Chapter 6
In the middle of the sunny meadow was a high hill which she was climbing as fast as she could, holding up her long sheer white silk dress so that her bare feet and legs could move swiftly and surely through the flower-flecked green grass. All around her there were flowers-slender stems of delicate bluebells, bright golden buttercups, tangled vines of pink sweet peas and white morning glories, just like the wreath she wore around her long flowing hair. It was a wedding wreath; she knew it instinctively, the way one knows things in dreams, just as she knew why she was racing uphill nimbly as a wild goat, running so quickly that she was flushed with heat and panting for breath. Up on the summit waited her bridegroom also clad in pure white silk. It was Gene Puddocky, of course. . . only he had, for some peculiar reason, the dark hair and sun-bronzed muscles of tour director Dubois . . .
Monica clung to the fleeting fragments of the dream even as they evaporated from her mind and a reality-odor of musky hotel room and alcohol and perspiration and shaving lotion and some odd pungent indefinable element chased the fragrance of wild flowers from her nostrils. It was easy enough to cling to the essence of her dream's happy emotion so long as she kept her eyes tight shut, for indeed her body was beaded in droplets of sweat and her breath was ragged in her breast. If being intoxicated made you feel this way, she wasn't altogether sorry she'd downed all that delicious Beaujolais after all.
After a few long minutes, however, unwelcome winds of guilty suspicions started chasing away the euphorically peaceful sensation. She knew that she was awake, and she also knew that something very bizarre was going on in her body, but she didn't dare open her eyes to discover the fearsome truth.
I'll just lie here one more moment, her mind murmured. Just one second longer ... it feels so good ... so good ... too good ...
Her eyes flew open as electricity singed along her nerve endings in a red-hot path of pleasure-pain. It felt something like the time she'd touched the electric barbed wire around the cow pasture when she was a little girl of five, but that time the ferocious feeling had emanated from her singed fingertips and this time it was coming from-oh, God!-coming from the most unmentionably personal part of her body. Her naked body!
The church-indoctrinated small town girl's eyes nearly popped from their sockets as she gaped through the hollow between her two shamelessly uncovered breasts and along the slight swell of her equally unprotected stomach. It was several seconds before she could comprehend that there was actually a man's head between her thighs-she couldn't even look at it. But when her eyes traveled further, something even more alarming met her horror-widened gaze; a huge stalk of glistening flesh, purple-veined and blunt-nosed, was nuzzling against her bare leg!
"OOohhhhh! Ohhh, noooo!" she yelped, and jerked her leg away as if it had touched a red-hot poker. Her kneecap smashed against the wall beside the bed, sprinkling loose bits of aged plaster over the coverlet and resulting in a sharp rush of pain which combined most confusingly with another violent spasm of pleasure rising from her vagina. "Nnnoooooo!"
"Shut up, can't you!" hissed Alan in a voice grotesquely muffled thanks to the luscious mouthful of cunt between his sucking lips. "You wan' the whole goddamn hotel to know you got smashed outta your mind an' started beggin' me to go down on ya? For Chrissake!"
At any other time Monica would have been highly offended by this king of gutter language, but now his vocabulary made no impression at all on her boggled brain. Two alarming facts obscured everything else: that blood-swollen thing pulsating against her leg, and that saliva-smeared mouth which was filling her with such wickedly wonderful excitement. She didn't know which obscene vulgarity was the worst, and in any case she didn't have any idea what to do about this appalling situation for her traitorous body seemed paralyzed into disastrous immobility on the bed.
And what on earth did her boss mean by saying she'd asked him to do these dreadful things to her...?
"What?" she shrieked, then dropped to a stage whisper after a frightened glance toward the closed door. "I didn't! I couldn't have s-said that! You'reyou're lying ?"
Her shrill voice trailed off in a guilt-stricken question mark, eloquent evidence to Dubois that she secretly longed for lovemaking even though she'd never acknowledged her need. Two devil's lanterns glowed in his bloodshot eyes, and the turgid thickness of his throbbing cock tapped a thudding tattoo against the cringing flesh of her naked leg. He tongued deeper, savoring her oozing female nectar, sure now that he'd soon have this sexy Sunday school teacher singing irreverent hymns around his throat-thrusting cock.
"Hell, baby, you asked for it!" he rasped, congratulating himself for having come up with this lie while in the midst of all-pervasive passion. " 'Kiss my pussy' . .. that's whatcha said. You said you wanted to know how it felt to be a real grown-up woman . . . now I'm just obliging you."
Was it true? She certainly couldn't be one hundred percent sure she hadn't said something about lovemaking; her memory was a virtual blank since getting into the cab outside the restaurant, and then there had been that dream about getting married. And . . . well, of course she hadn't wanted to wake up naked in his bed, but she had secretly hoped that he might ask her out to dinner again, or maybe even kiss her. There was no use pretending to herself that, compared to good old Gene back home, Dubois would be a thrilling boyfriend.
"I n-never said that. I don't use words like p-like that! And I never dreamed anyone could do something so immoral." Her voice echoed in her ears, the words properly prim but their tone too thin and timid to carry conviction. "Even married people ...," she tried again, but her speech sputtered off into a gasp as Alan Dubois' talented tongue sent another flaming jolt of erotic sensation surging through her bloodstream.
The man let out a snorting chuckle without removing his tingling tongue from the ripe sun-warmed berry of Monica's swollen clitoris. The kid was incredible! If he didn't know she was connected with those weirdoes at World Worshipers, he'd have thought for sure she was putting him on. After one last especially lavish lapping from the taut pink button down to her crinkling anal orifice and back, he raised his head to grin at her.
"Where've you been all these years, sweetheart? Locked in a convent or something? Haven't you heard about the sexual revolution? Okay, have it your way; pretend you didn't get hot watching those kids go at it and wanted to try it yourself. Kid yourself all you want, but don't bother trying to kid me, 'cause I'm not buying it. Baby, your sweet cunt's just soaked with love juice... and just take a look at what's happening to your beautiful big tits! You want this as bad as I do!"
He was right! When she gaped down at her breasts, the nipples which winked at her from between his maddeningly massaging fingers were a ruddy crimson color and undeniably erect; the dampness clinging to her pubic curls and soaking into the coarse coverlet wasn't only due to Dubois' saliva. Monica made a frantic effort to stop the humiliating flow, but it. was no use.
"No!" she protested desperately. "I don't want you to do this to me! I don't!"
It had been humiliating enough when her betraying body's arousal was her shameful inner secret; the knowledge that her employer was fully aware of her wantonness made this hellish nightmare even more unbearable. If only it were just a dream, like those nasty ones which had plagued her through her teens . . . dreams from which she'd awakened to snatch her sinful hand from under her nightie just in the nick of time and feel pure and clean again afterward because she'd prevented herself from touching the throbbing "vee" between her legs.
After tonight, would she ever be able to feel pure and clean again?
"Still going to try to tell me you're not turned on?" Alan's handsome face was transformed by a satanic smirk into the same mask of bestial lust she'd seen on the faces of those Arabs. "Stop lying to yourself, Monica honey, like I said before. Just lie back and relax and I'll show you all about lovemaking. Forget those dumb hang-ups of yours and start living! There! Doesn't my cock feel good?
"Nnooooo! Oh, please, no!"
Dubois ignored her feeble gasp. His outstretched tongue snaked back into her involuntarily pulsing pussy, then withdrew to be replaced by his extended middle finger as his hand caught her wrist and forced it around his enormous erection. "All nice and hot and hard-just for you!"
"Oh! Oohhhh!"
Monica didn't have time to ponder whether or not she was indeed lying to herself, for her shock at touching a steel-hard shaft of male flesh for the first time in her life blocked out all other thought. The sight of her familiar slim white fingers gingerly grazing the angry-red rod of pulsing flesh was disturbingly fascinating; she had to force herself to try to wrench her hand away-a useless gesture in any case, for he had her fragile wrist shackled in a viselike grip.
"C'mon, sweetheart, don't be like that. It feels super when you hold my cock-just like my finger's making your pussy feel. Stroke him ... play with him ... make friends with him . . ."
The Sunday school teacher continued to moan, "Nooo, noooo . ..," but her protests had acquired a peculiarly encouraging note as his long finger gravitated straight toward her sensitive clitoral button. By now, she was sure that either she or he, or probably both of them, had taken leave of their senses. 'Make friends with him'-why, he sounded as though the obscene object was some sort of cherished house-pet with a mind of its own! Actually, as it continued pulsing and swelling under her tentative touch, it did feel like a warm little animal.. . not cold and sticky and repulsive the way she'd imagined when she'd seen Spike's slim young penis earlier this evening, but smooth and dry and not at all unpleasant. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd given it a cautious squeeze and then jumped as it throbbed In answer.
'That's my good girl!"
Crazy as she knew it was, Monica couldn't help feeling better at Alan's praise. Or, perhaps, her sudden flash of pleasure had more to do with the liquid lightning seething ever-hotter from her obscenely impaled vagina to every nerve ending in her quivering loins. Whatever the explanation might be, she knew that her entire body seemed to be in a devious plot against the desperate commands of her conscience.
I have to fight him away, make him stop this! her brain whirled wildly. Kick him, scratch him if I have to-anything! This is insane! How can I ever forgive myself? And how can I face Gene again?
Monica remained immobile. From a deeper, half-conscious layer of her boggled brain came a rush of new questions, questions which caused her vulnerably naked figure to shudder more violently than ever.
Do I really want him to stop? Is he right about becoming a real woman? If he loves me, why shouldn't we make love? Am I experiencing Life? Anything that feels so magical can't be wrong, can it?
Oh God! Now her mind, as well as her helplessly, squirming body, was turning against her! The shameful but insistent questions kept flashing across her aching forehead in neon-gaudy Technicolor, echoed against her eardrums in turgid tempo to the corrupt current of excitation churning out from her ravished vagina. What was the use of further protests, either physical or verbal? Alan knew perfectly well that she had been reduced to a mindless mass of sensation by his skillful manipulations. A numb sort of resignation, coupled with an unacknowledged flickering of wanton curiosity, left her so weak that all she could do was murmur weakly.
"Nooo . . . noooo . . . nnnoooo . . ."
Eyes glinting with famished lust, ears deaf to the younger woman's plaintive whimpers, Dubois forced her hand tighter around his pounding phallus while his fingers flicked feverishly over her erect little clitoris. Christ, she hadn't even put up a fight! She'd succumbed before his advances like putty!
A church bell chimed once, twice, but neither the man nor the reluctant virgin heard the sounds echoing up from the now nearly-silent street as they thrashed in their obscene entanglement upon the creaking hotel bed. Monica's breath burst from her lungs in a strangled gasp as his teasing finger popped from her vagina, and her fingers involuntarily gripped his pulsing pole harder as an unexpectedly-devastating emptiness surged from her frustration-famished furrow to every fire-filled cell in her body. His incoherent groan merged with hers to form a subdued symphony of sordid sensuality, the nefarious notes of which spurred her indecently accelerating desire.
I don't want this to happen! It was supposed to be pure and beautiful the first time, her tortured mind trebled in tempo with their quickening sighs. Tomorrow he's going to think I'm just a cheap tramp if I keep on like this... that's what happened to the girls back at school who went too far, isn't it? Oh God, I have to get a grip on myself-I have to! No matter how crazy-good he's making me feel...
Somehow, she dredged up the willpower to slither her perspiring palm away from his prancing penis-his forceful grip on her slender wrist having been greatly reduced by his growing passion-and she even attempted a weak, effort of forcing her putty-soft thighs against his burrowing head. Wasted energy: the instant her leg muscles clamped closer to the tickling fuzz of his burrowing scalp, a rush of rampant lust exploded inside her moral-less muscles.
"No! Noooo. . . nooooooo...," she moaned, more to herself than to the man. "Please, stop! Please!"
It's too late, warned an ominous omen from the base of her bewitched brain. Too late! Too late! And indeed, Alan Dubois seemed totally oblivious of her plaintive protests, her tremulous thigh pressure.
"Christ, what a superb pussy!" His voracious lips tightened around the nerve-filled nub hidden inside her instinctively up-thrusting pussy mound as he sensed that she was approaching orgasm. "Too good ... toooo goooooddddd .. . Jesus fucking Christ!"
Somehow, Alan's unethical utterances sent flames of unbidden arousal sizzling through Monica's blood. Try as she could-and it was no longer possible to try very vigorously-she could not smother the blazing tongues of traitorous fire.
Even the desperately recalled vision of Gene Puddocky's bifocaled face only seemed to speed her deeper into this hellish bog of overwhelming erotic fury.
"Aaahhhh, pleeezzzeee, NO! Nononononoooooo!"
A growl of guttural greed from the married man drowned out the vanquished virgin's vain cries. Before she realized what was happening to her, he'd rotated his sweat-slickened figure so that his face was still mashed against her vibrating vagina, but now his passion-pounding phallus was pressing right up against the slit of her tight-shuttered lips.
Oh, God, no! Here she was in exactly the same degrading position she'd caught young Spike and Arlene in only hours before. It was impossible! And the most incredible thing of all was that she was actually liking the obscene things he was doing to her! What in heaven's name was happening to her? But one thing was sure: she'd keep her lips buckled shut and not allow herself to fall to the ultimate low of taking his nasty thing inside her mouth. In fact, she'd close her eyes too, so she couldn't even see it. She'd never forgive herself if she sank to such depths of degeneracy! Never!
"Jesus, baby, your sweet, sweet cunt juice tastes sooo damn good!" groaned Dubois. "Now open your pretty mouth, huh? Make my pecker feel good too! C'MON, SUCK ME OFF!"
The lewd words, combined with his lascivious licking up into he fire-filled passage, shattered most of Monica's remaining power of resistance into a thousand sex-charged smithereens. To her intense shame, she felt her pussy flowering toward him like a ripe rosebud, sensed her tense-muscled ass-cheeks rising from the bed to meet his hungrily engulfing mouth. And there wasn't one single thing she could do to stop herself!
"Open that mouth, Monica baby!" Alan's command was given emphasis by the rough thrusting of his mushroom-shaped cock-head against the unwilling virgin's lips. "Look, I'm goin' crazy! Open up and kiss my prick-you'll like it, all chicks do! Promise!"
The words reverberated through her boggled brain without really sinking in, for her bodily sensations were so overwhelming that they drowned out everything else. His talented tonguing had triggered an unsuspected streak of strong sensuality in her soul, and now strange flashes of maddening masochistic delight were sizzling unchecked through her blood as her boss' head bobbed between her legs. Then, as he abandoned her vibrating vagina to tease her clitoral bud, then sank deep down into the warm wet channel once more, her mouth fell open in an involuntary gurgle of sheer ecstasy.
"Oohhhhooohhhh-Aarrggghhh!"
His bulbous, blood-bloated rock-head barged between her half-parted lips, almost gagging her as it raced straight to the back of her throat. In order to catch her breath, it was necessary to suck the huge pulsing thing with her cheeks, slide her tongue along its heavy-veined length. To her shock, it actually didn't feel nearly as nauseating as she'd thought it would; once she got used to its bulk between her cheeks, she noticed that it was pleasantly smooth with veins pulsating like some small animal along its underside, and that a curiously compelling sweet-sour taste was titillating her taste buds.
Tentatively, she began teasing at the thick stalk with her timid tongue, exploring the ridges on its swollen tip, sampling the pungent droplet of pre-cum fluid lingering on the glans opening. These amateur explorations excited the married man far more than his wife's practiced fellatio finesse, and he skewered his long tongue up into her amazingly tight-walled velvety vagina so far that it rammed up against the thin membrane of her maidenhead.
Too fucking much! he gloated. She's really got her cherry! But not for long! Christ, look how turned on the kid is! I don't believe she's the same prissy Miss Morality who freaked when I tried to feel her up in the cab. She's one hell of a hot little number now that I've given her a working over, that's for sure!
He wondered for a short second what his wife Gayle would think if she could by some strange mental telepathic power see him right now. Sure, she was doubtless with some guy, too ... but just one of those dull swinging creeps she picked up in "singles" bars, or one of the even less fascinating neighbors from the swap club. Certainly not a pure, unsullied young virgin princess like the one he had here in his bed!
Then, as the blood began to boil in his throbbing thickness thanks to Miss Blakesley's increasingly erotic attentions, all fleeting fancies about his not-so-happy home back in New Jersey faded abruptly. Here he was in a Paris hotel on a sultry summer night, performing soixante-neuf with the first virgin he'd seen in about fifteen years, and he was going to climax any minute now.
Alan made a vain, deluded attempt at holding back the urgent flood of frustrated sperm he could feel churning down in his dangling balls. It was useless, of course; he'd just have to wait to break that cherry till later tonight, or another day. Right now, as his turbulent testicles danced against the girl's silken-skinned chin and throat and his swollen weapon speared in and out of her gently clasping lips, he knew he had to cum or explode!
Anyhow, he thought dizzily as he hovered on the brink of an outrageously intense orgasm, the gal's never gonna be able to say no to me now. She'll be begging me to give her a taste of my cock in her cunt after the way I've turned her on tonight!
Monica, for her part, had fallen into a sort of mindless frenzy as her own moment of climax edged nearer and nearer. Nothing mattered now save the rapturous waves rippling from her tongue-ravished vagina and hand-tormented breasts--nothing! The past, with its morals and miseries of lonely self-denial, faded to a happily hazy memory; the future .. . ? Well, she was madly in love with a handsome man who'd shown her the most exquisite physical joy she'd ever imagined. That was the only important thing, wasn't it?
"Yeeessss, oh, YES! It's goooddddddddd!" she dimly heard herself howl. Was that weird sound really coming from her own throat? It must be! Or perhaps some satanic magic had transformed her from the demure college coed she'd been earlier this evening into a new wanton woman! "Suck my p-pussy!" She'd never uttered such a lewd word before! "SUCK MY PUSSY! Kiss it! Lick it! Sssooooo gggoooddddddd! Make me cum! CUM!"
Dubois knew he had only seconds to spare before the floodgates of his own passion erupted in a seething gush of semen. He wanted to make sure she came, too-he had to make sure of that, if she were going to be under his power for the rest of this three-week jaunt through France. With a demonic groan, he sank his outstretched middle finger into the cleft between the pliant half-moons of her firm buttocks to tease at the puckered ring of her sensitive anus.
"Aaaggghhhhh!"
As his tongue delved down again all the way to the protective barrier of her hymen, his finger snaked up to pinch and provoke the bright button of her clitoris. It rose like a miniature penis between his thumb and index finger, and she screamed aloud again in maniacal delight. Almost there . . . almost there . . .
A split second later, they were there. A frenzied chord of maddening erotic music strummed from Monica's bullet-hard nipples down to the spasming pit of her belly, and the devilish harmony sent her speeding to the precipice of an erotic ecstasy more volcanic than anything her virginal body had experienced until now. For a few suspenseful moments she hovered on the brink of passion, straining with insane energy to dive from the cliff down into the bottomless chasm of total sensual surrender, but held back by tenacious tendrils of fear. Then she began to fly, pummeling through a black and crimson universe on a buoyant cloud of climactic, cosmic rapture.
"Ooohhhh! Oh, ohh, aaahhh! I'm-I'm cumming! I'm CUMMING!"
Dubois and his innocent employee were too far into the throes of passion to think of curious ears on the other side of the wall, ominous eavesdroppers in the Hotel Modern's corridor. Luckily, though, the girl's top-volume screams of ecstasy were speedily stopped by a violent gush of thick white sperm which nearly choked her. Unaware of any discomfort in the midst of her wanton bliss, she gulped down as much as she could of the seething seed to save herself from gagging and let the rest dribble in cream-white rivers over her chin and neck and shuddering breasts. What did it matter? The only reality was that the strangling bonds of pious propriety which had shackled her through the first twenty-two years of her life were severed by this beautiful first lover. The unbearable pressure in her straining loins was exploding in a shower of blissful fireworks, melting into a white-hot aura of ecstasy so profound that she actually fainted for a minute or so from the intensity of it.
Again and again, despite the volcanic violence of his own orgasm, the experienced married man lashed his tingling tongue into the drenched depths of young Monica's vagina. He continued his agile oral fucking till his own sperm was finally spent, till she'd collapsed in a limp puddle of pleasure beneath him, totally satiated.
Outside in the darkened streets of Montmartre, the Sacre Coeur's chimes rang three a.m. A wine-sodden Algerian meandered across the empty street, swaying into lamp poles, colliding against the fenced-in fronts of greengrocers and pornography peddler's establishments, swearing and spitting up blood and vomit. A weary prostitute banged down her shutters at last, barred her door, aimed an aerosol of "Catch" at a stray cockroach scuttling over her discarded bikini panties. A bored desk clerk in the Hotel Modern picked up another Danish Color Climax and sank his hand back down inside his unbuckled pants.
And in the hall outside the room where Alan
Dubois and the half-sobbing, bliss-sated virgin lay lewdly entwined, a thin shadow of a figure let out a low chuckle of lust and faded back down the hallway.
Pigeons and sparrows were cooing peacefully in the eaves, as well, but nobody heard them ...