Chapter 7

The sun was setting when Baxter and Melanie pulled out of the motel parking lot and picked up the road back to San Francisco. They'd left without granting Joe and Cindy another display of their anger. Baxter, more than Melanie, had been anxious to hurry from the scene of their joint humiliation. Baxter's head reeled. Cindy's tits had been brought to their unnatural size as a result of paraffin and silicone treatment. He'd refused to believe it even after Joe had invited him in the car to put her boobs to the test. The pin had been Joe's idea, too. As much as he tortured his brain Baxter could not comprehend why Joe had made him privy to this knowledge-except perhaps as a form of revenge on Cindy for whatever reason. Baxter, even during their short acquaintance, had not failed to notice a somewhat strained element in the relationship between the two. They were sore at each other and each had succeeded in humiliating the other-for what reason he'd never know.

Melanie sat in silence beside her dad. She felt equally mortified, though she was not angry at Cindy. Joe had forced Cindy to do all the things she did so he could lure little girls with horny fathers like herself. If anyone was to blame it was Joe. "Joe's a bastard," she said in an even tone. "I think we learned something."

It took Baxter a long time to reply. The traffic cruised by them on either side but the car enveloped them in almost unbearable privacy. "I'm very disturbed. Very." Baxter kept his eyes fixed on the road as he spoke. "I can't tell you how disturbed I am. It seems like it's all happening at once. I got problems at the office. Stan's drinking is getting serious so the work piles up on me. Then Joe and Cindy and now you and your mom."

Cindy stiffened. Her hand instinctively cupped the area of her pussy inside the skirt spread over her thighs. She'd just settled back, prepared to forget about the whole thing with Joe. Actually, she'd started to look forward to a good screw with her dad just as he dropped his bombshell. The news hit her like a brick. She felt as if she'd been slugged; a dull ringing noise burst inside her head. "What ..." she mumbled distractedly. "What... about me and mother?"

The cavalcade of Saturday evening traffic rumbled past the window. Melanie looked at the spruced weekend faces in the passing cars and felt light years removed. The girls all had their heads on the shoulders of the guys at the wheel and in the distance, across the bay, the city beckoned with lights, laughter and fun. The cars that whizzed by were filled with hard-charging, tight-assed cock punks and their flirty-dirty teeny fuckers with T-shirts in which the nipples stood out like bottle necks. Melanie sighed, "I feel so old."

"That's because you fuck like a trooper."

Melanie didn't answer. She kept her face pressed to the side window, her back turned to Baxter. The silence between them hung leaden in the car. She was about to answer, then thought better of it. Somehow their conversation turned the most mundane subject into a dirty joke, a coital referent, something that hinted either to his cock, her pussy, or both. Behind their most innocent discourse loomed the frenziedly convulsing shadow of the fuck act. There was no getting away from it, no escaping it.

Besides screwing they shared nothing. Their whole relationship was built like a cream cake around the soft center of her pussy. The only time they rode in tandem was on the flanks of a hot galloping fuck, their differences momentarily resolved in the dizzying rush of their transport. But after the ride was over each returned to his own shell-their conversation, when resumed, centered predictably around the quality of the fuck and how it could be improved or made more exciting.

At times it brought her close to tears. The world was full of things to talk about. Her mind was prey to a million questions. She didn't expect answers. All she desired was a change of subject.

She sighed. All she ever talked about with her dad was screwing. Most fathers discussed all sorts of things with their little girls- things which the little girls would repeat boastfully to their friends as the wisdom of a respected elder. The only thing she had to contribute to such discourse was Baxter's filthy fuck talk and the perversities he'd taught her.

And now it looked as if she were headed the same way with her mom. Since they'd gotten involved with each other everything between them had changed-and not all for the better. In the old days she and her mom used to have good discussions about things that were of interest to a little girl. But no more. Now their conversation consisted of a string of fuck words, erotic speculations, lubricous hints, a compulsive need to go into the most intimate details.

Baxter spoke quietly. "When we get home I want you to tell me everything you've been doing with your mother; how long it's been going on and who started it all. I want to get to the bottom of this if it's the last thing I do."

Melanie's attention jumped to a dizzy blonde in a convertible which cut in front of them and then darted away through spotted gaps in the traffic. She'd seen the guy beside her-a broad-shouldered beach type with bleached hair, a pink moustache and albino eyes. They'd careened past in an orgiastic blare of rock music. For the brief moment the music imploded on her ear Melanie had tapped her feet in time. But when it was gone the wooden thumps of cocktail piano and strings coming over the radio in her father's car sounded more banal than ever. She didn't bother to change the station; the only music her father liked was background music to the fuck act.

They'd come off the Golden Gate and passed the Presidio. The shop fronts, restaurants, parking lots and peculiar Gothic side streets ran for a couple of miles to the stop light at Lombard and Van Ness. Baxter idled the engine and turned the radio down. He fumbled over the seat and ran his hand up Melanie's thigh. He squeezed her pussy. "You must be hungry. We'll have something to eat at home. I prefer a light snack myself."

Again he tweaked her bun through the nylon panties beneath her skirt. For the umpteenth time that evening Melanie sighed, "I'd like something Chinese. There's a food-to-go place on Fillmore."

Baxter dropped his daughter off at the corner of Fillmore and Jackson. "You go home and set the table. I'll get some fried prawn, sweet-and-sour pork, almond chicken, and vegetable chow yuk. Is there something else you'd like?"

Melanie shook her head. The prospect of food heartened her. "That's fine, Dad. I'll first take a bath, though. I feel sticky all over."

While waiting for the light to change one corner down, Baxter considered the complexity of his affairs. Melanie was definitely getting to be a problem. Perhaps it was all too much for her; a question of too much too soon. Perhaps it would do her good to get away for a while from the overheated fuck climate that surrounded her. With a wider circle of friends, a different environment, she might develop new interests and become more like a normal thirteen-year-old.

The light changed and he was about to pull away when a sudden commotion outside the car made him turn his head sharply. The door swung open and shut and a hysterically panting girl hurtled herself forward along the seat. "Step on it! Quick! They've already raped me three times! Please! Step on it! Hurry!"

Baxter heard the sound of running feet approaching the car from behind. As he sped away he caught a glimpse of three leather-jacketed youths piling out of a nearby basement. One of them landed a thumping blow on the trunk before he took off. "Now, tell me," he said, not unkindly, shifting his ass. "What's this all about?"

The girl was a redhead, young and slim with a full-bodied chest. A sprinkling of freckles stippled her nose. She'd folded one leg under a softly rounded ass. Between a polka-dotted bolero and the top of her jeans her stomach was bare; parts of it looked black and blue, the evidence of violent manipulation. Scratch marks, welts, and areas of bruised discolouration showed all over her arms, shoulders, stomach, and down along her neck.

When she raised her head her lips trembled. "Please, can you take me to my girl friend's house? It's on Seventeenth Street between Mission and Guerrero." She opened the top of her jeans and showed Baxter the upper fringe of pussy hair; it was surrounded by scratch marks and smears of blood where the fuck-hungry peckers had savaged her bun. "I was making it with my boyfriend like we do every night." She spoke calmly now but her voice quavered slightly as she recalled the details. "I ... I was sitting on him ... on his dick ... when suddenly these three guys busted in the room. They dragged me off... and ... and-"

Baxter patted the girl's stomach comfortingly. He'd long passed the Chinese restaurant. "Of course, I'll take you to your girl friend." He hung a sharp left and swung off Market Street. He halted the car in the mouth of a dead-end alley and opened the glove compartment, taking out the first-aid kit which he'd never used. "Ill take you to your girl friend, don't worry about that. Let's first worry about the damage and take care of those awful bruises before they get infected."

He squeezed a small tube of burn ointment and dabbed his fingers. His hand then searched out the firm curve of the young girl's stomach. And when he applied the ointment down under the open top of her jeans he felt the curl of wispy cunt hair tickle his fingers. She relaxed visibly the moment he began to rub the affected area. "My name is Doris," she said softly. "What's yours?"

Melanie had just stepped out of the bath when the telephone rang. She dripped water all the way down the hall where she picked up the phone and heard her father's voice bubble like a two-year-old. She cocked the receiver against her neck and wrung out her hair, caring little about the puddles that formed on the floor. "So you'll be home late," she said at last. "I'm going to have a bite to eat and then go to bed. Say hello to Stan. Bye, Dad. Yes. I'll be a good little girl as long as you be a good little daddy. Okay. Bye-bye."

Her dad had run into Stan and they were going to the office to look up a date and make a motion to file a brief or something of the sort. Melanie found it all so confusing. And disappointing. On the one hand she felt relieved that she'd be spared an immediate confrontation over her mom; but on the other she felt sorely let down. As much as at times he nettled her with his obsessive fuck lust she now felt horny and would have suffered him gladly; part of the recompense for having to sit through his questioning would have been the royal screw they'd have afterward. This was what she'd been looking forward to in the bath. A brand-new pussy urge had seized her, at once persistent and inflammable to the stimulation of her lustful thoughts.

Out of frustration she decided to eat. With arms laden with foodstuffs she trotted back and forth from the icebox to the kitchen table where she dumped the provisions and sorted out her favorites-kippered herring, scallions, sour cream, Swiss cheese, endive, sprouts, liver spread, bologna, and peanut butter. These she mashed together in a bowl, mixed in a blender and ran through a strainer until all liquid had been removed and only a bile-colored paste was left. This she scooped up with a spoon and spread over an open slice of bread. She returned to the freezer and took out a popsicle when the telephone rang again.

On her way down the hall she peeled the popsicle and began to suck it. She expressed surprise at the sound of her mother's voice when she picked up the receiver. "Mom!" she exclaimed. "Mom! I told you not to call. Dad's already getting suspicious."

Tania's voice cut her short. "Is he there?"

"No. It just so happened he called just before you did. He went back to the office with Stan. He said he'd be late."

The receiver tinkled with Tania's squeals of pleasure. "I'll be right over. I've got to see you. I'm calling from a bar in North Beach. Please, don't say anything now. I'll be right over."

Melanie's protest backfired with the click of the telephone on the other end of the line. She returned to the kitchen and placed the half-nibbled popsicle by her plate and dug her teeth into the sandwich. She'd finished it and almost cleared the table when the doorbell rang. Only when she opened the door to admit her mother and she caught the night chill around her ass did it occur to her that she was still naked as a jaybird. Then she turned to face her mother, "You shouldn't have done that. This is really dangerous. He might come home."

"Hush, child. Let me look at you."

Tania's hands were hot upon her. She felt herself being twirled on her heels and when she faced her mother again she noticed that her coat had been unbuttoned so that her black cunt bush, the naked sweep of her stomach and the full-lobed tits impressed themselves upon her startled gaze. "Mom! You're not wearing anything under your coat! Did you go out this way? Do you do that all the time?"

"No, of course I don't go out like this all the time." Tania pouted her mouth sensuously. "Only on special occasions. It was funny, though. Earlier, I was sitting in this bar on Columbus and this horrible man next to me kept trying to paw inside my coat." She laughed, rolling her boobs. "One time he grabbed hold of my cunt hair and got this expression on his face as if he'd just eaten shit. I told him I was wearing an angora skirt and got out of there fast. So here I am."

Melanie needed no further persuasion: There her mom was all right. Big as life. She'd forgotten how good she looked-the long, firm tapered thighs and the full-lipped snatch wearing its skull cap of pussy growth; the broad, hilly expanse of her belly and the majestically overhanging tits. But above all it was the out and out lechery, the unbridled concupiscence, the hot lust which she read in every one of her mother's movements; these above all were the elements that made her go weak in the knees as if the sex energy exuded by her mom was a crippling ray that sapped her strength. Melanie felt herself mellow palpably; a covey of butterflies fluttered loose in her stomach and her head swam dizzily.

"Not here, Mom. Please, not here. Not in the hall. Let's go upstairs."

Tania cast her coat to the floor and kicked off her shoes. Then she whirled her nude body on her daughter and backed her against the wall. Their nipples rubbed and crackled static. Tania butted the bony ridge of the mons against Melanie's, prying the little girl's legs apart with each lunging bump-and-grind of her groin. At the same time Tania reached down between her own things; she drew out the vulva lips, kneading them furiously over the teeny cunt slit while Melanie sank slowly to the floor.

In the dim light of the hall Tania gently lowered the fuck-flushed body of her daughter onto the coat spread on the floor. "We'll go upstairs right away after this," she whispered. "I've been thinking of you all day today and last night." She lowered herself on hands and knees over the passive figure on the floor and placed her head between the spread thighs.

Melanie responded to the first stroke of her mother's tongue with a convulsed shudder of the pussy. Her body began to thrill like a violin as Tania rasped the bow of her tongue in varying meter over her clit. This was different from Joe's fake fuck stick and Cindy's nipple screw. She fluttered her lashes at the dark ceiling and began to hum pleasurably. The broad beam of Tania's buttocks was a white expanse at a distance from the worrying head between her legs. Melanie stretched herself voluptuously. No one, not even Baxter, came close to producing the wondrously rhapsodic harmony of mouth and cunt which came so effortlessly to her mom.