Chapter 9
Lollipop Sex
Suddenly he remembered. Shirley! The 15 year old cheerleader whose pussy he had sucked. "Your hair-"
"I dyed it blond. D'you like it?"
He murmured yes. But what was she doing here? Who was in the bedroom with Warren? And what was that she was wearing?
In sequence, she told him that her father's sister had died and that her father and mother had flown to California for the funeral. They would be gone all week, she said, and they had left her and her twin brother behind to mind the house.
"Mom told me you called the other night, but I had a lot of homework to do, and that's why I didn't come over. I was going to phone you the next day, but then dad's sister died, and I just never got around to it." She flipped a page of her comic book. "But better late than never, huh?"
He nodded dumbly. For a second time, he asked, "Who's back there with Warren?" "Philip."
"Who the hell's Philip?"
"My brother. He came with me." "What are they-"
"Your friend's showing him his football scrapbook. They told me I wouldn't be interested."
He was suddenly alert. That damn Warren wasn't above anything.
"Will you excuse me for just a minute?" he said.
"Sure. Go ahead." She put her nose back in the comic book.
He left the kitchen and tip-toed down the hallway. Their voices were silenced. Jim held his breath. The door was slightly ajar, and he peeped between the hinged side and the door jamb. He stiffened. A warm shiver ran through his body. His roommate was crouched down in front of the young boy, sucking his peter. The boy was in the throes of delicious agony, judging from the dreamy, swoon of his pale-blue eyes, and there was nothing for Jim to do but return to the kitchen.
"Are they still looking at the scrapbook?" Shirley asked when he reentered the kitchen.
"Yeah." His voice faltered, then firmed up. "Yeah, they're kind of busy right now."
Her eyes went back to the comic book, again calling attention to her youth. This, the ponytail, the simple Amish part of her hair, the fact that she wore no makeup, put her in a class with the 12 year olds. And this was the innocent Utile kitten of a girl whose pussy he had sucked!
"What's that you've got on?" he asked, again interested in her white uniform.
"That's what I wear at the ice cream store where I work."
"You work?"
"When there's no cheerleader practice." Her eyes were still riveted to the comic book. She flipped a page. He was about to ask her another question-what time was she supposed to be at work? Or had she already finished her work?-when she said:
"I didn't go to work today. I was gonna, but I changed my mind."
"Will you get in trouble?"
"Why should I get in trouble?"
He shrugged. "Well what about your being here-you and your brother? Maybe your parents won't like it."
This time she glanced up from her comic book. She smiled shyly.
"How are they going to know? They're in California."
He exchanged a meaningful glance with her, suddenly feeling no better than the proverbial dirty old man. He had soiled this child, and he could soil her again, tonight if he so desired. He wouldn't encounter any resistance, and he knew it. But looking as she did, so small and prim and proper, so unsettlingly innocent, he knew he would never again lay a hand on her.
Suddenly she threw down the comic book.
"Have you got any ice cream?"
He shot her a quizzical frown. "There might be some in the freezer. I don't know."
"Want me to show you the way we make sundaes down at Clarkins?"
He hid his distaste. He wasn't particularly interested in ice cream sundaes, not with the taste of bourbon still fresh in his mouth, but he decided it would keep her out of his hair until Warren was finished with her brother.
"Do you have any syrup?"
He nodded to the cupboards. "There might be some on the top shelf, back of the canned goods." He started to rise, but she pushed him down.
"Let me get it. Well pretend you're the customer and Pm the waitress, okay?"
He shrugged his shoulders. Let her do as she pleases, he thought. It'll probably make her happy to show off. Kids were like that.
She bounced cheerily to the refrigerator, glanced inside. "Chocolate. Is that kind okay?"
He told her yes, and as he glanced at her, it struck him that her uniform was entirely too short. He could see where it had been hemmed up-a six-inch hem, at the very least-and he was startled that he didn't see her panties when she walked. He even mentioned it to her, though in an unoffending manner.
She said, "That's the way Mr. Clarkins makes us wear 'em. Some of the girls have got theirs even shorter than this."
He didn't tell her, but this Mr. Clarkins sounded a bit evil himself. But again, she appeared to read his mind.
"I think he gets a charge out of it."
"I would think so," he replied, and doubtless, Mr. Clarkins, the owner, wouldn't be the only one who got a charge out of seeing a bunch of teenybopper ice cream clerks, running around in these prick-teasing, panty-showing micro mini-uniforms. Every guy in the neighborhood would get a hard-on, and the ice cream would sell like it was going out of style.
The youngster cut into his thoughts. "D'you have any cherries?"
He struggled with the grin that wanted to form on his face. I've probably got a cherry right here in this kitchen with me, that was what sailed through his mind, but he said, "No, I don't think we have."
She swished her ponytail. "Well, I'll just make it without the cherry." She drew a kitchen chair away from the table, put it in front of the cupboards, climbed up on it.
Suddenly a roaring wave of sexual desire burst over him. His mouth jarred open, and he found himself confronted with the sight of her pretty yellow panties. She was up on the chair, swinging the cupboard door open, prowling through the canned goods on the top shelf. Her little micro-dress, or whatever it was, had climbed halfway up the crack of her ass.
His mouth watered. His peter stiffened. He knew it was wrong to peep under a young girl's dress, especially one this young, but the desire was there, so was the view, and he couldn't keep himself from looking.
"You did say the top shelf, didn't you?"
"I think there's some up there." He came off his chair, moved beside her. "Look way over in the corner," he said.
She stretched even more. The hem of her little uniform raised to her bare waist. Her entire ass was showing: the pretty yellow panties, the triangular shadow of her pussy hair, the cleft that divided her kissable little behind.
"I think I see it," she said excitedly. "Hold on to my legs so I don't fall."
His peter did a dance. He was directly under her, looking under her dress, staring between her thighs. And now he had to hold her legs!
Gingerly, afraid that his desires might run away with him, he placed his hands just above her knees and steadied her. But he was lost. The moment his hot hands touched the cool softness of her sweet, honey-fleshed thighs, he knew he wanted her.
It was insane, of course. He'd been an utter fool that day in the locker room, not really realizing how very young she was. Or perhaps too excited to care. But now he knew of her youth, saw the child innocence of her little-girl face, and there was no excuse. Only his unspeakable urge to feel her up, get her panties off, and take her cherry.
"Hold on now," she warned. She went to her tip-toes, strained.
He slid his hands higher on her thighs. His stiff, seven-inched peter leaped with joy. "D'you see it?" "Not yet. That wasn't it." "Try the other corner." "I don't think it's there, either."
"Well, look and see." And he wanted to keep her up there as long as he could, because the free show was like none he had ever seen.
She moved her left foot and stepped in the other direction. Her panties were a little loose in her crotch and now he was able to see her pussy hairs. They were sticking out from the thin strip of nylon that covered her crack. And if he slid his hands just a little further up her legs. Did he dare? he wondered. She'd liked it well enough when he'd sucked her pussy in the locker room, but that was another day, another time, another mood. And she hadn't mentioned that day, either, so maybe it was best if he went no further.
"I don't think you have any."
"You're sure?"
"I don't see it."
He tried to stall a few more wondrous seconds. Everything in his formal training told him that this was bad, that a grown man didn't and shouldn't look up a teeny-bopper's dress. But nothing that gave you this much of an exciting thrill could be bad!
He ached to caress her ass, her lovely, lovely ass, to explore her sweet-smelling panties, tickle her pussy, and stick his finger up her wet crack, and only fear held him back. But he did allow his grip on her firm, tanned thighs to rise slightly, and now his itching fingers were no more than an inch away from the edge of her lovely panties.
'Tm coming down," she said, closing the cupboard door.
His heart sunk. But there was no way to stall any longer; the show was over. "Don't let go," she warned. "I won't. C'mon down."
He lifted her up and away from the kitchen chair and let her slide down his body. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world! Her little ass rubbed its way down his chest, past his waist, over his hard, joy-packed peter.
Her tiny dress, trapped between them, rose above her waist, baring her smooth, tapering thighs, her yellow panties with their telltale pouch in front. When her loafers touched the kitchen floor, his hands were resting on her bare midriff, just above the elastic of her panties. It was the signal to release her, to get control of himself.
But he was beyond control, and he knew it. He held her firmly against him, and she did not protest. And then he put his hands near her small belly button, played with it briefly, then dove. Dove straight into the waistband of her yellow panties, down to the virgin silk of her cunt hair, straight to the wet hot heaven between her legs.
If she offered the least resistance, said "don't," or struggled to get loose, he was determined to release her. He didn't want trouble, not from jailbait. But the blond, pony-tailed teenybopper was completely submissive. She didn't resist him, didn't move a muscle, was as quiet as a deaf-mute.
His huge hand stretched the front of her panties. He played with the outer lips of her pussy, then the inner lips. She was quite wet, which told him she was also quite hot. Still, she didn't move, and he was almost afraid to venture further.
But he did. He had to. He had to get his quivering finger inside her small wet crack, even if it was just for a second or two.
He twisted his hand around, got his finger into a better position, then spread the lips of her pussy. He curled his finger slightly, then pushed up. It entered her all right, but he saw that her hole was very small. Not big enough for my cock, he thought, but maybe, just maybe, I can make it big enough.
He pushed his finger deeper. This time she groaned a bit, but he wasn't sure whether it was from pleasure or pain. He drew his finger out of her slit, just an inch or so, then pushed it back inside her. She was wetter now, and his finger went in all the way to the last knuckle. He slid it back and forth. She started to quiver. He did it some more. Now her quivering was more accentuated, almost a wiggle.
His penis throbbed. He pushed it in the crack of her panty-covered ass. She pushed back, and now-and it didn't make any difference whether she was ten or twelve or ninety-she was responding!
He grew braver. He plunged his finger back and forth in her tight little pussy, delighting to the squishy sound that filled his ears. Restraint was gone, so was common sense. He was going to fuck this sweet, passionate, wayward child. One way or another, up her ass or in her pussy, he was going to screw her senseless.
He pulled her panties down. He stroked her tummy, ran his thick fingers through the corn silk hair of her cute twat, tickled and re-tickled her juicy crack. She couldn't stand still. She hula-hula'd her bare ass against the bulge in his pants. She pranced from one foot to the other, and small moans of joy grew louder and louder.
He knew he couldn't finish things here in the kitchen; there was too much chance of being discovered by her brother, and of considerably less importance, by Warren.
"Pick up your panties," he whispered in her ear. "We'll go in the bathroom."
She didn't question him, obeyed like a young child being ordered to bed. She padded down the hallway, a foot or two behind, and a half-minute later, they had locked themselves inside the bathroom.
"You're not going to tell anybody about this, I hope."
She said, "Do you think I'm crazy?"
"Well, I want to be sure."
"I didn't tell anybody about the other stuff," she whispered.
He told her that was good. Then he instructed her to sit on the edge of the wash basin.
"Pull your dress up." He opened his fly, took out his peter. "Did you ever do it before?"
She surprised him by saying, "Yes. Last summer." But he was glad. No mess, no blood, no tears. "Aren't you going to ask me who with?" she said, hoisting her dress up to the bottom of her bra. "All right," he said. "Who with?" "You won't tell?" He told her no.
"My brother," she whispered softly. "We did it down in the basement. On a pile of old rags."
He was not astonished. Most all brothers sampled their sisters' bodies during this phase of their childhood, and in this case it saved Jim the trouble of breaking her cherry.
He walked between her legs. He took her hand and guided it to his bobbing penis.
"It's awful big," she said worriedly. "Maybe it won't go in."
"Well go slowly," he whispered. He put his hands on her wonderful thighs, spread them a bit more. She put the tip of his penis at the opening of her wet, anxious slit. He gave a little push. She grunted, and he pulled back.
"Hurt?"
"A little."
"Shall we try again?"
She nodded yes. He started in, but she put her hand on his stomach and told him to wait a minute. She slid forward, bent her head, and suddenly she licked his hard, red-knobbed peter. It surprised him as much as it pleased him. But it was only a tease.
"And if it's wet, maybe it'll go in easier."
Her cleverness startled him. Evidently this brother of hers had taught her several tricks, including the artful sucking of a hard penis.
"Put it in!" she urged.
He spread his feet wider apart, got a firm hold on her lovely soft ass. His pecker pressed between her wet inner lips, and he was sure he was too big for her small, inexperienced pussy. He wanted to stop, and he told her. She pleaded for him to continue.
"But I don't want to hurt you."
"It won't hurt. Please. Do it to me!"
He'd never seen a girl so young get this hot. She would hot take no for an answer, either, and he found himself trying again, slowly, painfully, getting a part of the head of his dick inside her, then a little more, and finally the whole head disappeared inside her soft, velvety cunny.
A great sigh escaped her lips. The terrible agony of entry was over. The rest was for fun! Fun and wild thrills and insane joy.
She wiggled her ass on the edge of the sink. Her frail hands clasped his neck. Her swaying legs helped to lift her ass off the sink, enabling her to get more and more of his thrusting shaft inside her hot, young twat.
"I want it all," she hissed. "I want your whole thing inside me."
"It's going," he marveled. "All of it." But he couldn't yet believe his eyes, that this tender young thing of perhaps 14 or 15, who looked no older than 12, could accept between her slender thighs, the enormity of his thrusting, stiff, seven-inch banana of joy. But here he was: plunging and re-plunging, screwing hell out of her dewy box, pinching the curvy cheeks of her ass, giving her pussy everything he had, and she was taking it without the slightest discomfort and asking for more!
"I want your juice," she begged in a hoarse whisper. "I want your juice inside my cunt."
"It's coming," he said, going faster and faster. "It's coming, honey. N-now! Now! Nowwwww!"
The cream of his come came out like a bullet. It shot to the back of her pussy in one thrilling way after another. It filled her small crack, warmed it, drove her to indescribable joy. And it was obvious that she didn't want him to take his peter out of her snapping pussy, because she sighed with disappointment.
"I want to do it some more," she pleaded like a little girl asking for a stick of penny-candy.
"We will," he promised. "But let's get out of here in case they want to use the bathroom."
They straightened their clothing, then stole out into the hallway. Warren and the young boy were still in the bedroom.
"If you're worrying about my brother, don't," she said when they had returned to the kitchen. "I know what they're doing in there."
"You do?" he said, surprised.
"Sure. My brother does things like that all the time. That's why he's always inviting his buddies to spend the night at our house. They play with their peters and suck each other, and they think I don't know nothing about it."
He sat down, more from astonishment than the need to rest. He didn't know how she had found out all these things about her brother, but it was apparent that she knew much more than he gave her credit for knowing-this, in spite of her tender years.
"Are we going to do it some more?" she asked.
"Do you want to?"
She sat on his lap like the very young girl she was. "Sure I do. We can do it all night, if you want."
"We can like hell! You've gotta get home."
"Sez who? I can stay as late as I want."
"No, you can't. What if your parents decide to phone you."
"They won't. They're too cheap to pay for a long distance phone call, anyway." She jumped up and down on his lap, the crack of her very young ass landing on his limp peter. "Besides, I thought I told you. Phil and I are spending the night here."
He was about to argue with her. But before the protest formed, she'd worked his zipper down, put her hands inside his pants, fumbled for his peter. Her pussy juice was still on the tip of his dick, and it seemed un-likely that he was ready for a second bout with this wild little nymphet-not yet, anyway. But her warm hand, the insistent squeeze on his pecker, her hot breath on his neck, her budding, tender titties pressed against his chest, speeded the whole, thrilling process.
A minute later, her hand had stroked him to his original hardness. And he hadn't been still himself. He'd slid her dress up above her wet panties, played with her ripe Puss 'n Boots, got her so hot she couldn't sit still.
They turned the lights off in the front room and climbed on the couch. They threw caution to the wind, stripping naked, doing it the way their bodies craved. He on top of her, shoving her the red-hot meat, giving her enough prong to go through her ass.
Her stamina amazed him. So did her acute excitement. She thrashed like a wild woman. She called him foul names, used foul four-letter words to describe what they were doing, and this made their copulation even more thrilling than it was.
"Give it to me in the ass?" she pleaded, squeezing fiercely on his forearms.
"I'll tear you in two," he said fretfully. "I wouldn't dare."
"But I want it in my ass!" she cried, her eyes misting. "I want you to come there." She crawled out from under him, took a quick suck of his dick, then bent over the arm of the couch, her lovely teenybopper ass-hole raised up in the air.
"Put it in, hun. Please."
He wanted to and he didn't want to. He'd screwed girls in the ass before, but it hadn't been as pleasant as some of the other football players described. But Shirley's ass had more appeal to it than those of the other girls, possibly because she was younger, more tender, and because she had a smaller, cuter ass.
He told her to wait a second, hurried to the bathroom for some Vaseline, greased his penis all the way to its thick, hairy base, and then he was ready.
She was practically in tears, that was how badly she wanted it stuck in her ass. But he wasn't going to disappoint her. Not now. If that's what this little monkeyshine wanted, this was what she was going to get!
He grabbed her hips, crawled up to the crack of her ass. He spread her lovely white ass cheeks. She reached between her legs, under her pussy, and clutched his dick. She guided it to the tiny, rosy aperture in the channel of her ass. She pulled on the head of his penis.
"Okay, now," she breathed huskily. "Push!"
He gave a frantic shove. His dick started. She cried out as pain swept over her.
Again, just as before, he asked her if she wanted him to stop. She shook her head no, begged him to go on. He palmed her cheeks wider apart, opening her ass-hole another half-inch. Now he pushed. Suddenly his swollen organ slid between the cheeks of her ass and disappeared in the joyful, hot darkness beyond.
He came quickly this time, gushing his sperm into exciting juvenile bowels. She wiggled the last drop from his pleasurably exhausted penis, and after they'd separated, she kissed him, hugged him, licked the inside of his ear, whispered, "This is a lot more fun than football!"
CHAPTER TEN "Let's Play With Our Clothes Off!"
The cute, ponytail-swishing lollipopper had to be the most wanton, peter-loving youngster Jim Cade had ever known or heard of. Her girl-woman pussy hungered constantly for sex. Her hands had to be caressing a man or boy's dick; she had to be flaunting her behind; and she had to have somebody fooling around with her tempting, voluptuous jailbait body.
She aroused the worst in Jim, too. He couldn't keep his hands off of her-not for a minute. And he wanted to do it all-everything in the sexual zoo, everything that either of them could devise, which was quite a lot.
For the next four days, she and her pale-faced brother Philip remained in the apartment with Jim and Warren. They turned the place into a three-ring sex circus, and no thrill, however small, was left unattempted.
Philip, whose thin, sensuous lips were as feminine as a girl's, whose soft, baby-skin thighs and ass were equally girl-like, proved to Warren and Jim that his sexual inclinations ran in both directions. He screwed his sex-drunk sister while the two footballers looked on.
Jim couldn't believe that the pretty youngster would permit witnesses to her and her brother's incest, but he discovered that when this teenybopper was thoroughly aroused, she would do anything. And when it was first brought up-she and her brother screwing each other-he thought she might balk. But he had been sitting on the couch with her, his hand under her dress, playing with her snatch, and she was very hot. Warren and the young boy were also fooling around, playing "rub me" with one another's penises.
"You thought I was lying, I'll bet," she said to Jim. "You don't believe Philip and I did it to each other, do you?"
Hoping to coax her into an exhibition, still playing with her fevered pussy, he said, "No, I think you were putting me on."
"You dare me to prove it?"
"Yes, I dare you."
She jumped off the couch. "C'mon, Phil, let's show 'em." She pulled off her dress, lowered her panties, stretched out on the carpet, and a dozen seconds later, her brother's hairy balls were swinging recklessly between her writhing, out-flung thighs, and he was screwing hell out of his sister's moist slit. Jim and Warren sat no more than a foot away from the two young lovers, and they thrilled to what they saw.
Plainly, Shirley loved her brother's dick sliding in and out of her pussy, even if it was not as large as Jim's. And as immoral as incest might be, it did not prevent her and her brother from the wild joys which followed. He came twice in her pussy, once in her mouth, and because they couldn't leave each other alone, they forced themselves to still another orgasm by jacking each other off.
Most of the four-day sex carnival was spent in the nude. They broke off for a meal now and then; once, Jim and Warren left the apartment for football practice; but other than that, all they did was screw and fondle and suck and play.
Warren and young Phil experimented with sixty-nine.
They filled each other's mouths with their spitting jizm, while Jim and young Shirley looked on with hot approval. When it became Warren and Phil's turn to watch, he and the shapely teenybopper did their bit. He stood her on her head, grasped her by the ankles, vee'd her legs, then dove his mouth at her reddened, twitching pussy. He sucked her off while she was balanced upside-down, made her come in his mouth three times in succession.
Equally imaginative, the cute pony-tailer got a jar of honey from the kitchen, spooned it over his genitals, then licked and sucked it off. Her luscious pink tongue drove him crazy and he came all over her chin. She pushed his come into her mouth, licked at the dew drops of jizm that continued to seep from his penis, then raised herself to his face, giving him a passionate French kiss, and enabling him to taste his own juice.
On another occasion, she made him get down on all fours and pretend he was a horse. Naked as the day she was born, her little boobies swinging to and fro, she proved to everybody in the room that she could come without doing a thing-or almost nothing.
Gripping his shoulders for balance, she did like many young girls do when they ride real horses. She rocked her hot cunny back and forth over his bare back. The friction made her pussy wet. She did it some more and it grew wetter. And then faster, jerking her hips, working her crack across his spine.
Then for an encore, she led Jim to the showers, screwing him standing up, with a spray of teasing warm water striking his balls. He came twice-once by virtue of intercourse, the second time by the maddening courtesy of her busy hands. He tried a third time, bending her over the tub and trying to get into her pussy from the rear; however, his peter wouldn't get hard, so they stepped out of the way and let Warren and little Phil take over the shower.
They deserted the bathroom, crawled on top of a bed, and she made him screw her between the tits. That didn't sound like much fun to him, but when she trapped his half-stiff dick between her small mounds, squeezed and brought her dark valley tighter together, commanded him to move back and forth, he knew the sensation was worth continuing. Then, seconds before he was going to come, she grabbed his red-hot pole, stuck it in her mouth, and sucked him off.
They continued the orgy around-the-clock. They chased each other from room to room, letting no sexual evil go untested. Warren, always the homosexual, let himself be persuaded to taste the teenybopper's pussy. He liked it so much that he lapped it for over thirty minutes, and it was so enjoyable to him, apparently, that he masturbated while he was doing it, shooting two loads of jizm onto the carpet and very nearly making a third.
By the same token, Jim found himself drawn into sexual play with the teenybopper's fair-faced brother. It was the boy who made the first move, and when he made it, touched Jim's peter, held it in his hand and marveled at its shiny skin and big knob, Jim submitted with utter pleasure. He discovered that it didn't really matter what sex a caress came from-a hand on your cock felt good, regardless of the gender. But one rationalization led to another, and soon he and the boy were off in a corner, playing with one another's swollen organs. The boy had a small one, to be sure, but it hadn't short-changed his lust or his capacity to come. He shot a big load of his cream all over Jim's pistoning hand. But Jim got even, doing the same to the young boy, spurting down the kid's leg.
The fourth and final night that the youngsters remained in the apartment was the wildest of all. The four of them, naked, anxious to make the most of their last night together, climbed into the same bed. They threw off the bedclothes so that there would be more room. Then it began.
Jim lusted with the teenybopper. He got on top of her, made her guide his youth-loving, seven-inch penis into her hole. He worked slowly at her, bringing her to a passionate simmer. Meanwhile, Warren had greased Philip's ass-hole, his own scarlet-headed organ, as well, and he was giving the youngster a delightful cornholing.
The bed rocked like crazy. Jim didn't know whether to watch the thrills that were appearing in the nymphet's eyes, or to gaze at her brother, whose misted eyes swam with one joy after another.
Presently they switched positions. Shirley climbed on top of him, but instead of impaling herself with his waiting peter, she straddled his shoulders, coaxing him to lick her pussy. He couldn't deprive her of this little-girl wish-not even if he had wanted to.
He darted his tongue between her hair-lined inner lips, sank it deep into her crack. She tasted pleasantly of urine and love juice, and this excited him all the more. He pressed his tongue deeper. Her bare ass wiggled on his chest. She clasped the sides of his head and began pumping her pussy against his mouth. He tried to restrain her, but it was useless. She wanted to screw his mouth. Fast and furious. As fast as her hips and ass would permit her to go.
Suddenly a hand was at his penis. At first he thought it was hers, but then he realized it couldn't be hers, and glancing sideways, he saw it was Warren. Warren was humping the boy, playing for a second or two with Phil's quivering peter, then releasing it long enough to play with Jim's. The four of them came nearly simultaneously, then switched partners.
Jim wound up with the boy, Warren with the girl. They sixty-nined each other, and it was during this turnabout, while he was lipping the quivering peter of the effeminate youth, that Jim realized that a person could get drunk on sex just as they could on liquor. Him, for instance, sucking a young boy's peter. A few days ago, such a thing was unthinkable. But now, swept up in this lewd, lascivious orgy of self-debasement, all boundaries were cast aside. Moral obligations, righteousness, reality itself, dissolved in a sea of irresponsible sexual license, and he let-no, encouraged-the young junior-higher to shoot off in his mouth.
Later that night, a bottle of cheap port wine was added to the fray. Most of it was consumed by the young girl, and she grew quite drunk.
Once again demonstrating her insatiable need for sex, the pretty teenybopper insisted on taking care of all three of them at the same time!
She fell across the couch, one leg dangling on the floor, the other swung wide, up and over the back. She made her brother stand at her side and proceeded to manipulate his penis. Warren, she directed to the head of the couch, ordering him squat slightly so that her lips could reach his genitals. When her lips closed over his swollen prong, the big guy expelled a huge sigh. She sucked with all the ardor she could muster, meanwhile making her hand go up and down on her brother's fast-stiffening penis.
Jim, who, merely as witness, was enjoying the wild free-for-all, saw his 15 year old blond bed partner signal with her other hand, pointing to her twat. From the side of her mouth, nearly choked by the sliding girth of Warren's dick, she mumbled, "Fuck me, Jim. Get on top of me and fuck me! Quick!"
He had been playing with his organ, watching it grow to a fierce new hardness. And now he was going to give it to her. The whole works! Balls and all!
He mounted her. His thrusting maleness sank into the juicy, velvety heat of her marvelous pussy. Never had a sensation been so exquisite, so utterly devastating in its effect. The sight of her lovely mouth gobbling madly on Warren's cock was, by itself, a thrilling thing to see. But added to this, her hand going feverishly up and down on her teenage brother's dong, was adding thrill to thrill. The vicarious effect raged in his balls. His lower body worked faster. He slammed Ms pelvis between her frail legs, banged and slapped her hole with all his might.
The sexual empathy hit all of them. Each of them was entranced by what was happening to the other, and the sum total of all this voyeuristic interest found its way to the nymphet's mouth and hand and wetted slit
She all but went out of her mind. Her pussy couldn't get enough of Jim's pumping dick; her mouth couldn't get enough of Warren's dick, either; but her hand, squeezing possessively on her brother's peter, this was the most!
She mouthed, "I want all of you to come at once. D'you hear? All at once."
They exchanged swift glances. Could they? How would they know what was the right time?
Jim thought, the hell with timing. I'm coming and the hell with what they do! My juice is going to bomb her good. I'm going to put so much jizm in her little pussy that she'll be dripping the stuff for the next month!
He grabbed her small breasts, playing with them, supporting himself. He drew back on his pelvis, then slammed back inside her. His push-pull went faster, faster. Her ass worked with him. Her blond bush slammed against his darker one. Bellies kissed, genitals kissed, sweet bliss carried them to euphoria.
With a mouthful of Warren's sweet peter, she moaned loudly, passionately. Her brother groaned at the same time, and her hand was flying over his member so fast that it was almost hidden from view.
"Try to come, Jim," she begged. "I want your juice now!"
He didn't have to try. It was coming. A whole ball-full. Two balls full! Enough jizm for six teenagers, and it was going in her. In her wet pussy-his juice and hers.
At the same instant, her brother's peter shot a load of come all over her bare titties. Some of it even landed on her face. He screamed and moaned in obvious ecstasy, which was when Warren let loose with his.
So it was reaching her vitals from all sides, going to her mouth, her hand, her body, and last, and perhaps most important, to her lovely, kissable, suckable pussy. Truly, as they rehashed it later, this was a night to remember.
But the orgy was not without its drawbacks, as he and Warren discovered on the following afternoon when their team clashed with Hudson University. Physically drained, neither of them were up to their usual stamina. Jim wasn't hitting well with his passes and the defense was snowing Warren on every play. But despite Hudson Us two touchdown lead at the start of the fourth quarter, Jim managed to get a drive going, racking off 71 yards in six plays, scoring the td with a short lateral to Pitney, who went in on Hudson Us weak left side.'
A second touchdown was scored following a Hudson fumble from center. A Tech lineman, capitalizing on the miscue, scooped up the loose pigskin, and ran it into the end zone. The conversion was good, the score was tied.
Hudson U. took the kick-off, ran it to mid-field. Four minutes remained, and if Hudson could move the ball to field goal range, State Tech Would not only lose the game, but would also be out of this year's conference championship.
A determined State Tech defense squad prevented Hudson from moving the ball, however, and they were forced to punt. State Tech grounded it on the 13-yard line and Jim Cade came on the field with his bruised and tired offense eleven. Less than a minute showed on the scoreboard clock, and a tie, which was no better than a loss insofar as the championship was concerned, seemed imminent.
But again, and on the very next play, fate intervened, and the day was saved. Jim back-pedaled and shot the bomb. It was intended for Pitney, who was streaking for the end zone. But the instant the ball left Jim's fingertips, he knew it was short, under-thrown. But a Hudson safety man, leaping for what he hoped would be a game-winning interception, deflected the pass. Harrigan, who'd been down-field as an alternate receiver, got his hands on the wobbly deflection, spun away from two would-be tacklers, and went in for the td, saving Jim's hide.
Coach Frietag, in a scorching denunciation following the game, told Jim that his offense looked like a bunch of "prancing fairies." Warren Yanko, who was in on the locker room ass-chewing, grimaced when he heard this. Later, Warren said, "He didn't have to put it that way."
Jim replied, "Don't let it rile you. The sonofabitch was just shooting off."
"Well how would you like it?" Warren asked, as they downed a draft beer in a local tavern.
"I wouldn't. But maybe he didn't mean it that way."
Warren's colorless eyes filled with anger. He banged the bar with his fist. "The hell he didn't!"
Jim shrugged. He was unexplainably indifferent to Frietag's scolding-at least, insofar as it affected him-but he did sympathize with Warren, the big guy's apparent hurt.
"If it'll make you feel any better, I'll get even with him, Warren." "like how?"
"The same way I did last time. With my dick!"
On the following night, when Coach Frietag had to attend an alumni meeting, Jim proved he was a keeper of promises. He met Myra Frietag in her rose garden, bent her over the bird bath, and proceeded to ream her ass-hole. She loved having Jim's thick penis going in her back door, so it was a pleasant kind of revenge for all concerned.
He described the ass orgy to Warren when he returned to the apartment. Warren, who was munching on a hamburger, took the news smiling. But then his face clouded.
"You know, Jim, the bastard wasn't too far from wrong. I mean, if you stop and think about it, we did play like a bunch of prancing fairies. All that screwing with Shirley and Phil-it really shot holes in me."
"So take some vitamins," he said, grinning at his roommate.
"I'm serious, Jim. I think we ought to cool it for a while. Just till after the championship."
"Who says there's gonna be a championship? If we don't take the next two games, we're out of it."
"That's what I mean," Warren said. "And that's why I think we ought to lay off the sex for a few weeks."
"What the hell has sex got to do with football?" he snapped at Warren.
"Be serious, friend." Warren scowled. "We were so fucked out we couldn't run ten yards without being winded. A little sex, all right, but the way we went at it with those kids-"
"You enjoyed it."
"Sure I did. It was great. But I'm just saying it took something out of us. That's why we played so poorly."
He was sorely rankled by Warren's criticism, and he did not agree with him. He kicked at an imaginary football, turned his back on Warren.
"I don't think we played as poorly as you seem to think. And I don't think that sex has anything to do with the way anybody plays."
"And I disagree."
"That's your privilege," he said coldly. "And if you wanna put your cock in the deep-freeze, go 'head. But don't expect me to follow suit."
Warren pushed back from the kitchen table. He clasped his hands across his stomach, stretched his long legs. Fatherly in pose, he said, "You know what's the trouble with you, Jim boy. You've still got Patti on the brain."
He started to leave the room.
"Don't run away, buddy. It's the truth. You're still trying to get even."
He told Warren that he didn't know what he was talking about. Patti didn't mean a thing to him. She was long forgotten, he was not trying to get even.
"Tell it to the judge," Warren smiled cynically. "Your ol' buddy here knows better."
"And I say you're wrong."
"Yeah, then why are you knocking yourself out fucking all the cheerleaders? First it was that Lisa you told me about, then Fay, then this little Shirley. Want me to tell you why you're doing it? You're doing it for spite. You knew these kids will tell Patti about it, and that's what you want. You want her to eat her heart out and maybe come crawling back to you."
He fled the room. It was the truth, all right, and he knew it was the truth. But he wasn't going to stand there and let Warren know he was right.
He slammed the bedroom door shut on Warren's scolding derision. He flung himself face-down across the bed and pulled a pillow over his head. But not even this blocked Warren's shouts from reaching his ears.
"If you thought anything of the team or the championship, you'd either get back together with her or forget her, goddammit! You can't fuck like a demon and also play top-notch football. It just isn't done!"
Warren was full of shit! he thought. He was full of shit about Patti, suggesting that they get back together, and he was full of shit about sex hurting a man's football play. Furthermore, he could prove it.
For the next five days, Jim screwed any girl who was willing. He nailed the coach's wife two more times, picked up a girl in a bus station and screwed her in somebody's doorway, and then he redirected his attentions to the team cheerleaders.
Fay accompanied him to a drive-in movie, and they spent most of the time in the back seat, while the winsome teenager sucked him off a total of three times.
The following night, he dated Lisa. Her parents weren't home, and they killed most of the evening in her room. She wore a thin brunch coat, nothing underneath, which proved quite handy. He nibbled on her titties for the first hour, her pussy the second hour, and shot two loads of come into her crack during the third.
On Wednesday, he fell victim to his blond ponytail friend, Shir. He picked her up after she finished work at the ice cream parlor, but to his disappointment, she was accompanied by her brother Phil. But the night proved academically and physically rewarding, for after he had driven them to a secluded area of the city park, they led him to a grassy slope and showed him that squirrels weren't the only animals who collected nuts.
The naughty pair opened his shirt, then his fly. They scratched around, found his goodies, and drove him pleasurably insane. The little tyke with the ponytail played with the hairs on his chest, then tickled and sucked his nipples. Meanwhile, her fair-faced, sensuous-lipped brother sucked greedily on something else.
He lost count of the orgasms they experienced, but he did recall coming in Phil's mouth, later in his ass. His peter was then too limp for the teenybopper's wet, waiting pussy, so it was necessary to take care of her with his tongue. She came several times, Phil gave himself a hand-job, and Jim experienced a new stiffening to his dong. The 15 year old girl noticed it, refused to go home until Jim used it on her.
Phil guided Jim's dick into his sister's crack. Seconds later, Jim and the young pony-tailer were writhing in the soft grass. Her hot limbs pressed in on his ass. Her cool tummy shook and quivered. Her pussy demanded every inch of penis he had. And soon her pussy was demanding more than just his prick and balls; it was demanding his cream. And after several more hard strokes, he gave it to her.
That should have been enough for these two little monkeys, he thought, and yet on the way home, they had played with his tumescence until he got near the brink of another climax. Then they held his penis like two youngsters gripping a baseball bat, choosing up sides. Phil's smooth, warm hand encircled the base of his dick, and Shirley's tiny fist gripped him by his scarlet knob. They glided their hands in unison, sliding them back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. Their hot, slippery hands made him tremor with delight. Faster and faster they went, until breathless, as breathless as he was, they caused him to shoot a load of jizm, splattering his windshield.
But this was by no means the end of his one-man sex spree. On the following afternoon, learning that a number of young high school girls were auditioning for future openings in the cheerleader group, that these tryouts were to be held in the stadium, he arranged with Beasley to spy on them when they undressed.
Beasley, of course, was as enthusiastic as a child with a new puppy. He flashed a yellow-toothed smile, toyed with the bulge in his grimy work pants, and led Jim to the secret peepholes.
The two men crouched in the dark, bent to the peepholes, and thrilled to what they saw. There were six girls in various stages of undress and none of them, Jim decided, was over 15. Two or three of them had slender, boyish shapes, very little tit in their brassieres, and hardly any hair sticking out the crotch of their panties. These girls, he concluded, weren't yet in their teens.
They scrambled into their tights and jerseys and the scandalous skirts they wore, and then they were scurrying from the locker room, heading for the field.
Jim said, "I hope they take showers when they're done with the tryouts."
Old Beasley mumbled, "Me, too!"
And half an hour later, the two men got their wish. Sweaty, breathless, chatting like a gathering of hungry squirrels, the girls returned from the field, threw off their clothes, then ran for the showers.
Jim and the old janitor waited anxiously for the girls to come out of the showers. Jim couldn't believe his good fortune, being able to spy on so many girls at the same time. Neither could he believe that peeping on young girls as they dressed and undressed would be so highly exciting. Naturally, it was taboo, illegal, and all that crap, but what guy in his right mind wouldn't get a kick out of seeing something like this? It made your dick stand up, straight and hard. It made you want to open your fly and play with yourself, and he was very nearly doing that right now.
Suddenly the girls spilled out of the showers. Their slick wet bodies, pink from the spray of the water, glistened in the dim light of the locker room. Titties and pussies, dripping water, exuding sex, gripped Jim's attention. His peter stiffened, harder than he could ever remember it. Old Beasley was unzipping himself, fumbling for his penis. Sex was everywhere.
The girls had only two towels between them, so it was necessary for the others to shiver and wait their turn. This was the best part, the two men learned. The girls were so cold that they couldn't stand still. Goosebumps covered their bare legs and shiny thighs, their glistening asses and trembling titties, and Jim thought, If they were a little closer and this peephole was a little larger, I'd stick my tongue through the hole and lick their titties and their pussies, maybe even lap at their tight little virgin ass-holes. And the fantasizing added to the lewd show he was witnessing, sent a new supply of semen surging into his bloated balls.
From the darkness, Beasely whispered, "I think that little redhead girl is rubbing herself off in more ways than one."
Jim switched his glance. It was true! The youngster, rather full-legged for her tender years-nice, delicious-looking boobs, too-was supposedly drying her crotch. But she was a bit obvious about what was really taking place-taking too much time, rubbing herself a little too vigorously, and getting a sleepy, dreamy look in her half-closed eyes.
The other girls paid no attention, other than telling her to hurry, because they were cold.
"I wish I could dry her," Beasely whispered huskily. "I'd give her a drying-off she wouldn't soon forget."
So would I, thought Jim. Her behind, those round, half-swollen melons, the place between her legs-I'd dry her right.
And as he continued to stare at their luscious, youthful, bouncing shapes, wanting to reach out and touch their genitals and suck their tits, yet knowing that he couldn't, the thrilling sensation in his crotch reached its maximum height.
Beasely had his organ out and was stroking it back and forth. He was breathing rapidly, his eye still pressed to the peephole. Jim very quickly did the same. He thrust his hand inside his pants, groped, pulled out his stiff seven-inch pecker. His hand closed around it.
"How hard is yours?" Beasely whispered suddenly.
Too hot to be startled by the janitor's lewd question, he answered, "Pretty hard." He continued feeling himself.
"So's mine," the old janitor breathed hotly.
Jim did not reply. He kept watching the girls. They were chirping and laughing, playfully flogging each other with the wet towel, running about like a bunch of mischievous children-which, he reminded himself, was exactly what they were.
But being children didn't alter the fact that they had suckable titties, hair on their pussies, squeezable asses, that they could fuck, and possibly had. Nor did their youth alter the fact that peeping was a thrill, and no one should condemn it, he thought, until they've tried it. And right now, gazing at these precious, frivolous, giggling, silly little darlings, craving to fondle and love them, to stick his dick between their legs, go from crack to crack and hole to hole, to kiss their ears and their mouths, it mattered not to him what the law said, what society said, what anybody said. He was not hurting them, he rationalized, simply by spying on their delicious bodies. And even if he were amongst them, tonguing their enchanting, moist secrets, feeling them, exploring their tight crevices, making them hot, he still wouldn't hurt them, for they were far too sweet.
The motion of his hand on his penis felt good. He went a little faster. So did the old janitor. And as one of the young cheerleaders said to her girlfriend, "Let me wipe you," and then proceed to rub the girl's back, then the cheeks of her ass and the backs of her legs, Beasely mumbled, "Is yours as hard as mine?"
Scarcely able to breathe, unable to pull his eye from the peephole, he answered abjectedly, "Uh-huh."
"Lemme see."
He felt himself twisting his hips toward the old man. He dropped his hand away from his penis. Suddenly Beasely's hand had replaced his. He sucked in his breath, gasped.
"You got a nice one," Beasely whispered hoarsely.
Jim didn't know what to say. He finally decided not to say anything, and now the old coot was working his dick around in his wrinkled hand, shoving the foreskin back and forth, giving him an occasional pleasant squeeze, right at the slitted head of his throbbing rod.
He didn't question what was pleasant. He gazed at the naked young girls in the locker room, thrilled to Beasely's warm hand gliding over his peter, grew hotter and hotter. And when Beasely quietly pleaded with him to reciprocate, to play with Ms peter, Jim found himself too overwhelmed by prurient desires to refuse.
Soon he was jerking the old man's surprisingly strong and lengthy penis, and the old man was jerking his. The old man came first, shooting his cream against the wall, quivering and jerking like a 12 year old boy experiencing his first orgasm.
Ten seconds later, transfixed by the young teenyboppers climbing into their silky under things, wishing he could sniff and feel and kiss their delicious panties, press them to his cheek, his cock, wishing that he could crawl between their nubile thighs, stroke himself into their juvenile cunnies, shoot his jizm into their velvety, darling insides, he came. And what an explosive orgasm it was! His juice shot all over Beasely's hand. It went between his fingers, into his palm, and dribbled down his wrist. It splattered the wall, the floor, and their shoes, but considering that it was only a hand job, he had to admit that it was wondrously pleasing.
And following State Tech's stunning 35-0 defeat of Northern Military Academy, he bragged to Warren of all the sex he had experienced during the week.
"That just goes to prove a point-sex doesn't weaken you, Warren. It makes you stronger."
"I'll never agree with that. We won because there were ten other players on that offense besides you. Or did you forget?"
He smiled at the intended slam. He wasn't going to let his roommate needle him, and he had proven what he set out to prove.
But Warren snapped, "The only thing you proved with all that fucking around is that you're still in love with Patti. So why don't you wake up and do something about it?"
"I told you this before, Warren. You'se full of shit!" His roommate shot him a dirty look. He said, "Up yours!"
"And the same to you, sweetheart," he said, going for the showers. "I don't need you or Patti." But suddenly, and with a tide of despair sweeping over him, he knew this was an untruth. He did need them. But the cold realization of this was accompanied by an even colder realization. They were lost!