Chapter 1
Bonny Wilson was waiting on a corner, looking nervously up and down the street. She was a pretty little girl with red hair worn in a ponytail held by a rubber band, a scattering of freckles across her nose and green eyes around which she wore a good deal of mascara. She was fourteen years old and nubile. She wore a pair of faded jeans cut off into very short shorts and a white tee shirt with the number 96 printed on the back.
She had intended to have 69 printed on the tee shirt, but had lost her nerve at the last minute, afraid that her mother might raise holy hell when she saw it--not that her mother was not known to do a bit of sixty-nining, herself--and, besides, Bonny figured that it didn't matter which number came first, just as it didn't matter if the man or the girl got on top when they did it. Bonny was a sexy girl and she didn't care who knew it; in fact, it was to her benefit to have people know it, especially good looking boys.
Bonny was waiting for some good looking boys at the moment.
She was chewing gum methodically as she looked around, hoping that the guys showed up soon, before her mother-that old hypocrite-came looking for her.
Her pert little tits thrust out against the white cotton tee shirt, the stiff nipples firmly pressed out in twin points against the fabric, for she never wore a bra, which was not only uncomfortable, but also delayed such pleasant practices as getting felt up. By good looking boys, of course.
The cut-off jeans were molded to her trim hips and bouncy ass like a second skin and she had affected a posture in which she carried her loins sort of tucked-in, thrusting her ass out as if to counterbalance her thrusting tits at the other end.
The jeans were drawn down into her crotch in a vee in front and clung to her asscheeks so tightly that the crack of her ass was indented quite plainly.
Yes, Bonny was very sexy.
She was also very horny, at the moment, for she was waiting to get picked up by her boyfriends.
Tom, Ralph and Sam were her favorite boyfriends, although she didn't go steady with them, and it was handy that the three youths were such good friends because that meant that they could all take her out at the same time. Nobody got jealous that way and Bonny had the pleasure of having three dates at once. It didn't strike the girl that this arrangement was a bit odd.
Bonny's mother did not approve of her boyfriends and warned the girl that they were just out after what they could get.
This struck Bonny as absurd, since she was certainly out to get in as much fucking as she could herself.
It must be the generation gap, she thought.
An old Ford turned at the corner and came cruising down the street, crawling close to the curb.
At the same moment, a blowzy blonde came out of the tavern in the middle of the block.
The Ford belonged to Tom and he had Ralph and Sam in the car with him.
The blonde was Bonny's mother.
Bonny saw her mother lurching towards her and the girl began to wave frantically at the car. The car seemed to hesitate, like a startled racehorse, then speeded up. It slammed to a rocking halt at the corner and Sam, who was in the back seat, threw the door open. Bonny dashed towards the car.
"Don't you dare get in that car, you little tramp!" her mother screamed, starting to waddle faster.
Bonny jumped into the car.
The Ford roared off, billowing black smoke from the exhaust like a destroyer laying a smokescreen to shield it from that big blonde battleship wallowing in its wake.
Bonny's mother, whose name was Irma, shook her fist at the car. Then she sighed. She was drunk and she had enormous tits. She turned and went back into the bar. She had been sitting in a back booth with a burly man wearing a stained undershirt and she went back and sat down again.
"Thought you were going?" he said, looking up from his beer. He had a coarse, working man's face and a tattoo of an anchor on his massive bicep. His hair was unkempt and his nose was spider-veined and red from drink, but he had a big dick.
"Ah, I was too late. The little bitch just drove off in a car with three guys."
"Ahhh," he said.
"Well, you don't care, but she's my kid. I got a right to worry about the bitch. The way she carries on, maybe she ain't even a virgin anymore, you know?"
"What I hear, she ain't no virgin." "What you hear?"
He shrugged. "I hear she puts out, is all."
Irma growled.
"Have a drink?" he said.
"Thanks, Gus."
Gus went to the bar and got her a shot of blended whisky. He had been sitting on the other side of the booth but when he came back he slid in beside Irma. He put the shot in front of her and, in doing so, his arm brushed across her tits. Like her daughter, Irma wore no brassiere, but there the similarity ended. Irma's tits were huge rolling pillows that spread all over her torso. Her blouse was unbuttoned at the top. Gus peered down the front of that blouse. It was like looking into Grand Canyon, he thought. But he was partial to big tits.
Irma took a slug of whisky and shuddered.
She said, "Well, I fixed that little tramp, I'll tell you. Know what I did? I arranged to have her sent to the home for wayward girls, is what I did.
They're coming for her tomorrow." "That so?"
"Yeah. Uncontrollable, she is. Best thing for her. I hated to do it but it had to be done." She peered at Gus. "One thing I can't stand, it's a tramp," she said. "Maybe they can teach her to behave at that place."
Gus nodded and sipped some beer.
Then he took Irma's hand and pulled it down onto his crotch. He clamped it firmly over his dick. When he took his own hand away, Irma's hand stayed where it was. One might have thought that, being worried about her wayward daughter, she didn't realize that her hand had been placed on a cock.
But she started to stroke him.
His prick had been semi-hard, lying alongside his thick thigh and raising a furrow up in his trousers. When Irma started to stroke him, his cock began to expand and harden.
Irma didn't seem interested in what she was doing; with her hand rubbing away she said, "Three young fellas in that car ... not just one ... it makes me mad to think that a daughter of mine would go out in a car with three men at once." Then she grinned. She had nice teeth and when she smiled it was evident that, in earlier years, she had been a beauty. Time had modified her appearance, but she was still pretty good looking in her dyed and painted fashion. She did not want for boyfriends, even now. Gus was not really a boyfriend, since she only knew him from the bar, but he had been buying her drinks and that was sort of like a boyfriend, at that.
Grinning, she said, "It makes me randy, too."
"Huh?"
"When I think of my fourteen-year-old daughter screwing three guys ... it makes me mad but it makes me hot, too."
"You ever fuck three guys at once?" he asked.
His cock was really jumping around now, trying to rip its way out of his pants.
"That's for me to know and you to find out," said the chesty blonde, with originality.
"How in hell would I find that out? Unless I got two other guys and we come to call, maybe?" he said, squinting at her.
Irma giggled.
"Maybe I might find out something right now?" "Maybe," she said, imagining her daughter getting fucked and massaging Gus' cock steadily. Gus said, "You ever--suck a dick?" Irma looked affronted.
"What in hell do you think I am?" she asked, belligerently, thrusting her face into his.
"Sorry," he said.
"Of course I've sucked a dick," she said.
"I kind of thought you might have," Gus admitted.
"I was real good looking when I was younger," she said. "Not that I'm so old now. But let me tell you, there wasn't a dick in this town I couldn't suck if I wanted to."
Gus' cock was fairly thundering by this time, his ardor inspired by her caress and her words combined. Trapped down the leg of his pants, his prick was buckling like a crazed buffalo. Her hand jumped as that meaty wad lurched.
He leaned over and whispered into her ear.
"You ever suck a dick in a bar?" he asked.
Irma started to giggle.
"That's something I can find out," he said. "That's dirty talk, real dirty," she said, but it was obvious that she took no offense. "You afraid to?"
"The cock that can scare me ain't been made yet," she told him. "Ain't scared of no bars, either."
"Suck my cock and I'll buy you another drink." "I ain't no whore! I never sucked a dick for a drink, Mister. Maybe, once in a while, on account of I had too many drinks, though, come to think of it."
"You had too many drinks now, Irma?"
Irma thought about that. She began to smile. "Gus," she said, "I'm drunk as an owl."
And she began to open his fly.
She pulled his zipper down and opened his belt buckle. His pants fell open in a vee. But his cock had been stuck down the leg of his pants and had hardened in that cramped position so that even after his fly was wide open his tool was trapped. It thumped hard, sensing freedom was at hand.
Irma slid her hand inside his pants and folded it around the stalk of his fat prick.
"Ooooh," she said, impressed by the dimensions and by the way it began to swell. Her hand slid down from the root to the flaring knob, then pulled back. Using her other hand to hold the front of his pants out, she hauled his dick out of his pant leg. It snapped bolt upright under the table.
Irma shifted in the seat so that she could look down at his cock where it towered in the shadows.
"You got some hunk of meat on you," she said.
She dragged his balls out, too; they were big and bloated and filled with cum.
Gus was a drinking man and had no wife. He was forgetful, as well. Thus, since he was usually too drunk to seduce a woman and often forgot to jerk off, his balls usually carried a stored-up load, all set to go.
Irma fondled and squeezed his balls, feeling the hard nuts jiggle around beneath the wrinkled, hairy sac. She push-pulled up and down on his cock a couple of times. She was peering under the table, enjoying the sight and feeling, pleased that her hands could evoke such a powerful response in that nice big dick.
"You keep doing that, I'll shoot," he said.
"No shit?" she said, sarcastically.
"Yeah, I ain't got my wad off in a month. There's plenty of jism in there and it won't take much to pull it out. But it wouldn't be right to shoot all over the bottom of the table, would it? I mean, other people are gonna come in, they're gonna sit in this booth, their knees rub under the table and they get cum all over their trousers, right? Then they go home, their wives see they got cum on their pants, why hell, Irma, it could lead to a divorce. You see that?"
"Don't you wanna come?"
"Sure I do. But we got to figure out where to put it. Got to find something to shoot it into, I mean."
He stared at her meaningfully.
Irma got the idea but, teasing him, she said, "Ain't you got a handkerchief? Maybe you could get a napkin from the bar, huh? I could jerk you off into a napkin ..."
Gus grunted. He placed his broad, gnarled hand behind her neck and pushed her head down. Irma giggled and slid sideways in the seat, her face positioned just above the head of his rampaging prick. He pushed upwards, trying to stick it in her face, but she was still teasing him. When his cockhead rose up, she lifted her head a few inches, maintaining the distance between head and cock.
"You mean you want to shoot in my mouth?" she asked.
"That's the idea."
"You want me to swallow it?"
Gus grunted. He knew she was just teasing him and he wasn't worried about the end result, but his cock was threatening to burst at any moment and he thought it would be a shame if he came in her hand instead of her mouth. It felt better to come with a nice hot mouth around his cockhead and he had no doubts that Irma was the sort of woman who enjoyed a nice drink of cum.
"It's good for you," he said. "Lots of vitamins and minerals and stuff in cum." He looked at her big hips, added, "Not many calories, though."
"Well, I don't mind," she said. "Just so you realize that I'm not the sort of woman who goes around blowing strangers in bars every day. It's just 'cause I'm so drunk, see?" "Yeah," he said.
Feeling that she had thus protected her reputation, Irma tilted her face back down over his prick. But she paused again. Her hand came up and fastened on his beer glass; she brought it down to her lips. Irma took a sip of beer, obviously to clear the taste of the rough whisky from her palate, to prepare her taste buds for the more delicate flavor of jism. She put the glass back on the table, groping blindly, her eyes fixed on his cock.
Then she fitted her pursed lips to its head.
Wet and cold from the beer, her lips kissed the blunt stab almost primly. Then they parted and slowly, inch by inch, she fed his dick into her face. She went down all the way on that first slow descent, until his cockhead had lodged in the entrance to her throat and only an inch or so of cock remained outside her mouth. Her nose nestled against his pubic thicket and her chin pressed into his inflated balls.
She held that deep penetration for a moment, her head transfixed on his long prick, letting him enjoy the sensation of being buried to the hilt in her warm mouth while she savored the thrill of having her mouth stuffed full of savory cockmeat.
Then her head began to rise and fall.
Irma, although vastly experienced, was not an inventive sort of cock sucker. She used no embellishments or variations of tongue, lip and cheek. She had learned long ago that a straightforward up and down motion of the head, sucking along the way, was the most efficient way to milk a dick and the milking being the objective, she saw no reason to fool around.
Her head bobbed up and down with a steady rhythm.
Gus took a sip of beer and looked around the bar, acting as nonchalant as a man can while his cock is getting head. No one seemed to notice the activity. Most of the customers were drunk and the bartender, in a place like this, did not govern with an iron hand. Holding his beer in one hand, Gus placed the other behind her head and began pushing down; at the same time, he heaved his hips up, so that he was fucking into her mouth while holding her head steady.
His balls, filled with a month's supply of jism, began to swell like inflated balloons.
His cockhead expanded mightily and his thick cock began to pulsate with imminent orgasm.
He was fucking right into her gullet, causing the woman to gag and gurgle but, game cock sucker that she was, Irma never faltered nor missed a stroke.
"Unghhh," she gasped, as her head went down to the root.
Then: "Ummm," as she pulled up, her red lips turned outwards as she slurped up the shaft from base to knob and her cheeks drew in from the suction.
Gus squirmed and pushed her head down hard. "Take it!" she rasped.
Irma sucked mightily and his balls exploded, forcing the thick sap up his mighty stalk. His cum came out of his cockhead in a mighty spurt, slamming into her throat so hard that her head rocked under the impact and her lips were forced up the shaft an inch or two. Gamely, she slammed her head back down in time for his second powerful geyser. She was gulping fast, swallowing the cum down voraciously, but the more she swallowed, the more he poured into her mouth.
"Drink it," he growled.
And she was drinking it as best she could, but her mouth was so full that creamy jism was bubbling out from her lips and running down onto his balls.
His lust had been saved up for so long that it all came out in that single, prolonged geyser, not spurting out in separate wads but steadily hosing her mouth. Then he slumped back in the booth. His heels drummed a spasmodic rhythm on the floor, causing sawdust to billow up, and his breath came out as if his lungs were having an orgasm. His balls were empty.
Irma kept sucking until she was certain she had milked every drop from his cockhead, that no errant nuggets of cum still lurked in that meaty rod.
Then she rose up, wiped her lips on the back of her hand and took a slug of whisky to wash it all down.
She was giggling girlishly. "That was fun," she said. "You give damn good head, Irma," Gus told her.
She politely tucked his softening dick and deflated balls back into his pants and zippered him up.
"You sure had plenty of jism in you," she told him, returning his compliment about her giving good head. If a girl was going to give head, there was no reason why she shouldn't give quality head, was the way Irma saw it.
"I almost choked on it," she said. "It was like drinking out of a spittoon," she added. "It all came out in a string."
Gus stared at her.
"That's disgusting," he said.
"Naw, it wasn't; it was fun. Yummy, too."
With his balls empty, Gus saw things more clearly. He saw that this was not the sort of woman you took to a garden party. But he figured he owed her a drink and he went up to the bar. When he came back with another whisky, he found that Irma was no longer smiling. She looked morose.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Aw, I was thinking about my daughter again," said Irma. "If there's one thing I hate, it's a tramp."
Gus stared at her.
"Maybe she can't help it," he said.
"How's that?"
"Maybe she inherited it."
"That don't make me feel no better," said Irma.
But soon enough she cheered up.