Chapter 4
Rod Hanratty withdrew to his executive washroom for a long, hot shower after his kicks with one of his operators, and there he smiled as he dwelt most fondly on the minute recollections of every minute of the time he'd spent after work that day. And he dwelt further still on how much sweeter and more thrilling it would have been if his model had been young Linda Patton.
Beverly Collins went out and got drunk.
She went to the lesbian bar she knew, poured beer and whiskey and wine down her throat, anything to wash that awful, humiliating taste of cum from her mouth, and set out to reaffirm her natural tendencies toward sex with her own willing gender. Men were selfish brutes, men were cruel rapists, and these views of hers were heartily agreed upon by all the other women who patronized the bar that night. Beverly left with two of them, as well as she could later remember, but in the morning, when she awoke with a grinding hangover, it felt as if there might have been considerably more of her pick-up friends in her sleazy room with her, because her cunt was so sore she doubted she could wear any panties that day. Her own modest-sized dildo was there in the rumpled bed with her, but they must have brought their own, and those things must have been whoppers, for Beverly felt stretched out of shape. She also felt like staying home from work that day, but probation officers didn't like that sort of thing on a work record, and she'd be damned if she'd do anything but show up after work as if nothing at all had changed after that fucker Hanratty had taken such bad advantage of her.
One change was made, however, and that was that she wore a skirt to work that day. Her cunt was just too sore to be contained in a pair of pants all day long.
Rod Hanratty noticed it. He spotted the skirt and the sunglasses on Beverly from his second story window, as she came to get coffee from Linda Pat-ton's truck some five minutes before the working day started. Still ogling the shapely young Linda, Rod smiled to himself at the small change in Beverly. One little trip to the boss's office after work, and she was taking on airs, trying to make herself look sexier, more feminine. He didn't mind that. He found it rather flattering. But he'd be right there to put a stop to it if she ever got any notion about acting even a little possessive about him. He'd let her know that even though she might be an erotic dancer of professional caliber and a really superb blow job, she was just an hourly shop girl and that's all she would ever be. This he displayed with his usual cool nod at her, and at any of the girls who were around, when he went down to buy the last cup of coffee Linda Patton would sell at Hanratty Mills until their ten o'clock break. He was smiling and supremely pleasant but still very businesslike as he bought the coffee, and mentally sizing the shapefully slender young brunette up for her debut as his own private lingerie model as he gave her a dollar and got coins from her changer.
Beverly's stomach felt filled with molten lava and her cunt felt as if it had been dusted with chili powder as she took her place at her sewing machine. Glory hadn't shown up yet, and that was just as well, for Beverly knew her breath stunk of stale booze, and besides, she had no interest at all in sex that day. Beverly had no interest in anything at all beyond the end of that working day, but young Bobby Stanton obviously did. He mooned at her, cast calve's eyes at her from clear across the room, bringing forth a response from Beverly that consisted of a middle finger raised up and jabbed once in the air in his direction.
Bobby didn't know whether to take that gesture as an insult or as some sort of a sexual proposition. He knew very little about girls, and even less about women. All he knew for sure was that he'd very literally gotten a taste of sex the day before, and that he'd never get over the experience. In every way, Bobby knew sex was a dirty, disgusting thing, and that there could be nothing at all good to say about a guy who stuck his face between women's legs and kissed them and licked them where they pooped and peed and did all sorts of other strange things. But still and all, he'd been unable to think about anything else at all since leaving work the day before. He didn't know if he was in love with Beverly, in love with pussy, or out of his mind. He did know that everything he saw or did reminded him of that disgustingly gorgeous part of Beverly's anatomy that he'd kissed and sucked, both naked and covered with sexy clothing, and that if he could do it one more time in his life he would die a happy man.
On the way to work on his bicycle, Bobby had vowed to quit thinking about Beverly. And about Glory. He had tried not to even look at the blonde, the sexiest, the most beautiful woman in the world, but the moment he saw her clad in that agonizingly sexy short skirt, he was gone, hopelessly lost in his marvelous love for her. And the second moment after she gave him the finger, he knew it was an invitation and not an insult. As quickly as he could, with his mouth watering and his prick and balls tingling, he made his way to Beverly's machine.
"How's your . . . pulleys today?" he said. "Any squeaks or anything? Anything at all I can, you know, fix or anything?"
She shook her head and went on sewing, working on a white satin slip that looked so much like a bridal dress that Bobby's heart twisted up in his chest.
"I better check it," he said, and got on his knees on the floor on the other side of her work table from her.
Her machine was working just fine, darn it. Her foot was working just fine on the pedal, too, and what a cunning little foot it was. Her knees, quite bare beneath the hem of her little brown skirt, were quite enough to declare her the winner in any beauty contest, even though they were held so modestly close together a playing card could not have been inserted between them. Nevertheless Bobby's adoration for her was such that he crawled further beneath her table to place a tender kiss upon each dimpled darling of a knee, and when her dear hand came down to push him away, he crouched lower in her presence and touched his hot lips to each of her sweet little feet. And when he arose, poignantly proud of his display of pure love for her, she only sneered and flipped him the bird again.
No matter, he thought, as he walked off. After their cataclysmically sexy introduction to love, it was only natural that she'd want to cool things a bit and start anew on a more even keel with them. And after all, it wasn't as if he was her age or she was his. With Beverly so ancient and with him so young, theirs would be a difficult love affair and perhaps a difficult marriage, but he knew that their love would prevail and he trusted Beverly to guide it along from its new start, even if that start came from an obscene gesture.
Beverly wasn't thinking very straight that day. It was the hangover that did it. That and the fact that without Glory to gab with and scheme over, she had too much time to think that day. But in her confused thoughts she blamed Bobby for her problems, from her disgusting session with Hanratty to her wild excesses with the bull dykes of the night before, even to Glory's absence that day. All of it, it seemed, had started with the stupid kid losing his stupid wallet, a kid so stupid he'd get down on his knees and kiss her feet for breakfast. Beverly wanted nothing more to do with him. All she wanted in life was to work at this stupid job till she had a nest egg and a clean bill of health from her probation officer, then move on to a job as a lighthouse keeper. Those were her future desires that morning; her more immediate desire was to find some relief for her badly chafed pussy.
Had those gay gals she'd picked up the night before had sandpaper for tongues? In her groin, the seams of her crotch band felt made of barbed wire, and after suffering from this for half an hour, Beverly got up from her machine and took care of it by taking her panties off in the women's john, and by dusting her aching twat with talcum powder. As might have been expected, Bobby was lurking outside the door with vast hope in his eyes as she exited. Beverly sneered in a vile way at him and shoved her discarded panties in his face before returning to her work.
Of course Bobby took it as an invitation, as a promise of their future love. Straightaway he went to the warehouse, and there amid the bales and boxes of fresh new lingerie, he held the old pair of his Beverly's panties to his face, kissed them and wept a tear into their threadbare old stretch lace, and reaffirmed his love for her. The panties went into his pocket as a lasting token of love, and he went straightaway to Beverly once again.
There beside her humming machine, he cast her the shiest, yet boldest look of love, pulled a corner of her panties out of his pocket, and nodded and smiled down on her.
"Beat it," she muttered, and went on sewing.
"I don't do that," he told her. "I'll show you what I do do."
Down under her table he went, and past the pulleys and belts, to cover her clasped knees with the sweetest of kisses, though no kisses could be as sweet as the flowery scent of the pussy he longed to kiss. Again she wouldn't let him do it. He had to content himself with the touch of her silken knees and shins against his love-stricken lips, and still he was smiling with longing as once again he arose from his knees. Once again he got the finger for his troubles, and once again he returned in a dazzle of love to his work.
At break time Beverly's cunt was feeling some better, but not really very much. Eschewing the lunch wagon, she went to the women's John, and there she used a paper towel to blot cooling water on her twat before talcuming it once again. She had just finished with this temporary relief when the door opened up and Bobby Stanton slipped inside the mean little cubicle.
"Get the hell out of here," she said. "I ought to turn you in to Hanratty for barging in the women's crapper!"
His lovesick grin remained on his face as he said, "I only came in to kiss you down there again, just like I kissed you there yesterday. Have me fired if you want. I don't care. I'll just get another job making more money, enough so I can take you out to imagine places and kiss you down there all the time."
"Oh, shit," said Beverly, fending him off as he tried to lay hands on her. "Get away, cunt-hound. God damn it, get away!" she said. And when he still persisted, grinning like the fool that he was, down on his knees now to reach for her retreating hips, Beverly in all exasperation said, "Okay, if you want pussy, I'll give it to you. But when it's offered, you better eat it all gone, baby, or you'll really be in trouble with me."
"Any time, any place," Bobby proudly said, and rose up feeing ten feet tall.
There were still a few minutes of break time left, enough to make a quick deal with Darlene, quite an overweight black girl who loved to laugh and tell stories about all the wild times she'd enjoyed with her boyfriends when she was still in the blossom of her youth. The deal wasn't completely consummated between Beverly and Darlene, but Darlene promised to pay the ten dollars involved if young Bobby indeed fulfilled what Beverly promised of him. When all the machines were running once again, it was the easiest task in the world to summon Bobby to Beverly's side, this time with a twisted but nevertheless fetching smile.
"So you like to eat pussy, do you?" said she. "Any time and any place."
"Let my tongue speak silently of my love for you," said he.
"Let it speak underneath machine number twelve," she told him, "or I'll never speak to you again."
He turned to look. There were tears in his eyes when he faced Beverly to say, "D-Darlene?"
Suppressing laughter with tightly compressed lips, Beverly nodded and returned to her work. She got up and left her machine when Bobby knelt down to get under its table and she took great satisfaction when she returned from the John to see him slinking about the sewing room in great dejection and gazing at her with eyes the size of silver dollars.
Lovers had to suffer. This Bobby knew from reading about King Arthur and his Knights and from seeing so many movies on television. True lovers met and passed every trial placed before them, and each of these trials strengthened their love for the person of their choice. And perhaps this test wouldn't be all that bad. After all, he'd already passed the test of kissing Glory's pussy, something he couldn't ever understand, but something Beverly had wanted him to do. That test hadn't been all that bad, though it was nothing at all compared to the immensity of the test that now faced him. Really there was no sense in even thinking about it. If he ever wanted to hear Beverly's raspily sexy voice once again, he simply had to place his down-turned mouth against the crotch of the black behemoth on machine number twelve. He braced his shoulders, beamed a brave smile in the direction of his Lady Love, and moved on to machine number twelve.
"You got a squeaky pulley?" he said to the broad, grinning black face.
"If that's what you call it, I got it," Darlene said, and giggled and nudged the girl beside her.
Bobby cast a proud martyr's look at Beverly in the back of the room, saw her wink and nod at him, and with lips that were tightly compressed ducked down under Darlene's table.
Her legs seemed to fill up the space there, great thick black elephantine legs they were, but still she had room left to open them. And when she did, Bobby saw to his horror that her black slacks had been pushed down to mid-thigh, they were now being pushed even lower, and her panties were being pushed with them. He might have backed off right then and forgotten about the whole thing, but a sharp jab from a needle propelled him deeper still under the table.
The smell was just terrible, but still it was somehow reminiscent of the scent of his Beverly, and now Bobby tried to think only of her as, with tightly pursed lips, he reached his face forward to meet this terrible test. A powerful hand in his hair yanked him on, and at once his mouth, the whole lower half of his face was being mashed against big, bare pussy.
He pushed out his tongue to thrust it away. What a terrible nightmare of sex! And as he did this he encountered that same little fascinating button of flesh he'd discovered in Beverly's cherished cunt, and his tongue stabbed again and again at this while the big black legs came farther open still and the big pink pussy shoved harder against his face.
Yes, it was pink! Through all of his tortured emotions, Bobby saw that a black's cunt was pink, just like the inside of a black girl's mouth was pink, and this made the thing he was doing more tolerable. It helped too that she was no longer mashing his face against her cunt, and he quickly learned that he was permitted this small degree of freedom, this tiny breathing space, as long as he held her at bay with the point of his tongue.
And a very agile tongue he found that he had, able to flash and dart and fence and stab with it, usually directly against that button-like part of her broad pink gash, while she writhed her heavy hips in her chair and kept him at his task with strong fingers in his hair. The smell, the taste of big Darlene's cunt wasn't all that bad anymore. More and more, it reminded him of Beverly's sweet honey-pot. And if big was beautiful, Darlene's cunt was surely the most beautiful in the world, all rosy in the middle of all that black flesh as it was, all spread out between the fingers of her hands.
She wasn't even holding him by the hair anymore, he realized. He realized he was being further tested, to see if he could do it on his own, and this test he met with flying colors, taking handfuls of her beautifully soft velvety thighs and buttocks and tonguing her rich pinkness more ardently. He kissed it, too. He'd said he wanted to kiss pussy, it was there to be kissed, and he was ready to do it. His kisses he placed all around her tickle button, and right on top of it. Ardent kisses they were, too, for this was a task to do right, so there'd be no need to prove himself again. He circled that spot with his lips, felt every part of that button with his flashing tongue, and sucked on the juicy pink flesh to give his tongue still more to tickle and fence with.
Darlene was grunting and heaving about so Bobby thought she was in deep distress. He hardly cared. He'd been told to kiss her cunt, he was doing that lovely thing, and he'd continue to do so till he was told to quit. He laid his hands on Darlene's soft, luscious flesh, spread out her black lips wider, and kissed and sucked and licked her terrifically succulent pink tenderness with warmly renewing ardor. The prick in his pants was now fully hard, and patiently waiting till Bobby's mouth could be fastened thusly to Beverly's cunt before it gushed and spurted semen that would fill his shorts. He sucked her till she got all relaxed in her chair, so relaxed she had trouble pushing him back from her thoroughly kissed cunt.
Bobby wiped his face on his sleeve and rose with a vapid grin on his face. All around him, the operators were smirking and buzzing, and as he started groggily back toward Beverly's machine, more than a few hands came out to grope at the big hard bulge in his pants. The grin was still there on his face as he drew up beside Beverly and said, "Okay?"
She could only regard him with interest. From the rear she had seen big Darlene's orgasmic contortions, of such abandoned ecstasy that they simply could not have been baked. Now, with the head of every female in the shop turned toward her, she smiled and reached up and pinched Bobby's damp cheek, and told him she'd see him later. As he walked stiffly off, Darlene came lumbering and sighing up to Beverly, laid a ten dollar bill beside her, and said, "Hey, okay!"