Chapter 1

Lorna emerged from the shower, cool except for the hot mound of her pussy that throbbed between the firm rounded flesh of her inner thighs. She gasped and squeezed her thighs together tightly and felt the answering pinch like a caress on her turgid hair-fringed cunt lips. The tightening of her leg muscles plunged the whole of her lower body into fierce sex heat; as the warm flesh clenched around her slit her clitoris throbbed unbearably and sent little darts of fire through her stomach and into the small of her back. Her rectum grew stretchy and tingly, making her think of how wonderful it would feel to have a good stiff finger plunging in and out of her snug, puckered rim. For that matter, she'd love nothing better than a real man-sized prick back there, slathered up with gooey lubrication and ramming steadily in and out of her back door.

Her slanted green eyes darkened under her red-gold brows. Fat chance of that ever happening! Dan's fingers had never been between her ass cheeks in the whole three years of their marriage. He thought things like that were abnormal-when he managed to talk about such matters at all, which was only in court as lawyer for the Decent Film League. He would never discuss such practices as ass-fucking with his beloved wife! Lorna was one of the women that Dan and the DFL sought to protect. Well, she was aching for some of the raw sex they were trying to stamp out. As far as she was concerned, the only thing wrong with the movies was that they were only movies!

She tossed the towel aside and looked at her glorious nudity in the full-length mirror. Her hands slid under her big blossoming tits and jiggled the undersides until her nipples tingled and stood out like hard little tongues. Her thumbs flicked lightly over them and she shivered against the titillating thrill that spiraled out like a many-pointed star, burning through her big round boobs and diving in hot-cold chills into her armpits and ribs. She imagined an eager wet mouth clamped over one of those wide pink circles, sucking hard and then drawing away until only a hot laving tongue touched her.

The thought of such abandoned love-making caused a harsh, whimpering sound of frustration and anger to escape her wide sensuous mouth. It was a sucking mouth, made to open wide and take something good and hard in it. On the street, men stared at her body, their eyes sliding helplessly over her jiggling boobs and V-shaped crease at the top of her thighs, but their glance always returned to her mouth. Lorna could tell from the intense bright gaze what they were thinking. Her generous red lips had a suggestive pout to them, even in repose, that reminded men of what it felt like to slide their pricks into such a charming place as a voluptuous woman's ready, eager mouth.

Lorna wondered what it felt like to have a mouth full of creaming, plunging cock. She tried to imagine what those merciless thrusts would feel like when they pounded against the back of her throat instead of her sensitive, stubby womb neck. She wondered if she would gag on it, but she knew somehow that she wouldn't. Some instinctive knowledge of her own sensuality made her confident that she would be the best cock-sucker any man ever had the good luck to come across. She did not know how she knew; only that there existed some women who seemed somehow to be pre-ordained experts in bed, and she was one of them.

Frustration and harsh disappointment, like a sadistic demon, tormented her and mocked the curvaceous image in the mirror.

What good is it all doing you, married to Daniel Perkins, the one-man vice squad?

Lorna's jaws clenched tightly until her high, pronounced cheekbones stood out like the sides of a triangle. She would not waste time now thinking about him, or anything except the precious and rare opportunity she had to be alone. Her in-laws were out of the house for the afternoon and would not be back until late tonight. Dan was closeted with the DFL steering committee, poring over pornographic photo magazines to decide where they would strike next. She had the house to herself with no fear of the constant interruptions her mother-in-law so loved to make under the guise of seeing "if I can do anything for you." Damn the old bitch! Lorna needed something done for her all right, but Ma Perkins was the last candidate for the job. If she couldn't have a man she'd have the next best thing, the only thing available for a hot cunt at a time like this!

Lorna gave a little cry of excitement and lay down on the fluffy bathroom rug in front of the mirror. Her ass wriggled ecstatically on the tickly material and her long slender legs opened wide. She felt her cunt lips separate and spread back as she forced her thighs further and further apart, until the muscles at the juncture of her hips pulled painfully. She could drag it out this afternoon . . . no need to hurry with a quickie job of fingering as she had had to do so many times before, with Dan just a few feet away in their bedroom. This time she was going to fuck herself raw! Right in front of the mirror, just like a movie. . . .

It made it more exciting to see as well as feel. She had discovered that charm one day shortly after Dan had taken on the DFL as clients and launched into his bid as the heroic young lawyer who would skin the skin flicks. It was Lorna's last-ditch attempt to convince herself that she could be desirable to Dan. The thought of him viewing fuck films and beaver shots excited her because she imagined him getting hot while he watched. One night, with the bathroom door locked, she jerked herself off in front of the mirror and pretended that she was the movie which he watched that day. She knew what he had seen-he had told her that much. "A woman abusing herself," was the way he had disgustedly put it. Lorna had experienced a mingled emotion of shame and a dark, earthy thrill. By "becoming" the girl in the movie, she thought she could reach Dan, make him notice her and acknowledge the fierce, shameless need of sex that she had, a need he had never satisfied. She could never approach him directly, but if she could pretend she was in a movie, a nice dirty, sexy movie . . . what better way to forge a bond with a man whose job it was to watch them? Even if the bond were only in her mind it might take away that hideous feeling that her husband did not even see her.

But it had not worked. His coldness won over her as it always had.

Her session in front of the mirror had done something else, though, something she had not anticipated. Her own excitement was increased when she could see the things she had only felt before-the thick whitish puddle of cunt juice settling over her vaginal entrance and smearing through her lips as she drew her fingers up and down her hot snatch valley; she saw the straining stiffness of her own clit, the change in color of her meaty mucous inner flesh from coral pink to deep sexy grayish-red as her flanges engorged with blood. Instead of forging a bond with Dan, the sight of her climaxing cunt had brought revenge. She teas a movie, a dirty movie! His own wife, in his own home, was starring in a beaver shot!

Lorna propped herself up against the clothes hamper and gazed lovingly at herself. No one else appreciated the sight of her naked body, so why shouldn't she be her own audience? A defiant fine sprang into her soft cheek.

Her hair was a vivid titian red, a glorious riot of orangey gold, matched by the generous puff of pussy strands between her legs. A real redhead, not out of a bottlel She stared at her reflection and ran her fingers through the kinky strands of her cunt. Her asshole peeped from between her rounded buttocks and sprouted the same bright red hairs. She clenched her anal muscles and watched the tiny wrinkled rim pucker, then relax. What would it feel like to have something in there? she wondered. Her ass throbbed hungrily until she almost sobbed with thwarted desire. She looked wildly around the bathroom for something, anything, that would feel like a raging, blood-hardened prick. Her glance fell on a plastic bottle, torpedo-shaped with a rounded cap whose edges spread out in a flared hood-supposedly to contain leakage and dripping, said the label.

Lorna smiled. Supposedly! Why hadn't she thought of it before? She jumped up and with shaking fingers took the bottle down from the shelf. It was cold cream soap and its name was Sylvan. It was selling like wildfire; drugstores all had a display of it, and each of the Sylvan products came in the same prick-shaped bottle with that big cock head of a cap! The bottle was soft enough not to hurt but firm enough to get into those hard-to-reach little areas that are every woman's problem.. . .

As she unscrewed the top and squeezed out some of the thick cream a last, buried twinge of guilt left her. forever. There must be millions of women all over the country who bought this stuff solely for the bottle-and the manufacturer must have known just how well his cocky container would catch on. Lorna felt better; she wasn't the only unsatisfied wife . . . she wasn't the only one who looked forward to these solitary sessions. Hatred for Dan and all the other husbands like him ran through her veins like acid.

Now for some real fun. . . .

The soap was just like her own cunt jism. Her heart beat faster as she slicked up the entire tubular length of the bottle. It was at least eight inches long and as big around as her wrist. Big business knew that women liked big cocksl

She, lay down again on the rug and stared at herself in the mirror as she trailed the big slathered tube over her widespread box. She pulled her hairy outer lips apart and sank the knobby cockhead against her quivering clitoris and circled it teasingly. Her back arched with the instant response from the stiff little organ as it met the undulating motion of the massive tip. Then she lowered the tube into the folds of her inner lips, pushing against them, separating them as she screwed her way down still further. The fist-like top sank against her vaginal hole like a round, hot stone. Lorna gasped and pushed it into her box with a fierce thrust. A sweet pain clutched at her groin and sent waves of tortured delight into her entrails as the hammer stretched her tight cunt muscles. Oooooh, God it was big! Bigger than

Dan . . . was it bigger than any man or was some stud hung like this? Her mouth watered as she imagined a real man with a dong like this on him! God, she couldn't get it past her entrance! In the mirror her cunt hole gaped like a mouth. She screwed and twisted the instrument from side to side, urging it in higher. She gasped as she felt her flesh suddenly open and begin to suck hungrily at the gigantic prick substitute. Ummmmmmm, she had it going now. The greasy shaft slid slowly into her churning snatch until only an inch remained protruding from the wet tangled red hairs of her throbbing pussy.

"Oh, it feels wonderful to have something in thereeeee!" she cried, not caring if her delighted shrieks sounded through the whole empty house.

She tightened her cunt muscles until the tube was trapped snugly within her snapping box. With her knees bent and spread wide she began to push back and forth on the rug, all the while staring at herself in the mirror. The heavy fuck surface of the rug crept into her spread buttocks and tickled her hot bung as she humped and slid back and forth, her big breasts dancing free. Lorna squealed and pinched the aching nipples until she thought she would go crazy with lust. Now her cunt was big and generous, drawing the tube into its hot lusty depths. She had taken it all, all eight inches! Feverishly, Lorna's hands dove to her red-haired pussy and stimulated her thrusting clit. The impudent little organ was clearly visible as it stuck out from its hood of pink flesh and demanded action. She caressed it with her fingertip, making slow, circling dabs on its head until her back arched and her stuffed cunt throbbed with unbearable delight. She pushed the stiffened bud back onto itself and let it spring free, then captured it between thumb and forefinger. With her other hand she stimulated her darkened nipples, rolling the hard, flaky little tips in her fingers until the surrounding circles of reddened flesh drew up in rigid, lust-fashioned wrinkles. Her whole body was in a state of turgid erection, ready to break like a wave on the shore. Her red hair whipped out around her face and her mouth twisted into a grimace of oncoming passion. Now! Now she was ready for the best part. . . .

She whipped the steaming tube out of her vagina until she could get a good grip on it. She clutched frantically at the last two inches of its hot, smeary length and began to slide it down her box until only the flared tip remained inside. She plunged it back up without mercy, grunting with pain and joy as it rammed her cervix. She began to piston her arm as she fucked in and out of her cunt with quick, digging thrusts. She locked one knee over a stool and planted the other foot on the side of the tub, so that her creaming pussy was only inches from her in the mirror. Her tender flanges were already red with soreness but she paid no attention to the burning rawness in her cunt as she worked the imitation prick in and out of her needy thatch.

As her vagina began to suckle and milk at the hammering tube a low animalistic groan grew in Lorna's throat and grated from her clenched teeth. A harsh pounding began in her bruised cervix and spread like brush fire through her cunt.

This was it! Her body twisted in a vicious, undulating wriggle as she gushed a spray of jism onto the slippery, plunging instrument of pleasure.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHH fuck me you big-cocked brute! Sink your prick in deeeeeeep! I'm coming on you, do you feel me? I'm spraying you with nice hot cunt jism! Stick it in meeeeeee! Don't stop fucking me, don't ever stop fucking me! Bury that hard pecker in my pussy every night! I'll have plenty for you-NNNNNNGGG-GGHHHHHH!"

Her legs fell weakly to the floor and she lay gasping, the slicked tube protruding from her trembling snatch. Her panting breath sounded harsh in the suddenly quiet room; she turned her face and let her cheek touch the cool tiles beside her. Her legs felt like rubber in the wake of the intense satisfaction that poured through her entire body. It had been the best climax she had ever given herself, much better than the immature fingering that she had grown used to. This had been a real fuck, and she was sore and burning, her cunt bruised, just as though it had been a man digging his hard rod inside her.

Lorna stretched and smiled as the tube slithered slowly out of her. She reached down and caught it between her two fingers and held it in place for a moment, wriggling it back and forth against her vaginal opening.

"I'll keep you in me, you big-cocked bull!" she whispered fiercely.

The words, the hissing sound of her voice and the sight of her fingers around the slathered tube caused an intense sensation of familiarity in her.

Somewhere in the totally relaxed depths of her mind a tendril of memory seemed to slip through and prod her for the briefest flash of a second, and then was gone.

She sat up, startled. It was as if she had lived this moment before. . . .

But of course she had! All too many times, she thought hatefully, her eyes narrowing to jade slits in the mirror. The bathroom rug was her marriage bed, the only one she could regularly count on.

Lorna let the tube fall out of her cunt, then squeezed her fingers around it, growing excited once more at the feel of heat, heat from her body. It was almost like holding a real prick in her fingers. The cream inside the plastic bottle had softened a little, so that for a moment she could imagine she held a man's shrinking organ.

Once again the familiar sensation came to her. Reasonless fright covered her for a moment, mingled with a secret delight.

Suddenly she rolled onto her stomach and lifted herself on her hands and knees. She reached back and divided her creamy billowing ass cheeks and slid the greasy tube up and down through her hair-fringed crack. She shivered with oncoming ecstasy each time the knobby tip touched her puckered virginal rim. She felt it getting hot and big, just the way her pussy did when it was needing. How many times had she wanted a good stiff cock up her ass and never gotten it? At first, she used to wriggle her ass enticingly in a suggestive hint, riding up on Dan's ready prick until it slipped down in the hot valley between her buns. He had recoiled in horror.

"You don't want me to do that, do you?" he had demanded in disbelieving tones. She pretended she did not but she did! All he could do was watch movies! He got his kicks that way, all of them did, all of those whey-faced members of DFL! Well, she'd give them a movie they'd never forget!

Her shoulders lowered until they touched the big white rug. Her ass was ready now, her rectum tingled with longing as she pressed the fat knob of the tube against it. God, how big it felt back there, and how suddenly tiny and vulnerable her rim had become! She gripped the shaft firmly and dug the tip against her hot corn hole. As she ground it determinedly into her ass she felt a wave of heavy hot pain spread over her tender crack. NNNNNGGGGHHHH! It would never fit! She was sure she couldn't take it as much as she wanted it. She centered the instrument over her rectal entrance and held it in place while she wove her hips back on it, grinding her flexing buttocks onto the fierce rod. Pain like a kick in the stomach shot through her as the monstrous tip pushed aside the sore pink skin and went in with a little popping sound. Lorna panted and squeezed her cheeks lovingly around the tube, making her rectum suck the big dong in. Slowly it slid up the hot, dry channel, marauding her tender unused ass flesh. It was so big that it seemed to push her entrails into a painful, knotty lump but still she forced it in until she could stand it no longer. She tinned her head and gazed at herself in the mirror with glazed, passion-maddened eyes. Her ass muscles grabbed hungrily at the protruding stick and flexed; she could see the slickened tube quiver as it stuck out of her pain-wracked bung. Each time her rectum milked at the big fucking instrument her creamy ass cheeks rippled and moved. She let her body slide slowly down on the rug until its tufts were tickling her nipples. She cried out and swayed her big round orbs back and forth until it almost felt like plucking fingers at her quivering, newly aroused boobs.

Obscene pictures flew through her brain with such clarity that she almost saw them in the mirror. There was a man kneeling in front of her face, his thighs spread wide. She imagined herself swallowing his enormous red cock, stuffing it down her throat and working her palate against it while she jiggled his pendulous balls in her hand. Under her humping cunt was another man, his face smeared with the copious juices that flowed out of her well-tongued pussy. She could feel his hot lips pinching her clit and his tongue inching its way into her streaming vagina while he made vulgar cunt-lapping sounds. But most of all, she felt the harsh impaling jabs of that gorgeous eight-inch rod up her ass, throbbing and plunging into her bowels. With each long pull backward it dragged the tender pink internal flesh out of her asshole, then shoved it back up into the dark channel that needed fucking so badly. A threesome, and she was the star! Her hand reached back and grabbed the tube. She fucked herself with merciless pistoning bangs until her arms ached and went numb and her virgin ass began to bleed. She rolled over on the rug, sobbing, panting, whimpering to the imaginary men to give it to her some more.

But they were gone; the movie was over.

She got slowly to her feet, her red hair tousled and tangled around her unearthly white shoulders. As she stared, suddenly depressed, at her reflection in the mirror, she felt a familiar sensation of plunging despair. It was the feeling she always got after jerking herself off. A voice seemed to taunt her with one inescapable word of truth: Waste! Waste! Waste!

She got back into the shower and stood under the spray until her tormented body felt cool again. Each time she closed her eyes against the sharp needles of water she saw Dan's face. Nothing seemed to drive it away; if she tried to think of another man, some man she might have happened to see on the street and found attractive, his face and body were quickly replaced by those of her husband.

She could not escape him, not even in her private fantasies, at least not for very long. He always came back in spite of her efforts, in spite of everything. She was married to him, married to his whole damn family, but most of all she was married to the respectability they represented.

Respectability! It had been the chief weapon she had used to get him, and now it was the thing that tied her to him even though she wanted to run far, far away.

She got dressed and went out to the car, still determined to make use of her precious freedom even though there was nothing to do except ride aimlessly around the countryside. She pulled out of the driveway and passed down the street between the rows of neat white frame houses, enormous New England saltboxes with square towers and Victorian gingerbread. Pinchott Street . . . the most respectable place in town.

She suddenly longed to go out on the highway and drag race-she had state legislature tags on the car thanks to Dan's obsession with politics as a career. She wouldn't get a ticket, the troopers would notice the tags and. . .

Her heart beat rapidly with excitement, yet the same conflicting emotion of fear and depression that she had felt in the bathroom returned once more and drove the forbidden temptation away.

She pulled onto Main Street and saw what had been the subject of an "exciting" discussion at dinner the night before.

The new parking meters. . . .

They were the talk of the town. No one could quite believe that the sleepy little village had actually grown so much as to need those twelve little boxes. To some, the idea of parking meters was exciting, like the "moving stairs" at the new Penney's in Caribou . . . the escalator, Lorna thought with disgust. To other townspeople, the new parking meters were shocking, evidence of a cosmopolitanism they didn't want.

If that much shocked them, what would they think if something really notorious happened? Suppose they knew what she had done in the bathroom, for instance? Or even better, suppose she should run away to Boston or New York and get a job in a skin flick? Her pulses throbbed as she imagined Dan and his everlasting committees viewing the film for prosecution and finding-her!

She drove slowly out of town. Soon she was surrounded by the dark, cool pines of a Maine forest road, alone in the late afternoon of a summer day. It would not be long before the green inviting woods became a desolate white wasteland, Lorna thought disconsolately. It often snowed in late October here. The corners of her mouth twitched as she thought of the sole pleasure that awaited the lumberjacks who worked the woods in the long, sub-zero winter months. Thanks to civic-minded lawyers like Dan and upright judges like her father-in-law, there weren't many "trailer camps" left but a few still managed to slip by the watchful pillars of respectability. The whores set up shop in trailers and serviced the lumberjacks. Back in the old days, they had used lean-to's or tents, and it was so cold that the men couldn't even take off their boots, let alone anything else. The old Maine expression for fucking, "putting the boots to her", had come from such drafty brothels.

Lorna felt excitement churn within her. What would it be like to be one of those women? A whore, servicing one, two dozen men a night! Her pussy began to tingle and she moved in a wriggling motion on the seat until the seam of her slacks cut snugly into her aroused slit and pressed hard into her suddenly lubricious cunt. Ummmm, that felt good, she sighed raggedly. She thought of the burly lumberjacks, giant-like men starved for women, nearly crazy for the hot, wet feel of a wiggling slot after those endless isolated days deep in the forests, surrounded by no one but other men as horny as they were. . . . God, she'd bet they could go four or five rounds in a row. She laughed aloud as she thought of Dan and his father arresting a trailer load of whores and finding . . . her!

She stopped the car at a small clearing and pulled off the road into the bushes. She had to get out and walk in the woods; something that she did not understand had willed that she get out of the car and venture into the unknown darkness of those dense, towering pine trees. She pulled on the brake and stopped the motor, eerily conscious of the everyday mechanical sounds. The click of the key in the ignition, the squeak of the leather seat, seemed like sounds from another time in the primitive green silence that surrounded her.

She sat for a moment, not daring to move. Up above, a cicada screamed for heat and a whippoorwill sang briefly, then was silent. A sense of timelessness swept her. She got out of the car and closed the door softly and walked into the copse. She knew that she was placing herself in danger; hunters abounded here and she could be shot; there might be snakes; further back, deep in the woods, there were bears and bob cats, but she could not stop herself. She wanted to go back into time, back into something wild and harsh . . . what was it? She walked on, climbing over logs and a narrow, winding stream.

Suddenly she stopped, ugly fear crawling through her stomach. A man in blue pants and shirt was standing a few yards away, his shoulders hunched in an unmistakable fashion. She saw the high yellow arc rise from his crotch and splatter on a bush before him. Then he turned around and she saw that he was young, and that his exposed cock was a long pink cylinder with a head on it like a fist . . . and it was in a half-hard-on.

He rubbed his hand over it for a moment, then tucked it away in his pants. When he started to button his fly instead of zip it, Lorna's heart leaped to her throat and she forgot everything except raw terror. His blue denim uniform made sense now; he must be a prisoner from the correction farm ten miles away. She knew about the buttons on their pants, it was a great joke. When so many men were herded together without women they quickly learned to use each other for relief. Zippered flies made for fast concealment, but if a man had to button up there was a greater chance that the guard could catch him.

She knew she should turn and run but something locked her legs under her. Her heart beat in slow, heavy thuds and three words pounded through her brain in time to her heartbeats: Men without women . . . men without women. . . . That was why she was here, wasn't it? To pretend for a few moments that she was one of the trailer women. Something had drawn her here, something that was as dark and menacing as the tall pines and the man who stood with his muscular legs wide apart, his hand rubbing his bulging crotch as though he were in pain. A man without women . . . a man in the woods without women. . . . She went forward helplessly as though an invisible lead drew her to him.

A branch snapped underfoot and he looked up with a start and saw her. His blue shirt was open in a long V to his waist, exposing a mat of thick wiry brown hair. Even from where she stood Lorna could see that his eyes were some clear pale color, penetrating agate eyes that terrified her, yet beckoned her to him.

He devoured her with hungry eyes, blinking as though he thought she was a mirage in the forest. He began to grin and walked a few steps toward her. She saw that his eyes were gray, a clear silver color without any hazel or gold flecks. She thought of steel bars on cells, gray prison walls, all the hard threatening things that gray represented. His eyes were the jails to which Dan loved to send people-people who weren't respectable.

They were only two or three yards apart now. Helplessly, Lorna's eyes dropped down his body and stared at his bulging crotch. His grin broadened and his hand cupped his hard prick inside the snug prison denims. God, what a big basket of maleness it was! Her mouth went dry at the sight of the clearly defined rod straining against his fly. Her own clitoris hardened and tickled with agony and something slick and warm came out of her vagina and smeared her crotch. She took another step, her cunt turgid and throbbing between her thighs.

Then she saw the stenciled decal on his shirt: State Correction Farm, Department of Prisons.

"Why don't you come a little closer?" he said. "I won't murder you." Then, more softly, with a silky note creeping into his voice: "That's not what I'm in for."

Her mind told her to turn and run but her body urged her closer with each beat of her heart, as though it were a drum cadence to which she was bound to keep step. His voice sounded educated. . . . As the reassuring thought passed through her mind she felt a ripple of hysterical mirth rise up inside her throat. It was as if she had become, in that second, two women. Dan Perkins' wife cared about respectability. Dan Perkins' wife was trying to make a gentleman out of a jailbird to excuse the obscene thoughts that this man stirred in her. But there was another Lorna, a very different woman, who hated respectability and gentlemen. This Lorna wanted a stud behind bars, not a gentleman before the bar!

He let his eyes rest on her heaving breasts for a moment, then glanced up at her face.

"You've got roving eyes, honey, did you know that? You must lead quite a life if you go around staring holes in guys' pants like that."

She stood mesmerized and he laughed.

"There's something about my wardrobe that's disturbing. Maybe it offends the feminine eye for line and color. I've had more women turn pale when they see me."

He shrugged. "I'm a white-collar criminal, sweetheart. I refer you to the Maine Republican of January 5, 1968, page three. The headline reads: Atkins Guilty of Illicit Commerce, Judge Nathaniel Perkins presiding, if you please." He gave her a sweeping bow like a dancing master.

At the name Nathaniel Perkins, Lorna's face came back to life. It was her father-in-law., . . . Memories tumbled through her brain. When she was going with Dan there had been a case, about a New Yorker named Atkins who had "trafficked in women." The snow-covered trailers hidden in the woods, a riot in a lumber camp, courtroom hilarity when one of the Puerto Rican whores had to be treated for frostbite . . . all those jokes about Jack Frost . . . and Dan's father had thrown the book at all of them!

"I know you. . . . " Her voice was feeble and trailed off into nothingness.

He narrowed his steely eyes and studied her carefully with such a penetrating look that she had to turn away.

"Well, in that case.. . . " he murmured.

He took her hand and guided it to his crotch. Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his engorged prick throbbing under his pants. He stood proudly, his hips jutting out in a writhing thrust while she gave him a good feel. Lorna's blood rushed through her body; her head lolled drunkenly and her eyes closed.

"You're so big," she sighed. "God, it's huge.. .

He unbuttoned his fly and thrust her hot, sweaty hand into his pants and parted the opening of his shorts. She felt it, like a hot spike as it lay up against his belly. Her fingers squeezed hard and he made a whistling sound through his clenched teeth. His cool, jocular manner vanished now and he began fucking into her hand and moaning with all the bottled-up need for a woman that she knew he had. A man in the woods . . . a man without women. That's what she was here for, what she was meant for!

"Baby, a couple more of those educated hand-shakes of yours and you're going to have a fistful of egg drop soup instead of what you really need," he muttered. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her down into a bed of pine needles.

He stood above her, looking down with a fierce, wild gaze, his rigid dick sticking out of his jeans. Lorna stared at it, her hand at her throat still tingling with the feel of the smooth flesh with its knotty veins.

"It's beautiful," she breathed. "Can I suck on it?" Her voice grew desperate from the memory of the many times Dan had forbidden her to put her mouth on him. She spoke as if she expected to be refused, but he fell down on the ground beside her and slung a long muscular leg over her body. He knelt over her face; his massive pink hammer of manliness bobbed enticingly inches from her mouth. She saw tufts of dark jock hair and white cloth peeping from his open fly. At last she was going to suck on a cock! That big beautiful whang was all hers to lick and nibble! She knew she was going to love it; her mouth watered for it as he wriggled his hips and trailed the monstrous pink hood along her mouth. Lorna tasted the smokey essence of prick and jism on the tip as she opened her lips and ran her tongue over his lubricating piss slit. Then her mouth opened wide and she captured his pecker in a long, burning clamp of her eager jaws and drove it deep into her mouth over her lapping tongue. The flared knob banged mercilessly against her palate but she tightened her throat and did not gag. Her cheeks hollowed and she turned her mouth into a hot, tunneled glove of salivating softness.

He groaned and thrust hard into her throat, sliding his swollen cock over her tongue and then plunging it deeply once again. His hands tore at his belt and he pulled his pants down over his hips. Lorna had a glimpse of dark, puffy jock hair and a stomach knotted with muscle, then her eyes closed once more as her tongue concentrated on his flaring ridge. She funneled her lips around it and sucked until her face ached, making wet, ravenous cock-eating sounds that thrilled her.

"God, you're hungry for the cock, aren't you?" he gasped. "Where did you learn to suck like that? That's the best french job I ever had! That mouth is made for the big stick, sweetheart, you must have been on your knees all your life to learn to take it like this."

Beyond the roaring in her ears, Lorna heard his words and thrilled to their dark, forbidden meaning. But she hadn't done this, ever! How did she know how to do it? Where did this sure, obscene efficiency come from? Men in the woods without women . . . without women, without women, without women. . . . In a flash of terrifying clarity she was certain that she had always been here, doing this. The moment stood still, captured by an unseen camera of the mind for the briefest heartbeat of time, and then it was gone.

Suddenly she released his cock with a hearty smacking mouth sound and gazed up feverishly at him. His hips continued to pump even though her hot, lewd mouth was no longer twining and slurping over his quivering prick. She looked at it and saw its dark, vein-knotted stick shining with her saliva.

He spoke in a hoarse, shaking voice.

"Jesus, baby, don't stop that beautiful sucking. Every man ought to have a blowjob like this just once."

"Did you ever?" she asked.

"Oooooh, baby, it's like nothing I ever had! Like being in six cunts at once, or caught in a velvet meat grinder. Finish it off, come on! I want to see your face when I give you a drink."

Something made her turn teasing and coy, even though her mouth hungered for the taste of his massive pecker.

"I don't like to waste good things," she whispered, circling her hips suggestively.

"There's plenty more where this came from. You're a natural, a natural French girl . . . suck it off, swallow my come!"

His eyes bright, he leaned forward and touched the tip of his cock against her mouth. Obediently, her tongue spun around the rigid foreskin, then dipped under to the sling of rubbery folds on the underside. She licked the network of bursting sex nerves, working her lower lip back and forth like a scoop. Then she went down on it with clenching, dragging intensity that made him rock back and forth in and out of her throat as he grunted and mumbled coarse sensual compliments.

"You're cock-crazy, you know that? A real French whore, born and bred to the stick. Suck that dog, sweetheart, I want to give you a wad you'll never forget!"

She took it like a child with a luscious, dripping popsicle, her eyes glittering as she watched it slide back and forth against her chin. She worked her ravenous jaws until her mouth was a hot, wild maw of voluptuousness, giving him such vicious pulls that he yelped in delight and bucked into her throat as though it were a pussy under his hips. Lorna took it expertly, letting him bang her palate. Her mouth grew cavernous as she sucked like some man-eating fish with frank, gustatory explosions of wet delight that made it even better.

She grasped his flexing wad tighter in her fist until the engorged artery coursed and pounded, its trapped blood aching and beating in delectable throbs. Her tongue dug into his piss slit and fluttered ravenously. Her lips clamped over the rigid knob and pushed and sucked the foreskin back on itself, until the most sensitive part of his prick was fully exposed to her wanton lingual talents.

"You're going to drain me dry, aren't you?" he grunted, slamming and jerking his hips over her face. "I'm going to squirt jism into that sexy whore's mouth and it'll run down your chin, I've got so much to give you. Then I'll give you some more in your pussy . . . you got a nice red-haired thatch down there, don't you? You going to give me some hair pie? I'm starving for a good slice of it! I haven't tasted cunt for four years. . . . Do you know what that's like? To go for four years thinking about a creamy little slot?"

His words spurred her on. She milked his dong and tasted the salty beginnings of his come, making wet lewd sounds as her lips popped around his driving shaft. He grabbed her hand and cupped it around his bouncing, hairy nuts as he hurled his succulent whang deep into her throat and swabbed it over her tongue in frenzied haste, pulling it in and out of her funneling lips just as if it were sunk in a pussy. Lorna drooled over the big, vein-knotted stick with the sexiest, most beautiful cock-sucking sounds that any man could imagine.

His saliva-smeared rod flexed suddenly, seeming to grow even more monstrous and stiff than it had been before. Then he let out a long howl of pleasure and tightened his ass cheeks as his hot spurt flooded her mouth in a wracking climax. Her throat moved as the hot white stuff filled it. He jerked back, moaning loudly, writhed sinuously over her face until his balls trailed over her neck. Thick, boiling come bubbled and shot from his enormous rod. Lorna held a mouth full of jism expertly in her jaws while her tongue finished its exquisite work over the slitted tip of his prick.

She released him and threw her head back, her eyes closed and her face taut yet peaceful, and swallowed heavily.

"Ummmmmm, yes . . . oh, yes, it's just the way I knew it would be," she murmured.

How had she known? She savored the brassy taste of semen in her mouth. It was so familiar somehow, yet she did not know why.

"Get those clothes off!" he ordered.

Lorna stood up and peeled her blouse and bra, then kicked off her slacks and panties in one rumpled heap at her feet. He looked at her, down the starkly white redhead's skin dappled with freckles, all the way down to the bright snatch between her legs.

"I knew it," he grinned. "Orange."

He took off his pants and threw his work shirt on top of them. Lorna gasped as she saw the hair-matted muscular chest and long sturdy legs. He fingered his cock, grinning at her as she stared at the renewed hard-on that was fast stretching his pendulous skin into a long turgid stick of mouthwatering, satisfying cock.

He gave it a hard pinch and it sprang suddenly erect, its flared helmet tip stiffening and growing dark with desire.

"I want to put it in you right," he panted. "Get down and open those gorgeous long-stemmed beauties of yours."

Lorna wriggled her hips on the soft bed of pine needles and lewdly spread her thighs. He gazed down at her open slit, its orangey hair darkened by the thick creamy stuff that was smearing her crotch.

"That's the hottest snatch I've ever seen," he said. "You're really aching for the plug, aren't you?"

He knelt between her legs and aimed his circling groin into the already moving V of her thighs. Lorna gasped and came up under him in a wet, hairy collision of eager genitals. His knobby pecker slid into her ballooned gash and dug into her box. He poked firmly and harshly into the slushy vagina and sank his rod against her throbbing entrance. She twined against him as he pushed it slowly and tantalizingly into her, wriggling and rubbing as she murmured against his mouth. The twin globes of her tits thrust up and flattened against his hairy chest. She squealed and rubbed them into the tickling mat that made her nipples grow hard and excited.

"Ooooooh, that's beautiful fucking!" she gasped, as she felt the massive hot penis screw deeper into her churning cunt hole. She raised her legs and squeezed her trembling thighs around his ribs.

He flexed his ass and speared quickly and roughly forward, plowing up her drenched pussy with all his might, driving the hammering cock through her molten vagina until he banged her womb.

"EEEEEEEEEEEE! Oh, my God! It feels like a doorknob! Slam it, bang it, fuck meeeeeee! Ohhhhhh, yessssssss!" she gasped. "Give it to me, give me that big, wonderful rod!"

Her ass wriggled and squirmed under him as he sent his massive length of prick into her box, then drew it out slowly, feeling her come-drenched walls throb. He thrust and pulled again, sliding in and out of her with slip-slap sounds that rose around them in the quiet woods.

Lorna could not believe there was such expert fucking to be had in this world. She lifted her legs around his shoulders and held her ass up to his heaving prong, shivering each time the ridge of his foreskin dragged out of her swollen pussy. Her vagina was generously stretched with her excitement but still snug and springy, wet and velvety and hot as coals. He snuggled gratefully and determinedly into it, cramming it with every millimeter of his prick until his coarse jock hair was ground against her bright orange muff. His heavy, hot balls caressed her widespread ass cheeks and she wriggled against them, tickling her bung on their fuzzy hairs.

Her long-deprived pussy went to work on his sliding tool, snapping in an expert rhythm around the thick, moving stick until she felt his spine arch. He went at her like a wild man, his heavy nuts slapping obscenely against her bare ass with each long stroke he gave her.

Her pulsating vagina gushed generously, until his cock pulled thick bands of nectar out of her with each downward stroke.

"Baby, are you wet! That's a beautiful little puddle you got down there."

Lorna moaned and tossed her head. She could feel the bulbous expansion of her hairy cunt lips as they milked him, trembling and fluttering around the girth of his cock as she lifted herself against his thrusting crotch.

"Your mouth was like pussy, now your pussy's like a mouth! Oooooh, what you do to a cock! Suck on it, sweetheart."

Lorna dragged him down on her, into her, begging with her suckling vagina for more and more. Her belly thrust up and met his, sticking flesh to flesh and then coming apart with a loud kiss-like sound. Her back arched higher and higher with fierce sensual movements; she grunted with delight each time his prick pounded against her cervix. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her hips in his hands, then slammed into her molten snatch with teeth-rattling strength.

"NNNNNNGGGGGHHHHH! Oh, hit the end, yes, yes, yes! You big-cocked, rutting stud, fuck it off! Make me sore!"

She rocked him in the cradle of her quivering thighs, her knees crawling up his body until she held him fast at the armpits. With each thundering poke of his rod she howled and gasped as she felt a fiery climax start to pound through her groin.

"You coming?" he gasped. "Let me feel that big bang. Make it throb for me."

Her nails dug into his back, gouging out little half moons of flesh. The walls of her vagina stretched and grew stiff and hard, their secretive folds pulled smooth. Then it happened; a quick, gushing spray of something viscid and hot from far up in her box. Then the walls convulsed into a suckling, ravenous attack on his flexing prick.

"Now! Now! Ahhhhhh, you're making me do it, I'm coming on that beautiful hard prick of yours!"

She rode up and down on his prick as it began to shoot its burning semen into her climaxing box. She squealed and scratched, bit and struck out with her fists; her knees dug into his ribs and her feet slid down his back until she was digging her curling toes into his buttocks.

"Get it again," he panted. "Beautiful cummy pussy . . . come some more so I can feel you suck!"

She quivered under him and worked her clit against the thick base of his pecker. Her inner thighs trembled, then stiffened again as she wiggled her sore ass until her clitoris exploded with a spray of hot tendrils. Her vagina tightened against his dick in a long, trembling caress as another climax soared through her body.

"More?" he gasped, still fucking her.

"I . . . can't! Ohhhhh, that was so good, I'm so happy!"

His teeth clenched and the tendons on his neck stood out as he emptied the last of his juice into her streaming snatch. Then he closed his eyes and emitted a long, satisfied sigh.

Lorna felt the weak throbs of his prick as it slid softly out of her vagina. He rose on his knees, his hair falling in his eyes. He brushed it back and stared down at her with his bright, steel-rivet gaze.

"You're a natural. . . . Christ, you were born for it."

She smiled and stretched, thinking that he was complimenting her on her sexiness, but then something in his face told her that he meant much more than that.

He picked up her limp wrist and looked at her watch.

"Damn," he said, "I don't want to get in dutch in my last week in the jug."

Some measure of sanity flowed back in her and she remembered that he was a prisoner, a convict in a blue uniform with a number stenciled over the pocket.

"Your last week?" she said. Her brow wrinkled. "What are you doing . . . here? Alone in the woods. You aren't running away, are you?"

"Running away?" He snorted. "That would be pretty stupid of me at this point, wouldn't it? I just said this was my last week. I'm getting out-six months early for good behavior, believe it or not. I'm a trusty," he grinned. "If you can't trust a trusty, who can you trust?"

She sat up and watched him dress, then reached for her own clothes. So that was why he was out by himself. . . . She knew trusties often ran errands. They picked men like him, the white-collar criminals, the con men, the bank clerks who had yielded to temptation, the ones who had never hurt anyone in their criminal careers.

He saw the question on her face.

"I check the traps in the woods," he explained. "We have rabbit stew. Superb French dish. We've even got a French cook, a Canuck who murdered his wife."

He looked down at her, smiling quizzically. Their eyes met for a long moment; his hard and silvery, hers long jade slits.

"A natural," he said again, nodding his head like an academician.

She dropped her eyes and looked away, suddenly afraid.

"What do you mean, a natural?" she asked, trying to be light and coy, but her voice was tense. Somehow, she knew what he was going to say.

"I can see it in you," he said slowly, "I don't even have to bang you to know. You've got that look, something about you . . . a natural."

"A natural what?" she said sharply.

"There are lots of words for it, but they all mean the same thing. Harlot, concubine, houri, courtesan, daughter of joy, cocotte." His eyes bored into hers as if he were trying to lance her with their steel. She found she could not look away from those strange pale depths. She waited, knowing already what he meant but waiting to hear him say the final, hideous word.

"People think such women look trampy or hard or cheap, but that's not true, that's over-simplified," he went on. "Some of the cheapest looking girls I've ever seen were cold, calculating virgins. I grew up near the Bronx Concourse. Every Saturday night you'd think it was the tenderloin . . . all the girls with their beehive hairdos and gooked-up eyes. The trampiest-looking girls in the world, but they were all dreaming of white tulle. They had orange blossoms growing out of their twats. No . . . it's not a trampy look I'm talking about."

Lorna backed up against a tree, her body stiff, her breasts heaving under her blouse.

"What are you saying about me?" she asked softly. There was no anger in her voice.

He smiled, reading her thoughts.

"You know it, too, don't you? It's something you've known about yourself for a long time, isn't it?" He glanced at her wedding ring. "It's buried deep down in your mind and you don't let it come up, but it's always there."

His eyes raked her body without mercy.

"You're a whore, sweetheart, a born whore. You've got the call. You'd be the best there is."

He turned and walked away.

"Wait!" Her voice rang through the quiet woods.

He stopped and glanced back at her, grinning. "Day after tomorrow, same time," he said, then disappeared into the dark, towering trees.