as her throat would permit. She gurgled on it, feeling his balls tense, sensing the readiness of his nerves and glands. Then he gasped, and as he stiffened, she raised her head, dragging her lips over his cock shapes until she finished the long, forceful upstroke with her mouth pursed slightly open. The gigantic spew of his jism shot like a rocket into her lips, sliding back onto her tongue to be swallowed in one hasty gulp. But his penis did not spurt again. The cum boiled up and ran over the head, forming viscid streams as it flowed down his cock to soak into the deep wiry hair of his groin. She watched it in fascination, and her cunt exploded, as if the bubbling fountain were high and tight in her heaving belly. She vibrated, her hips jumped and sought something, and Bonnie fell forward, her face rubbing deep into the hair and fat, her lungs sucking in the odor of sweat and sex.
Nigger Jack patted her head, then with something nearly like affection, he rubbed his prick over her cheeks, smearing his cooling jism over her hot black skin. All he said was, "Three bucks, chick," and Bonnie started to cry. Remembering, despite the headiness that caused her feet to miss one curb, she bought fifty cents worth of heavily cut Mary from Grandma Moses, one of the old crone's newspapers, three cans of beer and two big paper sacks full of groceries. All for five dollars because the extra dollar Nigger Jack had given her was safely under the insole of her shoe. She spoke to several people who knew her, but at that afternoon hour, the colored kids she really knew were still in school. A passing police car full of grim-faced fuzz she ignored. Bonnie, felt strangely good, not counting her sore feet and belly hunger.
At least she could get Claw and Snake and her brother off her back, and she thought she knew how to make three bucks any time it was needed.
They tore into the sacks with frenzied fingers. Bonnie made three butterless sandwiches and took them into her father. When she went back out to get something for herself, the three were chewing voraciously with cheeks too full, washing the half-masticated bread and cheese and thinly cut ham down with gulps of beer. On the table were three fat joints, rolled and waiting to be enjoyed once their lean bellies were satisfied. Bonnie thought they were strangely quiet, but she was too hungry to ask why.
She did discover from Sam that the matter of the dead police officer was now a short column on page five, "-relentless search for the suspected killers, John 'Claw' Johnson, 21, and Paul 'Snake' Vinson, 19, is continuing on nearly a house to house basis in the predominately colored districts."
"See?" Claw asked Sam. "We are uptight, man!" "But I don't know where the broad lives, I told you!" "She knows. Don't you, chick?" "Know what?" Bonnie wondered.
"That bull dyke school teacher Sam was telling us about.
Where she live, baby?"
Bonnie's mouth dropped open and she stared at Sam with hot accusation in her eyes. "I-I don't know where she lives, I don't!"
Claw inhaled his reefer and laughed, the smoke dribbling from his lungs like the devil's breath. "You look, bitch. We need a new cover, see. We need to get out of Sugartown into white town, where the fuzz can't get in without a search warrant, and where they wouldn't think we were, anyway! Where she live, chick? Where her pad at?"
To Bonnie, each new trouble seemed worse than the last. Now she looked around at the trio, fed, high on pot and trying to hide their fright by sounding aggressively clever. Yarn's face was as cold as the others. He was one of them, softer because he was weaker, not because he was kinder. She could expect no help from him and Bonnie was very sure she was going to need some help from somebody very soon.
"You crazy," she said. "How three skinny old niggers going to get uptown without car-fare or a car? You get caught in whitey's district you get real hurt."
"Where does she live, chick? " Claw said, leaning forward to get up. "We get hurt any district."
"She's a teacher. She doesn't show at school in the morning, they are going to come see why," Bonnie tried again.
"Got a telephone, ain't she?" Snake asked. "We need a phone. Call some of our friends to make the scene with some bread and things."
"She lives with her mother, and she's a nice old lady!"
"White, ain't she? Chick, you stalling," Claw warned her.
"I am not stalling. I just am not going to tell you anything!"
"You ain't?" Claw demanded.
"No! I didn't tell the fuzz on you, why should I tell on her?"
For a moment, she thought she was winning; few people defied Claw without getting the full benefit of his rage, which meant the switchblade or at least a brutal mauling. He seemed a little taken aback by her standing up to him and it was Sam who came on then.
"Bonnie, you got to do what Claw says. We uptight and need some help," he said. "You ain't going to sell out that white dyke when we need help, are you?"
"You always need help," she said. "You banged pa around and took his watch. You send me out to hustle a buck any way I can. You always need help. Who do you help?"
"We got big things to do," Snake told her. "You want to be a nigger all your life?"
"What else could I be?" she asked, enthused by the apparent success of her defiance. "You going to make me into what?"
"Mush," Claw said and came after her.
She evaded his first grab by shooting under his bad hand. Sam laughed and so did Snake, their wits still soggy from the marijuana. But the look on Claw's face sent panic through Bonnie, and she ran down the hall and into her room. There was no lock on the door and she knew one would have been useless anyway. Claw could kick any one of the sagging old doors in the house off of its hinges. When she fell sobbing to the cot, he was right behind her, panting slightly from the exertion of chasing her. He caught one wrist and twisted, kinking her arm up behind so she turned in anguish. The back of his crippled hand smashed across her mouth. The instant taste of blood from a cut lip added to her panic.
"Claw! Oh no! D-don't hit me, don't! I do everything you want me to do, don't I? I just can't t-tell on her! She the only whitey ever nice to me. Claw!"
His laughter was like an animal snarl. He kneed down on her belly, forcing her legs apart, then kicked up into her crotch with his lean thigh. Bonnie let go a gasping yelp, and the back of his hand struck hard into her ribs. She sensed then, that he was trying to hurt her without marking her up; she was, after all, their only connection with the world outside the Price house and they weren't through needing her. Buffeted and pummeled, she clamped her jaw and clung to her private determination not to reveal Joan's address. She could take everything the three Panthers would dish out, but she shuddered in genuine terror at what might happen if the trio ever got to Joan and her mother.
Claw was down on her now, thumping with elbows and kicking up at her flailing legs with his bony knees. He kept demanding to know where, "-the pink bitch lives" and Bonnie thrashed and evaded some blows and kept her mouth tightly closed. Presently, she thought his viciousness was changing. He was in a rage, but he seemed to only intend to flatten her, to control her twisting and struggling. Then she discovered why. His cock was a furiously hard ridge in his trousers and his movements on her were hunches and jerks. The struggle, the feel of her body under him had betrayed his anger, and Bonnie changed her own resistance, hoping to excite him into at least temporarily forgetting Joan Gilbert. Bruised and hurting, she began to move to his groin, and her legs came up to scissor around his hips. She forced a giggle.
He stared straight into her face, his nostrils flaring with the rush of different breath. Then he raised his hips and Bonnie went after his prick, her fingers managing the zipper of his pants in a flash. The instant the throbbing black flesh came to her palm, she giggled again, suddenly not afraid of him any longer. He slid back onto his knees and let his trousers drop low around his legs. Bonnie took the minute to wriggle out of her crotch-wet panties, then to increase the spell, she opened her legs until the tendons ached and fucked up at his hot gaze. To her surprise, it felt very good because despite his mauling attack, there remained some tingles and tensions from her visit to Nigger Jack. And because pain and brutality had been a big share of her life, and sex had been another, her harassed mind melted them together, and she reached for Claw, suddenly as hot as he was.
It was, Joan thought, certainly an ill wind that did not blow some good to somebody, and Bonnie's four days of absence, no matter the reason, had afforded Joan exactly the respite she needed. She had not put a hand on a little girl all week. If she had looked once or twice, because there were several other bright-eyed, lush-bodied girls in her class, there had been the memory of Sam Price to which she turned, and the ever-present consolation of the black rubber dildo under the corner of her mattress.
Her fears about being pregnant from Sam had to be postponed for a week or so; it was a tiny, buried worry but in no way as frightening as her recently discarded fears that she was a confirmed Lesbian. She was sure now, that she was a confirmed nothing. Out of doubt and concern had come certainty. As long as she had the rubber darling, she was free of her incredible urges to make love to little girls, and she was equally free of need for a man.
There was still the secret between her mother and her, but Joan could see no reason why the inventive addition to the spinning wheel needed to remain a secret forever. If there was a problem, it was the persistent urge to slowly and cleverly let her mother know that her daughter had also subscribed to the pacifying thrill of masturbation. Time and again, she had tried to plot some subtle beginning, some warm, appreciative moment that would bring them together in mutual understanding of the spinning wheel, the rubber riot stick, and the uselessness of continued sexual apartness. For years, they had shared everything and Joan desperately wanted to share this last, most important excitement. Forever, then, they could go on as they were, happy with each other and independent of the world.
The wish that they could play together always became strongest when Joan fitted her key to the apartment door after her day of work. Now, more than at any other time of the day, she needed to relax and be happy, to forget the petty problems and strains of teaching a large class of nearly unruly children things they might never appreciate. Instead, she was by propriety, required to say and do the necessary things until bedtime, and then, the private excitement of her rubber darling. Even then, it was lonely, at least until the tensions in her cunt and the tingles in her tits lifted her out of speculation and longings.
For a moment, she stood with her back to the door, listening to the whir and clack of the handloom. Instead of going in for her greeting and to plant a kiss on her mother's forehead, Martha should be running to her, bright-eyed, excited and expectant. They should be hugging and kissing and feeling, with the soft anticipations and an hour or so of passion and complete abandonment to the potentials of their similar sex. Joan shuddered with delight at the distension of her thoughts; they could run around the apartment naked, touching, kissing breast tips and exploring the intricacies of each other. The flush rising at these thoughts was almost too exciting to stand so she went back to her mother's room and entered with her usual cheery wave and kiss.
"Hi, Mom," Joan sighed, her eyes sweeping Martha's lush shapes with secret approval. "Heck of a day. How was yours?
"Not good, darling. I've only made a few inches on this pattern. I-I seem to be nervous, as if I were waiting for something and I know very well I'm not! Come on, let's go into the kitchen and I'11 make us tea. I think, if you promise not to tell the Ladies Auxiliary, that there might even be a touch of medicinal brandy on the top shelf! It might-relax both of us, don't you think?"
"I won't tell the Ladies Auxiliary," Joan laughed. "I keep secrets very well!"
Martha slid her arm around Joan's waist as they moved toward the kitchen. "I know, darling," she said. "You're the very bestest daughter in the world! I'm surprised that some nice man hasn't whisked you away from me to the altar, but I suppose you have something worked out in your own mind." She sighed. "Women alone have a great deal to contend with."
A violin string in Joan's spine hummed suddenly. "It sometimes takes-a little time and thought to learn to contend, doesn't it?"
Martha, tea kettle in hand, turned and looked straight at Joan.
"I've thought about it-for days," she said quietly. "You aren't ashamed of me, darling?"
"Why should I be ashamed of you, Mama?"
Martha lighted the gas under the teakettle "You came home one morning, last week, didn't you, dear?"
"Yes, Mama." Joan tensed to leap into her mother's embrace; Martha moved a few feet away and stood looking out the kitchen window.
"At first it seemed adventurous, exciting," she said. "I was younger then, and your father had been dead only a year or so. Oh, Joan, you can't imagine-well, very soon it was something I had to do, almost every day! I even got around to telling myself that my good health and, for my age, my good figure, were the results of having-some sort of continuing sex life. But that wasn't really my motivation. Oh dear!" Martha turned around and faced Joan. "The unadulterated truth, darling, is that, Ladies Auxiliary be goddamned, I am just a dirty old woman who likes to fuck herself with a nine-inch dildo!"
Joan giggled. "I'll show you mine, Mama, if you won't scoff! I almost tried yours but it scared me! Oh, Mom, this is so-so wonderful! I wanted so to let you know-" Then they embraced, their kiss beginning as a sterile, mother-daughter thing, then as Joan's insides began to boil, she opened her lips and sent her tongue into Martha's mouth. Her hands filled with the softness of her mother's back, then she slid her hands down and cupped them possessively around the firm, tensing nates. She felt her tits deform against the hugeness of Martha's and they squirmed together.
"Oh, my God," her mother breathed. "Let's-do something!"
They had seen each other naked many times, but this was different. They stood hardly a yard apart and watched each other strip, each adoring the charms of the other, with soft words and quickly caressive fingers. While Joan stared, shocked with the suddenly strange beauty of her mother, Martha took down her hair, letting the silvery cascade hang over her rounded shoulders and huge, nearly pendulous tits. Joan, who had only seven days before gone half out of her mind for the slim, childish shape of Bonnie, abruptly surrendered to the out-curve of her mother's belly and the thickly grown hair that blanketed her low abdomen and fleshy inner thighs. The. cunt she had seen perforated by the gigantic dildo now seemed to pout and moisten, quivering in its exotic boldness and lending erotic tints to the exciting crotch shape. Her body trembled heavily, shaking her own tits and spreading the fire that exploded in her belly.
As Joan half sagged, stricken with massive involuntary orgasm, Martha moved forward and enveloped her with a lust of cushiony flesh. "Baby, what-" Joan gasped and mewled and lay her head on Martha's shoulder. "Sorry, mom, I just popped my cookies!"
"Dirty talk," Martha murmured. "Oh, my God, how necessary it is to talk dirty! I used to stand in front of the mirror and finger-fuck myself and talk dirty and think about your dear, dear father! He had a cock eight inches long, baby, and I n-never let him wash it-he never had to! Are you all right, baby?" "Y-yes. Hoo boy!"
"Like in a dream, isn't it? Oh dear. Do-do something for me, now!"
It wasn't like Joan had imagined it could be. It wasn't calm and light-hearted, nor was it a casual sharing of individual delights; They sank to the bed together, and while Martha lay, seemingly atrophied with demanding emotions, Joan let her mouth play avidly over her mother's tits, testing the brittle nipples, holding great rounds of tit flesh in her mouth and letting her crotch crawl over one of the spread thighs. She inhaled the sweet odor of Martha's flesh, licking under the slightly perspiring tits, soaking in a sea of sensualism until she turned heady with revived desires. Her hand moved to her mother's groin, tousling the thick hair, hesitating before her fingers moved to the monstrous, gaping vagina, feeling the heavy lips, and the blood-gorged clitoris between them. Martha groaned, twitching. Joan let her mouth smear down over her mother's belly, then with a gasp of eagerness, she plunged her mouth into Martha's cunt and her tongue ran deeply, licking the throbbing tissues, seeking the hot secret folds to move and explore them.
Martha began to moan and half cry, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her urging to her daughter's adept cunnilingus. Her hands groped for Joan's head and she scrubbed the saliva-flowing mouth into her cunt, kicking her legs out to broaden the hunching valley. Then Joan pushed one hand under the bobbing rounds of Martha's ass and began to squeeze the flaccid rounds, moving her fingers furiously as they crept to the deep crevice and into the perspiring crack.
"Oh, baby, baby!" Martha husked, and Joan's finger, nudging into her mother's anus, became insistent, rubbing, stretching and finally entering the winking pucker. In a moment of clarity, Joan compared the hard rosebud of Bonnie's asshole to the less-than-young tension of the eager rectum she penetrated. She thrust her index finger in a full two joints and Martha writhed, humped down and screwed herself onto the searching finger with frenzied desire.
"Fuck me, baby, fuck me!" Martha cried. "Oh, God, that's g-good! Hurt, hurt, hurt me, Joanie!"
"Can you cum, Mama?" Joan asked, raising her head while her finger fucked deep and rotated in the milking rectum.
"Oh Joanie, no-yes, in a moment, just a 1-little m-more!"
Joan slowly slipped her index finger out of Martha's asshole and then closed her middle finger to the slick, slim shape of her index finger, and with turning, wedging pressure, thrust both fingers up her mother's ass. The extra thickness, the shock of stretching, caused Martha to yelp in lewd glee, and Joan got her mouth back to her mother's cunt as the older woman screeched and became a jerking, thrashing dervish. Her cunt seemed to open and threaten to turn inside out in Joan's mouth, the flush of glandular exudence mingled with saliva and Joan's mouth, the flush of glandular exudence mingled with saliva and Joan's tensions made her cough, her throat convulsing with overwhelming joy. While Martha lay moaning and trembling, Joan rubbed her cunt to the bedspread and had a second, spine-snapping orgasm, and after that, they crawled together, hands and lips feeling and sucking, once again separating into two bodies and two minds.
"Oh, Mama, Mama, we waited-so long!" Joan wailed. Martha only laughed, a low, throaty mirth that vibrated her body and Joan's, and didn't sound tired nor reluctant nor regretful at all.