Chapter 6
Henry Hornaday stormed into his house and went directly to the liquor cabinet. He sloshed gin and vermouth together and drank the mixture down without benefit of ice. Outside, the door of his car was hanging open and he hadn't even paused in it for the cigarette he normally smoked before facing the fat, lazy, sexless lump of suet he'd so mistakenly married. A perfectly lousy day at work had been topped off with an absolutely horrifying observation on the way home, and now he was in just the right mood to steal an automatic rifle from the Armory and methodically rip holes through his boss, his wife, his neighbors, every motorist on the freeway, and that rotten no-good two-timing bitch of a hitch-hiking whore he'd fallen in love with.
Eyes watering from the first one, he poured another warm martini. He knew exactly where the Armory was, and he felt quite strong enough to rip through its brick walls with his two bare hands.
Maybe they had grenades there. Shove one up that lynx-faced hitch-hiker's diseased twat and pull the pin. Much more practical to buy a double-barreled shotgun. Saw the barrels off short, so the muzzle would just rest on the right hand sill of the car door window while he steered with his left hand. Keep up a legal rate of speed as he approached the freeway entrance where she usually thumbed, honk the horn to get her attention, and then blow her cheating little head off and zoom right onto the freeway.
He could do it. In the secret compartment of his wallet there were now four fifty-dollar bills, ample to buy the best shotgun and shells. He had the money to do it and he had the guts to do it, and by all hell, he was going to do it the very next day if she was there again in her whore's boots and with her fucking ass sticking out from under her postage-stamp skirt. He'd kill her and his boss and his wife and his neighbors, he decided, and then kill himself.
But suddenly he'd put his glass down and was sobbing, saying aloud, "No, no, no, I just can't do it to her, I can't do any of it. There's got to be a different way." He snuffed and laughed and said, "What? A different way onto the freeway? Just avoid her? That wouldn't solve anything, old man. Hmph! Yes, I'm an old man, but now I know I'm not too old for her. Now I know I can have her, really have her! Damn it, where's that woman who fixes my dinner? Helen! HELEN!"
The sight of that great whale cf a woman snoring on the bed under another of her flowered tents drove Henry into a new fit of rage. "Get up and fix my dinner!" he shouted, and siapped her as hard as he could on her big fat ass.
She yelped and sat up, and before she could challenge his wrath in any way, he was saying, "While I've been working my ass off, you've been sleeping away the day! What the hell is your bicycle doing on the front porch? I almost broke my neck on it! And what in the hell is your goddamned muu-muu doing out there? Were you out there on the fucking porch doing a fucking strip tease for the fucking mailman? If you did, we sure as hell won't be getting any mail around here for a long while to come! Well, don't sit there gaping at me, woman! I'm hungry, understand?, hungry! Get your fat ass out of bed and fix me an ice-cold dry martini and some pork chops and applesauce and asparagus with Hollandaise sauce and a baked potato with cheese and chives and butter and be damned quick about it or I'll punch you right in the mouth!"
"Yes, dear," she said, and with startling alacrity for a woman of her years and girth, she was out of the bed and off to the kitchen. A white cotton rag had dropped to the floor as she'd departed, and Henry drop-kicked it across the room and felt better, calmer as he headed for the bathroom.
As soon as he was in there behind the locked door he sat down on the throne and put his head in his hands, wondering if he could somehow be mistaken about the darling little girl friend of his dreams being a commuters' whore. But, no, it was all too clear to him. He was a student of human nature, and he'd frequently studied the working habits of the street-walkers in the sleazier part of downtown and he was sure his fantasy girl friend was plying the oldest trade in the world. She was a whore, selling herself to strangers on the freeway approach. He'd seen it with his own eyes, and he was sure of it.
He'd pulled off on the shoulder of the road just before the freeway approach, deciding whether or not to offer her a ride home. He could remember every detail of what he'd seen. Big white expensive sedan with a cigar-chomping millionaire behind the wheel stops for her, putting off his own pick-up of the slender, beautiful girl until the next day. But she doesn't get in right away. She leans against the window sill with her little panties (as black as he'd known they'd be) showing under her microskirt's hem. A little conversation between driver and pedestrian. Can I give you a lift? Where are you headed, sir? But no, that wasn't it at all. Henry saw their purpose from the leer on the millionaire's face, and he saw it even more from the way his little girl friend held out her hand and rubbed her fingers together before the fat grinning bastard opened the car door for her.
He'd read about girls like her in the Sunday supplement. They could make a thousand dollars a week by banging guys in the back seats of cars or giving them blow-jobs at fifty-five miles an hour. Sure, most of them had good reasons for selling their bodies, but that didn't make any better persons out of them. With her looks and personality she could make a darned good living doing some honest work and keeping just one man happy, and there she was spreading her legs and sucking cocks for twenty-five dollars a head.
She probably made more than that. Probably fifty, unless she really liked the guy. Fifty bucks wouldn't be unreasonable. Fifty bucks could buy a week's groceries or two minutes of having her sweet little lips wrapped around a man's cock, and which, in the end, was better? With the money he had in his wallet he could get four blow-jobs from her, maybe five or even six if they hit it off together as he knew they would. He wondered if she charged any less for letting a guy eat her pussy, and he wondered if he could possibly touch his mouth to where so many other men's cocks had been even though that sweet pussy was between her lovely long legs.
He opened his pants and took out his cock, nice and hard and burning, and as he slowly stroked it he murmured, "That was a nice blow-job you gave me yesterday, honey. I'd like to return the favor today, but I don't trust you, kid. Meet me here tomorrow, same time, same place, and have a doctor's certificate and your instant douche bottle with you. We'll pull off the freeway and find a motel. No more of this back-seat business for me. I'll strip you bare-ass naked and lick out your hot little cunt for two hours straight without letup. I'll show you some things about sex you didn't learn about on the streets. And when I'm done with you, I'm taking over as your pimp and we're gonna get rich on your cunt and ... uhh-h-h-h - oh, damn!" Henry muttered, and squirted and shot and spewed all over his flying hand.
Chapter Seven By Ten O'clock The Next Morning Helen Was More Than Just A Little Sorry She'd Insisted On Kenny carrying on with his life away from her as usual. He could at least have given up his baseball game, she said to herself, and was immediately contrite at being so selfish. The boy did have his own life to live, and it couldn't simply turn topsy-turvy just because she'd given him the gift of sex with a very loving woman. She could wait for a few more hours for him. If they were careful, as she knew they would be, they'd have plenty of time to spend together, fucking and sucking and doing things even she hadn't heard of yet. As mature as she was, she could afford to be patient. A little patience would let things go blissfully on for years to come, and with a little patience she wouldn't wear the dear boy out before his time.
She'd been a little tired after their session the day before, but now she felt full of energy, all bright and bubbly and alive and pretty, and seething with anxiety to see him again. She wondered if she might intercept him at the baseball diamond, glove under his arm, hair still wet and smelling of chlorine. Take him home and get him in the bathtub with her. Wash him all over and fuck the hell out of him underwater. She'd probably fuck him in the car, chlorine and all. She knew for sure she'd have her tits and her cunt sucked while she was driving him to the house. But no, no, no, that was insanity. What if his parents were at the ballpark? What if she wrecked the car while he was down between her legs and she crushed him to death? As difficult as it was, she'd have to wait for him and find something to occupy her spinning brain while she did.
Helen normally kept up with her housework and gardening very well. Just the day before she'd gotten far ahead of her regular chores and now there wasn't very much for her to do around the house to occupy her time. Not very much, that is, except to get ready for the arrival of her lover, and if he felt as horny as she did, he could be coming by any time at all.
While she took a fast shower, Helen thought of all the things she could do to make Kenny's welcome even better for him. She would turn it into a very special day, one that neither of them would ever forget. She felt like an eagerly excited bride as she stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. Breathless and almost blushing, she looked into the mirror and said, "Yes, I will be your bride today, Kenny. Today will be as if it were our wedding night, dariing, and it will be a hot one."
Helen thought she heard a noise in the back yard. It might be him already! She wrapped the towel around her as she hurried to the back door, but there was no sign of him. Her yard was heavy with shrubs and flowers and it was lined with a six-foot hedge. She'd occasionally taken nude sunbaths out there, and now she gave little thought to her scanty attire as she tripped over the grass to look out the gate for her young lover. No sign of him, and Helen returned through the back yard to her house without having an inkling that she'd been closely observed.
Don Lucas had been kneeling behind a bush pulling weeds when Helen Hornaday had come skipping out in nothing but a bath towel. He remained kneeling there after she'd disappeared into the house, but now his jaw was hanging open and his dirt-stained hand was rubbing the long bulge that had sprung up in his thin khaki work pants. Don came by every Thursday to do the heavier work in the yard, but his employer was in such a giddy state this Thursday that she didn't even know what day it was. Don couldn't believe what he'd seen. At twenty, he was already an inveterate peeper and so he'd secretly observed several of his employers dressing or undressing in their houses. He'd seen big tits and small ones; he'd seen a few naked pussies; he'd seen a man screwing his wife - so nothing should surprise him. But the sight of fat old Helen Hornaday without her muu-muu just knocked him out.
Hell, she wasn't fat at all! She was heavily built, but she had a damned good shape to her. Don had liked the shape of her legs. It had looked like she had quite a set of tits under that towel. He'd seen just a little glimpse of her big round butt and he wanted to see more of it so he got up and walked stealthily across the yard to her window, wiping his hands on his pants as he went.
Don almost moaned aloud as he peeped in through the bedroom window because there she was showing him exactly what he'd wanted to see. The towel was gone. She was as naked as a jaybird and a helluva lot sexier as she bent over and rummaged through her chest of drawers, with her big moony white ass staring back at him from no more than ten feet away. It was just as round as it could be, and looking at it like that made his hard pecker hurt so bad he had to rub it through his pants. The crack between her buns looked terrifically deep. She had her legs apart and he saw the little tufts of hair that stuck out from her pussy. It was only a small slit in the blinds he could look through, but he somehow felt she was going to treat him to the best show he'd seen yet. Don pulled out his shirttail and reached his hand inside his pants to keep himself from going nuts while Helen Hornaday did her stuff for him. He almost creamed his jeans when she straightened up and he saw her tits in the mirror, and he had to close his eyes for a second when she held a sheer red shortie nightgown before her.
"Would you like this, Kenny?" she said to her reflection. "No, that's a little too naughty ... So is this," she went on, and Don got another good look at her fat white tits and her big red nipples before she draped a clinging black negligee over them.
Her skin looked whiter than ever against the dully shimmering black. Her ass was still as naked as it could be, and Don's eyes glinted and he grinned a crooked smile as he took it all in. She was damned nice to look at, but she was just another stupid old broad. It always gave him a special sort of kick when he got to look at the ones who treated him like dirt Seeing them bare-assed or in their undies or sitting on the crapper was putting them in their proper place in his opinion. This one was really stupid, hiding a figure like hers under those goofy Hawaiian dresses she always wore. She was super dumb if she was fooling around with Kenny down the street. But that was clearly impossible. He'd heard mere were lots of horny old women around, but if they were really horny, they'd be out going after an older stud like himself. He figured he hadn't heard her right, and he went on enjoying the show with his hand curled around his prick inside his pants now. And she was putting on quite a show. She was smiling at her reflection and trying to look sexy as she turned this way and that with the black thing held up against her tits. When she set it down on the chest of drawers he got a helluva profile view of her tits. He hadn't seen any that big before! They made his hands itch just to look at them, so big and jiggly with the blunt ends tipped with pink. He had his nose pressed up against the screen, but now he wrinkled his nose as she turned and showed him her pussy. It was really big. Its thick dark hair reached halfway up to her belly button. He couldn't see where in the world a guy would stick his dick in it.
Again she turned back to the chest of drawers, and when she bent way over to get something out of the bottom drawer he could see her butt hole. The tan puckered eye seemed to be staring back at him from a big round frame of white smoothness, and he leered at it and ground his teeth together.
Now she stood upright holding a long white nightgown by its thin shoulder straps. You could see right through it, but Don liked the black one a lot better. "Yes, this is the one for my lover boy," she said, and took it with her as she left the bedroom.
Lover boy? Hell, maybe she was fooling around with wimpy Kenny Sloane, the goodie-good boy of the neighborhood. Don sidled through the shrubbery to the bathroom window and had to go up on his tiptoes to see over the sill. He was almost staggered backward by what he saw. She had one foot on the floor and the other up on the sink so that her hairy old cunt was wide open. He could see little of the hair now, however, since the whole of her big crotch was covered with white lather. She was looking down at herself as she spread it around, and he could hear her murmuring:
"I don't know if Kenny would like me better shaved or not. He could kiss me better if I was shaved, and ooo-ooo-oo," she said, and slid her cupped hand down through the lather, "he does like to kiss my hot old pussy. If he doesn't like me shaved, I can always grow it back again for him. And Henry won't even notice it. Yes, I'm going to shave myself and bring my pussy out in the open."
It was the weirdest thing Don had ever seen in his life. He watched with utter fascination as she carefully made broad swaths of pink flesh show through the hairy foam. She shaved down to the top of her slit and then went on and made her cuntlips appear. They were huge and flabby-looking and although Don could now see where a guy would put his dick into a woman he didn't particularly like what he saw. But there were other things to look at and Don's interest did nothing but grow as he peeped at Helen Hornaday washing the lather off her cunt, putting on make-up, doing something to her hair to make it lighter, and putting on perfume and powder. His other customers could go to heck that day. As he'd expected, it was the best show he'd ever seen, and there was a fair possibility that he'd get something more out of it than just an eyeful.
She put on the long white nightie. It looked pretty good on her. The top of it was so tight it looked like it was going to bust. It was so thin and sheer that he could see her nipples through it. He figured she was worried about its busting, too, for she put her hands under her tits and lifted them, just like he'd like to do. "Sexy old bitch," he murmured to himself, and squeezed his dick hard.
Suddenly Helen Hornaday froze and cocked her head. "Kenny?" she said, and hurried out of the bathroom. Don just as quickly left his vantage point. If that really was Kenny Sloane coming to do things with hot old Helen, he'd kick him out in the alley and do it all himself. Don was going to fuck her that day or know the reason why. Half the guys in the neighborhood were already fucking and it was high time he got in on a good thing, too. It was just a matter of getting his courage up, he thought, as he watched her look out through the back gate, and his prick was up so hard that his courage was bound to follow.
Once again there was no sign of Kenny, but
Helen wasn't disappointed. The longer she had to wait for him, the better she'd appreciate him when he arrived. The longer she waited, the more time she had to prepare for their very informal "wedding"
afternoon. She came tripping back across the lawn with the long skirt of her negligee trailing and fluttering behind her. It was an old negligee. It had been a gift at her wedding shower and this was the second time she'd worn it in all those years. The first time had been when Henry had deflowered her with his big, eager cock, and after that horrid night she'd put the gauzy white nylon gown to rest. Now she felt like a teen-aged wood nymph in it as she danced along through the bright sunlight with flowers all around her. The appearance of Don as he emerged from the bushes next to the house, however, sent her staggering backward.
She'd never really liked him. He'd always had an insolent, surly air about him and now his insolence was quite apparent as he smirked down at her thinly covered body. She tried to cover her breasts and her loins at the same time with her fluttering hands. She tried to compose herself and speak sternly to him, but her voice stammered as she said, "D-Don, you startled me. I ... excuse me. I've got to get inside." He stepped between her and the back door, thumbs hooked in the waistband of his dirty brown pants. She was just as much frightened as she was embarrassed now as she tremulously tried to circle him and get into the safety of her house. She managed to hold her back stiff until, just a yard from him, he said, "You were expecting Kenny Sloane, huh?"
"Kenny S-Sloane? Oh, yes. He, er, he's going to fix my bicycle. A flat tire. He's - er - excuse me," she said, and lowered her flushed face and tried again to pass him. She made it this time, but again he stopped her with his words:
"Yeah, I think your lover boy will like you in that thing. I liked the black thing better, myself. And you think he'll like that shaved pussy, huh? He likes goin' down on you that much?"
She turned and faced him as haughtily as she could. "You looked in my window! You're fired, Don! Get off my property!"
"Your husband hired me, and he'll fire me if anybody does." He swaggered toward her. He'd passed the dangerous point and he felt pretty darned confident now. "Wouldn't your old man just shit if he knew you were messin' around with the neighborhood boys? Maybe the girls, too. You been playin' stink-finger with the Camplighter Girls too, Helen?"
"I ... I ... I ... How can you say such things? I've never even touched Kenny. Don, don't go spreading tales about something you don't know about. I've never ... I'm not that kind of a woman." "Oh, sure," he said, smirking lewdly now in the face of her clumsy lies. "You're just the kind of a woman who likes to have us young guys kiss her hot old pussy. You like gettin' fucked, and if you aren't gettin' enough dick from your old man, why not get it where you can, huh? But, don't worry. I'll never tell on you." He reached out and curled a finger under her left breast, touched it as if he was chucking a child under the chin. "I'll never tell," he said, "as long as you treat me right."
Helen started to cry then. She'd thought about being disgraced for her sordid affair with young Kenny, but this sort of dreadful blackmail had never entered her mind. She had no choice but to meet his demands, and she knew very well how degrading they'd be for he was such a lout that he paid no attention at all to the tears streaming down her cheeks as he put his soiled hands all over her cringing breasts.
"Nice tits," he said, feeling their round, full softnesses to his heart's content, more excited than he'd ever been before in his life but hiding it well. "I can just see your Kenny swingin' from them. Yeah, you really got 'em, Helen. Got a little gut on you, too, but it's not too bad," he said, and he roved his hand over her belly, feeling the soft rolls of flab there and probing in her belly button. "And you shaved your snatch for him, huh? Let's see if you missed any spots. Feels pretty smooth. Sorta hot, too. Lift up the bottom of that thing and I'll check you out better. I know all about shaving."
Helen wanted to plead with him one more time, but she knew it wouldn't do a bit of good. She wanted to at least ask him to go into the house for this awful humiliation, but her controlled weeping wouldn't even permit her to speak, and she refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing her sob and beg. She just lifted her negligee up to her waist and held it there, stoically bearing the hot scars of shame his hands had already left on her body. She swallowed hard, but she didn't move a muscle as he ran his hand over her shamefully burning pubic mound. His obscene smile loomed close and she could even smell his breath as he stooped a bit to slide his hand up between her legs and draw it back with its middle finger dragging through her trembling slit. She wanted with all her heart to spit in his face as he smelled his finger and wrinkled his nose.
"And Kenny eats it? What do you do, suck his cock? Turn around and show me your butt, Helen."
Helen had to speak now. She swallowed hard and said, "Couldn't we ... go inside the house ... where it's more private?"
"In a minute. First I want to see your ass.
Turn around."
She turned and defiantly bent over, thrusting her bottom at him, and immediately regretted it for he grabbed her by the hips and pushed his loins against her there. She could feel his cock hot and hard through his pants, and in spite of her fear and loathing of him, a hot wave of desire flooded through her that made her legs go weak and her eyes close.
He backed off to use his hands on her, but she could still feel the heat of his prick radiating at her. He was moving his hands all over her buttocks, pinching and patting and fondling her there while she remained all bent over with her negligee held up around her waist and the hot waves of lust sweeping on.
"Goddamn, you sure got an ass on you," he said. One moment his fingers were tickling her unbearably, the next they were pinching her painfully.
"Never knew an ass-crack could be so deep," he said with a dirty little chuckle in his voice. His fingers slid down through it, as deep as they could go, stopping just short of her cunt as its welling juices leaked out and spread hotly down her thighs.
"Hold your buns apart so's I can get a better look at your shitter, willya?" he said, and she took a wider stance and did it. She pulled her buttocks wide apart, any flicker of lust now lost in the mortifying shame she felt. He touched her there with a finger that was far dirtier than her anus, and she felt quite sick to her stomach. He pushed the end of his finger in her, and she bit her lip to hold back a new flood of tears. This was so dirty, so awful, and when she'd touched Kenny there it had been sweet and good.
Kenny! What if he came and found her like this?
Helen steeled herself against the quaking in her voice and said, "Don, can't we go inside the house now. I'll be ... good to you there. I'll ... let you fuck me, b-but please for the love of heaven let's go inside! Please, Don, please!"
He swatted her on the bottom and said, "Yeah, let's go inside. You lead the way, Helen. Hold that thing up high and show me how good you can swing your ass while you lead the way."