Chapter 1
Janet Evans folded her dark-blue slacks over her arm and laid them in the suitcase on the bed. She glanced about the bedroom and could think of nothing else she'd need to take along with her for the three-day trip.
It didn't make much sense to her for each of them to take a separate piece of luggage for such a short stay, but her husband had already packed his. Russ's case was in the corner, by the door. And Penny had packed right after dinner, before rushing out of the house to go tell her friend, Shirley, goodbye.
Janet felt a quick tightening inside her, a twinge of apprehension that made her squeeze her inner thighs against her pussy lips and close her cunt gap to a thin, nearly impenetrable slit. Penny had seemed just a little too anxious to go over to Shirley's tonight. It wasn't as if they'd be apart for the next three months. Three days just wasn't all that long, no matter how close friends you were.
Then why the anxiousness, the insistence to hurry over there?
Janet sucked in her breath and held it, her firm, pointed tits thrusting against the thin housecoat. Her nipples itched suddenly. She squeezed her thighs more tightly together, as if the act would close up her daughter's virginal pussy just as tightly and render ft just as impenetrable.
She knew the answer. It wasn't Shirley that Penny had gone to see in such a rush. It was Shirley's brother, Bert. It had to be.
Janet slammed the lid down on the suitcase. The latches clicked sharply in the still room. She turned away and went to her dressing table. She yanked a hairbrush through her cropped blond strands until the tugging hurt, and then she kept doing it, wincing.
She saw her big tits jiggle firmly and pointedly inside the housecoat with each movement of her arm. She watched them in the mirror, seeing the way they made the thin material strain shamefully, lewdly, giving her a wanton look, a come-fuck-me appearance, whether she wanted it or not.
Her tits . . .
Her damn big, pointed, suckable, stiff-nippled, lust-whetting tits. The same tits Penny was growing on her fifteen-year-old chest right now.
Damn the genetic curse of these big tits! she cried inwardly, her face twisting with rage.
She banged the hairbursh down. She stared at the cone-shaped thrusts in the mirror, seeing the way they stood so prominently from her chest. They were aimed slightly outward, as if trying to sweep in all the lustful, leering stares they could.
She saw the nipples punching out against the material-stiff nubs that were nearly the size of the first joint of her finger. Nubs that never contracted never shrunk to the respectable, normal-sized bumps that other nipples did.
The nubs stayed full and erect and pointing, as if telling the world she was in constant heat, ready to have them sucked and fondled, ready to have the rest of her ripe body felt and fucked.
And Penny's tits were just the same-just the same . . .
Janet closed her eyes and sucked in her breath, pulling the housecoat tightly around her breasts. A flash of memory blazed across the back of her mind.
She jumped, her eyes popping open. Breath exploded from her lungs with a sharp puff. She forced the memory from her mind quickly. She turned from the mirror and hurried into the bathroom.
She made herself wonder where Russ was, what he was doing. If they were going to leave early in the morning, he'd better come to bed. And Penny had better get home before her thrusting young tits caused it to happen again-to her this time, just the way . . .
She looked at herself quickly in the bathroom mirror. She'd already slipped her housecoat from her body without even thinking. It was hanging on the little hook she used when she came into the bathroom to undress every night.
She saw her naked image in the mirror. She saw the nightie dangling from the tips of her fingers. She turned her head with a quick gasp and glanced at the bathroom door.
At least she'd remembered to close it before undressing. Otherwise, Russ might come in and see her naked body and want to . . .
Janet swallowed. She didn't know how she was going to put him off. He'd want to fuck her tonight for sure. He'd argue that they wouldn't have the chance while they were in the motel room with Penny. He'd remind her that it had been two weeks since the last time she'd let him fuck her.
He'd be wrong, of course. He frequently miscounted. Actually, it had been two weeks and a day. If she could somehow get out of it again tonight, and then claim when they got back that she was too tired after the trip, then-then she might be able to stretch it to three weeks before he made her!
Janet licked her lips. Three whole weeks!
Three weeks without feeling him paw her body, her big tits. Without having to listen to his impassioned gasps. Without feeling his hard cock rape into her dry, tight pussy and blast his nasty, smelly, sticky sperm into her.
Three weeks! Could she do it? Could she stretch it somehow to four? To five?
The nightie dangled from her fingertips. Her eyes slid from her youthful, curving, big-titted image, focusing absently on a spot of something on the counter.
She scraped at the spot with her nail and lifted her gaze again, looking into her own eyes, trying, it seemed, to look behind the blueness of them into the depths of her mind.
Something was wrong with her. Still wrong with her. She knew it, but she couldn't change.
That was no way to think about a husband. Not if you were normal. Not when he was handsome and decent and patient and kind. And as loving as he could be with a wife whose main preoccupation was with how long she could get by at a time without being fucked.
Janet's face wrinkled. She let a sob bubble up in the back of her throat. She let her gaze travel over her reflection. She saw the pert little nose, the full lips, the even, white teeth just showing between them.
She saw the slim column of her neck, the good slope of her shoulders that led to the rise of her tits. She saw the firm cones themselves, the pointed ends capped by the big, stiff nipples.
She looked at the narrow pinch of her waist, the still-flat plane of her tummy, the flare of her hips, and the round, tight pout of her full ass.
She saw the patch of golden fuzz over her mound and could see the puffy swells of her cunt lips and the narrow, tight cleft between them.
The edge of the counter prevented her from seeing the trim thighs and tapering legs, but she didn't have to see them to know they were good, nearly flawless in their lines.
There was a quick moment when she knew she could have been looking at her daughter's body instead of her own. Penny's tummy was a little tighter. She didn't have the faint network of stretch marks on her abdomen from being pregnant. Not yet, she didn't.
But still, in spite of the small things, Janet knew she was in beautiful shape for thirty-three. And that was part of the problem.
If she could get fat and dumpy and ugly, then Russ wouldn't want to fuck her when he looked at her. In fact, she'd eaten herself sick one month, just to do that. She'd gained only four pounds, and he hadn't even noticed.
He'd still wanted to fuck her. He'd still wanted to suck her big damn tits and feel them. And men on the street had still stared at her thrusting tits with popping eyes and lust-thick grins.
She grabbed at her tits suddenly, filling her hands with them. She squeezed hard. The nipples stretched even more from the pointed ends, mocking her, laughing at her.
It was her tits! Her goddamn tits! They'd caused the trouble-all the trouble! All the guilt and shame that was in her! They were what had made her now, at thirty-three, not want to be fucked by anyone, not even her husband!
"You damn bags!" she mewled.
Her voice sounded tortured as she twisted and pulled at the firm cones as if to rip them from her chest. But even the pain didn't help this time.
The itching in her nipples increased. She could feel the hot throbs in the pit of her stomach. She could feel the slow swelling of her cunt petals, the shameless bloating of them, the quick, warm moistening of her whole pussy.
Sensitivity grew swiftly as her clit filled and stretched from under its tented hiding place. It became as erect as a small prick, and it nosed from between the spreading lips of her cunt.
She tipped her head back and moaned and clamped both hands around her crotch, squeezing tightly praying for the sensations to go away and leave her alone.
Memory flashed through her mind again. A picture, an image. It went away, and another image blazed sharply for a moment.
She couldn't recall their faces any more-none of them. Only the sadistic grins, the coarse laughter, the sweaty redness of their faces.
And she remembered their cocks-their hard, spurting, raping cocks . . .
There'd been only four of them. That was a fact of history, and she knew it. But when she remembered, there seemed to be dozens of them, all bearing down on her, all pressing her into the slanted back seat of the car, all crawling over her prostrate body to smear her nudity with sweat and stink and evil.
Janet pivoted around, turning her back to the mirror, keeping her eyes squeezed shut and her head tipped back and her hands pressing tightly against her swollen, blazing twat-as if trying to suppress the shame of her heat, the bubbling of her slippery pussy juices running between her fingers.
The images weren't flashing in and out of her mind any more. They were continuous, now. There was a steady flow of them, one after the other.
Just as there'd been one raping cock after the other, one pulsing stream of scalding sperm after the other, hosing into her virginal pussy, over her belly, onto her thighs.
And drooling, cascading, streaming down the sides of her big, thrusting, shivering, fire-filled, goddamn tits . . .
She wasn't aware of moving the short distance to it. But she was suddenly sitting on the toilet. Her legs were stretched stiffly in front of her. They were parted, and they made an open, inviting vee toward the center of her throbbing cunt.
She leaned back. Her tits jiggled wildly. Her arms bumped the sides of them and made them jiggle as they pistoned up and down. Her spread fingers stroked and slid along her slippery, steaming pussy gap. They swirled through the red, inflamed meat of her hot cunt.
Her fingers smeared hot honey over her bloated lips as the stuff drooled from her red, quivering hole. She streaked her silky inner thighs with it. She could feel it running down under her crotch and puddling in the little puckered bud of her asshole, and she could feel the shameless way her anus quivered and sucked at it.
Her round asscheeks clenched and relaxed rhythmically against the seat. The motion made her twat lift and fall under her stroking hands and probing fingers.
A red, throbbing, stiff cock loomed in her mind, the image blossoming and growing terribly vivid as her heat surged and her cunt steamed under her masturbating fingers.
She was aware of the grinning, sweat-gleaming face behind the cock. It wasn't a particular face. It was a blend of all the faces, totally unrecognizable after sixteen years.
The faces weren't the object of her memory, anyway. The cocks were. Long, fat, pointed, broad-all of them stiff and hard ... so hard!
They came at her. They loomed over her. They swept over her big tits and across her lips, leaving smears of wild-tasting oils. They probed against her belly and thighs and hips and ass. And they ripped into her virginal cunt, shooting and spitting sperm. They fucked and fucked into her violated body, making her pussy tunnel a sodden swamp of sperm and cunt juice.
They came at her again and again, one after the other, changing off, coming back, throbbing inside her, making her pussy scream and shiver with lust and sensation, making her mind a whirl of shameful emotion.
An agonized moan tore from Janet's lips as the big prick in her mind rammed up her virginal cunt and ripped through her hymen and lanced to the back of her shuddering vagina.
At the same time she remembered, her finger speared into her flooded pussy. Her twat lifted high, shuddering. Her bloated cunt lips parted wide, exposing the pink silk between them.
Her nail nicked a satiny fold of sensitive tissue, and the pain blazed through her again, just the way it had been the first time, making the memory excruciatingly vivid.
Her hips shook. Her asscheeks quivered on the toilet seat lewdly, shamelessly. Her pussy shook under her hand. Her tight vaginal muscles sucked and pulled at the raping finger bursting through the shield of pain toward her depths.
Her anus pulsed and spasmed, sucking up drops of her drooling pussy juice and making the little mouth slippery. A great, throbbing sensation thudded through her belly.
Her legs shot out before her, her heels lifting from the flood. They shuddered, her toes pointing at the same time. She felt her big tits harden on her chest, swollen to huge size, the nipples even stiffer and more protruding.
Her youthful body tightened all over, as if it were inflated suddenly and ready to burst. Her breath sucked into her lungs and caught there, and then it came rushing out in a wild groan.
Orgasm rushed through her in great shudders that made her dizzy. Her fucking finger was battered and pulled by her spasming pussy muscles. Her clit stretched unbelievably from the top of her cleft, and her thumb rolled against it, milking screaming sensation from the sensitive little organ.
She came violently, twisting and thrashing on the seat, her finger shoved to the depths of her cunt, clear to the cupping palm of her wet, flooded hand.
Her pussy meat shivered shamelessly. Slick cunt juice, hot and syrupy, slithered and gushed from her vaginal hole around her finger, and her palm became puddled with it, reminding her of that raping night, when it had been dollops of sperm gushing from her body then.
She remembered. She shuddered again, another shameful thrill pulsing through her body. She moaned with lust and shame and guilt combined, a terrible mixture of emotions that had formed then and hadn't left her since.
Her fevered body quieted slowly. She could feel her pussy muscles throbbing with tinier quivers. But she could still feel the pounding of her heart under the swollen cone of her left tit.
Her tit. . .
She slipped her finger from her sodden, sucking pussy, feeling the way the tissues were like oiled silk that clung and fluttered as if reluctant to release the surrogate cock from their depths.
She shivered again and sighed heavily. She looked down at her stretched-out body. She closed her legs quickly, partially hiding her wantonness and shame from her sight.
If only she could close her tits, too. If only they'd never been so big. If only . . .
She grabbed her tits again. She shook them and squeezed them harshly, making them hurt, hating them with all that was in her. Then she bent over from the waist and rested her elbows on her knees and held her head in her hands and sobbed softly.
It was going to happen to Penny, too. Just the way it had happened to her. Because of Penny's big tits. It was going to happen soon. Penny was fifteen, now. It had happened to her when she was seventeen. Time was running out for her daughter.
The thought made Janet's heart pump again, but with a different emotion this time. She stood up, her legs slightly wobbly at first. She didn't look at herself in the mirror. She didn't want to see the flush of sex on her body-the brightness of her eyes, the fullness of her lips, or the offending hardness of her tits and thrusting, insolent nipples.
She slipped her nightie quickly over her head, covering her shameful body with the thin material. Only then could she look at herself in the mirror. Only then could she make the subtle change to her expression that left her looking as sexless as she could manage to with such jutting tits and round ass and flaring hips.
She'd thought the talks with Penny had been doing some good. She'd been certain the veiled warnings about tit-lusting boys and their hard, shame-making cocks had been getting through.
But now Penny was seeing Bert. Janet was certain of it. Worse yet, Penny was hiding the fact, pretending to be seeing Shirley, instead.
Janet felt sick inside. She didn't know what to do any more. She knew only that she had to protect her daughter.
She'd thought Russ would understand and help. But he hadn't. He encouraged Penny to see boys. It was nothing obvious or pushy that he did, but the differences in their attitudes was plain.
She started suddenly, turning her head. She heard the bedroom door open and close and Russ call out for her.
"Everything's set with the car, honey. You all finished packing? We've got to get on the road by seven in order to make the appointment, you know. Honey? Are you in there?"
He knew she was. Why did he have to holler like that? She scowled at the door between them as if scowling at him, as if she could build up enough anger to make her rejection of him seem right and justified. After all, he couldn't expect her to want to fuck when she was angry with him, could he?
She bit her lower lip. She sucked in her breath and felt her heart thud again. She stopped scowling, knowing it wouldn't work. Nothing was going to work. She couldn't stay in the bathroom all night, either. She was going to have to go out sooner or later and see the look in his eye and the thickening rod of his horny cock between his legs.
She knew that her thoughts of going for three weeks or more didn't have a chance. She sighed quiveringly, wishing she hadn't picked this time to remember.
It was easier to submit to his fucking prick when the memory wasn't fresh in her mind.
She reached over and pushed the handle on the toilet, stealing another minute. When she could wait no longer, she opened the door and stood there.
Russ was in his pajama bottoms already. His chest was bare. He turned around and looked at her, smiling. His eyes flickered over her body, unconsciously resting on the ends of her thrusting tits.
Janet felt her mouth go dry. As if in response, she felt her vaginal muscles tighten and draw inward, closing up the gap of her guilt and shame.
She stood there and looked at him, feeling strange, a little frightened. There were times when she would look at her husband of sixteen years and see a stranger grinning affectionately at her.
It was like that right now. It was disconcerting. It made her feel as if she were about to be raped again. And the thing about it-the terrible, guilt-ridden thing about it-was not so much the rape itself.
It was how she would react to the rape again. It was the fear that she would become a throbbing, pulsing, orgasming blob of lusting shame again, loving every thrust of hard, paining prick into her pussy, every spurt of sticky, hot sperm raining over her and in her-and hating herself for loving it.
She took a step back, a fearful step, into the sanctum of the bathroom, her eyes wide and staring.