Chapter 3
Lee Havens, an affable, good-looking bachelor of twenty-eight who worked in the market research division of Farnwell Inc., liked mornings best of all, the lazy minutes between awakening and arising to the dreary, routine world where he made his living.
It had been while lying abed in that pleasant state, half-awake, half asleep (when a person fantasized best) that he got the idea of the Barbers; only a vague idea, with no thought of actually forming the group.
But of more personal importance to Lee, wake-up time for him was sex-recall time. Fresh from a night when his unconscious romped unimpeded through rosy vistas of uninhibited erotica, it was almost as though his conscious mind wanted to hear all about it and was eagerly waiting. In essence, it was a rather weird process of his inner self, the role he assumed as the real Lee Havens, talking to his outer self, an avid listener.
Lee invariably awoke with a raging erection. This was his basic excuse for lazing there in bed to the last minute. He couldn't for god's sake go to work with that hard-on sticking out against his pants, as he was so often wont to put it.
I haven't got a wife to ram it into so I have to take care of it myself. Every damned morning I've got to take care of it myself.
At first (that had been a long time ago) he'd worried about draining his virility, masturbating every morning of his life. But he'd found that he had an undrainable reservoir of sexual potency.
And Jesus! Jacking off when you first wake up is the greatest. Lord! You wake up after a good sleep and throw the covers back and there's that big, beautiful cock sticking straight up off your belly. You begin sliding your hand up and down, lazy-like, loving every stroke, watching the big swollen head pop out of your hand on every down stroke, and you know it was meant to be this way.
As you jack off slowly so as not to blow too quick, you think of all the broads getting up all over the residential complex who need a cock like yours and can't get it because there aren't enough cocks to go around in this stupid place.
Then you remember some broad from the past, and the memory is as clear and hot as when it happened. ...
Lee Havens had a vast backlog of sexual memories upon which to draw. So lying there, he would select at random, picking one that geared perfectly into his mood of the moment. At times, he preferred a tender memory of skillful seduction; taking a lovely, timid, scared girl who wanted it and yet was afraid of it At other times, he wanted a recall of violence. Rape. Grabbing a broad and taking it away from her while she yelled and screamed and gave it up only after a fight. He didn't have many of these, but they were great for reliving.
In the main, however, he got the most pleasure from the memory of moving in on experienced women, non-virgins, who felt guilt but couldn't help themselves because they needed it so badly. That was what made his earlier career of door-to-door selling such an exciting proposition. He'd done that while going to night school after his degree. Those had been exciting days because, while there were eager chicks to be found in every block, there had always been the hot ones a guy could spot instantly. At least, a guy like Lee who had honed and sharpened his sixth sense for just such a quarry.
His thing was magazines, and he did quite well even with the chicks who didn't want to be laid. He was good-looking and personable and no bum-not the kind of stupid jerk who made a pass at every broad he met. Lee could move in like an expert on a girl who wanted it, but when they didn't, he could conduct himself as though sex was the farthest thing from his mind. Most of the door-to-door calls produced nothing except maybe a magazine sale.
But then, out of a clear sky, you hit one.
That babe with the vacuum cleaner.
Masturbating slowly with light, even strokes, on this particular morning, Lee remembered that one and began telling himself about it.
The place was a neat frame bungalow and even while I was knocking on the door I got the feeling: There's one inside. I knew what she'd be like, too-neat, not sloppy-because there was a well-tended flower bed running along the front of the house-tulips-it was that time of year-and it was well kept, so I knew she'd be well kept too.
She was. I knocked twice and then heard a voice yell over a vacuum cleaners wheezing.
"Come in. The door's unlocked."
I went in and saw her there, crouched down beside the vacuum cleaner in the middle of the living room.
She was a brunette with a flawless, tanned complexion, the way I like them, and, even hunkered down there, I could tell she wasn't the tiny, wispy kind that can blow away.
She wore a house dress, and even as she looked up and saw me, she gave me the tip-off that made me know I'd been right about her. She'd been squatting with the hem of her dress pulled tight up around her ass. But even without thinking, her unconscious at work, she stood up and then hunkered down again with the skirt loose. A clearer signal than that I didn't need.
I walked toward her, smelling that lovely ass she was offering me; seeing myself rolling around on those hot tits; biting her goddamn nipples off and eating them with sugar and cream; wanting to smash her hot red lips. When I spoke, it was with careful politeness, but friendly and just a shade deferential.
"I didn't mean to barge in."
Her eyes, in spite of all she could do, were centered right where I wanted them-on my cock. It was already coming up, and I didn't try to hide it. I let it push right out against my pants.
"This damned cleaner won't work," she pouted.
"It seems to be working," I said.
"It works, but it won't suck up anything."
"Maybe it's too full. Maybe it should be cleaned."
She was suffering. I could see that instantly. God, She smelled my prick and wanted it so bad she almost stuck her tongue out to lick my fly.
She didn't get up. She stayed where she was, cowering you might say, waiting for something to be done to her.
I took a step forward, staring innocently down at the vacuum cleaner, and put my prick right in front of her face and gave her a good smell-an inch from her nose.
The big kick you get out of one like this is to see how far you can go; see what they'll hold still for. This one didn't move her head. She merely raised her eyes. Another inch and her nose would be against my fly. I didn't push it any farther. I left it where it was and let her watch it grow, shoving out against my slacks.
God! What a pushover! I could have unzipped and pulled my prick out and shoved it right into her. I could have made her lick my balls, and boy, she'd have licked! I've never seen a broad who wanted it so bad.
I didn't do that, though. I wanted to do it my way. My way was to make a triumph out of a pushover; work this babe over like she'd never been worked before.
"Do you think it really needs cleaning out?" she said.
"Maybe."
She lowered her head, not trusting herself to take another smell of my cock. She leaned forward, staring at the damn vacuum cleaner and giving me a look at her tits. She had no bra on-I knew she didn't have any pants on either-that the dress was all of it-and my mouth watered at sight of her big, brown nipples. Their seats were a deeper brown-half-dollar sized-just the way I like them.
I moved closer so my leg was touching her side. She was shaking now. I could feel the vibration. I bent over and blew some breath on her neck, and I know she felt it like fire.
I said, "Wait a minute, maybe the trouble is in the motor," and hunkered down beside her, leaning against her now. She didn't move. She just squatted there, offering me her ass, begging me to take it. In her mind, she was saying to me: Please! Don't make me ask for it. Don't make me say the words. Don't make me lick your fly to tell you what I want.
Every last nerve I had was singing with anticipation. This one, I was going to make real animal. Real ape. And now was the time.
Squatting there beside her, I slipped one hand under her loose skirt and laid it on her taut buttock.
"I might be the mechanism," I said.
She didn't move. She hunkered there with her head hanging down, her hair over her face, and waited while she tried to keep from shaking.
I moved my hand to the middle. She was flat, everything stretched out, her crack wide open.
She was balancing herself now against her knuckles on the carpet, her fists doubled. She'd surrendered-if there'd been any surrendering to be done-and was waiting there for something to be done to her. Silly talk about the vacuum cleaner wasn't necessary anymore. In her hot dreams she'd been waiting for a stud to walk in out of nowhere and have enough sense and savvy to grab her by the gash.
I didn't grab her by the gash. That would have been too easy for her, and I hated the bitch-Lee Havens interrupted his memory train. He'd been masturbating lightly and steadily, and an orgasm was close to the surface. He didn't want that-not yet. Stiffening his muscles, he squeezed his rigid penis hard; gritted his teeth in the effort The orgasm backed away. Warily, very lightly, he began masturbating again....
Hated the bitch for what she was. She had a husband out somewhere sweating to give her a good home, and here she was squatting down, giving her hot, naked can to a guy who'd just walked in off the street. Women are bitches, no way around it She wanted her cunt played with, but I wasn't going to let her off so easy. I extended one finger and ran it around her asshole and got a thrill myself. She had a big one, and she wasn't tightening it up. Soft and loose but well shaped, the muscle strong and prominent. I could have taken it in my thumb and forefinger and pulled it out-send her kiting up the wall.
I didn't. I'm not that mean. Besides, I wanted more out of her than that.
Rubbing it and playing with it with one finger, shoving the tip in up to the first knuckle, I leaned down and whispered to her.
Keeping my voice quietly respectful, I said, "Madam, did anyone ever tell you that you've got a lovely asshole?"
Her shoulders jerked and I knew it came from a sob; a dry inner sob of misery at her own weakness; her inability to resist animal sex.
"Please don't degrade me."
That was to laugh at, and I almost did. The broad saying one thing and meaning another. What she was really saying was: Oh, god, that's glorious. Play with it. Do whatever you want with it. Degrade me until I crawl with my tongue out.
"Degrade you? Why I wouldn't think of that!"
I used my polite "innocent" voice. The one that always leaves them a little unsure about me. Uncertain. My logical, slightly-hurt-at-being-misunderstood tone.
I kept on playing with her asshole, shoving my finger up her farther, waiting for her to tighten it up, and said, "I think a woman should be complimented for something said in honest admiration. And my admiration is honest."
She said nothing, just hunkered there with her head bent, hiding her face in her hair.
I pulled my finger out of her ass, and ran my finger around the hole feeling the short crisp hair that encircled it. Getting a hold of a little tuft with my thumb and forefinger, I pulled.
She jerked. I heard the sob again. It sounded nice. It told me I was in complete control; that I could do anything I wanted to. I resolved to make her suffer a little; that, with her husband in mind; make her pay for cheating on him this way.
I knew the love juice was fairly spouting out of her by this time, so I moved my hand up to investigate. I was right. If she'd been standing up the juice would have run down her legs.
But I was mainly interested in the hair around it. I guess I've got a weakness for hair. It's what makes a slit a cunt. With no hair it's nothing but an ugly pink slit; nothing but a hole in the middle of a broad.
"You've got a lovely bush, too," I said, "thick and curly, and it goes clear up to your belly. It fills your whole crotch, I'll bet, when you stand up.
"You're being so cruel!"
Words sobbed out, but I knew that she didn't dare show me her face because it would have proved her lie. I knew her eyes were bright with excitement, and there was probably a hot smile on her lips. I realized that with this one I could go farther than I'd ever gone before.
"Cruel? Who could be cruel to a lovely person like you? You're too beautiful to be cruel to."
I investigated the inside of her cunt while I said, "You're long."
That interested her. "What do you mean, long?"
"You've got a long cunt." I pulled my finger out and put its tip at the top, just where the cunt-groove started high in her bush, and then put the tip of my thumb at the back end.
"Almost four inches," I said. "See? It ends about an inch in front of your asshole."
"Must you be so-so vulgar?
I used my hurt voice again. "I'm sorry, but I've always believed in being honest. Don't you believe in being honest?"
"Yes-yes, I do."
"Then why call a cunt by some other name. That's dishonest, isn't it?"
I shoved my finger into her cunt again and brought it out all juicy as I said, "I'll bet you taste great!"
"Taste great?"
"Oh, now don't go inhibited on me. You know what I mean. Hasn't your husband ever sucked your cunt?"
"Let's not talk about my husband."
I grinned, but didn't let her see it. This was the most fun I'd had for a long time with a broad. And I knew I could go as far as I wanted to, as long as I didn't make her come. Once that type gets rid of the load they go guilty. They run into the bed room and cry and that's the end of it- until the next time.
Using my hurt voice, I said, "Oh, so I'm not good enough to talk about your husband. I'm just a bum in off the street"
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Maybe I'd better leave."
It was hard for her to say it, but she finally got it out. "No, please don't go."
It was weird in a way. She had the courage to squat there and take my abuse but was too proud to ask point-blank for what she wanted-a good fucking.
"Then tell me about your husband. Is he a good cocksman?"
"He's all right," she whispered.
"Does he suck it for you once in a while?"
Still a choked whisper. "Yes."
"Wouldn't it be nice if you could suck yourself off?"
"Please-"
"No, I mean it. Here-let me show you what you're missing."
I scooped two fingers up into her cunt where the love juice was thick and then reached those fingers around in front of her face. I grasped her hair and gently lifted her head.
"Taste it. It's wonderful. See what you're missing.
She tried to move her head, but I held it firm and wiped my fingers along her lips. "There, lick it off."
I felt her hot tongue come out and run around her lips. Then, when her mouth opened, I pushed my fingers in.
"There. Doesn't that taste good?"
She sucked her own love juice off of them, and when I pulled them out and sent them back up her cunt, she said, "It-it doesn't taste at all."
"You mean it hasn't got the same taste you get out of a cock."
She was beginning to loosen up. She proved it when she forgot to pull the sobbing goody-goody act and said, "Come doesn't taste either. It's just-well, kind of sweet."
I was happy to have her cooperating. I said, "I can tell you something about your husband. He's got a thin prick."
"Thin?"
"Sure. Your cunt's narrow. The passage up inside. It's never been reamed out with a big, thick prick."
"But it stretches."
"That's true, but when a woman is fucked regularly by the same man, her cunt starts to fit his tool."
Her shoulders jerked in the same way as when she sobbed. But this time, glory be, it was a laugh.
"Is that right?"
Of course, what I'd said was all wrong. I'd innocently implied that she had been true to her husband until I came along, when the truth was that she'd probably been fucked by the milkman, sucked by the cleaner, buggered by the mail carrier, and had sucked the plumber's cock.
I didn't want to bring that up, though. There was no point in turning her hostile.
"Have you ever been buggered?" I asked in a polite, interested voice.
"Do you mean in-in the ass?"
I'd pulled out of her cunt, and now I had two fingers up her asshole. She hadn't tightened or jerked.
"Uh-huh. Didn't your husband ever get up the wrong hole by mistake?"
"No, never. I wouldn't enjoy that."
"Are you sure?"
"Definitely not"
"You don't mind my finger up there."
"It's-well, I'm just being polite. I don't really like it."
Polite! What a laugh. This bitch was too polite to ask a stranger to take his fingers out of her asshole! I almost laughed out loud.
Then I told her the wild, wonderful truth: "Lady, you're being buggered right now."
The news amazed her. "No!"
"What do you mean, No?' That's my cock up your asshole. Can't you feel my balls against your snatch?"
First I'd tried one finger, then two, without a peep out of her. Then I scooped some cream out of her cunt and rubbed it on my cock and shoved it up her ass very gently. And she hadn't known the difference.
"No! Take it out! It hurts!"
My contempt for her heightened. Here was a broad who'd had so many cocks up her ass that she didn't know the difference between a stiff prick and two stiff fingers. I couldn't help deriding her a little.
"Shit, baby. Do you think you fooled me? The minute I felt that big, soft asshole of yours I knew you took it from behind. And you like it, too."
"Please."
"Shut up."
I began rutting her, bringing it clear out and slamming it in until my balls bounced. "Please use my cunt!"
I got the idea. She could take it in the ass but she couldn't come that way. I didn't care, though. I didn't care if I left her hanging to a point where she had to rub herself against the edge of a door to get her load off.
I grabbed her by the hips and went to work, skimming into her big, soft hole as though it would be illegal tomorrow. She tried to crawl off my cock, so I gripped her hard around her hips and stood put and held her bent over that way with her head hanging down and her hair touching the floor. Then I literally buggered her across the room, taking a little step with each rut.
She put on her act well, yelling, "Ouch Oh, I can't take it. You're pulling my guts out! You're mining me!"
Talking between grunts, I said, "Baby, this is- your thing-and you know it. You know damned well you'll blow your load this way."
She didn't come, but I did. I dumped a load up into her bowels she wouldn't lose for a week.
Then I staggered away and caught my balance against the wall while she collapsed and rolled over on her back and opened her legs and reached for her cunt with both hands.
"You bastard," she wailed. "Finish me! I'm on fire! I'm dying."
"Finish yourself," I said. "Do it with a broom handle. I don't care. Your asshole was all I wanted, and if it didn't make you go off, that's your hard luck.
I wiped my cock on her dress and then put it away. But just before I left, I saw a pair of scissors on the table and got a cute idea.
I grabbed the scissors and bent over her. She tried to get away, but I put my knee on her belly.
"What are you going to do?"
"Lay still!"
I curled a finger into her cunt hair and got a big twist of it and cut it off. I dropped the scissors and took out my wallet and put it away.
I said, "A souvenir, baby. Hair off the nicest cunt I've found today. Good luck."
And I left.
That was probably where the idea of the Barbers first hit me. I've always had a thing about the hair between women's legs....
Lying there on the bed that morning, his memory kick finished, Lee Havens was ready. He increased the speed and intensity of his masturbatory stroke, bringing his orgasm to the surface. Arching up on his neck and heels, his teeth gritted, his legs splayed wide, he let go.
A strong, virile stream of sperm pulsated up into the air. The only concession he made to sanitation was to point his penis so the sperm would splash down on him and not stain the sheets. This was successful, but lazy, opaque streams ran down off his belly and chest on to the bed.
Not in the least exhausted, he sprang up and ran to the bathroom and turned on the shower.
He grinned.
Waking up with a hard-on. The best part of the day....