Chapter 1

"What are you worried about?" I asked. "Of course I'll be home in time for the wedding!"

Keith sounded very far away, and to be accurate, he was. About three hundred miles to be exact. "Well," he said, a tiny little voice in the telephone receiver, "I still don't see why you had to go gallivanting off. Not right now, anyway. I mean, we're going on a honeymoon, aren't we? Won't that satisfy your rambling urge?"

"Don't be silly," I sighed. "Humor me. I'm a woman about to make the biggest step of her life. Besides, I've always wanted to see rural New England. I may not get another chance, not if you take that job in Arizona." "I still wish-" "Wish upon a star," I said, "and when you do, make a wish for me, too. Now, darling, you'd better hang up. We've been talking for fifteen minutes and your phone bill will look like the national debt. And remember-you have to get up early and go to work in the morning. And I need my beauty sleep, so-" "All right, Nan. Goodnight and hurry home. God, I miss you!" He blew a kiss into the mouthpiece at his end, but it must have gotten caught in the telephone wires because I only heard the smack of his lips.

I hung up the phone and stretched. It had been a long day and I was dog tired. At least this motel room was graced by a supersoft bed, one into which I could sink and sink and sink, till sleep and dreams stole upon me . . . But first I had to take a bath. There's nothing like a bath to make me feel all soft and sexy.

I walked across the floor barefooted, stripping as I went. Off went the pullover top, thrown carelessly over my shoulder, and off went the lilac bra. Stopping just a moment, I unsnapped my slacks and wiggled them down my legs, kicking free when they'd fallen. By the time I reached the bathroom I was down to my panties-lilac, to match the bra-and I shucked out of them in the bathroom door, dropping them behind me as I went to the tub.

It wasn't a very big tub, but it was big enough for me and a lot of nice warm water, so I turned on the tap and let it fill while I pinned up my long hair. I couldn't resist the impulse to look at myself in the mirror, even though I knew so well the face I'd see looking back out at me.

"Take a good look," I said aloud, "because Nanette Dolan is a very endangered species. In not many more days, it will be Nanette Sirolla. And what will that mean?"

What, indeed?

The arrangements were all made, and in ten days I'd marry Keith Sirolla in a full-dress ceremony at Our Lady of the Sorrows Church back home in Susquehanna County. Yet here I was, camped out in a New York state motel room, three hundred miles from my fiancé. And tomorrow I'd get into my car and I'd drive as many more miles as I could before sundown, and why? It was like I was running away from him or something.

I scooped up my hair and pinned it high, and I looked at the face framed between the falls of wavy dark blonde. Not a bad face at all. High forehead, wide-set eyes of slightly almandine shape, a slender nose with a small, fetching bump partway down the bridge. Long upper lip curving down to a wide, generous mouth. A small firm chin, clean jawline, delicate ears that showed now because my hair was pulled up out of the way.

The rest of it? Well, I couldn't see the rest of it in the mirror. Only as far down as the base of my neck. I stepped back from the mirror and ran my palms down my chest, feeling before I looked to the firm, high-set cones of my tits. They're not big, but they're not tiny either, and the nipples are fat and red, like rosebuds just ready to bloom. I pressed my palms against those rosebuds and felt them spring up, felt them flower. The tips extended, warm where they touched my hands, and I kneaded my tits for a few moments, until they tingled and throbbed and I began to feel good all over. Almost good enough to settle into my bath and immerse my body in the warm bubbly water.

"Mmmm," I purred, hands sliding down me, past my slender waist, onto the prominent bones at my hips. Keith calls them "love handles." He says they were divinely designed so that a man could hold onto his woman when he was giving it to her. Maybe. Sometimes I wish that just once he'd-oh, not now!

My legs are long, perhaps a little bit-but only a little bit-too full in the thighs, and between my legs is a ripe swell of flesh, slitted up the middle, the edges of that slit mossed by a fine growth of dark hair, shimmers of gold interspersed amid the darker curls, making for what I consider a lovely mottled effect. As I moved toward the tub I closed my hand over that puffy hillock and squeezed it very gently. Mmmm, indeed! I felt really in the mood for a nice long soak in the tub and-well, maybe for something extra, too, just to reward myself for being such a good driver and tired girl.

I stepped into the tub and settled slowly, the steam rising around me from the very hot water. My skin felt as if it would scorch from the heat, but that was only a fringe benefit. For a moment I just lay there basking in the heat and wet, and then I unwrapped a tiny bar of soap, picked up a washcloth and began to do my face.

As I washed, I couldn't help wondering what I was doing here in this faraway motel room. For God's sake, I was to be married in ten days, and the man I was engaged to sounded as if he were worried half to death about me. I wasn't worried-I could take care of myself, I was a big girl-but what I didn't understand, not even in my own mind, was why I had packed a bag yesterday morning, gotten into my car, and started driving north, driving as if I meant to get as many miles between me and Susquehanna as I could before the sun went down.

Except for Keith, I didn't really have any obligations at home. I'd been working as receptionist for an elderly doctor who had retired at the end of summer and moved to Florida, so I was technically unemployed. No matter. Keith and I shared an apartment; even if I wasn't bringing in a paycheck I did more than my fair share of housekeeping. Besides, we'd already agreed that after our marriage I'd take at least a temporary layoff and settle down to being the kind of chick housewife you see on TV commercials.

But what about my obligations to Keith? We'd been living together for six months, been engaged and prepared for marriage for three of those months. Didn't I owe him more than the hasty explanation I'd given him-"Darling, I'm stir-crazy and if I don't get away for a little while you can come see me at the State Hospital for the Freaked-Out"?

I continued to soap and rinse myself, hands gliding lazily over my tits and shoulders, down onto my fluttering tummy, and I couldn't ignore the feeling of arousal that swept through me. God, I loved to fondle myself, to stroke my body until it thrilled with shaky quivers of passion, till every part of me was alive....

And as I began to massage my throbbing breasts-this time without the subterfuge of washcloth and soap, simply bare wet hands on bare wet skin and, oh, God! it felt good!-I closed my eyes and settled into the stimulating water and tried to think juicy erotic thoughts.

Like last night with Keith? The way he'd opened my legs and then opened my pussy and licked me like a darling little boy until I squished, all ready for the insertion of his hot prick? The way he'd slipped his cock into my hole, lowered his body onto mine, and clutched and kissed at me as we fucked back and forth, my legs enfolding him as my pussy enfolded his penis? The way he'd finally spurted, deep in my sex tube, the hot juice of his orgasm shooting up, up, up, into the furthest reaches of my body, my snatch squeegee-slopping on his exploding dick?

Oh, Christ! I cupped my tits and squeezed them together, bending my head down so I could kiss the pale white curves, wishing that my boobs were larger so that I could also lick and suck my own nipples, just the way Keith liked to suck and lick them- The nipples were redder than normal and the tips thrust out boldly, saucily, so responsive. My fingers pinched at those fat, outstanding nips and I felt the pleasure centers of my entire body begin to loosen up, to take part in the action. That was always a good sign. A very good sign.

My fingers dug into the soft spongy flesh of my tits, dug forcefully, squeezed and clawed until red streaks appeared in the skin. And then I dug a little harder, pinching now, mauling, abusing the tender trusting flesh, clutching myself until the breath leaked from my throat in a tight rasping moan.

"GGGGHHHH!!" I groaned, head thrown back, eyes shut tightly. "GGGGGHHHH!!!" I moved my hands about, just a little, and the piercing, erected nipples seemed to slip into place, right between thumb and index finger. I brought those fingers together upon the sensitive protuberant teats and I squeezed until tears flooded my sealed eyes and leaked through the clenched lids. "Ohhhh . . . Goddddd . . . yes! yes! yes!" I moaned, moaned over and over and over, rocking about in the sloshy bathwater.

Keith never touched me that way. His hands were so gentle, his lips as well. He'd never clawed my breasts the way an animal might claw them; he'd never taken my nipples into his mouth and chewed and bitten until I screamed and screamed -and creamed and creamed-the way I was starting to cream right now, my pussy becoming noticeably wetter even though it was sunk in warm soapy water.

I cupped my breasts harder, lifted them a little higher, bent my head forward. Straining as best I could, I could still do no better than flick my tongue (at its fullest extension)

across the tip of each straining nipple, and so I flicked and flicked and flicked, whipping my nipple as if my tongue were a cat-o'-nine tails and the nipple a bound, helpless victim. I wanted to bite them and chew them, to grind them between my teeth until those tender, delicate little rosebuds were raw, abused stubs of gnawed flesh.

I leaned back in the tub, spreading my legs so that hot water might seep even slightly into my opening cunt, and it felt so good that I took one hand away from my boobs and thrust it down, beneath the surface of the bathwater. I touched the insides of my legs, rubbing a finger along the curved inner surfaces where even the slightest pressure is enough to drive me crazy with desire, but as I dragged that finger on its way I let the nail take charge. Up my thigh, lightly across the puffy, wet-haired swell of my snatch, and then down the other thighs, scratching its way toward the knee of that leg. Nerve endings seemed to ripple and explode as I stroked across them, and my ass quivered and wiggled on the bottom of the tub.

For a moment I tickled softly the lower reaches of that white-fleshed thigh I'd just been stroking, tickled until I moved impulsively in the water, and then my hand shot back, toward the core of my cunt. I slammed the Cat of my hand onto my cunt, covering it, squeezing vigorously, squeezing cruelly, the fingers sliding up and down on the slightly parted lips of the pussy, feeling them yield to the pressure, opening, opening further, so that the backs of my fingers rubbed across the more sensitive vulva itself, and then I just couldn't wait! I slacked the pressure on my twat, spread the lips wide with thumb and ring finger, and drove index and middle straight toward the hole itself, piercing its ring of accommodating tissue. I stabbed deeply into myself with those stiff, quivering fingers, and as they slammed home my ass lifted from the bottom of. the tub, lifted directly toward the oncoming attack, swallowed them to the fucking hilt then closed as if I didn't intend to let go. Maybe I didn't.

My pussy began to contract in rapid gulping swallows around my fingers, sucking them up, up, up, making me wince as they reamed into me, spreading by force the tight snug lips of my twat, and I really started rocking in the bathwater. Lucky it wasn't high enough to slosh over the sides of the tub and make a mess on the floor, but no matter-where I was sitting resembled the center of a storm at sea, waves rolling, and me churning about in the midst of everything, my body heating so fast it's a wonder the water didn't start boiling all around me and scald me in steam.

It's a funny thing about pussies. Like everyone says, they'll stretch a mile before they'll tear an inch, and mine was stretching. Not a mile, perhaps, but widely-so widely I could have taken Big John Holmes and maybe even another stud the same penile size. My fingers were in me to the hilt, and part of my hand was starting to slip in as well. Up above, my other hand was really giving hell to my tits, bouncing from one to the other in turnabout alternation, stopping only long enough to massage the soft flesh with hard cruel fingertips, only long enough to pinch the nipples the way a farmer might with a cow whose milk seems unwilling to flow. God, if I could have squirted milk, the bathtub would have been full of it! My tits throbbed and the nipples jutted in stiffer, rosier erections each time my pinching fingers pulled them. They responded to my jerks and tugs as if they were made of rubber, but oh, Jesus, rubber never tingled and ached the way my nipples did then!

"Fuck it baby," I moaned, slamming fingers into my pussy pie, the digital tips roaming round inside, tickling the inner lining of my cuntal sheath, deep inside, where it felt so fantastically gooooooodddddd!!! I kept crooking and uncrooking my fingers, stretching them, feeling them extend toward the mouth of my uterus which was so close-I could feel how close, God, how I could feel it!-but just out of reach, too, no matter how my fingers struggled and quested up the chute of my twat. I rocked harder in the water, and stray splashes came up to bathe the ends of my titties in little hot sprays.

I leaned forward, hunching myself into a fuck-starved ball in the water, and stray splashes came up to bathe the ends of my titties in little hot sprays.

I leaned forward, hunching myself into a fuck-starved ball in the water, and I centered all my attention on the hole between my legs. My thighs curled in to press the cunny-digging hand from each side, and I lifted my ass from the bottom of the tub as I collected it all for the big push, the one that would take me over the top.

"Now, baby, now!!"

I pulled my fingers almost out of my cunt, till only the tips were still inside me, the beautiful, quivering, ticklish tips of my fingers, and I thought, Keith Sirolla, why can't you give it to me this way, damn you? You and your big hard cock-don't you know that a woman needs more than Leslie Howard? Sometimes she's gotta have Clark Gable!!!

And with that I began to fuck myself, hard, furious, no mercy shown or asked, the way I'd always wanted to be fucked, the way I'd never been fucked except by my own hands.

My fingers thrust in like demonic angels, stabbing into the tightness of my pussy, plumbing me to my depths, making me wail and moan each time they hit me where I fucking lived. My tits slapped the water as I bobbed up and down, accepting those wicked, wicked, wicked masturbatory inserts, and a current of ferocious hand action rippled through the water like t passage of a shark.

A shark. I needed a shark. Instead, I had a pussycat. I'd been living with him for six months, I'd marry him in ten days, and he loved me, and I thought I loved him too, and when we made love he was as gentle as a Valentine card, and if I didn't come in time he'd slip his finger into my snatch, sloshing up through the cum he'd spilled in me, and he'd stroke me and fondle me and do everything to make sure that I crested too, that I closed my eyes and shuddered and moaned with the release of my tingly clitoris.

So why did I feel the need to do what I was doing now? Why did I have to maul my tits, virtually rape myself by hand, in order to get the ultimate kind of satisfaction? Most women found their men too rough and self-centered. "As long as I get my rocks off, baby, the fuckin' hell with you!" That's what I heard dozens of times in dorm bull sessions when I was at college. All my girlfriends bitching because their men preferred to climb on, get their jollies, and climb off. I guess they all wanted a Leslie Howard-someone gentle and kind and considerate-someone who'd ensure that they received more than their fair share of the pleasure.

Well, damn it, who needed an oaf, anyway? A man who thought with his cock, whose only interest was in spilling his cum up a girl's chute-any girl, any chute? I certainly didn't. But what about a man of spirit? A man with personality in his dong-vivid, forceful personality? A man who could . . who could . ..

I was thrusting harder now, really driving those fingers up into me, and my body was slamming down to meet them better than halfway, slamming down to greet them, to suck them up, to massage them with the furious contractions of a pussy that got closer to nirvana with each convulsive upstroke of fingers.

"God, Jesus," I moaned, clutching the side of the tub with my free hand. Water was really sloshing now, and my face kept sinking closer and closer to the water, and I wondered idly if I'd come or drown first. Did it matter? I wanted to drown in my come, to feel the hot milky juice oozing from me, thicker than the water in which I jerked off, searing cream that coated my fingers, blistered them with its passionate intensity. Blistered me, too-boiled my guts-made my clit swell like a ripe pimple-made my labia tingle and quiver and grow gut-shakingly fat and wet-oh, God, I wanted to give it to myself! It didn't look as if anyone else were going to!

And I gave it to myself, by God! I slammed those fingers in and out of my pussy until the soft resilient walls collapsed upon them and my entire being seemed to be pouring out the wet, exploding mouth of my snatch and I flopped into the water, splashing up all around me. I sucked in a couple of mouthfuls of the stuff as I whimpered and moaned and groaned in the onrush of my come, but it was a beautiful come and my guts ached with the release and the ecstasy.

"Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," I panted, over and over, feeling my pussy ripple and contract around my fingers, until the pleasure subsided and was gone with the wind and the snows of yesteryear. Oh, what the hell did I care? As I sat up in the tub and shook my head from side to side, my guts were still churning and the lips of my twat so tingly and sensitive that even the gentle lapping of water against them made me shiver all over.

"Why," I said aloud, "are you getting married to a man who can't ring your bells as sweetly as you can ring them for yourself, Nanette Dolan?"

"Because I LOVE HIM!" I answered myself, voice climbing in pitch on the last couple of words. "Because I love him."

"Do you?" the other me wondered casually. "Do you?"

"Of course I do. Why shouldn't I?"

"Why should you, if he can't ring your bells the way you just rang them for yourself, Nanette?"

"Oh, fuck off!" I snapped, standing up in the bathtub. My knees were still weak and my pussy tingled from the energy that had shot through it at the moment of my climax. I touched the area between my legs, found it wet from the bath and sticky from my girl-cum. Oh, God, was it sticky! I rubbed that stickiness, worked it into my hair and flesh, rubbed till my pussy ached all the more and I swayed on my feet. Christ! Where was the towel? I needed to dry off and settle into my bunk for the night.

When I was dry, I left the bathroom, walking past the clothes I'd dropped on my way in. I turned down the sheets and settled into the bed, stretching in luxurious nudity between the squeaky-clean bed linen, massaging my body on that fresh-washed fabric until my eyelids grew heavy and sleep stole upon me like a thief in the night