Chapter 3
Christopher Lee, masquerading on the screen as the nefarious and somewhat terrifying Count Dracula, scourge of the Transylvanian Alps and mentor of all apprentice vampires, was standing before his great, gloomy castle at the summit of the mountain overlooking the small, peasant village in the valley. Someone, apparently a priest, had slipped a cross into the door of his domicile, through the great iron handles, effectively barring his entrance-since, as we all know, vampires shy at the sight of a cross, unless they be Jewish or Moslem vampires, of which there are relatively few, judging by myths and legends, which usually recount stories of Christian blood-suckers only.
On the highway, beyond the theater screen, the cars of Altoona sped through the darkness, humming quietly to the crickets and the late spring insects.
In the car, parked in the theater lot, Lori Phillips lay naked with sperm clinging like white pudding to her belly and tits, dripping down one cheek onto the upholstery of Robbie Marshall's car.
"You're supposed to be able to hold it!" she groaned, her pussy running with sex juice, her tits aching and her asshole afire, every cell of her body hungering for the thick pumping fuck of his long penis.
"You're the hottest chick I've ever seen," he said, in way of apology, still holding his dripping male length in his hand, still kneeling between her perfect, taut legs, pointed at the furry twat that had so excited him that he had prematurely spilled his thick seed.
"Shit!" Lori said, disgusted.
"Don't get uptight, baby," he said. "If you'll notice, it's still hard as rock."
She stopped complaining, looked at the load of pumper he held in his hand. It was still long, hard, and throbbing, still erect as the miracle of youthful sexual potency had its effect. Come slimed the end of it, and she got that on her hand when she reached out and touched the steely length of pleasure stick.
"Put it in me!" she gasped, now hotter than ever, desperate for the lunging thrust of his cock.
"We have to clean you up first," he said.
"What?"
"The come. If it gets in that little cunt, you're knocked up, baby." He pulled a fistful of tissue from the box on the dispenser under the dash, wiped the globs of sperm off her tits and belly, cleaned her face. With a second fistful, he rubbed his prick clean of slime, then threw the musky tissues onto the floor and crawled forth between her legs.
"I can't believe you're only thirteen," he said.
"One month, and I'm fourteen," she said, rather defensively. She was tired of being reminded she was a child, when she wasn't and she especially didn't want to hear that now, here, at a moment like this.
Robbie brought his throbbing, heavy dick to the steaming opening of her damp vagina. He was a little surprised at the readiness of the fat organ. He was used to getting it hard again, shortly after the first come, and making it rise half a dozen times in one evening. But the damn thing hadn't even gone down this time! He decided that was nothing to his credit, but to Lori's credit. Damn, what a hot little piece of ass!
She put her hands on his shoulders, as if to force him into her box faster than he wished to go. But he ignored her urgings and set about it at his own pace. He knew that, now that he had spouted his come, he could hold out a very long time and drive her over the brink two or three times before he would need the rubber. He was going to tease her, to make her whimper for it, so that when he finally did sink home, breaking her tight little hymen, she'd blow her mind.
He rubbed the head of his prick against her slippery pussy lips, pushed the bulbous mantle in and felt her jerk and lunge beneath him as the first spasms of a real fuck shook her small yet opulently formed body. She was on the verge of climaxing already!
"Fuck me ... " she groaned, her face a mask of sensuous, writhing desire. "Stuff me full of cock."
"Christ," Robbie groaned, shoving the pulsing dick further in. He bumped the blunt tip into her virgin skin, and she squealed with pain.
"Break it!" she gasped.
He withdrew all but the last half inch of his hefty pecker, then pistoned his hips and slammed home, ripping through the barricade tissue and planting himself in Lori's creamy cunt, planting himself to the slapping globes of his big nuts.
Count Dracula, up there on the fantastic, wide-angle screen that constituted another reality in this existential world of individual cars and city beyond, was biting a girl in the neck. She had lovely, large tits, barely concealed by her nightgown, and one was tempted to conjecture on why the wicked Count did not sink his fangs into those lovely mammaries rather than a plain, ordinary, everyday neck. But the picture faded out on that, to a lonely figure walking the misty streets of the European city, as the dawn grew near and faint purple fingers of light stained the gothic night and the Carpathian-like scene of the medieval town. You just knew he was going to find the bitten girl, her neck ravaged. You just knew it. Any moment now. Any second now ...
"You've got the suckingest ... slimiest ... snatch ... " Robbie moaned, plummeting in and out of her joy hole with the abandon of a man caught up in the marvels of his lover's body and oblivious to the world around him, to everything but the co-joining of their wet crotches, to the slamming, sucking heaven of their sexual congress.
For Lori, it was heaven on earth, an unbelievably exciting plunge over a warm waterfall. It had hurt, at first, when his iron pecker had torn through her soft hymen, had made her weep a little blood down there for the loss of her virginity. But the pain had swiftly passed, like a freight train barreling through a crossing and disappearing into the silvered distance of the evening. Now, there was only a wild, joyous rippling of her fuck fleshes as her young body greedily devoured the first wang to penetrate it, the first hunk of male meat to give it the pleasure it had wanted so badly for such a long number of months.
She felt Robbie's full balls slapping against the rounded mounds of her young ass, and she was reminded of that scene she had witnessed when her father had been banging her mother that night she had sneaked down the hallway to spy on them.
Bang! went Robbie's nuts.
Big hairy nuts ...
"I'm coming," she groaned, her snatch rippling with a wild, spastic orgasm that stripped his hard penis so that he had to fight to hold down the surging come load in his testicles as her smooth-skinned body wiggled under him ...
On the highway, the cars continued ...
A truck went by, its great racket echoing dimly up to the drive-in theater ...
And on the screen, the hero was trekking up the side of the mountain which held Count Dracula's castle, a great blotch of ugliness upon the Transylvanian landscape. The heroine, the lover of this hero, had been abducted by the evil vampire king, and was being carried up to the castle. Since she was the niece of the priest who had blocked the door of Dracula's castle with a cross, she would have the power to remove it and allow the monstrous Count entrance to his den of iniquity and anti-Christianity. The hero struggled and struggled, slipping off rocks, almost falling, frantic that he should reach them and destroy Dracula before the lovely heroine was taken into the sanctum sanctorum of hell and turned into a blood-sucking beast exactly in the image of the Count himself ...
Robbie gasped at the sucking heat of the young girl's surging quim tunnel, his body wracked with shuddering waves of pleasure at the wet depths of her delightful cunt. He had never fucked any girl quite this good, and he could not conceive of what she would be like as she grew older and learned and developed her sex techniques. She was better than any girl he had fucked, and she was having her first relation this moment!
"I feel the head ... of your cock ... up against my womb hole," she groaned as he slammed the thick pecker deep into her sex pudding, driving her suddenly across the brink into another long, wet come. Her cuntsop ran down her thighs, slimed his heavy nuts and the meshed bushes of pubic hair that belonged to both of them.
He felt his nuts boiling with come.
He pulled out of her, flopped on her belly, and squirted a thick wad of jism up her super-heated flesh to the base of her thrusting tits, whimpering loudly, without restraint as his spasming orgasm hit him like a sledgehammer and drove him into spastic uncontrol of his body.
The slimy sperm gurgled between them, was pressed from between their bodies and ran down the sweet girl's sides, puddling on the seat where she rolled in it and smeared it along her buttocks cheeks.
On the screen, Dracula fell over the balustrade of the castle and was speared by the cross below, speared through his villainous and blackly evil heart. Blood-the blood of his helpless victims which now circulated in his own rotted veins-pumped out of him as he staggered about, refusing to die. A refusal that was only folly. He collapsed, within sight of the corrupt priest who had been aiding him but who had now found his God again and was into the proper bag for salvation. The priest only repeated the Lord's Prayer, while the heavens danced with lightning and Count Dracula collapsed into dust, dead at last after centuries of ruthless murder and the converting of good souls into evil ...
Through the intermission, when everyone else was on their way to the refreshment stand for popcorn and Cokes and hot dogs and French fries and the other tons of shit America seems to be able to digest through simple courage-and not a little smattering of ignorance-Lori Phillips was playing with Robbie's flaccid wang, which was warm and sticky in her hand. She had pulled her sweater down to cover her hot, hard-nippled tits, but wore nothing below the waist. If someone passed too close to the car going down, and managed to see through the steamed windows, they would see two apparently dressed youngsters. The shadows concealed their exposed genitals, concealed her busy hand in his baggage and concealed his fingers which lazily twisted her thick mound of pubic hair into curls.
"I never thought it would be quite that good," she said.
"The best is yet to come."
"I think the best has come!" she said, chuckling, as she raised her spermy fingers into the light where the essence of his sex gleamed prettily, like honey. The smell of come was strong in the car, and it excited Lori more and more. The intermission was like a torture, a time when they could not fuck, waiting for darkness. Each minute was an hour, or so it seemed as her cock-hungry pussy cried for more reaming.
"I don't mean spunk," he said. "You're going to get some watery loads from now on. But now that the edge has been taken off the need, I'll be able to keep him bigger, longer."
She squeezed the weakened penis, grinning at him. "I want it for all of the next movie. I want fucked for an hour and a half, fucked and fucked ... " She kissed him, playing with his dong, feeling it grow larger, stiffer, useable once again.
"Thirteen," he wheezed, running hands under her sweater for a long caress of her bared tits.
"Almost fourteen," she countered.
"You have the tightest cunt," he said, almost to himself, almost to the night, dreamily.
"All for you."
"Lovely lickable tits," he said.
Then the intermission was over, and the lights went out and the next movie rose on the screen, a Peter Cushing Frankenstein flick. The credits dripped across the screen in blood red ...
"Now, Robbie, now!" she gasped, lying down on the car seat. "Ram your wang into me."
He dragged the blood-gorged dick up her smooth, girlish-womanly legs, rubbed it at her wet puss, then fucked it home with an eagerness and determination reserved only for the young and the energetic, balls a furious slapping spectacle against her hot, round, high ass.
"Cock ... cock ... cock ... fuck your ... balls off ... Robbie, darling ... darling, lovely, lovely Robbie ... lovely Robbie's prick ... "
He grabbed her perfect ass cheeks and raised them off the seat as he worked the probing shaft of his thick penis into her quivering fuck-pot as if it were a flashlight and he were shining it around in a dark place in search of something important-in this case, in search of surging, climaxing joy. He sank the hard meat home further than ever, felt her young twat blow with another come, her seething juices boiling out of her deepest recesses and pouring over his prick, slopping out of her puffy labia with each outward stroke he made, running down his balls.
She pushed her sweater up, grabbed her own tits, and began rubbing them frantically, tweaking the dark nipples until they were impossibly long, until Robbie Marshall longed to suck and chew them. But he knew she was getting more by his massaging her ass and fucking her and her own sex play with those magnificent breasts, and he did not change the position.
On the screen, a reputable-looking London gentleman was on his way home through dark, mist-shrouded, cobble-stoned streets of an old, 18th Century section of the city. He wore a cape, a hat, and smoked a pipe. He carried a cane. The very picture of a sophisticated intellectual. He did not know-and, surely, could not be expected to know-that Baron Victor von Frankenstein, was out that night, walking the streets of the city in search of parts for the creation of his latest monster. He seemed, now, to need a head for the eyes and other nerve clusters his creation could hardly be expected to do without. Unfortunately for the sophisticated, cape-wearing and pipe-smoking gentleman on his way home, but fortunately for Victor von Frankenstein, their pathways crossed there in the dank cobblestones. From his place of hiding, the Baron swung a specially sharpened sickle, slicing neatly-or bloodily, depending on your ability to disassociate yourself from the violence of second-hand entertainment media- through the gentleman's neck, lopping his stately head from his shoulders ...
"UNNGGHHH ..," Lori Phillips groaned as the pistoning dork within her pudding reached new and exciting depths, seemed bigger and harder than ever as Robbie had promised it would.
Her tits felt like they were exploding.
She was certain her nipples were popping off.
His cock was going to punch holes in her lungs.
It was going that deep.
Or seemed to be.
"What a fucker," he groaned, heaving his burning root in and out of her quim.
On the screen, a burglar was trying to break into the basement quarters that Victor Frankenstein had rented to continue his experiments in the creation of life after being run out of nearly every nation in Europe in the last dozen Hammar Frankenstein Films. Little did he know-and, again, there was no reason he should know, really, him not being a watcher of the movie, but a participant-that Victor Frankenstein was presently on his way home, carrying the society gentleman's bloody head in a bucket with a wooden lid.
Lori Phillips had a come.
When she was finished spasming in her drippy hole, Robbie withdrew his red penis from her sucking slot and urged her to roll over. He worked the bloated prick into her cunt from the back, giving her an entirely new set of sensations as she was driven down into the car seat by his lunging, frantic fuck strokes.
"Jesus, what a big lovely wang!" she squealed as he reamed her, her tits mashed against the hot vinyl seat covers.
On the screen, Baron von Frankenstein was walking purposefully along the wet streets, the bucket swinging at his side, while the burglar was still burgling, trying to break through the door. The camera cut back and forth, and at last the thief heard the click of the maniac's footsteps. Still unaware that the footsteps belonged to the man who owned or rented this basement hideaway, the thief finally managed to break into the place, closing the door behind. In moments, he realized that he had made a mistake, for-as the maniac Frankenstein was entering, the thief came across the half completed monster the mad doctor was in the process of manufacturing in this strange little cottage industry he had going for himself. The thief screamed in terror, knocked over a chair-alerting the mad doctor to his presence ...
Lori never wanted the delicious fucking to cease.
She wanted it forever, hot cock in her cunt forever and ever and just until she passed out and could not take any more of it.
He had a lovely cunt-pumper.
She thought of her father.
She wished she could let Robbie come in her cunt, feel his burning seed in her hole. But she couldn't get knocked up. So she would have to be satisfied with feeling the scorching stuff splatter across her belly and tits.
"Fuck harder!" she demanded.
He complied, summoning energy from the last kegs of it, down deep in his guts somewhere.
On the screen, the Baron von Frankenstein, played by Peter Cushing with marvelous wickedness, was engaged in a wild fight with the thief. They careened about the room, and in the process, kicked over the bucket containing the bloody head of the mad doctor's latest victim. The grizzly sight solicited more screams from the relatively innocent thief. The head rolled over and over across the floor, leaving a red trail. In a moment of sheer terror, the adrenalin flowing wildly through his veins, the thief managed to free himself from the doctor's clutches and gain his freedom into the dark-and now horror riddled-London night ...
"FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME!" Lori Phillips gasped, bouncing up to meet the downward thrust of his thick male root as it reamed her soupy fuck-pot with unrestrained furor.
Her butt slapped his belly.
Her tits slammed into the seat each time she collapsed under his punishing strokes.
She was slobbering with joy, face mashed to the seat.
She came.
"FUCK, BALL, HUMP, FUCK ... " she chanted, almost delirious now.
Then he pulled his dick out of her, fell on her.
"Spit it," she groaned.
He did.
A hot, thin watered stream of sperm spat up between the halves of her ass, up her back with so much force it reached her neck, as if someone had a finger up the boy's asshole, tickling his prostate gland.
They collapsed into exhaustion and the smell of sperm and cunt juice as Baron Frankenstein hastily evacuated his now uncovered basement lair ...