Chapter 6
The sun had risen on a beautiful day. A few large, fluffy white clouds sailed slowly across the azure sky driven by a gentle breeze that rustled the pine trees and felt wonderful in Betty's face. She had managed to push aside the events of the previous evening, and her mind was almost as clear as the day. A few furtive thoughts nibbled at the edges of her consciousness, fleeting fabrications of what Bob was doing out fishing with Sally and Rita. Tex didn't seem to be in the picture.
Those she brushed away and went about her business. She had planned a nice dinner for the fishermen, and she threw herself into her task.
The thunk, thunk, thunk of Jim Westmorland's ax provided a comforting sound for her to work by. She paused above her bowl of vegetables and watched him split the large chunks of firewood for the evening fire. His bronzed body rippled in the sun as he swung the ax, making it arc high above his head and driving it down into the upright log. The two halves split neatly with every downward whack.
Jim had a sinewy build, muscles long and corded. His stomach rippled like a washboard, and his thighs knotted as he raised on his toes for more leverage. A thin film of sweat coated his brown skin and glistened as he moved.
Betty had been watching him for a long time, - had been mesmerized by the rise and fall of the ax, lulled by the thunk, thunk, thunk, as ax bit into wood. A sudden shiver ran through her and she returned to the vegetables in her bowl.
"Ssssshit!" yelled Jim, and his ax went sailing.
Betty dropped the bowl and vegetables scattered everywhere. Jim was doubled up on the ground, and she had horrible visions of severed limbs, blood and gore. She stood frozen to the earth, the vegetables in a ring around her feet.
"Damn mother-fuckin' son-of-a-bitchin'
bastard!"
"Jim!" she finally called. "Oh, Jim." She ran to him.
He had rolled over and sat cross-legged in the dirt. Betty saw that a large splinter of wood stuck out of his left thigh near his crotch. He wore ragged cut-offs and the blood oozed from the wound down into his crotch.
"Oh, Jesus, Jimmy. You okay?"
"I don't know if I'm fuckin' okay." He reached down and took hold of the splinter and pulled it out slowly. "Ouch, mother-fucker, oh shit!"
She put her hand on his leg above his knee, but didn't dare do anything else. The splinter was broken and it hadn't penetrated too deeply. But it was hard for her to tell, for Jim's cut-offs were in the way.
"Let me look at that," she said, turning back the ragged cuff with difficulty. Jim's cut-offs were very tight.
"Not too bad, I don't think." His face was a little pale. The blood oozed out of the wound steadily.
"Let me get some peroxide and clean it up. We'll be able to tell more then." Betty hurried to her tent and found the first aid kit they always carried. She brought it back and set it down on one of the logs Jim had been splitting.
"Here," she said, dabbing at the part of the wound she could see with a piece of cotton soaked in the clear peroxide. It foamed up into a froth of pink bubbles.
"Oh, shit. I thought that stuff wasn't supposed to burn. Careful."
"I can't see it," she complained, trying to turn up the cuff.
"Shit, here," he said and stripped the buttons open and pulled down his cut-offs. His shorts caught in the tight folds of his cut-offs and came away with them.
"God," Betty gasped, more at the full loose length of his limp cock than at the wound that gashed his leg near his crotch.
"Hey, it's not that bad. Really, the pain is even going. Lucky, through. Another few inches and you'd be holding my prick, I'm afraid." He lifted his limp tool and wiped a smear of blood off the deep purple head.
Betty Allison didn't know what to do so she just stood there blushing and dabbing at his punctured leg. She pressed cotton- against the wound and stopped the flow of blood.
"Hey, Betty, you're really being great about this. I mean, shit - you don't have to do this."
"That's okay, Jim. I'm just glad it isn't too serious. You really were lucky." She blushed again, thinking of holding his prick in her hand, severed or otherwise. She had to fight back the urge to reach out and take it.
"I think the bleeding is stopped. Shall I put on a bandage? You'll have to really keep it clean."
"Hey, thanks, Betty. That would be great if you would. I'm afraid I'm all thumbs when it comes to things like that."
Betty got out the bandages and tape, cut a patch of sterile gauze and put it on the wound. Her hand touched the head of his cock and a jolt of electricity shot through her body. She jumped and the gauze fell to the ground.
"Jesus!" she said, looking up at him, eyes pausing at his cock on the way to his face. "Sorry, Jim, just clumsy, I guess." She cut another piece of gauze and placed it over the wound. She bent her wrist at an odd angle to avoid touching his prick.
When she began to apply the tape she found that there was no way that she could do it without moving his cock.
"Would you . . . mind?" Her head nodded in the direction of his hanging prick.
"Hell, don't worry about touching it, Betty. I think it must have a concussion or something. A piece of the bark hit it near the tip."
"You sure?" she said hesitantly. She lifted his limp cock by the head and saw the red blotch near the tip. "It's red, but I think it's okay." She lifted his cock out of the way and applied the tape. She found herself holding the warm limp cock longer than necessary, and she had to force herself to let it fall.
"That should do it," she said, looking more at his prick than at her patch job.
"No, I really think something's wrong with it. Trauma or something, you know."
"How do you know?" She was squatting in front of him, his cock and balls only inches from her face. She couldn't see anything wrong with them. As a matter of fact, they looked very nice. A bolt of guilt shot through her and she almost toppled over. She had to reach out and touch his thigh for support.
"My God, Betty. It's just hanging there. It should be hard as a rock by now. But just look at the poor thing hanging there."
"From getting hit?" She looked puzzled.
"Hell no, from having you hovering around it. It's just not normal, Betty. When a beautiful woman ministers-to a man's cock, it is supposed to get hard."
Betty broke out into her crimson flush again, hand fluttering about her throat. She had no words or actions for the situation. She didn't move.
"I think something is definitely wrong. You know, a man can experience trauma, and can't get a hard-on. Christ, do you suppose?" He took his cock in his hand and pulled it out as far it would stretch.
Christ, it was long, much longer than Bob's. She had no idea whether Jim were putting her on or not. She didn't see what the big deal was.
Jim began pulling his cock slowly, pulling at the skin around the head. "Got to get it working, Betty. Goddamn, got to get it working."
"I'm sure it will be all right, Jim. Just give it some time."
"Christ, help me, Betty. Help me get it working."
"Help? How, Jim?"
"Touch it, Betty. Squeeze it. A woman's hands - fingers - might make it work."
Betty's eyes widened. "Oh, Jim, I couldn't. I mean that isn't right. I just couldn't touch you." She shook her head violently, and her dark hair flew out in a sun-spiked wheel of ebony.
"Please, Betty. Just touch it. It's just like putting on a bandage. Help me, Betty. Help me make it work." He jerked harder at his cock, but it was still limp. Maybe there was something the matter after all.
She reached out tentatively with her hand, but pulled back suddenly. "No, Jim, I'm sorry, but I really can't."
Why couldn't she? It was just like putting on the bandage, helping out someone in need, wasn't it? There wouldn't be any pleasure in it.
Her hand snaked out again and her fingers stroked the soft underside of his cock.
"That's it, Betty. Keep it up. God, this has to work. It has to." Jim jacked off the end of his prick and she stroked the soft skin between his hand and his balls. He jerked harder and harder, but he stayed soft.
"Betty, you try it. See if you can get the bastard hard." His eyes pleaded with her. He reached out and touched her cheek with the fingers of the hand that had held his cock. She thought she could smell his cock on his fingers - a good smell.
"Oh god, Jim, I don't know," she said, but her hand was already circling his cock and began to work up and down on the limp prick.
Just as soon as she began to jerk him off, she felt the blood begin to seep into the swelling length of his tool, and she started to open her hand.
"No, God, don't stop, Betty. Make sure it really works. Don't stop now, I think it is coming back to life." He reached down and caressed the sides of her cheeks, ran his thumbs along her upper lip. "You have magic in your hands, Betty."
His prick grew quickly in her hand, and soon she had taken hold of it with the other hand as well, without even being asked. She gasped when she realized what she had done, but she didn't release it.
"It's getting back to normal, Betty. I can feel it coming back to life, thanks to you."
She slowed down and looked up at him. "I think I had better stop now, Jim." Her words were soft and deliberate. His cock was rock hard, the end a knob of blazing purple that throbbed in her hand.
"Hey, Betty, it's okay, really, let's just see if it works completely. You know, it might not do what it's supposed to do." He looked down at her and she gave a weak smile.
Her hands tightened and she began jacking him off in earnest. His prick was long enough that she had one hand on top of the other, jacking up and down with quick, powerful strokes.
"Shit, that's it, Betty. Now it's feeling better. I think it's getting back to normal, babe. Just you keep whacking away at it, honey."
Betty was aware that a shift had been made, but she didn't care. She had started it, whether she should have or not, and she would finish it. Jim's cock was a monster, not as thick as Bob's, but so much longer. She fantasized about what it would feel like up her own cunt. Sally was a lucky girl, all that cockmeat shoved up her cunt, filling up her pussy from lips to womb. She beat the blood-engorged cock, the head a swollen, purple knob with a slit in the tip. A clear bead of early cum blossomed there in the sun.
"God, Betty, jack me off, baby, flog my cock, honey. Jimmy's gonna spurt cum a mile for you." "Yes," she muttered to herself, "yes, yes." Her eyes were fixed upon the bright head of his cock. Her mouth was hanging open, her tongue tucked at one corner.
"Gonna come for you, baby, come all over you."
"Come for me, Jimmy," she mumbled, aware of the urgency in his words rather than their meanings. "Yes, Jimmy, yes."
A cold hand gripped her intestines, and her mother's voice came out of the past. Good girls don't enjoy sex, Betty. It just isn't something that a nice girl enjoys. But this wasn't just for herself, now - she was helping a friend, wasn't she? A friend who was in need, needed her hands to make him well - her magic hands. His hot cock felt good in her magic hands, and she had made his cock hot, had brought it to life again.
"I'm getting there, Betty - close now, so close. Harder." His cock pumped into her hands, his hips worked against her strength. She could feel the pressure building, swelling behind some invisible barrier.
"Come, Jimmy, come for me, yes, yes," she said, his cockhead against her cheek. "Blast your cum for me." Her mother's memory screamed at her, but she balanced her outrage against Jim Westmorland's need, and snuck her own in under the shadow of his.
"Betty, oh Betty, I'm coming," and before he had finished his cum was pumping out of his cock and spewing across her surprised face, splattering white gobs of cum that laced her beautiful face with its thick white webbing. Her mouth flew open and his cock spurted a gushing gob right onto her tongue. The hot salty slickness surprised her. She had never eaten cock before, and knew nothing of the taste of cum. She was surprised at the salty sweetness, and she swallowed it without a second's thought.
Only after Jim's cock had shot its last did the full impact of the situation dawn on Betty. There she was, face dripping with Jim's cum, heart pounding, pussy twitching in ecstatic agony. She had actually jacked another man off without any terrible feelings about her husband. What if they were all to come back now, stringers full of trout, and find them, Jim and her, cum-drenched and hot.
"Oh, my God," she cried and bounded up. "Jesus, God," she said, running in the direction of the brook. His tool managed one last drop of cum that clung to the end of his prick like a pearl bead, brilliant in the sunlight.