Chapter 4
It turned out that Willis wasn't dead, but it was serious.
"I seen 'em like this once before—after he tried to do more push-ups than anyone," one of the cons said. "He was in the infirmary for a month after that. We gotta get him a doc or he'll croak."
A silence followed. I could tell by their faces that some of them were thinking, so what?
After all, hadn't Willis stated that he didn't care at all if he was shot down like a dog? What difference could it make if he went some other way?
In the meantime I had struggled out from beneath Willis' collapsed body and was making coffee for the rest of the cons. I wanted to remain inconspicuous during this time of stress and I figured the best way to do this was to resume playing the role of typical housewife.
"Oh, shit, lookit'm," one of the gang said with disgust, ending the silent deliberation. "He's a goner. Bringing a doc here is too much of a risk and the sucker'll probably kick the bucket, anyway. We got more important fish to fry than Willis."
"Such as?" someone inquired, expressing my sentiments exactly.
"Either we choose up a new head-guy and go through with the original escape plan or we split up right here and now and it's every man for himself," the man stated his position.
"But the last thing we can afford is to stand around tryin' to make up our minds like a buncha gossipy dames."
However, his opinion just made the men more confused. They were used to being led, not making up their own minds. They were beginning to realize that, as ludicrous a figure as he sometimes seemed, Chuck Willis was the glue that held them together. They'd still be back serving hard-time in the state pen were it not for him. Consequently they were innately suspicious of any appeal to their self-reliance.
"You know a doctor, lady?" the rebel recognized and broke through the thin ice of independence on which he'd been standing and began swimming with the school again. "I don't know what came over me—we gotta save Chuck."
The others were made comfortable by this return to the fold of the dissenter in their midst.
All of a sudden I was on the spot, expected by five desperate convicts to come up with the name of a doctor who could attend to their fallen leader.
"There's, uh, well—my p-pediatrician," I finally summoned a response, "but I think he plays golf on Wednesday. This is W-Wednesday, isn't it?"
They agreed it was, so Dr. Berry was off the hook.
"Who else?" somebody demanded.
I racked my brain. There had never "been any serious illnesses in our family. Periodic check-ups were about the only reason any of us ever saw a doctor.
The idea of check-ups made me think of Dr. Knox, but he was a dentist. He'd no more know what to do about a heart attack victim than a plumber.
I was under more and more pressure to come up with something. All of their frustration was focusing on me and if I didn't think fast there was no telling what might happen.
Then one of them was bright enough to start getting specific. The kid again. "When was the last time anybody in your family was really sick?" he asked.
I thought about it. Last December and it was me. I felt I had no alternative but to tell them about it.
"What was it?" somebody barked from the rear.
"Uh, f-female problems," I stammered.
"And who did you see?"
"Well, uh, my gynecologist, of course. Dr. V-Vincent."
"Call him!"
I tried to protest that Dr. Vincent had been so long out of medical school specializing in gynecology that he probably wasn't even sure anymore just where the human heart was located, since it had nothing to do with the female reproductive organs. However, I stifled this caution when it met with unyielding resistance. These guys wanted Dr. Vincent in this house, pronto.
I phoned the doctor with a gun to my head. Under the circumstances, it was amazing how steady my voice was, as I told the nurse how my vagina was hemorrhaging and could Dr.
Vincent get over here as quickly as possible. It's astounding how the threat of a bullet through the brain can clean up one's act.
"Can't you get to the hospital, Mrs. Haley?" the nurse insisted on trying to save her boss some extra work. "Housecalls are generally against Doctor's policy."
The muzzle of the gun pinched the skin of my temple with twisting emphasis of my precarious mortality. My brains were just one false move from being all over the floor.
"IT'S AN EMERGENCY!" I shrieked into the phone. "CHRIST, I'M BLEEDING TO DEATH FROM BETWEEN MY LEGS!"
"Oh, uh, I see," the nurse reacted timidly. "Doctor will be over as soon as he can."
I breathed a well-deserved sigh of relief as I put the phone on the hook. "He's on his way," I announced. "Anybody want some coffee?"
Five minutes later we were all in the kitchen, drinking coffee just like a bunch of neighborhood housewives with nothing better to do. I'd passed away many a morning like this, but never with a gang of escaped convicts.
The doorbell rang and everybody jumped, assuming it was Dr. Vincent. I, however, looked at the clock on the stove. It had been too short a time between when I'd called his office and now for the doctor to show up. Probably if I answered the door it would be to greet some poor soul who had inadvertently stumbled into a nest of vipers.
"I'll get it," I started for the door.
"Nothin' funny," somebody growled. "We'll be right behind you, with the gun pointed at your back."
I opened the door and I was right. Standing there was not Dr. Vincent, but a delivery boy from the local nursery with a potted begonia in his hands.
First, I recalled how I had purchased the plant earlier in the week on a shopping excursion and it was supposed to be delivered. Second, I noticed how severely the boy's hands were trembling, placing him on the verge of dropping the pot.
Did he already know something? I had to be careful how I handled this. Scared people do funny things and if this delivery boy suddenly broke loose there promised to be an awful lot of wild shooting.
"Why don't you just set the pot down on the porch and I'll go get you a tip," I said.
He dropped the pot. The crash seemed enormous. I prayed the desperate criminals at my rear would not mistake it for a gunshot and retaliate with me in their line of fire.
"Oh, you dropped my begonia plant," I hastily explained for the benefit of the convicts massed behind me. And then, not making any sense at all, except to them, "I was expecting my gynecologist."
For some reason the delivery boy seemed far more attuned to this ostensibly bizarre statement than I had anticipated. "I-I guess that explains it," he finally mumbled, obviously trying to look away from me but fixated nonetheless.
"Explains what?" I asked sharply, very anxious to get rid of him.
He thought about it for a moment. Thought about whether he should say what he was going to say. His decision made, he blurted it.
"Why you're not wearing any clothes! You're as naked as a jay-bird, ma'am!"
I looked down at myself with alarm. Of course I was nude. The convicts and I had gotten so used to it that we hadn't given it a thought when I went to answer the door.
I suddenly blushed. This was too much. Answering the door in the raw for a delivery boy. I temporarily forgot about my life being in danger and concentrated on how demeaning this was.
"Are you really waiting for your gynecologist, ma'am?" the delivery boy chidingly interrupted my humiliation. His attitude had clearly changed.
"What do you mean?"
"You knew I was coming by with your begonia sometime this week."
"I beg your pardon."
"I was just thinking—maybe you got a little horny and answered the door like this for me."
"For what possible purpose?" I tried to drive him away with a withering glare.
He didn't answer verbally at first. Instead, he dropped his hand down to the crotch of his tight jeans and stroked the taut bulge there. "This!" he finally said.
"Do you mean that you think I want to fuck you?" I asked incredulously.
"Why not?" he shrugged. "I'm willing, if you are."
The convicts, of course, were eavesdropping on all this. I had no way of knowing how they were reacting, until I heard one of them hiss, "Do it!"
"D-did I h-hear somebody inside say s-something?" the delivery boy abruptly lost his nerve.
"No," I reassured him, "that was just my cat hissing at something."
The scenario was clear now. I was supposed to give in to this punk kid and haul him in and fuck him, as the easiest way to get rid of him. Leave it to a bunch of men to come up with a solution like that.
But what could I do but play the role that had been picked out for me? If I wanted to keep on breathing I had to let these thugs call the shots for me.
"Hey, don't lose your boner," I said to the delivery boy. "I told you it was just my cat. My husband's at work. My kids are in school."
Fear departed, replaced by a big grin. "Then I was right? You want to fuck me?"
"You better believe it," I somehow transformed a sigh into vibrant rasp. Then I grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him inside, kicking the door closed behind us.
Shielding the boy from a view of the kitchen with my naked body in case the convicts were still amassed there, I guided him toward Bill's and my bedroom. On the way, I unzipped his pants and started pulling out his stiff dick.
By the time we hit the bed, I had his cock and balls all the way out. I stuck his long slender tool in my mouth and went down on him, while I pulled his jeans from his legs.
It was a young prick and a tasty one. Even though I had implemented this seduction out of cold-blooded calculation, perhaps it might provide a welcome interlude from being held hostage by a ruthless band of escaped convicts.
Switching off all other knowledge of the present, I concentrated on the delivery boy's hard- on as though it were the sum-total of the universe. It was a defense-mechanism that only a woman could employ.
This cock in my mouth became everything to me. The meaning of my existence. I had to handle it perfectly.
Suck it down to the root, twisting my lips around the top of my lover's scrotum. Deep-throat him until I gagged.
Oooooh, his prick was moving in my throat like a fish out of water. Choking with pleasure on his immense cock, I reflexively inundated his tool with hot, searing licks.
He loved it. A lifetime of delivering begonias might never bring another fantasy-come-true like this. This was a delivery boy's greatest moment.
"Oh, baby, you can suck my prick anytime!" he trumpeted the news of his abject glee. "I love the way it makes you gag."
He'd like the way it felt in my tight but juicy cunt even better. I had totally transcended my inhibitions and was dying for him to fuck me.
Pulling my lips from his cock, I left a sheen of spit for the swiftest of penetration between my legs. I wanted him to stab to the hilt in my pussy as though he were wielding a sword.
I rolled over on my back and spread my legs. My cunt flexed at the center of my thighs like a hairy fist. It felt like a festering wound, inflamed with fever.
"Do it to me!" I urged the delivery boy. "Fuck the bored housewife the way you've been dreaming about it. Stick your cock in my cunt and fuck me. Hard!"
Before he could prong me, he had to stop and drool. He looked at my gaping twat the way a hungry six-year-old ogles a piece of birthday cake. At his age he'd probably seen some pussies, but never one as good as mine. After all, I was close to being a real blonde.
I eventually had to stop the gawking by scissoring him with my legs and yanking him abruptly toward me. When he fell forward, his cock hit the bull's eye on the first thrust.
All of a sudden inch after inch of hard male cock was surging up my cunt. The phallic descent into the maw of my loins was slick and sure, as neat an incision as could have been made by a surgeon's scalpel.
I kept my legs wrapped around the delivery boy's waist, jamming him at the spine until his cock was within me to the hilt. The pulsing head was filling my womb. The smooth balls were rolling against my pussy lips.
It would have been easy at this point to just lie there, obligatorily twitching my ass while awaiting the inevitable. The delivery boy was already having the time of his life and he was going to come like a geyser no matter what I did. And then, after I'd wiped the dew off his cock I could get rid of him and win another reprieve from a bullet in the brain.
However, something within me was too much woman to take the easy way out. After all, when she's fucking, a woman's satisfaction is on the line. If I had realized this during all my years of marriage to Bill, maybe we wouldn't have wound up so bored with one another.
In other words, I wanted to do more with this boy than merely service him. Blow his mind, would be more like it.
So I put a hand between us and slid my fingers under his scrotum and up into the crack of his sweaty ass. His anus was there waiting for me to attack and I did so with three digits.
I gouged down against his youthful prostate, stimulating the very core of his sexuality. It must have made his balls feel as if they'd suddenly been hot-wired.
I still had a free hand, so I used it to cup the back of my teenage lover's head and push his face into my tits. "Suck 'em!" I intensely ordered.
His tongue went right to the nipples. Mmmmmm, his taste-buds were so raspy and my tits so ultra-sensitive. I started orgasming in the breasts in addition to the continuous climax between my legs.
We grooved like this for several moments, getting the absolute most from each other.
Whenever the delivery boy would seem on the brink of coming, I would relieve my combined pressures just enough to keep the stopper in. I was determined that when his nuts finally gave way to the ocean of cream bursting their seams, V, alone would have willed the action.
Eventually I decided it was time for some liquid fireworks. My three fingers in my lover's ass became the talons of an eagle's claw, digging into his swollen prostate gland. Then, with a lurch, I pulled out. There was a sound like a champagne cork popping.
The delivery boy's balls slammed together. His cock stabbed to new depths. The boy himself groaned as though an arrow had just pierced his shoulder-blades. And then he came.
The youthful sperm gushed into me, swirling to the depths of my womb. The copious moisture triggered something at the core of my being and I experienced an overwhelming orgasm to go with my lover's cum.
The jizz backed up in my pit of love and then came charging back out. Even though the delivery boy's cock remained in my pussy, the goo came pouring down my thighs, drenching the bedding.
When the boy finally withdrew his prick, I was flat on my back, moaning with satisfaction. I didn't want to get it over with anymore. I was prolonging my climax as long as possible, stalling before I had to return to the grim reality of the convicts.
Where were they, anyway? Watching like a bunch of peeping toms through the door?
Peering through the orgasmic haze, I uncontrollably glanced toward the door. I had a feeling fate was about to creep up on me again.
There they were. The hallway was dark, but I could see their eyes darting back and forth.
The pack of rats.
"Ssssst-ssssst," one of them hissed for my attention.
The delivery boy overheard it and jumped. "Wha-what w-was that?" he stammered with alarm, apparently certain my husband had come home to kill him. If only the danger had been so mundane.
Holding my hand behind my back, I gestured clandestinely for restraint from the cons.
Things could get messy if they weren't kept in their place and I'd have to assume that responsibility as long as their regular leader, Willis, was comatose in the kitchen.
"Did you hear a noise?" I asked the boy.
"Yes-"
"Sssssst."
"—there it is again!"
Damn fools, I angrily thought. Why don't they shut up and leave it to me?
"Oh, that noise," I coolly forced myself to giggle like a silly schoolgirl, simultaneously afflicting myself with the deep blush of simulated embarrassment. "I-I'm afraid I made that little noise."
"How?" I'd never seen anybody look more perplexed.
"I farted. It always happens when I get a deep fuck from a well-hung stud. Can't help it."
He bought it hook, line and sinker. In fact, a little too enthusiastically for my taste.
"Do it again!" he excitedly urged, drool flapping from his lips. "I've never been with a chick this far-out. Boy, you older dames are really something."
Believe me, I'd have been a lot more pleased if he'd flattered me about something besides farts. However, I knew from reading it in Cosmopolitan or someplace that in the heat of passion some males were turned on by the inner vapors of their woman's ass. Different strokes for different strokes, I rationalized my distaste away.
"Ssssst," my fibrillating asshole replicated the hisses from the hallway.
"Yeah, that's it!" the delivery boy announced excitedly.
A wave of stench arose from the nexus of my flanks and blanketed the bed. The boy wiggled his nose as though he were a hungry rabbit.
"Like it?" I asked, just barely concealing my anxiety.
"I hadn't smelled it before," he replied, "but yyyuuuummmmm. I'd eat through ten pounds of shit to get where that came from!"
I immediately recognized the venue to the stalling of the convicts I wanted to do. "Why don't you see if you have to," I trilled and spread open the cheeks of my ass before his eyes.
"What an asshole," his mouth watered. "Jesus, it's prettier than your cunt."
"See any shit?" I coquettishly asked.
"Not a speck," his voice oozed, as he ran a fingertip around the puckering knot of my anus. "It's all pink and shiny. I've never seen anything cleaner."
"Why don't you taste it?" I suggested. "I'm sure I could find some use for about six inches of tongue up my ass."
To make him my prisoner, I did a quick flip over onto all fours and presented him with my splayed backside as though I were a bitch in heat. Now my flexing asshole was confronting the delivery boy on eye-level.
He fell to the gape of my butt. Suddenly my asshole was smothered with kisses, coating the outer rim with a slick coat of spit.
Lubricating spit that provided the liquid ball-bearings for the abrupt thrust of the delivery boy's rigid tongue. Within seconds I had my six inches and his teeth gnashing against my asshole.
"Get it all wet and wide in there, sonny boy," I called from in front while he reamed me out.
"Because you're going to have your prick instead of your tongue in there before you know it."
Boy, that got him excited. His tongue started to quiver in my ass like an erotic tuning-fork. I could feel the tremors all the way to the depths of my colon.
"Come on," I urged, "do it harder. Really make it sloppy in there."
The tongue got hold of itself and resumed probing. At the same time the muscle expanded, its force widening the walls of my rectum. A stallion would be able to get his hard-on inside me after this boy got through tongue-fucking my ass.
During this process, I glanced over toward the hallway. The beady eyes were still there.
But at least their owners were mollified enough by the hot action on the bed to keep from messing up the works.
My plan was ingenious. By getting all the sex from the delivery boy I could, I was not only experiencing orgasm after orgasm, I was possibly delaying another meeting with the cons.
After all, wasn't Dr. Vincent supposedly on his way? What if he showed up while the gang was still absorbed in watching me hump the delivery boy? In the confusion I might get away.
And going even further back than the summons to my gynecologist, there was that shot Willis had fired through the roof. Maybe somebody had heard it and called the law. The police might have deduced that the escaped convicts for whom they were looking were holding me hostage. A circle of heavily armed cops might be surrounding the house right at this moment.
So I slowed down the pace and just let the delivery boy groove on my ass with his tongue as much as he wanted. The longer he took, the better I liked it. Whenever I became temporarily impatient for expanded action, I just reminded myself that my life was at stake.
However, there's no way a woman can keep a horny male's cock out of her anus forever if she's already issued the invitation for an ass-fuck. Eventually the delivery boy had enough of his oral preparations and was ready to go to work on my spasming rectum with his hard prick.
I took his penetration with a heavy sigh at first. But then the cock started to pour into my ass like molten lead and I screamed bloody murder.
Just imagine if I'd done that under any circumstances other than sex with these barbaric escaped convicts around. They'd have blown my head off for making so much noise, assuming I was insubordinately crying out for help. But in bed—with several inches of cock fucking my ass-they just took it for granted that a woman should scream her guts out like an unruly animal.
I did the bloody-murder number again, enjoying the squall I was raising. Signaling for help and articulating the primal joy of anal orgasm at the same time was sort of like combining business with pleasure.
Those horny convicts were drooling for the cum-shot now. This had become a 3-D pornographic movie to them by now. You might say they were avidly anticipating the climax.
I picked up the cons' vibes in the air. I sensed that they were so wrapped up in the action on the bed that a helicopter full of cops could be landing on the roof and they wouldn't be any the wiser.
However, one crucial variable of my equation did not materialize. My ears did not pick up any sign of concern of the outside world for my safety from a police helicopter on down. I had succeeded in getting this pack of wolves at bay and now there was nobody there to throw a net over them.
... Not even one lousy knock on the door.
Then, suddenly, I forgot about my troubles. The delivery boy was getting ready to come. I could feel his cock expanding in my ass and his balls charring like charcoal briquettes against the tender inner flesh of my splayed buns. Above, he was grunting like a weightlifter.
"Come in me, you little bastard!" I shrieked. "Fill my ass!" On this yell I had no thought of outsiders. It was just for me.
His cock erupted on cue. It was flinging hot rivets into my bowels, whacking the shit from its moorings. I was gurgling inside like I'd swallowed an overdose of Ex-Lax.
It all felt so excruciatingly good.
Those horrendous internal convulsions that seemed to extend up and down my alimentary canal from my tonsils to my asshole and back and forth again a dozen times.
The cum that had spread like scalding honey in my colon. I felt like I had been corn-holed by a bee-hive.
The orgasm seemed to be some sort of monster who had devoured all the preceding climaxes in order to make itself all-powerful. Jesus, I had never dreamed I could come this hard!
And last but not least, those eyes watching my every move from the hall as though I were the queen of the movie stars. I could feel them, too.
Finally the whole ball of wax became too much for me. My orgasm rocketed me over the edge of consciousness and I passed out.
I never even heard the knock on the door when it finally came.