I couldn't believe it-I was having my first affairl It had begun so simply, so unexpectedly, that the sheer driving energy of events had scooped me up, and carried me along with it as if I were a mere pawn, with no control over my own destiny. I had been in a bar, having an innocent drink, waiting for a train to take me home, when all of a sudden, without knowing exactly how, for the first time in my life, I had gotten picked up by a tall, blonde-haired man. And now I was alone with this strange man, a man I've known for less than an hour, and I was in his room with him: a twenty-eight year old woman, married eight years, and this handsome man I knew only as Adam was kissing me on the lips. And what was even stranger, even more disconcerting, was that I was kissing him back. We were standing in the doorway of his room. Adam had just closed the door behind him, and the lights in the room weren't even switched on yet. Adam turned, took me in his arms, and pressed me back against the door. I let him, sliding my arms up his broad back, and I eagerly crushed his tall, hard body against my softness. His legs were pressed against my crotch, and I parted my thighs, pushing myself even harder against him.
 

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   "Oh, Jesus, Sally," he moaned feverishly. "My God, my God!" His tongue snaked into my mouth in a hard, wet kiss, and I parted my lips to suck hi,s tongue deeply into my mouth. I could taste the lingering flavor of whisky on his breath, and it mingled subtilely, eroti-cally, with the warm, slippery moisture of his saliva. His lips were thick and soft, and he rolled them gently against my lips, plunging his spongy tongue in and out of my mouth, exploring the wet cavern of my lips and tongue with an urgency that betrayed bis excitement. I sucked hard on his tongue, almost as if I was trying to swallow it down my throat. My head was spinning, partially from the two drinks I'd had in the bar, but mostly from the heady realization that for the first time in my married Me, I was making love to a man who was not my husband. The very suddenness of it, the complete absence of premeditation was enough to make my head feel as if it was floating three feet above my shoulders. It had begun so guiltlessly: Adam offered to buy me a drink. Then he asked me back to his table, a booth at the rear of the bar. I went with him, and before I knew it, he was sitting next to me, with his hands in my lap and his fingers under my skirt. A moment or two later, his zipper was opened, and I was fondling his erect cock under the protection of the table. He hadn't even kissed me or suggested what he was about to do. He simply dropped his hands to my thighs, massaged my cunt through my dress, then slipped his hand up my skirt. I didn't stop him, nor did I want to. My excitement was so profound, so shattering, that there was no way I could have stopped him. It seemed fated.
 

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   Now we were in his room, and Adam was kissing me. My train, the train that would have taken me home to Peter, my husband, the train that I had been waiting for when first I went into that bar, had long since gone. I was standing on my toes, stretching up, and I kissed Adam with my wet, pressing mouth. I slid my tongue over the lump of his thrusting tongue, and pushed it back into his mouth. I ran the tip of my tongue frantically around his lips, over his teeth, then I plunged deeply into his mouth. I felt h'ke moaning, but there was no space to-our lips were sealed together, one atop the other, fixed with our burning, mutual passion. His body crushed me into the door, flattening me under his pressing weight, and I could feel every ridge, every indentation of the door as it cut into my back. I parted my legs even more widely, and Adam pushed his thighs between them. His cock was still erect, or erect again, and I could feel it laying against the mound of my cunt. Even through the many layers of our clothing, the long, hard heat of his cock baked down into my cunt. My clit was throbbing and my% panties were wet. The crotch-piece was sticking to my damp flesh h'ke a second skin. I pushed back against Adam, and pressed my wet cunt against the thickness of his humping cock. Adam broke the kiss off. "Oh, God, Sally," he whispered. He stabbed his tongue into my ear and swabbed it wetly until he sent shivers of burning pleasure down into my body. "Oh, my God. I want you so bad. From the moment I saw you, Sally, I wanted to have you. It's crazy."
 

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   My breasts were aching; my nipples felt as if they were going to explode. My bra was like silken sandpaper against my tender flesh, and each time my swollen nipples brushed against it, I trembled with another sudden swell of sexual excitement. "I want you, too, Adam," I whispered back. My eyes were closed, and I could feel sweat running down my back and down the insides of my thighs. "I want you, too." And I did. I wanted Adam more than anything I've ever wanted in my life. He was a stranger to me, a man I've never seen before, and probably, after tonight, a man I would never see again. Yet that seemed to make it all the more exciting: two strangers, attracted like animals, desperately fucking away in the middle of the night. What a way to be initiated into extramarital sex, I thought. Not that I haven't wanted other men since Peter and I married, for I have, and I've even had the opportunity to go to bed with some of those men. But I never did take that final step that would set it all in motion. Perhaps I had too much time to think about it. Thinking about it gave me cold feet. But this, with Adam, had been different. It had been spontaneous. It had happened so quickly, I hadn't even had time enough to think of an excuse to give Peter as to why I would be so late in getting home tonight. Adam slid his hand up the front of my body and cupped one breast through my dress. I moaned at the contact, and I felt my body going limp. His fingers squeezed into my burning flesh, and a rush of white-hot pleasure radiated down into my groin. Automatically, I tilted my hips up, and pressed 8 my cunt even more tightly against the throbbing hardness of his cock. "I have to lay down," I said. My nipples seemed to be swelling with so much pleasure that they were beginning to ache. My flesh was so aroused, so sensitive, that my clothing was abrasive and irritating, the way it feels when you have a fever, and your body is burning up. "Please," I said again. "I feel weak." Adam covered over my objections' with his lips, and my protest was swallowed into the heat of. his mouth. His tongue slid wetly between my lips, and I found myself drinking down his saliva as if it were alcohol. My head began to spin again. Suddenly Adam shifted his body, and he slid his hand, and then arm, under my knees. His other arm tightened around my shoulder, and he lifted me quickly. Our lips were still locked together in a passionate loss, and he carried me across the darkened room, literally sweeping me off my feet. The grip of his hand on my legs pressed my thighs together, and my cunt felt swollen and thick between them. The whole crotchpiece of my panties was so wet, I thought for a moment that I had peed in my pants. Adam carried me to a sofa, then placed me down with such ease that I felt like a puppet in his hands. His mouth was still pressed against my lips, and our tongues were dueling wetly in the slippery space between. It felt good to have something solid under me, and I leaned back against the supporting cushions of the sofa. I wrapped my arms around Adam's neck and pressed our mouths so tightly together that I tasted blood mixed in with the saliva. As he was kissing me, Adam was leaning forward, Q holding onto the sofa for support, and he climbed onto the cushions, next to me. He was on his hands and knees, kissing my mouth, kneeling next to me. His hand had returned to my breast, and he squeezed into it with his hard, clutching fingers. I kissed back at him, then opened my thighs, and humped my wet cunt against the sticky silk of my panties, wishing in frustration that his cock was back between my legs, as it had been when we were standing. Adam's fingers worked expertly on my breast: he squeezed it in and out, then pressed his palm flat against the swollen orb, and pushed down. He kneaded it, and caressed it, teased it, and pinched the nipple through the material, arousing it until I felt as if I was going to scream from the excitement. Then, just at that point, he moved his hand away from my breast, and I did cry out, in dissappoint-ment, even though I knew where he was going. His hand came up to my neck, and he began to nimbly work his fingers on the buttons of my dress. I was wearing a blue and green dress that had large white buttons that ran down the front. He attacked the buttons quickly, and after a moment, the dress was parted to my waist. The material fell open, and my breasts, still encased in my covering bra, jumped out like frightened animals. I sighed audibly as his hand went up to my bra. He caressed one breast with a sudden, quick squeeze, then slipped his hand up to my shoulder, and drew the bra strap down. He tugged at the twin cloth cups until they slowly unpeeled from my tits. My naked breasts popped out, and Adam pushed the discarded bra down to my waist.
 

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   His hand tightened over my breast, and shivers of warm electricity made my body feel as if it had been short-circuited. The nipple of the tit he was playing with was hot and stiff, and I felt the warm film of perspiration on his palm as he closed his fist over the fleshy orb. His fingers tightened into the firm mound, and the nipple grew harder and hotter, swelling like a balloon, ready to pop. I broke my mouth away from his kiss, my eyes still closed, my thighs parted even wider than before, still humping uselessly against the cool night air, and I said: "Suck them, Adam. Put the nipples in your mouth and suck them. Pleaser Adam slid his open mouth wetly down the length of my neck, licking at my hot flesh with his darting tongue. He moved his mouth over the bone of my chest, then down to the base of my quivering breast I was trembling with anticipation, but he moved slowly, sensually, teasing me with the wet, erotic kisses he was placing all over my nakedness. I could feel his hot breath as it snorted from his nostrils, spreading a thick layer of humid air across the quaking, puckered flesh of my pink-tipped tit. His mouth moved to the nipple, and his tongue stabbed out "YesF I cried, excited beyond control. I moved my hands to his head and I tangled my fingers in his hair. I pulled his mouth down upon my tit. "Suck it! Suck it! Suck it! Lick it, Adam! Lick my tit!" His tongue unwinded from his parted lips, and he flicked the stiff nipple with a short, hot slapping caress. I moaned and hunched up, trying to stuff the rest of the tit down his throat. He pulled back, teasing me, touching the explosive nipple only with the tip of his tongue. He used his tongue as an artist 11 might use a paint brush-dab, slurp, flick-until my nipple was cokted with his saliva, and it ached with so much pleasure I couldn't think straight. "Oh, oh, oh," I moaned. I put my hand down between my legs and cupped my own cunt. The heat of my excitement radiated up, even through the thickness of my dress. I nipped the skirt up, and pulled at my pantyhose until it came away from my waist. I slid my hand over the top of my cuntal mound, still outside of my wet panties, and I could hear the soft crushing sound my hand made as it pressed the silky material down against the hair on my cunt. I cupped jthe swollen mound in my hand, squeezing it tightly, and pleasure, like dancing flames, licked hotly up between my legs. Adam, meanwhile, continued to work deliberately on my tit. He started his tongue at the base of the nipple, and from there he stroked it wetly up. He flattened his tongue against the stiff nub, and flicked upward, vibrating the nipple, until it shuddered with excitement. He continued to roll his tongue over the trembling bud until he was on the other side of the nipple, and then he reversed the slow, tortuous procedure, flitting the nipple back the other way. The slowness, the deliberateness of his strokes was driving me out of my mind with pleasure. My clitoris felt like a pounding pulse under my curled hand, and I pressed my fingers hard against my cunt to still its erotic throb. My panties were so wet and sticky that I could feel the whole outline of my crotch through the damp material. The lips were opening and closing spasmodically, and the clit was like a small hot pebble between them. Down, underneath the curve of my body, the entrance
 

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   hole to my cunt was open, like a smotheringly hot mouth, and it was oozing a thick, wet discharge. I pulled the crotch-piece of the panties away from my cunt, and I attacked the naked flesh with my trembling fingers. "Oh, suck my tits hardT I cried, fingering the quivering lips of my own cunt with my fingernail. I pulled Adam's face down against my swollen tit with my other hand. "Suck my tits," I moaned again, "before I go madF Like a drawstring on a closing purse, Adam's Kps came down and tightened around the trembling nipple. His lips were hot and wet, and the contact was so intense I pushed my. finger up into my cunt without hardly realizing that I was doing it. He sucked the nipple up into the pool of wetness that was his mouth, drawing the bud to its full length, pressing hard into it with his lips, and then he began to Ijck the top of the nipple with the flat part of his tongue. I groaned with excitement, and I thrust my cunt up against my whole hand, burying my probing finger in the wet tunnel of my cunthole. "Oh, God-yesr I moaned. I thrashed my head from side to side on the back cushion of the sofa: my long blonde hair spilled out like dirty sunlight in the shadows. "Do it to mer Adam. Do it to me!" I pulled the finger from my cunthole. The finger was all wet and slimy with the juices of my excitement. I slid the sopping finger up to the edge of my cunt, parting the damp hair, and opening the sticky-wet labia. The pounding throb of my clitoris jumped under my finger, and I pressed it down, back into the. excited, swollen flesh of my hairy cunt. The wash of pleasure it produced made my knees go 13 weak, and my legs slid straight out in front of me, my thighs parted, and my pantyhose slid down to my knees. I began to twirl the bud of my clitoris with the familiar expertise that comes to any person who has ever masturbated. The pleasure began to mount in critical leaps and jumps, and I felt myself brimming with orgasm. Adam slurped the one nipple until it dripped with his saliva; then he turned his attention to the other tit. His mouth closed over it, and he licked it wetly, sucking it up, beating it with his tongue, and suddenly, unbelievably, I began to come. The orgasm began at the tip of my spine, curved around my crotch, and stabbed into my cunthole like some thick, invisible cock. My cunt clutched tightly in a spasm of ecstasy, and I continued to roll the exploding bud of my clit, round and round and round, as wave after wave of pleasure broke wetly against my cunt. Tm coming, Adam!" I cried. Tm comtngr My words excited him, and he removed his tongue and lips from my breast. He sat back on his haunches, away from me, and watched in fascination as I administered pleasure to myself. The sight must have stimulated him, for he dropped his hand to his zipper, and he pulled out his long, thick cock. He jerked the organ up and down several times as he watched me rolling my clitoris, and I thought he was going to masturbate himself to orgasm. But he didn't; instead, with his free hand, Adam began to work intently on the rest of the buttons on my dress. A moment passed, and my dress was completely open. nooked down at my body, my eyes dimmed by 14 the trembling orgasm that still assailed my flesh. My bra was still clasped closed, but it was twisted around and pulled insideout as it went around my waist. My shallow white hand was inside my panties, still moving. I could hear the wet, slippery sounds my hand was making as I parted the folds of my cunt with the rolling pressure of my finger. My pantyhose was at half-mast, like a boundary line stretched across the middle of my widely-spread thighs. After the dress was open, my pantyhose was the next thing Adam grabbed for. He tugged at them until he pulled them over the bump of my knees; then he dragged them down the rest of my legs. He slid off the sofa, with his cock stiff and erect and pulled from his gray trousers, and he climbed down between my open legs. I felt his hot hands running up and down my legs, moving from the sweaty inner softness between my thighs, over my knees, down my calves, until he was touching my feet. He pulled my shoes off, then pulled the bunched-up pantyhose down over my feet, discarding them in the darkness behind him. The next thing Adam reached for was my panties. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, and he tugged them down. I had to lift my ass for him to get the flimsy white panties past the cushion of the sofa. The movement of the silky material was cool and erotic, like the chilled night air kissing at my nakedness. I could see my own naked cunt in the dim light as I looked down. My hand was buried against my crotch and the blonde-splash of pubic hairs covered my belly like a thick yellow rug. My thighs were pale white, spread in a wide V, and my panties 15 were a receding slip of softness trailing down the long distance of my legs. Adam slipped the panties off, then leaned forward and put his mouth between my legs. My orgasm was just ebbing when his tongue opened the lips of my cunt, parting it with the same ease that a hot knife cuts into soft butter, And he began to lick at my clitoris. Immediately, the bud forgot its momentary exhaustion, and it began to build again towards a new orgasm, as if the one that was just over had never happened. Going crazy with passion. I began to moan. "Eat me!" I cried. I squeezed my breasts as I watched Adam's head disappear between my thighs. I screamed obscenities because it seemed like the thing to do; because my mood was so wild, so raunchy, so erotic, so sexy that it seemed the only thing I could do. "Eat me, Adam!" I encouraged. "Eat my cunt! Eat my pussy! Lick my clit with your tongue!" His hands came up, under my ass, holding my cheeks, and I lifted my feet from the floor. I flopped my legs over his shoulders, spreading my thighs even wider, and I pushed my cunt up into his mouth. His fingers dug into my flesh with the grip of a vise, pinching into my asscheeks like dull teeth, I rolled my hips down and around and up, in a tight, narrow circle, bringing my cunt up against his mouth each time the circle closed. I could hear his tongue eating me. I could hear his mouth parting the moist labia, opening my body, as he stroked through the clinging pubic hair. I could hear the seeping wetness of my dying orgasm as it oozed against the slickness of his licking tongue 16 -the sensual splash as he spread saliva all over my cunt. I could hear him lapping up, drinking up my creamy discharge, dancing his tongue incessantly against my burning flesh. I ran my hands down from my tits, raking my fingernails across my belly until I was holding Adam's head between my palms. I tangled my hands in his hair, and I pulled his open mouth against my cunt with all my strength. My arms ached, but my cunt was so on fire that it was not to be denied. I lifted my legs straight out, curling my hips up, and I wrapped my thighs around his neck, locking his mouth against my cunt. Adam's tongue started at my clit: he beat it with several quick slaps, knocking it sensually from side to side. Then he slid the wedge of his tongue down, between the parted, hairy lips, until he was licking at my cunthole. He circled his tongue around and around, licking at the pink puckered mouth of the hole, teasing it with the spongy hardness of his tongue. My cunthole clutched for the tip of his tongue, spasming closed like a gripping mouth, seeking to trap his elusive, flitting hardness inside of me. My legs were pointed straight up in the air, one on either side of Adam's bobbing head, and I pulled him tighter, closer to my hunching body. I drove my cunt into his face with a desperate energy, and he dove down into the wet folds of my body with bis hot, spear-like tongue, matching my excitement with his own. I groaned in pleasure and wiggled my ass, like a bug impaled on the end of a pin, and screwed my cunt up and down the length of his driving tongue. "Give me your cock," I moaned. Impossibly, I felt 17 myself building again towards another orgasm, and it frightened me with its unexpected strangeness. In my whole We, I have never been able to have more than one orgasm at a time, and then, not always that. But now, my body and my mind seemed to have gone berserk, and passion and pleasure was driving me to do things I could have .never imagined myself to do, even in my wildest fantasies. "Give me your cock, Adam," I pleaded. My cunt was aching with the pleasure of his tongue; a pleasure that I wanted to return. "Please! Please, Adam. I want to suck your cock." Adam lifted his mouth away from my hairy snatch. The bottom part of his face was slimy with wetness: a dull, oily glaze that dripped from his lips and was spread all across my crotch and parted thighs. "Come down on the floor," Adam said. He held his mouth against my cunt and, as he spoke, I could feel his lips working against my shuddering crotch, driving the words up into my body like tiny vibrations. "Lay down on the floor, Sally, and we'll sixty-nine." The idea excited me, and I suddenly longed to taste Adam's cock between the wetness of my lips. Before this moment, the only cock I have ever sucked was my husband's, and even then I've never enjoyed it especially. But I was obsessed with doing it now- I ached with the desire to suck Adam's cock, to slide my tongue over his soft, knobby cockhead, to plunge my face up and down the length of his pulsing organ and to swallow him fully into my mouth. I needed to suck his cock! I oozed off the sofa, sliding bonelessly down the cushions until I was lying on the floor. There was a
 

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   rug under me, and the bristling nap tickled against my burning flesh. I shucked my dress off as I moved down, and all that remained on me was the twisted, discarded bra, still clasped around my stomach. I decided to leave the bra where it was-as a symbol of tonight's depravity. I was on my back, with my legs parted, knees up, and Adam stood above me. I watched with a detached, numbing sense of excitement as he stripped his clothing off. First his jacket, then his shirt and tie. His cock jutted from his open zipper like an obscene silhouette, and I couldn't keep my eyes away from it. He opened his belt, and then the top-clasp on the pants. They parted and fell down. He stepped out of them, then quickly slid his shorts down his muscular, hairy legs. He stood naked above me, and I trembled in anticipation. His balls seemed so heavy and full, I thought, and I listened to myself in mild shock as I prayed that they would be. I wanted to suck him dry: I wanted to taste his sperm, swallow it, have it gush down my throat until it oozed greedily from my puffed-out cheeks-until I could drink no more without bursting my insides! Adam came down upon me, straddling my head With his knees, bending his body over me, and he returned his lips to the curve of my cunt. I reached desperately up for his cock and took it in both hands. I guided it tremblingly to my lips. I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and at the very moment his tongue touched my clitoris, I plunged my parted lips down the length of his cock, and I swallowed him. His flesh was hot in my mouth. It had a sweaty, 19 salty taste that I found exciting. I could smell the raunchy, sexual man-like odor of his balls. I washed my tongue across the enormous head of his cock, stabbing the tip of my tongue into the moist slit that cut across the top of the organ. I rolled my tongue around and around, darting it under, against the underside of the cockhead, licking the trembling shaft of his organ. My lips and jaw ached from being stretched so widely, but I disregarded the pain,, and I plunged my supplicating face, opening my mouth even wider-as I felt Adam's cock pushing back against my throat. I almost gagged. Adam slipped his hands under my ass and lifted my body up from the rug. He rolled his head from side to side, between my V-like legs, slashing my cunt with the stiff thrust of his tongue. Each arc took him across my clitoris, and I moaned around the plug-like thickness of his cock with each fierce, quivering fit of pleasure. He was bringing me as surely to a second orgasm as I had brought myself to that first. It was as if he had stripped my body of all its flesh and he was working on the raw, naked substance of my soul-attacking the nerve endings directly until I wanted to scream from the gushing torrent of sensation that was filling me. I took my passion-revenge on his cock. I licked and sucked back at it, wanting almost to punish it for the excruciating pleasure it was giving me. I pushed it as deeply into my mouth as I could without strangling, I felt the swollen head of the organ expanding across the back of my throat, cutting off my breath. I sucked hot air in through my nose to keep from smothering. Stroking it with my tongue, I licked at Adam's cock, and sucked on it as if it
 

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   were a thick, fleshy straw through which I could suck out his sperm. His balls were on my forehead, hanging like two heavy weights, and they tickled me with the brillo-h'ke scratch of his pubic hairs. My hands were on his ass, and I squeezed into his tensed flesh with my fingernails, raking his body until bloody, red lines criss-crossed his hairy bottom. I began to come a second time, and I screamed around Adam's cock because I had to release the explosion of sensation somehow, and my cunt simply could not contain it. My body began to shake and my mouth began to groan, and I lifted my legs Straight in the air, as if they were rockets, pointing towards the ceiling. I hunched my driving, quivering cunt with all my might, as if I was trying to drive my cunt right through bis face. His tongue, sensing my – pleasure, darted down between the pulsing lips, and he shoved it into the canal, fucking me with it.- He flit it from side to side, touching every inch of that frantically climbing tunnel, wetting me with his mouth, dripping pleasure into me. I began to suck.with all my might. I wanted Adam's sperm in my mouth. It was something I've never done before, not even for Peter; something that I've always found repugnant and nauseating . . . until this very moment. Now, suddenly, nothing could be better, nothing could give me any more pleasure. I wanted to taste it, I wanted to suck it out, I wanted to feel its slimy ooze gush against my tongue and suck down into my throat. I wanted Adam's hot come in my mouth. But it was not about to happen. Adam wasn't ready to come yet, and I felt myself sobbing with the combined emotions of exploding passion and pro- 21 found disappointment. I was so overwhelmed with sensations that my brain seemed flooded; I didn't know how to react. One part of me was coming, another was sucking Adam's cock, and still another part of me was aching to have Adam come with me. And it continued on like that: coming and not wanting to come, enjoying it and hating it, mingling ecstasy and despair until it was impossible to tell one from the other. Then the orgasm peaked with a screeching, empty wail, and a profound and bottomless depression closed over my mind like an impenetrable pall. It was as if the normal post-orgastic depression had somehow been magnified and distorted to absorb not fust my body and my mind, but the room we were in as well. A feeling so hollow, so empty, that it seemed to have become a part of my Me-perhaps even all of my life. I felt close to crying. This awesome emptiness lasted a split-second, and then it began to change. Adam's tongue continued to slide in and out of my cunthole, washing right through my orgasm, washing away the emptiness, until I felt my body responding once again to the licking, ceaseless pulse of pleasure that Adam had taught me to appreciate. Like a distant flickering, like a dim candlelight in a dark, empty night, my pleasure began to grow again, and I suddenly realized even a third orgasm was not impossible. I spit Adam's hard, hot, long cock from my mouth. My jaws ached, and my own saliva oozed from the open wound between my lips, bleeding down my chin like blood. I had difficulty in bending my lips around words again-my mouth felt so empty without die plunging hardness of Adam's cock stretching it wide open. "Fuck me, Adaml" I moaned. At least I thought I said these words; for all I knew they might have come out as a moan. "Fuck me, Adam. Please! I want you to fuck my cunt until I come again." Adam climbed off me, and I just lay there on the floor, feeling like a part of the rug. He stood over me, like some mythological giant, with his unreal long cock dripping my saliva back onto my face. His body was coated with a fine, slippery film of perspiration, and it gave his body a primitive and strilcing appearance, as if he were an animal and no longer a man. He bent down, and with his giant's hand, he lifted me like a toy. My legs were like rubber, and it was Adam's support under my arm that kept me from slithering back down to the floor. The prong-like stab of passion was still tormenting my cunt, raking my clit, and making the long, empty canal inside of me ache for a cock. I reached down with" my vagrant hand and caressed Adam's long, thick member. It was wet and hard, and my hand seemed to glide effortlessly up and down the length of the shaft. "Fuck me, Adam," I said. "Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! I want to come. I want to come so badly . . ." "Inna minute, Sally," he grunted breathlessly. "In a minute, baby. I want to fuck you, too, baby. But it's gotta be special. I don't want you to ever forget this night." My God, I thought, clinging desperately, with clawlike fingers, to whatever shreds of sanity I still maintained. My GodI Did he think I could possibly forget this night? My first affair! Two and possibly three orgasms! How could I ever forget this night? It would stay with me for the rest of my life.
 

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   "Fuck me, Adam," I moaned, jerking his cock up and down. I put my hand back on my cunt and, through the fog in my brain, I couldn't believe that it belonged to me. My cunt was so wet, so sloppy, so oozing with saliva and sex juices and all kinds of slippery discharge, that it didn't feel like flesh at all. It was like raw, bloody meat. "Fuck me, baby," I said, fingering my empty cunt-hole. "I want you to fill me up with your sperm. I want to come again." "You'll come again, baby," he said, leading me further into the darkened room. "Just stay with me. Ill fill you so full of sperm, you'll need a sponge to sop it up." He puDed away from my grip, and I felt his cock slide through my fingers. I reached after it, but it was gone, so I buried my empty hand in my cunt, placing it alongside of my other hand. I stuffed two fingers up inside of me, one from each hand, and I pushed them in and out, like a set of alternating pistons. "Just stay right there, Sally," Adam said. He leaned me against a wall. "I'll be right back." "Hurry, please. Hurry! I want to fuck so badly I feel like I'm going crazy." The room was suddenly flooded with light, and I had to close my eyes until they adjusted to the new brightness. And even after I had adjusted, I had to squint to see. I looked across the room, searching for Adam. He was off to the right somewhere, doing something, but what I saw standing in front of me was even more fascinating. Across the room, directly in front 24 of me there was a full-length mirror. I saw my reflection in it. I couldn't believe my eyes. I was leaning against a wall, stark naked, with both hands buried in my cunt. My blonde hair was loose and hanging down to my shoulders, like limp strands of seaweed, and my iriakeup was smeared all over my face like a clown's mask. My eyes were no longer blue, or if they were, a bloodshot redness paled them so that they seemed faded in -comparison. My body was drenched in sweat, and my breasts, normally large, looked sloppy and heavy, like cow udders. I couldn't believe it was me that I was looking at. The person in the mirror slooked so sleazy, so raunchy, so obsessed with the basest land of animal pleasure. She looked like the kind of a woman who was willing to do anything just to bring on another orgasm. I couldn't accept that it was me in the reflection. And perhaps it wasn't me. Not me as I've always known myself. If this was me, then it was a new me. Perhaps the real me-the me that has been hidden for so long that it was a shocking, shattering revelation to come upon the naked truth of my actual personality. Tuck me!* the whore in the reflection said. "Please, Adam! I want to fuck . . . my cunt htirtsr Adam came back into my line of vision, and he carried with him a straight-backed chair. His cock was stiff and hard, glistening wetly, and it bobbled as he moved, back and forth, like a cork on a choppy sea. His balls swayed from thigh to thigh, pendu-lously, like the fleshy clapper of some obscene bell. He put the chair down in front of me, facing the mirror, and he took me by the hand. He led me
 

25

 
   around to the front of the chair. With the light on, I noticed for. the first time that Adam's body was completely tanned. He" had a deep, rich brown color that covered his whole body, even his sexual areas. Against his sun-darkened flesh, his white-blond hair seemed so much more striking than I had imagined, especially his pubic hair. It looked bleached. Adam sat in the chair, facing the mirror, with his legs spread open and extended in front of him. He took me by the hand and pulled me close to him. "Sit down, Sally," he said. "Sit on my lap. Straddle my lap and take my cock sitting down. It'll go right up your box. Straight up. Deeper than anything you've ever felt in your life. Hurry, Sally. I want to come inside of you. My balls are tight with holding back so long." My tits were swollen and hard, and the nipples had somehow, miraculously, managed to arouse themselves one more time. My cunt was dripping wet, and my thighs were trembling as I straddled Adam's lap. His cock was standing straight up in the air, like an angry tree trunk, rising up from that blond patch of scraggly cockhairs. The shaft of his organ was incredibly long, perhaps eight inches, and it looked as thick as my wrist. The circumsized head was swollen and purple, with a tiny bubble of clear liquid forming at the slit as an indication of his arousal. Like fine branches, the shaft of his cock was lined with a maze of veins and arteries that made the organ seem to be throbbing hike an elongated, beating heart. "That's it," Adam cried, guiding me with his hands. "Lower, Sally, lower. Lower that juicy snatch 26 of yours right onto my cock. Tfl ream your pussy out with it." So that I could maintain my balance, I had both my hands on Adam's shoulders, and the tip of his cock slid through the wet slit of my cunt. Hie moment we made contact, I cried out excitedly, and I tried to lower myself onto the cock, but it was too soon, and the head only grazed my clit. The lips opened and closed like a gasping mouth, and I began to drip my excitement all over the bulb of his cock-head. "Guide it in, Sally," he urged. Take it in your hand and put my dick inside of you. Look down as you do it. You can watch it slip between the lips of your box!" I balanced myself on the flat of my feet and bowed my legs out. I reached down between my legs and took hold of Adam's cock. The flesh burned my hand, and I had difficulty circling it with my fingers it was so thick. I directed the enormous -head between the lips of my cunt, parting the blonde-haired folds with my fingers until 1 could see the wet^ dripping pink ring of muscles that sealed-off the entrance to my cunt. I guided the cockhead toward that pursed mouth, wriggling the shaft back and forth as it made contact with my excited flesh, jiggling it until the loose folds of my cuntal lips came down like a moist cowl over the tip of his blunt cock. Then I squatted. "Oh, my God!" I screamed, and I watched as Adam's cock entered me. I felt my whole cunt lifting up around the cudgel-like head of his shaft. "Oh, my God! I can feel it going in, Adam! Ifs pulling me apart Oh JesusT
 

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   I watched in pain, excitement and fascination as the top-quarter of Adam's cock disappeared between the lips of my cunt. I couldn't believe my eyes-it just seemed to vanish inside of me! My cunt looked torn open, as if a vise was pushing the* lips apart, stretching them open until they looked swollen and distorted beyond recognition. I leaned further forward, resting my head against his shoulder, and I could see the tight ring of muscles, like a pink band, close tightly around the head of Adam's cock. I squeezed down and nearly swooned with the intense pleasure. My cunt felt raped! Adam's cock was twice as thick as Peter's, and many, many inches longer. I didn't know which was more intensely exciting-the pleasure of penetration or the pain. "Slow, slow," Adam cautioned. "Easy, easy, Sally. Lower yourself easy. Enjoy the feeling as it slides up into you." I closed my eyes and opened them, sucking hot air deep into my lungs. My cunt was throbbing with pleasure, and my vaginal canal ached to be powerfully filled with Adam's hard cock. My clitoris was like a fiery ember lodged between the widely stretched cuntlips, and my nipples were brittle with pleasure. I began to lower myself on him. "Oh God!" I moaned. "You're fucking me! Adam, you're fucking mer I watched in disbelief as the rest of his cock was gobbled up by the greedy mouth of my cunt. Inch after tortuous inch disappeared into the sucking5 wide jaws of my cunt, until my crotch was pressed against his belly, and his balls were under my ass. The whole throbbing, expanding, eight-inch length of his cock was in my cunt.
 

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   I moved gingerly around, feeling the ponderous heaviness of the organ swaying my dripping interior from side to side, as if my body was no more than a flapping banner on a sturdy flagpole. I tightened my cunt down and squeezed into his cock. My stomach moved forward, wrenching convulsively, and I began the first erotic movements of intercourse. "Oh, my Godl" I groaned. I had to grind my feet against the floor to absorb the pleasure, it was so intense. "Oh, my God, Adam!" "Easy, Sally," he said, pushing up into me. "Easy, easy, easy . . ." I uncurled my toes and flattened my feet on the floor. I returned my hands to Adam's shoulders. I steeled myself for the rush of sensation, and slowly, infinitely slowly, I began to lift my body up the length of his cock. "Oooo-hhhhh!" I moaned. The pleasure ripped into my cunt with fists of iron. My cunt gripped his hardness in a sudden spasm of pleasure, but I continued to lift myself, watching in stark fascination as Adam's cock, as if by magic, began to reappear. It was all red and slimy and dripping with the wetness of my cunt. The long, emptying channel inside of me felt Tike a deflating balloon. "Oh, Godl" "Now, down again," Adam instructed, grunting with pleasure. "Up and down, like a merry-go-round." I felt the distended head of his cock pressed once again near the inner lips of my cunt, close to disengaging, and I plunged downward another time. I moved quickly now, once my cunt had tasted Adam's full length and thickness and had survived, and the searing intensity of penetration repeated itself. Only this time the pleasure was sharper, more
 

29

 
   acute. I pushed and pushed, until I was all the way down, and the full length of his cock was inside of me, touching me as I've never been touched before in my Me. When I felt his balls tickling at the lips of my cunt, I slid up again, then down, up and down, up and down, until I was plunging like a piston, like a crazy jack-hammer, pounding Adam's cock in and out of my cunt. "Soon, Sally," Adam cried. "Soon, soon, soon!" I knew what he meant, and the words excited me beyond belief. Like a madwoman, I quickened my pace, sliding his cock in and out of my cunt until the rhythm was so insistent, so driving, that my body was lifted and carried away with the tempo. I felt myself incredibly building again-building towards still another orgasm. My back was straining, and my thighs ached from the rapid lift and drop. Sweat coated my body like a second skin, and kept dripping into my open eyes, burning them until they teared. I hunched forward and watched, in morbid, riveting fascination. Adam's cock slid in and out: wet and hard, parting the tightly-drawn lips, pumping the clitoris up until it felt as if it was going to pop-off from the building pressure. Then the realization hit me-I was watching Adam fuck me! I was watching myself getting laid! Adam began to grunt, and I knew he was close to coming. He put his hands on my ass, holding me in place, and he began to pull me towards him, churning my hips, pushing me up and down the length of his straining cock. His fingers dug into my flesh, and I clawed my toes into the rug for support. 30 My cunt began to make a squishing, wet sound, like water sucking down a drain. In and out, in and out, he drove his cock in and out, filling me then emptying me. His fingers rolled and pulled, chugging at me like the piston-arm of a steam engine: down, around, up and down; as if my cunt was nothing but a masturbatory extension of his hands; as if he was using my body to jerk himself off. "Very soon, Sally," he moaned. His lips were pulled into a grim mask, straining against his gritting teeth, and he said the words with such an effort that I thought he was in pain. His eyes were closed, and sweat mapped his face in a thousand tiny rivers. The cords of his neck stood out like thick rope, and he was sucking in air furiously. "Get ready!" he cried, shuddering. I was ready. My cunt was wrapped around his cock like a pair of fists around the end of a baseball bat. I squeezed into him as hard as I could. Tiny drops of sweat began to shake loose from the ends of my cunthairs. The entire length of my cuntal passageway was on fire, and with each plunge of Adam's cock, the fires burned hotter and brighter until the passion between my legs was an inferno, roaring out of control. "NOWf" Adam screamed. He thrust his hips up hard into me, spreading my cunt and opening my thighs. "I'm coming . . . now!" The moment he began to come, Adam leaned forward and pressed his face between my flopping breasts. He began to lick and such my flesh, moving his tongue up and down the valley between my tits. I took one breast and slid it between his lips. He
 

31

 
   fixed fiis mouth to the end of the nipple and, as he came, he bit down into the sensitive nub of flesh, and caused my body to finally explode with all the fury of a delayed time-bomb. His cock went off like a geyser: hot, thick, pressurized sperm gushed straight up into my cunt. He was like a volcano erupting molten lava. I could feel his cock trembling, throbbing, vomiting up thick, white-hot gobs of his bubbling sperm. Spitting, spewing, thrusting, pulsing, belching out its burning wetness, Adam filled my cunt with his orgasm. "Ohgodimcoming!" I screamed, not believing it. "I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming . . ." Another string of muffled explosions went off inside my cunt. It began with' small, shattering bursts that triggered larger and more powerful ones that set off a whole explosive chain-reaction of multiple orgasms. The pleasure rushed from the top of my cunt and stabbed down into niy body like jagged bolts of lightning, piercing my quaking flesh. I felt something hot and runny coursing down the insides of my thighs, and I couldn't be sure whether it was the torrential gush of sperm from Adam's jetting cock, or the deluge of sensation from my own third orgasm, turning my cunt into a puddle of liquified flesh. The orgasm was overwhelming in magnitude, and I tried to tighten my cunt around it. I tried to corral it, to contain it, but the clutching squeeze of the gripping cuntal muscles broke the orgasm off inside of me, and it went skewing wildly out of control. Like nails of fire, pleasure raked the whole area of my crotch until I felt as if I was bleeding with 32 pleasure-until my insides were hollow from coming, and I had to scream for release. "Oh my God!,.. Oh my God! .. .^Oh my GodT God! And the orgasm kept on going higher and higher and higher and higher until it passed from pleasure Into pain. Then it went higher still, until my mind went blank, and I sjmply stopped experiencing any sensation at all. Like an insane bird racing towards the sun, the orgasm ripped into a blind, bright empty hole in the middle of my brain, and there, there in the glaring white-light of my pleasure, I suddenly saw the frozen truth. I could never go home again.
 

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   I waited in the shadows, standing off the roadway, building my courage. Every once in a while, a car swept around the curve, and the headlights flashed across my body la a sudden splash of light. Then darkness again. I shuddered, even though it was a warm night Sweat coated my back, and made my dress stick to my flesh. For a moment I wished that I had taken tlie time to put the rest of my clothing on. All I was wearing was my dress. But I'd been in a hurry to get out «f Adam's room while he was sleeping. I had to get away. An image flashed in my mind: I remembered how he looked, sleeping contentedly, like some bronzed god, naked under the sheets. And snoring loudly, just as Peter, my husband, snored after sex. I pushed the memory from my brain. Another car pulled around the curve of the road, and I stepped towards it. Before I got any closer to the highway, the car was past, leaving behind the smelly wake of gasoline fumes in the warm night air. I looked at my wristwatch. It was ten minutes after two. Above, beyond the blinding haze of the highway, I could see one or two stars. They seemed to be winking down at me. Laughing, almost. I heard the car before I saw its light, and I 35 tensed at the sound. This was foolish, foolish, I thought. I stepped closer to the road, hoping the driver of the car would see me. I felt strangely conspicuous, like an actor on a stage, and I wondered briefly whether I should stick out my thumb or leg to draw his attention. I did neither, and simply stood there, with my hands at my side, sweating and naked under my thin dress. I'm too old for this, I thought. Too old. The blazing headlights swept around the bend in the roadway and burned across my body. I shrank back despite my intentions, feeling something like an escaping convict making his first prison break. The white light of the car made my flesh look colorless, and drained the life out of the road and grass around me. I couldn't see the car in the bright cloud of light, and I squinted into it, like a blind woman. The car drove past me, then stopped, pulling its right front wheel off the lip of the road and onto the grass shoulder. I stared at the warm, hulking shadow of the car with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I didn't want to go through with it, but I had no choice. I could never go home again, I knew that. Perhaps I had learned nothing else in that shattering moment of orgasm with Adam, but I learned that I could never, never go home again. I walked slowly towards the car. Then I began to run. The right side door swung silently open, like a huge mouth sucking in the night air. There was a boy in the front seat of the car, the only passenger, and he smiled at me. He looked small and slight, with long blond hair, tee shirt, jeans and work shoes. There was the fine pale stubble of an attempted beard on his face, and it gave his face aa
 

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   innocent, almost immature qualify, I guessed he could not have been more than twenty or twenty-one years old. I stood mtrfe in the doorway, holding my naked arms, feeling foolish and frightened. The boy continued to smile at me, but I didn't feel reassured. "Hello," he said, bending his pleasant smile into his voice. "Can I help you?" "I … uh … I'd like a ride." "Sure," he said. There was a lilting Southern music in his voice. "Climb right in." I hesitated, then did as he suggested. I felt very small in the front seat of the car. And very much alone. I sat huddled over in the corner, away from him. The plastic coolness of the seat under my naked legs made me shudder. He looked at me and laughted softly. "The door . . ." I stared at him as though he were speaking some foreign tongue. "What . . . Oh! The door." I reached to pull the side door closed, but he beat me to it. I felt him lean across me, brushing my body lightly, and his fingers closed on mine around the door handle. He pulled the door suddenly, and it slammed shut The loud sound made me jump. The smell of his body filled the front seat with the light, not unpleasant fragrance of masculine sweat The car pulled back onto the road with a silent, unseen surge of power, and I was pressed back into the seat. My head was spinning, and I felt anxiety throbbing in my blood. Yet I knew I had no choice in what I was doing. I could not live with Peter again after I knew . . . what I knew about myself.
 

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   "My name is French," he said, staring out at the road, "French Crandell. What's your name?" I stared at the darkness of the road. Lights flashed and night swept by us at a frightening pace. I could no longer see the stars. "What?" I said, realizing he had spoken. "My name is French," he repeated. "French Crandell. Since we're gonna be riding together for a while, I just thought I'd ask you ya name. Ya don't hafta tell me." "No," I said, softly. "That's all right. I don't mind. My name is Sally. Sally Bryant." Tm pleased to know ya, Sally," he said. "Where ya headed for?" I stared at the blank, empty road stretched out before me. Where was it taking me? Where would it lead me? Where? "I-I don't know," I said. "Really, I don't I just know I have to go … get away. Somewhere. Maybe anywhere. I just don't know." French was quiet for a while. I could hear the sounds of the night sucking past the dark windows of the car. We cut into the night, like a knife cuts into flesh, and I could hear the cry of the wound bleeding over the rushing car. "Well, I'm gonna Washington," French finally said. "Dee Gee. You wanna go there? There's gonna be a three-day rock festival, if it comes off. You wanna go there?" I thought about that for a while. "I've never been to a … rock festival. What's it like?" "It's pretty good. Lots a good music, good people. Lots a good vibrations. People love each other.
 

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   People are nice to each other. Sharin', you know what I mean?" I turned and looked at him. His profile was to me, and his face seemed so clean and new and innocent. His eyes were deep blue and his long fine blond hair fluttered in the breeze of the open window, like soft silk. "Are people happy there?" I asked. "Happy?" He repeated the word as if he didn't understand what I was talking about. "Yeah, I guess so. As happy as anywhere else. Maybe happier than most." I felt relieved, as though some unseen heavy weight had been lifted from my shoulders. "Yes," I said, staring out at the road of the highway. It seemed to stretch out to infinity. Maybe over the next hill, I thought Maybe over the very next hill! 'Well?" French asked. He turned his head for a split second and looked at me. "Do-ya wanna go?" "All right. I don't know where else to go." We drove on through the night, eating into it with long monotonous hours. For a while French put on the radio, thea turned it off after another while. I slept, woke, and then we talked together, about general things. French was a pleasant conversationalist, and I found myself opening to him, confiding in him as I never have in my life. He listened well, and he was a stranger. That helped. That helped a very great deal. "Sally," French asked, breaking into one of the longer silences. "Kin I ask you somethin'?" I was feeling relaxed and happy. I leaned my head back against the soft cushion of the seat. My hair dripped down like pale white water.
 

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   "Sure. What is it?" "It seems to me that you're a … little older than most hitchhikers. Not that yer old or anything." I laughed. "I am. I'm twenty-eight. And right now that feels very old to me." He thought about it for a moment. "You're married, ain't yaP" Something cold and very sad touched me in the night. I thought of Peter. I said: "Yes, I am. You're very perceptive." French turned and stared at me, perhaps a little longer than he should have, for when he returned his eyes to the road, I felt the car bank suddenly to the right as he negotiated a sharp correction. Then the car sped on, straight and steadily, as though the sudden swerve had been an emotional reaction of surprise. "How come?" he asked simply. I knew I didn't have to answer, but I wanted to. I wanted to speak it, say the words, get it all out from inside of me so that I could examine it as well. I was reacting, I knew, but it was time to find out exactly what it was I was reacting against. It was time for the truth. I told him about Adam. In detail, including the part about the three orgasms. "It was my first affair," I repeated, as if the words meant something. "In eight years of being married . . . and it was my first affair." French shook his head. For the first time in the night, he seemed at a loss for words. "That's really . . . somethin'," he said. "Somethin'." I thought about it. I said: "It was. It really was … something."
 

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   French took his hand from the steering wheel and rubbed his chin. "But what happened, Sally? I mean, what happened to make you change? So sudden-like?" The coldness of memory touched me, and I shuddered again. "When I was coming," I said, remembering, "the third time, I felt something. A change. Like my body was changing. Like a door was opening in my brain." "And . . . r "I felt myself change. I looked through that door, at myself, at my husband, Peter, and I saw that I was unhappy. I had everything . . . but it didn't mean anything." I looked at French, but he was staring at the road, "I felt suddenly trapped . . . dissatisfied with life. I had to get away . . . Don't you see?" He rubbed his chin again. "I guess so. Everybody feels like that sometimes. Like you just gotta go … break out. Git out. It's not so unusual." "It is for mel" I insisted. "I mean, rny God-I'm middle-classed . . . Really, middle-classed. I have a husband, a home. A car. Everything. It's so strange … so frightening." "The Age of Anxiety," French said. "Like the Age of Enlightenment or the Romantic Age, this is the Age of Anxiety. No doubt about it." I talked on, covering over bis words. "I knew I couldn't go home again … to Peter, to the house. It was all so … meaningless. So empty. I had to run … to escape." French cut in. "I know . . . filled with a restless urge to move, to wander. To seek new horizons, new experiences-"
 

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   "Yes, yesf Then, when I realized he was poking fun at me, I lapsed into silence. I thought for a few moments, then spoke on, with less animation. "That was it … what you said, regardless of what you think of it. That was it." French coughed. "I wasn't makin fun of you. Not really. I'm sorry." I didn't need his sympathy, nor his apologies. I searched for words to match my feelings. I reached out, blindly. "It was almost as if … I was looking for something." "What do you think you was lookin for?" I brushed my hair away from my face, as if I were brushing cobwebs from my brain. "I … I don't know. Escape, maybe. Happiness? I don't know." French snorted. "Happiness?" "Why not?" I said, defensively. "Life should be happy, shouldn't it? I mean, I'm twenty-eight. Twenty-eight! All my life . . . everything, everything has been meaningless. Life should be more than that Life should be happy." "Why?" French asked. "Who says it should? Television? The Constitution?" I ignored him again. My brain was racing, like the dark, starless sky that was gushing past our dart-Mke car. "It's funny," I said, but it wasn't really funny. It was sad. "I can hardly remember what Peter looks like, do you know that? After eight years of marriage, and I can hardly remember what my husband looks like." "Maybe you never really looked at him," French suggested. I tried to think about Peter, but memories of 42 Adam kept getting in the way. My mind kept confusing the two. I kept remembering Adam in bed with me, naked, and snoring like Peter. More than anything else, I thought, that must mean something. I mean, not remembering . . . "Do you think he'll miss you?" French asked, cutting into my thoughts. "Who?" I asked. "Peter . . . your husband. Do you think hell be worried?" I shrugged my shoulders. *7 suppose so. For a while. But he has his job." "What about kids? Do you have any?" I tried to remember. "No. No children." "A nice clean break," he said. "Yes, that's it." I stared at French, but he stared at the road. "That's it. A nice clean break. No call to Peter, no notes of explanation. I had no argument with him. Just leave. Period." "Because you're not happy-* "I took nothing with me," I continued, justifying it for myself. "Nothing from the past but the clothing I was wearing. Just this dress." French gave me a funny look. "I had to go," I said, softly, softly. *1 have to find . . . something before it's too late. Too kte for me. Do you understand?" French snorted again. "And you saw all this in a flash. In the split-second of orgasm. Right?" I nodded. "Yes. I saw it. Just a glimpse. But it was there." French shook his head. The typical American syndrome: a life filled with material things . . . Things and none of it means a goddam thing. Not
 

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   one fucldn thing. All your dreams come true, and you're still not happy." I felt my cheeks color. "You must think I'm s. fool, going on like this. Well, I'm not … I just wanted to get it out . . . Say it before I lost the perspective. Before I couldn't recognize it for what it was. I'm sorry if I bored you, French." He shook his head. "Hell, Sally, you didn't bore me-" Then you must think I'm crazy." "Not that either." I looked across at him. "What then, French?" "I think it's all kinda . . . sad." We fell into another silence, and I could feel the heavy oppressiveness weighing over the air like a cloud of humidity. I attempted to lighten the mood, "French," I said. "What kind of name is that- French?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't rightly know. All I know is my Mama liked it, so she named me it. French. French Grandall. God, if you knew how many fights I had because of that name . . ." "That's a nice name. I like it." "Well, don't go namin you kids it, cauz-" "No, I don't think I'll be doing that , . . Naming my children, I mean." French flashed a look at me. "Jeez, Sally, I'm sorry. I didn't think . . ." "Forget it," I said, with a wave of my hand. "And thanks, by the way." He looked at me again. "For what?" "Letting me talk." He nodded. He said: "You might as well be gettin some sleep, Sally. We gotta long way to go yet."
 

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   I I decided it was a good idea, and I curled up on the front seat, leaning against the door, closing my eyes. I was suddenly very tired, I realized. Very, very tired. And like a dark cloak, sleep came down over me. The car was no longer moving when I woke. There was darkness all around us. Even the dash was unlit. I woke with a start, frightened, disoriented. French was pushed into the far corner of the front seat. He was sleeping soundly. Panic made me sweat, and for a moment I was afraid to move. "French …" I whispered. Then louder and louder, until I was shouting. "French!" He woke with a start. "Huh? What is it?" I moved towards him, across the seat. "Hold me, please. I'm frightened, French. Hold me, please." His arms opened, and he pulled me toward him. I could smell the musky fragrance of sleep clinging to his clothing. "Easy, Sally, easy," he whispered. He patted my hair. "Ifs okay. Don't be scared." I slipped my arms under his, and I pressed my face against his chest. I could hear his heart beating. His chest was narrow and thin, and I could feel his ribs under the thin fabric of his tee shirt. "Hold me tight, please," I said. "I feel so … alone. So … lonely." He moved his arms around my back, and his hands slid softly up and down. His caress was gentle and soothing, and I felt myself relaxing. "Easy, easy . . . easy." Trench . . . make love to me," I said. I felt no passion yet, only emptiness. "Please, French . . . make love to mel"
 

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   He laughed softly, tenderly. "All right, SaHy. If you want me to. If it will make you happy." I pulled my face away from his chest. "Yes, yes …" I whispered, eyes closed. I pressed my mouth against his lips and I kissed him. "Ye$r French's mouth opened, and his tongue slid forward. I greeted him with my tongue, and we pressed against each other in wet, exploratory kisses. His tongue was soft and spongy, and I slid over the top, into his mouth. His teeth were twin hard ridges that came down and bit playfully into my tongue, chewing my flesh sexually. I dropped my hand away from his back and I pushed it between his thighs. I touched his cock. It was already hard and throbbing. "My goodness, Sally," French said. He broke the kiss off wetly, and spoke the words around the rim of my lips. "Tou are anxious, aren't you? It looks as if you kin hardly wait." I grasped his cock between my fingers, and I sighed in relief at his hardness. I ran my hand up and down the length of his organ, pinching it through the material of his jeans. From what I could judge, his cock was long and thin; not such a monster as Adam's was, but certainly as long as Peter's. And perhaps even longer. "I need you," I moaned. I licked my tongue against his face, like a cat licking at a bowl of cream. My hand worked feverishly in his crotch. "French . . . I need you. 1'leaser French stilled my words by kissing me again. This time it was his tongue that pushed into my mouth. I parted my lips and accepted him. I sucked deeply in, drawing the full length of his tongue into my wet, 46 drawing mouth. I felt him flitting over the slippery wet sides of my cheeks, over my palate, and behind the line of my teeth. I hollowed my cheeks and sucked in. Hard. My hand worked up and down against his cock I could feel its heat baking up into my palm. I pressed down with my fingers and imprisoned the throbbing shaft against his leg. I rubbed up and down until I could feel his balls at the base of the organ, and the crown-like ridge near the tip of his cock. I squeezed the bulb of his cockhead, and French moaned into my mouth. "Oohhh, Sally," he moaned. "That feels good." I gripped his cock as tightly as I could, pressing my fingernails deeply into the fleshy pole. "Touch me . . . please. Please, French . . . Touch me before I go crazy." He laughed against my mouth. "What parts do ya want me to touch?" he teased. He pulled his hips back and then thrust forward, driving the shaft of his cock through the pinched hollow of my fingers. "Name em for me, Sally. Say the words fer me." "My cunt, damn itl"" I moaned. The passion was there suddenly. The emptiness was gone, and I needed a new kind of attention-a sexual one. "My cunt, my tits, my ass. My whole body! But touch them, damn it. Touch them!" His hand came up to my breasts, and he squeezed in. "You have nice big titties, Sally," he said. My nipple was hot and throbbing in the palm of his hand. "Ill bet you like to have them sucked, don't you?'' Passion made my head swim. I reached up for the zipper of French's jeans. I began to pull it 47 down. "Yes, yes," I moaned. "Suck them . . . please suck them." Like an expert, French worked on the buttons of my dress. The dress parted, and my tits tumbled out "Hey!" he exclaimed. "No bra. Don't you have anything on under that dress?" "No," I said. I pulled the zipper open, and French's stiff cock pushed open the front of his pants. I reached my hand into the open zipper and touched him. He was naked under his jeans. "I have nothing else on. Only the dress." My words excited him, and French's blond head came down and began to suck on my nipples. H6 moved his mouth from tit to tit, working on me with his tongue and lips until I moaned from the wet, licking pleasure. I began to stroke his cock, jerking him off. "Ohhh," I moaned. With my other hand, I held his head against my chest. "That . . . feels . . . goodT His cock was uncircumcised, and it felt strangely erotic in my soft hand. It was the first time I've ever touched that type of cock. I pulled back the tender cowl of foreskin, and I ran my fingers over the moist gians. French trembled excitedly. "You do that well, Sally," he moaned. His mouth was slippery with saliva. His breath came out hot against my tits, and I shuddered. "Do you like to touch cock?" I moaned. His cock felt so hard, so hot in my hand. I squeezed it as hard as I could. "Yes . . . nol" I answered. "Touch my cunt Touch it, please. My . . . can*/" French worked over the remaining buttons, and I slipped from my dress. I was naked on the front
 

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   seat of his car. Naked for the second time on this night with a man who was not my husband. Where will it end? I wondered. Where? French placed his hand between my awkwardly spread thighs. He cupped my cunt, curling his fingers under my body, through the moist foliage of my cunt hair. He parted the blondet hairy flaps of my cunt lips and jerked his finger into me. "My . . . God!" he said. "You're so wetl" Pleasure spread up from the tip of his probing finger, and I pushed down around it I crushed my ass against the sticky plastic seat, grinding my cunt against the hardness of his finger. I could feel his knuckles against the soft flap of lips, pressing into my clitoris. "My . , . God, Sally," he whispered, excitedly now. "You are really hot! Hotr I slid back on his finger, drawing him almost all the way out of me. Then I hunched suddenly forward, and my cunt gobbled pleasurably down the length of his pushing finger. I moaned from the thrilling sensation. "See," I said, grunting the words through my teeth. "All those years of marriage were worth something after all. I did manage to … learn something." I grabbed his cock and pulled it up through my sliding hand. Jerking him off, softly, slowly, sensually. I moved my hand from the thick root of his belly, up the full throbbing length of the organ, until the moist head was pulsing in my hand. I squeezed into it, and French moaned. TDid you . . . learn anything else?" he asked. "la all those years of marriage?" I began to stroke his cock with the slow, steady rhythm that I had learned from Peter in the years it took me to learn how to masturbate a man. I felt French thrust a second finger into my cunt, matching my tempo, and begin to respond to my sliding, pulling hand. "I learned to fuck," I said, boldly. I could feel sweat coating my body. I was very, very aroused. "I learned how to fuck really well." "Did you learn anything else?" he asked, grunting. I squeezed his cock hard. "You mean like sucking? Sucking cock?" The idea excited him. "Yeah, Sally. Would you do that fer me?" I didn't bother to answer. I simply bent down between his parted thighs, and I took his cock into my mouth. I slid my lips down the length of the slender organ, and I began to suck him off. "Jeez-usF French groaned. His body stiffened, and he thrust his hips up hard. "My God . . . My God!" His cock was slender and tapered, and I found I could easily swallow his whole length. His cock felt different in my mouth than Peter's or Adam's did, and somehow that excited me very much. I pursed my lips tightly around the broad base, and I hollowed my cheeks against the sides of the quivering pole of wet flesh. His pubic hairs tickled against my face, and I could feel the swelling thickness of his cock-head pressed against the opening of my throat. I began to move up and down on him, stroking his cock with my mouth. French's hand slipped from my cunt, and he pressed my head down with all ten fingers. I could feel his 50 hips rising and dropping in tempo to my sucking, and I felt his body tensing and lifting from the car seat, I sensed he was very close to coming, I slid my mouth up the length of the organ, and I pulled it from my mouth. I felt my saliva dribble down my chin. "No . . ." he said, trying to push it back in. "1 wanna . . . come!" Tou will," I said, squeezing the dripping rod between my fingers to assure him. "Fuck me now." He was less ready to fuck as he was to have me make him come in the wetness of my mouth, but he finally acceded. "Okay … but hurry!" I lay flat on the front of the car seat. The plastic stuck uncomfortably to my sweaty back, and each time I lifted my ass to change my position, my body would make a squeaking noise. I threw my left leg over the back of the seat,, and I anchored my foot in the steering wheel. My cunt was wide open for him, about to embrace him inside of the warmth and wetness of my aching body. French threw himself excitedly down upon me. His cock was stiff and hard and wet, and he pushed it excitedly between my parted thighs, missing my cunt in his haste to fuck me. His age was showing, I thought, aware that neither Adam or Peter would be so excited that it would make them lose their head. Yet, in some ways French's inexperience was stimulating. For him it was a raw, sexual experience, something he hasn't gotten enough of yet to relegate it to the mundane. He was fucking a strange, married woman, and for
 

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   him, in his youth, that was exciting. Fucking was exciting! I pulled his cock into my cunt, remembering my own youth in back seats of cars. I tried to recapture those years, that youthful exuberance, that intensity of sexual feeling. I pressed my cunt up hard, and I felt French's cock sinking deeply into my belly. "Harder!" I coaxed, very excited now. I pushed up and down against him, gripping the pole of his cock with the muscles of my cunt. He bucked fiercely in and out of me, drawing his swordlike rod to the lips of my cunt, then stabbing in deeply into me, right to the hilt. "I'm gonna . . . come!" he grunted. I could smell his sweat, his excitement. His blond hair hung in my face and I kissed his mouth hard, sinking my straining tongue deep inside of him. I strained up towards the ceiling, pressing the back of my legs against the car seat to lift me. French drove viciously in and out of me, like an engine going berserk. I felt my own orgasm building. It amazed me. My second new man in the same night, and I was building towards still another orgasm. I couldn't believe my body. I couldn't believe it was happening to me! I felt French's cock quivering stiffly inside of me. I squeezed tight, bringing the full length of my wet cuntal canal to press against his very hard, very hot cock. He moaned in my mouth then jerked up savagely inside of me, driving his cock to the depths of my cunt. I could feel the zipper on his pants scratching against my nakedness. "fm coming/" he cried, as if somehow surprised. He pressed into me, hard and deep. Tm comlngF 52 When I felt his hot thick seed spilling like hot water up into me, I began to came. It was as though my cunt was already primed, and when his sperm touched my raw flesh, it was all I needed, I lifted my body and sealed it against his driving middle. I felt myself coming all over his cock. Liquid fire dripped from the throbbing mouth of Ms cock, and it spread up into the velvet slit of my cunt. It burned there, into me, sending my orgasm down the length of my.quivering thighs, then back up again. "God . . „ Godr I groaned, feeling my brain reach out, straining towards . . . something hard and elusive. I felt the fingers of my brain tightening around it, but then, just as I was about to reel it in, my orgasm reached its peak and began to diminish. I felt the thing slip through my fingers, gone perhaps forever. French felt heavy on me. The smell of sex was no longer exciting. His sperm felt cold as it dripped from my cunt, over my ass, and all over the front seat of the car. I held him very tightly. He was breathing very heavily, as though he were about to have a heart attack. I patted him affectionately on the side of his head. It was good, I thought. As good as it always had been with Peter, and perhaps as good as it had been with Adam. But it wasn't magic. It wasn't what I needed.
 

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   When we arrived at the festival site, I said goodbye to French and thanked him. He had friends to meet there, and I sensed his usefulness to me had ended, I tried to find what I needed in the youthful innocent hardness of his body, but it was not there. I was just as anxious, just as unhappy as I had been with Adam. Happiness, if indeed that was what I was looking for, was neither to be found in the security of a husband, in the experienced touch of a supple-bodied lover, nor in the unspoiled enthusiasm of youth. I had to search on, further, further, until I found it. I walked the last hour, still a mile or two from the grounds because the cars were backed up and un-moving in an endless string that stretched in both directions as far as you could see. I walked past the unbroken ranks of cars, feeling a little uncomfortable in the thin fabric of my dress. I was aware that I was completely naked under it, and even more acutely aware of the heavy, unaccustomed bobble of my braless breasts. I walked with my arms folded across my chest, both shielding and supporting my half-naked tits. But, as I walked, I began to notice what was going on around me. Nudity didn't seem to be a very important consideration. Many, many of the girls I 55 saw were dressed in a fashion that was very similar to mine. And some were even completely naked, and not, apparently ashamed of it. They sat in the cars with their breasts dangling, or their skirts pulled up to their waist, airing their sweaty crotches. More than once I observed them fucking openly, in the back or front seats of the cars, with anywhere from one to four boys, without any apparent concern or embarrassment, I, of course, was shocked whenever I walked past a stalled car that served as a place for an orgy, and I averted my eyes, trying not to notice. But it was almost impossible not to, and it continued to happen with increasing frequency, the closer I got to the festival entrance. Perhaps it had something to do with the waiting. In the boredom, they simply resorted to fucking as a way of killing time. Without really wanting to, I found myself growing aroused. The girls were young and beautiful, the boys hard and virile. Whenever I saw a flash of cock sinking into a quivering snatch, or heard the unabashed groans of pleasure, I felt excited and a little cheated. I sensed that I had missed something very important with French, but I didn't know what. Perhaps it was an attitude towards sex, and I began to wonder whether anyone from my generation could ever really see or accept human sexuality with the same kind of honest, open, guiltless ease that boys and girls of French's generation did. If there was any kind of generation gap, it was in this area. I could see a crowd of people ahead, in the distance, and off to my right, the rolling hills and valleys were completely littered with humanity. As for as I could see, there was an endless sea of men, women, children, boys and girls. They stood, they 56 sat, they danced and jumped, obscuring the grass the way confetti covers over the dance floor at a New Year's Eve party. A million bobbing, bearded, longhaired heads. I reached the crowd and watched for a moment. The fence that had roped off the whole festival area was trampled down here, and everyone was waiting patiently their turn to enter the grounds illegally. Not having any money, I waited my turn in the group, and I climbed over the fallen fence. I was officially at my first rock festival. I still couldn't hear any music, although there was something that might have been a stage off in the distance. It was about a half a mile away. The area between was filled with laughter, shouting, talking, singing, records, radio noise, and small pockets of people making their own music. The air was heavy with a sharp, pungent smell, and I watched people passing around strangely shaped cigarettes. They sat on the ground, on blankets, on each other, on bedrolls and in tents. They ate food: sandwiches, fruit, raw carrots and candy. I saw one girl with a knapsack filled with nothing but bubble gum, and she was handing it out to everyoneJPeople were drinking wine, and I saw my first wineskin. A boy was holding it up to his bearded open mouth, squeezing into the leather pouch, and a thin purple stream of wine arced into his mouth. He offered the skin to me, but embarrassed, I declined. I walked on. I began to hear music, and I looked in the direction of the stage, The sound seemed to be coming from two huge towers on either side of the stage. The music was loud and harsh, full of static, but no one seemed to mind. No one, in fact seemed to be 57 paying very much attention to it. The music seemed nothing more than an excuse: a reason for attending. There was a great deal of open nudity, but I was past the point of being surprised or shocked. Naked men and women sat around in relaxed, non-sexual positions, and they reminded me of sun-bathers at a crowded beach. I found myself staring, however, furtively at first, but then more openly. They might treat nudity as commonplace, but I still found it exciting. Especially when the girl was fairly well-developed, with heavy pendulous tits or a very hairy, sexy-looking cunt. And when I came across a man who was really well-hung, or who had a harden, I felt myself sucking in my breath in an involuntary throb of excitement. Couples even made love out in the open, although, this did bring on some curious observers. They'd gather around in a small cluster, and watch and comment on technique or cock size or the way the girl was reacting. But no shock, no violence, no sudden uncontrollable surges of passion that would lead to rape. Just an open, honest curiosity and strangely frank admiration. I watched a black girl sucking a white boy's cock. She was on her knees, and he was lying flat under her. Her mouth was wrapped around his thick shaft almost to the base of his hairy belly, and behind her, fucking her in doggie-fashion, was a tall, muscular black man. I watched in awe, with my cunt dripping down my naked thighs, as his mighty, thick black shaft sunk in and out of her quivering cunt. Then, Just as he came, he pulled his long black cock from her cunt and placed it on her back, between the ebony cheeks of her ass. The black man began to 58 come. Thick, milky-white blobs of cream gushed from his rod, and sprayed all over her tensed, arched back. The moment she felt the sperm, she bent her mouth down the remaining length of the youthful white lad under her, and I could see her cheeks draw in. The boy hunched up hard into her, moaned, and I could see her throat bobbling up and down, as if she were swallowing something. Then I realized she was-his sperm! While I was watching them, the white boy was coming in the black girl's mouth. He was coming in her mouth! My heart beat rapidly in my chest, and I could feel my nipples getting hard under the thin fabric of my dress. My cunt lips quivered, and I had to press my thighs together to still the fluttering of pleasure that I felt in my clitoris. Something wet moved down my cunt, inside of me, "then outside, and it dripped down my thigh. "'S wild, ain't it"? someone said. I jumped. A flush rushed to my face. Someone saw me watching the sexual scene and, even though there was about twenty or so men and women watching with rne, I suddenly felt as though I were the one doing something immoral. My face burned as I turned towards the man who had spoken. "That's really something, isn't it?" he repeated. "I guess everybody should do his own thing." I stared at him, feeling the blood rushing to my ears. He was tall and thin aesthetic-looking, with soft brown shoulder-length hair. He was naked to the waist, and below it, he wore a ragged pair of faded Jeans. His feet were bare. I looked up again at his face, at his blue, blue eyes that seemed to be looking right through me. "I-I guess so," I muttered. His cheeks were hollow, and his beard and hair made him look almost Christ-like. His blue eyes burned like twin chunks of ice. "As long as it doesn't bother anybody," He laughed, a soft rippling sound that stole up from his thin, naked chest. "Well, I don't know about you, sister, but their doing their thing is really bothering me." He put his hand down and touched his crotch. I noticed for the first time a long thick throbbing harden pushing out the front of his jeans. He laughed again, touching himself through the pants. "Oh," I said, stupidly, blushing. I turned away from the boy next to me, and I looked at the couple in front of us. The black man had toppled back to the grass, but the black girl was still on her knees, sucking hard. Sperm dribbled from her tightly clamped mouth, like saliva oozing from between her lips. I could see that the white boy under her was almost in pain from coming, and he was begging her to release his cock. She did finally, and it fell from her purple lips, a broken deflated piece of flesh. "More!" the black girl shouted, licking the sperm from the boy's belly. "More . . . cockT The crowd began to laugh, and men began pushing each other, kiddingly, coaxing their friends to be the one to answer her request. Finally someone did, stripping off-his clothing, and he rushed to fuck her while she was still on her knees. "Wow," the tall thin man-boy next to me said. "Wow. That is really wild."
 

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   The man dropped down behind her and stabbed his cock into her cunt. The girl groaned loudly. I watched in fascination, breathing shallowly, and I jumped when the boy next to me touched my arm. "You going?" he asked. "I don't think I can stand much more of this without coming in my pants." He touched his cock again. What could I say? No, I'm not going; I'm going to stay and watch? It didn't seem to me that I had very much of a choice. Besides he was good-looking and I found myself thinking again and again of his cock. "I guess so," I said, feeling at ease with him, amazed slightly at the ease with which I was picked up. "I've seen enough." He smiled at me, but his blue eyes were cold on my sweaty flesh. "My name is Zachary. You can call me Zach." I fell in step next to him, looking up at him. "My name is Sally," I said, eliminating my last name. Somehow it no longer seemed appropriate. "Hi, Sally," he said. "You with somebody?" I shook my head. "No, I'm aJone." "You're a groovy-looking chick, you know that?" I blushed. "Thank you." I felt my nipples tingle from the sound of his voice, and I tried to cover them over by folding my arms. "Thanks." "You want to go to my tent?" he asked. "I'm with some people, but they're good people. You'll like them." A bit of the old morality came back to me, and I found myself thinking no. But, somehow, the parallel of going up to a man's apartment the first time you 61 met him just didn't work in this situation, in this environment. I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I guess so." "Good, man," he said, his voice barely audible. Tve got some really good grass there. We could do some if you want." Grass, I thought. Marijuana. He was talking about smoking marijuana, something I've never done. My stomach tensed, and something cold and heavy crawled up my spine. I knew I should run, but where to? Home? That didn't work anymore either^ I was in a whole new world, playing by a set of all new rules. "Okay," I answered. "I guess so." "Beautiful" It was so clean and simple, I thought, slightly amazed. Two minutes ago I didn't even know him. Now I was going to his tent to smoke marijuana with him. No wasted effort, no phony pretensions of roles. Just two people communicating directly with each other. It was a strange, new and exciting experience. We walked to Zach's tent. Inside, sitting on the grass and dirt floor were three young, bearded men. They were each sitting on the floor, legs crossed, and they were passing a cigarette between them. The same acrid, pungent odor filled the tent. "People," Zach said. "This is Sally. Sally, this is Lenny, Steve and Gino." I nodded and said a weak hello. "Hey, people could you do me a big favor? Why 62 don't you split for a while so that me and Sally can do a little grass … in private? Okay?" With almost no grumbling, the three got up and smiled benignly at me. Their eyes were glazed and there was a simple, almost stupid smile on their faces. The last one, a short blond youth with a scraggly yellow bead, the one called Gino, waved at me and said: "Everything is cool." I didn't know what he meant, and Fm not sure he did either. Zach slapped him on the back and told him he was a good man. When they were gone, Zach took me by the hand and led me to the middle of the tent. We sat down, facing each other, with our legs crossed. I felt anxious, and my mouth was dry. I licked my lips. "Ready?" Zach asked. I nodded. "Sure." He reached over and fished into the bedroll and removed three unevenly rolled joints from the folds of material. He placed two on the floor between us, and stuck the third between his lips. He lit a match and brought the flame up to the end of the twisted yellow paper. The paper burned, and Zach took one or two puffs. Then he drew heavily on it, and the end glowed brightly. The thick smell of the strong smoke filled my nostrils. "Wow," he said, sucking in air along with the smoke. He blinked twice, then handed the joint to me. I held it tentatively. My hand was shaking and I felt apprehension spreading up and down my spine. But I knew I couldn't turn back now. I was caught up in my own search for whatever it was I thought
 

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   I needed. Perhaps it would be in the brown, twisted weed of burning marijuana, I placed the joint between my lips. Fve never smoked it, but how to smoke was common knowledge. I've seen it done hundreds of times on television. I drew in deeply, taking a deep drag, sucking the powerful smoke deep into my lungs. I held my breath, keeping the smoke down. I handed, the joint back to Zach. He exhaled and blew out a thin blue haze of smoke, then took the joint from me and took another toke. The smoke was harsh and burning, and my lungs rebelled. I wanted to expell the smoke almost immediately, but I closed my mouth and nose, holding my breath until I felt something warm spreading out from my lungs. I felt light-headed, with tears welling up behind my eyes. Finally I expelled the smoke, gasping for air. Zach handed me the joint again, and I took my second drag. I watched how he did it, and this time I sucked in air with the smoke. The smoke went down deep and hard, like a solid mass, and my eyes began to tear. I could feel the smoke swirling around in my chest, and my hands began to tingle. By the time we had finished the first joint and were halfway into the second, I was completely and totally stoned. It was like nothing I've ever felt in my life. I felt light-headed and woozy, yet in no way did I feel sick or nauseous. I felt disassociated, as if my brain was located outside of my body, and I was looking in, at myself. I felt strangely giddy, and I had to fight back the growing need to giggle. But 64 mostly I felt calm and relaxed and strangely contented. "Man, Sally," Zach said. His voice seemed to be blipping in and out of my range of hearing, like someone was turning the sound on and off. "I am stoned. I am smashedF I began to giggle. His words seemed absurdly, wildly funny. It was the wildest thing I've every heard in my life. Except for my answer: "So am II" I screamed. We finished the joint, and I couldn't remember how many toes I had. I could feel words coming up my esophagus, like bubbles, popping from my mouth and floating across the room. Zach seemed to be floating, moving in slow motion. "Hey, Sally, you know what? I want to fuck you." The words came out slow and spaced and very far away. I didn't understand him. "What?" I asked, but slowly, like water dripping into my brain, the answer filled my thoughts. "Oh," I said, considering his proposal. "You want to fuck me?" "Yeah. You want to?" I didn't know. I couldn't pin my thoughts down long enough to decide. So I said: "All right," I watched calmly, unexcitedly, as Zach floated across the small space between us. His hands caressed my breasts, and I looked down and watched. Somewhere, deep inside of my body, I could feel the far away tingle of the caress. It made my cunt throb. "That's wild," I said, staring down. Zach had opened my dress and he was playing with my tits. The nipples were erect and long and pink, and T 65 watched, with excitement tapping at my brain, as he pinched them between his fingers. A deep spreading warmth burned down into my body from the end of my nipples. His hands caressed me softly, and cupped both my breasts like twin melons. I watched his fingers squeeze into my deep, soft flesh. Then I watched a hand, my hand, float across the space between us, and I touched his cock. "Wow, wow, wow," he moaned. His cock was hard and long and thick. He pushed it up into my hand. "That's wild, Sally. Wild!" I unzipped his zipper, and like a slow, sensually unwinding snake, Zach's cock slid from the open mouth of his parted jeans. I reached down and slowly wrapped my hand around it, finger by curling finger. After a moment, I felt the warmth and incredible heat of his enormous organ. I squeezed into the flesh hard, feeling the pulsing throb of blood rushing, filled the organ. A bubble of moisture oozed from the head of the cock, and I ran my finger over it, spreading the wetness across the smooth glans. "Lay down," Zach said. "I want to fuck you now." His hands opened my dress, then helped me off with it. I saw my stomach and my belly. The base of my groin, between my thighs, was covered with a thick, soft blonde growth of hair. I cupped it with, my palm and caressed it smoothly. The touch excited me, especially when I felt the lips opening, and a wetness oozed out against my finger tips. "Lay down," he repeated. He pushed me back, on the floor. "I want to fuck you, Sally." I stared up. Slowly, as if they were floating, Zach's 68 jeans slid down his legs and he stepped out of them. His cock stood rigidly away from his body, and I stared up at it in amazement. It had to be one of the longest cocks I've ever seen in my Me. His balls were heavy and full, covered with fine brown hairs. They swung slowly between his slender thighs, like two heavy weights. Zach came down between my open thighs, and I lifted my legs straight up. I reached down and touched his cock, pulling him towards me. His fingers moved against my cunt, opening the lips, preparing the entrance for his cock. My 'cunt made a sticky wet noise that surprised me. I hadn't realized how aroused I was. Then, as I thought seriously about it, I became aware of the deep, sensual burning that filled my aching body. "Fuck me!" I moaned, excited. "Please . . . juck mef His cock pushed between the flapping lips, and Zach's cock slid up inside of me. I could feel the lips of my cunt pulling apart, and the hollow between filling up with a long, thick hardness. I pushed against it, feeling pleasure, like a tide of water, washing against my cunt. "Ufa. . . . uhr I groaned. The pleasure of penetration was vividly intense. I stretched up and grasped my ankles, pulling my body nearly in half. I watched as Zach's cock dipped between the widely stretched lips and vanished into my cunt. "Oooohhh-hhT I watched the press of his cock pushing the lips of my cunt open. I could see wetness oozing from the tight mouth that was gripped around the shaft of his cock, and I watched the nub of my clit peeking out from the hood of flesh where the lips come to- 67 gether. Like a pump, or a heart, the clit was throbbing, and the vibrations it produced, shook down into my flesh, making my body quiver. Then I felt the pleasure. Almost abstracted, as if it were happening to another person, the cloud of pleasure floated down around my naked cunt, and broke open like an egg. "Fuck me!" I cried. "Harder! Deeper!" Far away, above me, I could hear Zach grunting. His mouth was saying something, moaning perhaps, but the words were floating away from my ears. I lifted my cunt and pressed it tightly against his crotch. I watched in amazement as the full length of his cock sunk between the lips of my cunt. His belly was pressed against my cunt. His balls were dangling against the cheeks of my ass. His cock was throbbing deep inside of me. I pulled back hard on my- ankles, bending my body in half. Zach was above me, driving down into my upturned cunt. My box was only inches away from my face, and I could see the hair on his belly intertwining into my blonde crotch hair. The raw sexual odor of my own cunt assailed my nostrils, and I could hear his cock sliding in and out of me, rubbing against my flesh. "Come!" Zach cried, in apparent amazement or surprise. "I'm gonna . . . come!" He bent over me, dropping his full body weight between my legs. His arms flopped over, past my head, and he stretched his hands down to the floor. Zach was arched over me, his cock in my cunt, his feet on one side of my body, his hands on the other. "I'm coming!" he shouted, still surprised. "I'm . . . coming!" I felt Ms cock open up. I felt his cock draw back, then buck forward. I felt something surging down the turgid length of his cock. Then it gushed from the open tip, like water leaking from an open hose. His balls tightened against my ass, and I could feel his muscles quivering. I could feel his orgasm, through his bodyl "God . . . I'm coming!" Still shock, still surprise, and just, perhaps, a trace of disappointment. "Coming …" I could feel every twitch, every throb, every pulse of his mighty, coming organ. I could feel the wetness, the deep, burning, hot wetness of his sperm, splashing into the sucking lining of my cunt, splattering against me, bubbling into my box, like foam or steam or lava. "Noooo!" I heard someone cry. Then I realized it was my voice. "Not yet! Don't come yet . . . pleaser My voice sounded desperate, and I fought through the numbing fog of the marijuana to try and understand why. Then I remembered that I hadn't come yet. It simply hadn't occurred to me that I should have been thinking about coming. I seemed to have gotten deeply involved in the sensations of fucking, and coming hadn't even entered my mind. Bu,t now I remembered it, and I thought about it. I judged my body. I was hot, very hot. And excited. My cunt ached, and my breasts were tender. I realized I was building towards an orgasm, but it was slipping away just as the hardness of Zach's deflating cock was slipping away from me. "No!" I cried, consciously joining in. "Not yet . . . Nor But it was too late, and Zach's mighty cock had shrivelled into a wet and limp and useless piece of soft flesh. It plopped from my cunt, and he held It between his fingers. Thick milky strings of sperm dripped from his cupped hand; I looked up at him. His soft bearded face seemed framed between my open, extended thighs and soft, oozing come-filled cunt. "No, please!" I cried. I could almost taste the closeness of my orgasm in my mouth. It tasted bitter and frustrated. "Please … I gotta come! Pleasef Zach looked down. It was obvious that he was in pain, perhaps ashamed at his own selfishness. And for a strangely sympathetic, schizophrenic moment, I felt sorry for him. Til get … help!" he said. He floated up and away. For a long time I was alone. I touched my cunt, straining my feet towards the roof of the tent, and I buried two fingers in my cunt, one from each hand. My cunt was a swirling puddle of hot come and sexual excitement, and I sunk the fingers in as deeply as I could. They felt like wiggling worms in my belly. "It's not enough!" I cried, talking to myself, feeling the orgasm floating away, like a helium balloon caught in a breeze. "It's not . . . enough!" I heard noises and I saw faces. For a moment I couldn't understand what they were saying or who they were. Then I recognized them. It was Zach's three friends. They were back in the tent and they were naked. "Wow!" one of the three said. "Look at her go!" They were talking about me, I realized. Then I remembered my position: completely naked, on the 70 floor, with my legs straight up in the air, and my hands buried in my oozing, come-gooey cunt. I felt no shame, no embarrassment, no intimidation. All I felt was passion. "Fuck me!" I moaned. I pulled my hands from my cunt, and I felt Zach's sperm dripping from my fingers, spilling against my aching pussy. "Please, help me! Somebody, please . . . fuck meF "With pleasure!" a thick-chested, dark-haired one said. His body was milk white, and he had the darkest, blackest hair I've ever seen. Like his short thick body, his cock was a wide, blunted weapon. He moved towards me with it, carrying it to me with both his hands. He said again: "With pleasure!" He dropped onto me, pushing my hands away from between my straining thighs. My cunt was wet and lubricated with the sticky discharge of Zach's come, and his thick, powerful cock spread me open like a vise. I felt him deep in my belly, stroking himself through Zach's sperm. "I'm gonna come!" I realized. Like Zach, it had sneaked suddenly upon me. I pushed .my cunt up against the driving cudgel-like cock. "I'm gonna come . •. ." I pressed up hard, and he ground down deep and powerfully, I felt someone behind me, grasp my ankles, and he pulled me in half, pulling my feet behind my head and anchoring them to the floor on the tent My body was completely bent in half, and my cunt was at a ninety-degree angle, above me. And he was fucking straight down, into me. I began to come. I felt my body lift from the ground and soar u|· into the air, through the driving cock, through the body pressing me down, through 71 the roof of the tent, high above the festival site, and I crashed into the moon. Colors flashed all around me, and for the first time in my life, I could taste the fibrous texture of my own orgasm. It rang deep and powerfully in my ears, like some great tolling bell that I was a part of. Then my body crumbled into a billion quivering pieces of raw flesh. Tm coming!" ^the one fucking me grunted. His cock went berserk in my cunt, and I thought he was trying to screw me to the ground. In a solid, thick stream, gushing out with all the force and pressure of a firehose, his cock opened up and jetted his come into my cunt. I could feel his hot gush mixing with the cold puddle of Zach's, Then he screamed it again, as if anyone had failed to hear him: "Tm coming!" He dismounted, and before I had completely returned from my voyage to the moon, someone else had taken his place in my overflowing cunt. It was the blond one called Gino. His cock was a different size, and I felt it fill my cunt in an excitingly different way. He began to fuck me, and when he came, I did again also. Only this time it was better, longer, harder, higher, further and more intense. My mind went away from my body, and for a very long while it didn't return. When it did, Gino was gone, and there was a different cock in my cunt. A longer, thicker, harder one. I coulJ hear him splashing into my gushing box, driving the shaft of his cock through the deposits of three separate cocks and three separate comes. Not to mention mine. And I was not surprised when he began to come, that I began to come again. I could hear my cunt making a deep, sucking noise, like an overflowing 72 drain. I could feel his hot sperm oozing from my swollen cunt and dripping down my ass. I felt someone behind me change places with the person holding my legs down. New hands gripped my ankles. Then a new cock throbbed into my cunt I don't know whether this new cock came, for my mind went away somewhere, and did not return for a very, very long time. And when it did, there was someone on top of me, in my cunt, that I never saw before in my life. After him there were three others. I was sore and I ached, and I was tired of coming. But I couldn't make up my mind. It was hard to tell if they were raping me or being nice to me. I think I passed out after a while.
 

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   The sun beat down very heavily on my brain, and I had to shade my eyes from the daylight glare. The roadway was very hot, and I could actually see the heat radiating up from the melting black tar. The air was thick with exhaust fumes that I tried not to inhale, but I had no choice; I haoT to breathe. Every time I did so, I would feel my stomach turn nauseously, and I had a dull, throbbing headache. I walked slowly along the grassy shoulder of the highway, turning towards the road whenever a car swept past me. I was in Virginia now, and the rock festival was completely gone from my mind as a way of finding what I was searching for. I only wished it was gone from my memory; and my body. Still, I thought, it wasn't all that bad. The grass was good and exciting. A new experience; something I've never tried before. I still wasn't positive I had explored it fully enough to say it didn't hold anything for me. Perhaps I'd try it again one day. Of course, tinder different circumstances. My legs ached, and the flesh between my thighs was raw. Literally raw. My cunt was swollen and puffy, and there was a dull throbbing ache deep in my vagina that pulsed with pain each time I took a step. I still don't know how many men I took on: perhaps the whole festival. All I know is there was 75 a continual stream of them, all with new hard cocks, filling my drowning pussy with more come than I ever knew was possible to absorb. My cunt felt like Niagara Falls, with torrents of rushing come cascading over the curved cliff of rny pubis, draining down into the sperm-soaked floor of the tent. After it was over I think they were frightened, They took care of me, put blankets around me, and tried to comfort my sobbing. Zach personally washed out my cunt, and dabbed medication on the long abrasions between my legs. They gave me food and drink, more than I needed, and gave me even a knapsack to carry it in. And then, when I tried to put my clothing back on, and we discovered that someone had shredded my dress, the only clothing I had, they went out and obtained some other clothing for me to wear. It wasn't much-a pair of men's jeans that were a little big for me, a shell-like purple shirt, and a pair of sandles that laced up my calves. I still didn't have any underwear, but it didn't bother me as much now. I seemed to have adopted a new role, and my present clothing fit my body as well as my new temperament. I was a hippie, on the road, searching for what? I still didn't know. Maybe I never would. But I had to search just the same, A twenty-eight year old married hippie. It was all so very strange. A car roared past and I stuck out my thumb. There was a man and a woman in the car, and as they sped past, the woman gave me a horrified look I tried to imagine myself as her all those many times I drove with Peter and we passed some ragged-looking hitchhiker on the road. We never thought to stop. We simply drove past, as if it wasn't a human 76 being, but just another thing on the road, something discarded like an old used tissue or an empty soda bottle. The car disappeared down the long gray road, and I began to think of Peter. I wondered what he was doing, right at that moment. Had he called the police? The FBI? What had he told our parents, our friends? It was like another world, I thought. Part of the past, part of my imagination. And like all things from the past, it was beyond touching, beyond memory. It was like a dim image, fading, fading, fading in the sunlight. I felt hollow thinking about it. Empty. As though someone had drained all the color from it, all the laughter. It rattled from corner to corner in my brain, fitting nowhere, a part of nothing-Life's too short, I thought. I'm twenty-eight, and in November I'll be twenty-nine. And then thirty. It only comes around once, so you'd better make it good. After it's gone, it's all over. Another car went past, but this one stopped, about a hundred yards up the road. I walked slowly towards it, not in any particular hurry. Unlike that first night, I was no longer rushing to get away. I was away now, and all that mattered was that I keep on going further and further away. Where didn't matter. How fast didn't make any particular difference. I would search until I found it. The man driving the car got impatient, and he threw the machine into reverse. Swerving from right to left, moving very rapidly, the car drove back to meet me. From the rear, and the way it moved, the car reminded me of a dinosaur.
 

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   He stopped about ten feet from me, and I walked slowly up to the front door. I looked in. The driver was alone in the car. He was an older man, about fifty, I guess, kind of fat and balding. He had a white short-sleeve shirt on and a pair of green work pants. His hair was faded mouse-color, what little there was of it, and the top of his head was a shiny deep brown tan. He was wearing a pair of green sunglasses. I tried the door. It was locked. I knocked on the window and pointed to the door. He sat and stared at me. "It's locked," I said, pointing to the handle. "Open the door." He sat and stared. "Fuck you," I said, giving him the finger, and I turned away from the car and wandered down the road. A few minutes later, the car pulled up beside me and the door swung open. I stared in at the man. "You sure you want to give me a ride?" I asked. He tried to smile, but it somehow reminded me of a threat. "Sure. Come on in." I studied him a little longer. He looked harmless, but that didn't mean anything. Zach had reminded me of Christ. "Come on!" he insisted. "You want me to get a ticket?" I climbed into the car, and then remembering French, I pulled the door quickly closed. The car was air-conditioned, and the icy breeze billowed against my sweat-sticky clothing. It was an expensive car, and the front seat was soft and comfortable. The car 78 was equipped with a tape-deck, and soft string music filled the car. I think it was Montovani. Like a sleek dark animal, the car moved silently back onto the road. There was hardly any sensation of movement, and no sound of the engine working. Only the music and the humming purr of the air-conditioner. The man behind the wheel stared at the road in complete silence for about five minutes. If he didn't want to speak, that was all right with me. I learned my lesson with French. I sat back in the soft seat and closed my eyes, trying to sleep. The knapsack was uncomfortable on my shoulders, and I flipped it into the back seat. The man turned towards me. Despite the cool air from the air-conditioner, tiny beads of sweat decorated his bald head. He stared at me through the green barrier of his sunglasses. "What did you do that for?" he asked. I thought he was talking about the knapsack, and I turned around to retrieve it. "No," he said, "not that. Back there. On the road." "What do you mean?" "What did you go and give me the finger for?" He sounded hurt. "What did you tell me to go fuck myself for?" I thought for a moment. "I'm sorry. I thought you were trying to be funny." He turned to me in deadly seriousness. "You know you can get in trouble picking up hikers, The police. Then some of them work in teams. The dame out front and her boyfriend back in the bushes. They conk you over the head, steal your money and your 79 car. I had to make sure, you know. You got to protect yourself." He reminded me of a gangster from a 1930's movie. "I'm sorry. Thanks for stopping, though." He nodded gravely. "It's okay." We drove on for another couple of minutes in silence. Again he broke into it. "You hungry?" I shook my head. My knapsack was filled with sandwiches and fruit, and I had eaten a full breakfast before I left Zach's tent. The fact that I hadn't spent any money for the past two or three days hadn't hampered anything. Here I was-well fed, well clothed, and in the state of Virginia. All without having spent a dime. "No, thank you," I answered politely. "I was gonna stop a little later on. You know, to get some lunch. You want to eat anyhow?" I was beinning to suspect that he wanted to stop to eat, and was afraid of leaving me alone in the car. He wanted me where he could see me. "Okay," I agreed. "But I don't have any money." He smiled and relaxed. "No problem. I got plenty of dough. My treat." "Thanks. Thanks a lot, Mr.-" "Ralph," he said. He began to whistle. "Just call me Ralph." "Thanks, Ralph. My name is Sally." "That's a pretty name. I knew a girl named Sally once. When I was younger. Only she had black hair. Long black hair, down past her shoulders. A real knockout." He began to whistle again, out of tune to the music from the tape-deck, I closed my eyes around the silence, and tried to sleep.
 

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   "Where you going to, Sally?" Ralph asked. He stopped whistling just long enough to talk. Then he began to whistle again. I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. Nowhere special, I guess. Where are you going?" "CaL-la-fom-yaT he said, breaking the word down into its syllables. He whistled a few bars of "California, Here I Come." Then he looked at me and smiled. "Los Angeles, California. You ever been there?" I shook my head, "No, never." "You want to go along for the ride?' he asked. He stared at the gray-topped road, zipping along at more than seventy-five miles an hour. Cars swept past us as though they were standing still. I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. It's a long trip. You sure you want me along that far?" He pushed the button on the tape machine, changing the selection. He did this twice, apparently looking for something in particular. To me, though it all sounded the same. Like Montovani. "Why not?" he asked. "I gotta go there. I might as well have company. Besides it won't take long. A couple of days." "But I don't have any money for food or motels. And I can't drive." "Did I ask you to drive?" he asked. "And as for money, I already told you-I got plenty of dough. Besides, stuff like that we can always . . . work out." Work out, I thought, measuring the euphemism. Well, why not? Certainly it couldn't be any worse than what happened to me at the rock festival. What's one more man, one more cock? Besides, there's always California to consider. I've never been there 81 before. I've never been anywhere in fact, outside of Florida on my honeymoon. Free transportation to California and all it costs me is a little putting out for Ralph. Well, why not. I put out for Adam and see what it go me. If it hadn't have been for him, I'd be home now, with Peter living that same dull and monotonous life that I've led up to two days ago. There's no telling where this may lead me, so the smart thing would be to go along with it, ride it out and stop resisting it. Let the waves drop me somewhere. Somewhere new. "I guess so," I said finally. "If you don't mind my company." Ralph seemed excited. "Hell no! I enjoy company. Especially . . . pretty company." He began to whistle "California, Here I Come" again. About an hour later we stopped at a small diner and had lunch. Ralph ate a meal, but I only had a cheeseburger and coffee. After the meal, I went into the ladies room, locked the door, took all my clothing off, and washed my body in the sink. My thighs were yellow and green with bruises, and my cunt was very tender. I touched it tentatively, shudder-Ing when I realized it would soon be invaded by still another cock. While I put my clothing back on, I wondered how big Ralph's cock was. I wondered if it would hurt very much. We were back in the car, driving again, when Balph turned to me. "Sally, what are you going to do once you get to California?" I hadn't thought that far in advance. I shrugged my shoulders and said: "I don't know." "You gonna get a job?" he asked. 82 "I guess I could try. FI1 need money and a place to live." I wondered what he was leading up to. "Well, you know, I got a friend in L.A., by the name of Herb Button. A very good friend of mine. He's got this special kind of business, and he's always looking for pretty . . . liberal-minded young girls to work for him. You get the picture, I'm sure," It would have been nearly impossible not to. "I think I know what you mean." "Well, if you want, I can put in a good word with Herb once we get to L.A. You know, tell him what kind of cooperative girl you are." Why not I thought? It would at least give me a direction to my wandering. Besides, I already agreed to sleep with Ralph in payment for the trip. How much extra could this favor possibly cost me? "I guess so," I answered. "That would be nice. Of course I'd be willing to work out a sort of payment with you," I said, using his term. His eyes lit-up, even behind the sunglasses. "I was sure you would be cooperative. Herb'll be real pleased to hear about you." I nodded, non-committally. I fell asleep for about an hour, and I woke very quietly, not moving and just opening my eyes bare slits. Ralph was sitting closer to me, but still behind the wheel, and he was driving with one hand. The other hand was at his crotch, and he was fondling himself through his green pants. His cock seemed long and thick from the bulged outline, and I felt an involuntary flutter of sexual stirring in my cunt. I closed my eyes and made believe I was still sleeping, I heard his hand working against his cock, rubbing it up and down. Then my breath sucked in, 83 and I heard the unmistakable grating sound of his zipper opeijjng. I heard another rustle of clothing, and I imagined what was happening. My mind framed an image of his thick blunt cock poking obscenely from the open flap of his zipper. I wanted to open my eyes, but I was afraid to. Afraid that he would see me and know that I was wide awake. So I sealed my eyes shut and made a soft, purring sound with my breath. But my ears were vividly awake, and I listened with burning excitement to the sound of flesh moving against nr Ked flesh; the sound of a hand moving against a cock. Then the sound stopped, and I could almost sense that Ralph was leaning towards me. I sucked in my breath in anticipation, and even when he touched me, I had to consciously keep myself from jumping. I moaned, and made believe I was stirring in my sleep. Ralph's thick meaty hand came down and touched my right breast, softly, gently through the bulging thinness of my shirt. The nipple jumped to immediate life, and he flicked it with his fingernail. I settled back against the car door, and let him fondle me. It was somehow exciting to allow him to think that he was taking advantage of me. It was a very sexual feeling. I could feel his whole hand pressing against me, softly, gently, afraid to press in too hard for fear that he would awaken me. His fingers lifted my breast into the calloused palm of his hand, and he squeezed into my flesh tenderly. He began to grunt and sigh, and I could hear him rubbing his erection against the base of the steering wheel as he fondled me. I stirred again, feeling a seeping wetness collecting in the crotch-piece of my jeans. Ralph pulled his
 

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   hand away, and I could hear him touch his cock. Then more clothing movement, and the sound of a zipper closing. "Sally . . ." Ralph called. His voice was a harsh, throaty whisper laced through with a tremble. "Sally . . ." I pretended to wake up, sighing and moaning and rubbing my eyes. I yawned. "Did you . . . call me?" I asked, completely innocent A crimson flush had stolen across Ralph's thick face, and the throbbing rigidity of his cock was vividly obvious. It jutted up from his crotch like a tree trunk. "Yeah …" he began, the flush deepening. "Uh . . . I-I think I'd like to talk to you now about what we discussed … uh … before." I pretended not to understand. "You know. . . what we said we'd . . . work out," he said, his voice rising hopefully with the last two words. "You remember, don't youP" I put my hand up to my mouth. "Oh," I said. "Yes, of course." He laughed nervously. "I'm kind of … desperate. You know . . . hot." I laughed, then I reached across the front seat and touched his cock. He jumped from the contact and let out a small cry of surprise. "Do you mean you want me to take care of this?" I asked. He nodded vigorously. "Yeahf" "You mean right here and now?" "Ill pull over." And with that, the car swerved off to the right, off the highway and towards the trees. He pulled up short, about thirty feet from the road.
 

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   He shut the motor and reached desperately for me. I allowed him to pull me across the front seat, and he kissed me hard on the lips. I pushed my tongue into his mouth, and he began to go crazy. His hands were all over my body, moving from breast to breast, between my legs, then back up to my tits. He unbuttoned the shirt, pulled my tits free, and began to suck them, chewing on the nipples. I fondled his cock, then opened his zipper and pulled him out. He was enormous. At least eight inches long and as thick as my wrist. His Sesh was a nut brown color, even the cockhead, and the shaft was mapped with thick, pulsing veins and arteries. The hair that fluffed from his open fly was speckled with gray. I squeezed into his cock as hard as I could, but I barely dented it. It was like a steel bar. "Take your pants off," he sighed. My nipples were wet and bright pink from the attention of his mouth. "Please, Sally . . . take em off!" I pushed back and looked over Ralph's shoulder at the highway. Traffic wasn't too heavy, and we were reasonably far from it. I doubted whether any one could see us. Unless a police car came over to investigate, but that didn't seem too likely. I hurried to undress, pulling my pants down my legs. I discarded them into the leg-well of the front seat, then pulled off my top. I was completely naked. "Christ!" he exploded. He pushed me back, against the door and buried his face between my thighs. I felt his tongue licking my cunt, my hair, pushing through the sweaty flap of my cuntal lips, stroking wetly against the nub of my clit. "Ohhh," I sighed. ! leaned back even further, resting my head against the cushioned door. I pulled
 

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   my feet out from under me, parted my thighs, and slung one leg over the back of the seat and placed the other on top of the dash. Now Ralph had a wide open target for his tongue. "Eat me, babyl Come and eat me!" He nuzzled his face even lower, bending his tongue around, and I felt his breath steaming between the lips of my cunt. His tongue worked feverishly against my clit, then moved down the slippery slit, and stabbed into my cunt hole. His tongue felt as long and as thick as his cock, and I pressed myself hard against his wet mouth. I felt his tongue drive deep into my body. "Oh . , . God!" I moaned. I pulled him hard against my cunt, my hands slipping on his sweaty bald head. "Eat me, baby. Eat me!" He did, driving his tongue in and out of my body so quickly that I almost lost my breath from the quivering tightness of my passion. Then, just as rapidly, he withdrew his thrusting weapon, and slid it back against my anus. I groaned in ecstasy as he drilled the thick wet wedge of his tongue up into my anus. Fire flashed in my crotch, and while his attention was centered at my anus, my own hands stole from his head, and I began to masturbate myself. The pleasure in my ass licked up and around, in a jagged, circular arc. Then the pleasure I awakened in my clit responded similarly, and a second arc of intense sensation swept down and met the other. They crashed head-on. "Oh Godl" I cried, arching my body up from the car seat. "Oh … Oh … OhT It was a small, sudden, but shattering orgasm. 87 Ralph withdrew his tongue. His beefy face was red with passion. His mouth was a smear of saliva. "Now me," he said. "Do me, Sally r. . with your mouth. Suck my cock." The pleasure was still settling inside of me, but I had to move towards him. It was only fair. He pushed himself back against the door of the car and pulled his green work pants and shorts down his thick, hairy legs. He was naked from the waist down, and his cock and balls were huge between his parted thighs. I leaned forward, between his legs, and I began to suck his cock. My jaw stretched wide, and then I had to stretch even wider to take in his fantastic width. My lips were stretched in a painfully tight circle. "That's it," he moaned, jerking his hips up. "Do itl Do it to me, Sally. Do it!" I felt him shudder as my teeth scraped erotically over the knob of his cockhead. The spongy piece of flesh filled my mouth. I licked my tongue over it, tasting the slightly salty flavor of his sweat. I slipped the tip of my tongue into the opening of the cock, and he shuddered again. "Oh . . . yesr he moaned. His hands came down on my head, holding me in place. "Yes, Sally. Yes!" I pulled myself forward on his body, until I was directly over his cock, and I pushed my face down. The cockhead slid past my teeth and into my mouth. The bulging underside of his shaft crushed my tongue to the floor of my mouth as he drove into me. I tightened my lips around the turgid column of his flesh, to slow his penetration, but his cock moved in without pause, deeper and deeper into my mouth.
 

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   "Suck it, baby!" he cried. He pulled his knees back and up, and I fell into the hollow between. His balls dangled heavily between his thighs, against the flattened, hairy muscles of his ass. "Suck my cock, Sally. Suck Hi" I moved my head down, perhaps an inch. My mouth was wide open, pursed and stretched around the walls of his thick shaft, and the head of his cock was moving towards my throat. I pulled my tongue out from under the sliding staff, and I washed it against his swollen cockhead, rolling my^ tongue over it. I sucked in deeply, drawing my" cheeks against the sides of his organ, pressing down with the wet kiss of my mouth. I felt my saliva oozing all over him, bathing him, surrounding his cock in a wet blanket of slime. He grunted and pushed up, pressing down with his hands. The head of his cock drove back against my throat. My jaws ached from the strain of stretch-Ing, and I stabbed my tongue against the tender underside, under the head, making him quiver with pleasure. I could hardly breathe through my mouth, and I had to suck in air through my nose to keep myself from smothering. "Suck … it … Sally . . . uhhhr he moaned. He moved his cock deeper into my mouth. "Suck it." The brillo-Jike hair of his crotch scraped against my face, and I sucked hard on his cock, running my saliva over it The shaft could go no deeper. So I pursed my lips, flattened my tongue along the swollen underside of the organ, and I pulled my head back until the cock began to slide from my mouth. I stopped it when I felt the hard ridge of the crown pressing against my teeth. Then I plunged down again, returning the cock to its previous position, burying it deep inside my mouth. Ralph began to grunt in obvious pleasure. He lifted his thighs, bringing his cock higher into my mouth. Then, when I began to pull back, he dropped his hips, and after a moment we were coordinating our rhythms. I pushed down and he pushed up; I drew back, and he pulled out. In and out, in and out, in and out, driving the thickness of his cock from the bow of my lips to the hollow of my throat. Fucking my mouth . . . fucking my mouth with his cock! "Soon!" he grunted. "Soon." I began to quiver with passion.-I've never sucked a cock to orgasm; never tasted sperm in my mouth before. I was excited and apprehensive. I wanted to pull away, but I knew I wouldn't. I couldn't. I sucked up hard, steeling myself for his explosion of sperm. I drew on his cock as I might have drawn upon a thick, fleshy straw. Saliva rushed over the sides of his shaft, like racing water, draining down my throat. I rolled my tongue frantically over his cockhead, teasing him, coaxing the sperm up the shaft of his cock. "Uuhhh!" he groaned. He lifted himself from the car seat, plowing his code as deep into my mouth as it would go. "Very … uh … soon!" I gripped his balls in my hand, and I squeezed hard into them. He groaned in pleasure, in pain, and drove his cock fiercely in and out, matching the up and down plunge of my sucking face. I slid one finger down from the tightness of his hairy scrotum, and I wriggled it into his anus. "Oh . . . God!" he cried. "Now, Sally . . . nowT I closed my eyes and began to suck. I felt the 90 sperm pumping down the length of his cock. I felt the cockhead opening against my tongue, and then I felt the first drop of his come in my mouth. The moment the first drop of sperm touched my tongue, I began to come. Suddenly, unexpectedly, like my last orgasm, ripping into my body with absolutely no preparation. An intense, gripping spontaneous orgasm. Ralph's sperm splashed against my tongue, oozing from the tip of his cock, and my tongue curled it back, and I sucked it down my throat. The sperm was hot, salty perhaps, but that mighf have been my imagination. His cock throbbed in my mouth, and more and more sperm gushed out, until my mouth was coated in the thick, oozing fluid. "Suck it!" he grunted, crushing my face to his crotch, "Suck it . . . Fm comingr I swallowed the slippery discharge greedily, undulating my throat as drop after drop rolled into my stomach. I sucked hard and deep, jerking him off with my tongue, running it up and down the underside length of Ralph's pulsing cock. My cheeks puffed out with saliva and puddles of sperm, and I pressed them together, bathing the thick fluid over the length of Ralph's cock, baptizing my mouth. My own orgasm ripped me to pieces, and my cunt quivered as if there was a cock inside of it, fucking me deeply and powerfully. My clit throbbed, and I could feel the lips quivering spasmodically as the orgasm gripped my cunt in fingers of iron. Finally, Ralph's cock pumped nothing further, but that didn't stop my greedy mouth. I stroked him with my tongue, stabbing him, digging the tip into the oozy opening, searching for more sperm. My lips 91 chewed into the shrinking shaft, wringing him dry, milking him of every last drop of his orgasm. His cock popped from my mouth. It was shrunken and small. 1 swallowed all the remaining goo in my mouth, trembling with excitement as I felt it slide down into my belly. A single dribble of sperm oozed feebly from the deflated tip of Ralph's cock, and my lips sought it out'and drew it up into my mouth. I swallowed it, then tried to suck the tired cock again. Ralph pushed me away. "No more," he moaned. "Please, it hurts . . . It's too sensitive." I fell down against his heavy pillow-like belly and concentrated on the last trembles of my own orgasm. They lasted for almost five minutes. We stopped in a motel for the night a little later on, and I did it again for Ralph. It's not so bad, really.
 

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   Herb Button's office was just off Hollywood Boulevard, in a squat-looking skyscraper, very modern looking, that was composed of alternating layers of steel and glass. The glass was tinted a dull green, and the building reminded me of a large, plastic emerald. The cab pulled up in front of the building, and I paid the driver, tipping him moderately. Ralph had "loaned" me twenty dollars to get me started, and I promised to pay him back as soon as I got some money at my new job. Of course, there was some interest on the loan, a blow-job and a screw, and that was collected in advance and was coupled with the promise that I would not forget all his help once I "had it made," to use his words. I spent the money very carefully even though I was confident that I'd have no difficulty in getting by. I never realized how resourceful I really was before my solitary trek across the face of America. From New York to Washington, D.C. to California: cost, nothing; gain, twenty-dollars. The first thing I did with my money was get a place to live. I checked into a small dive of a hotel, The Westphail, that catered to transients. You pay for the room by the day or week. The room was small, but not clean, but I didn't mind too much; it 93 was only a beginning. Once there, I invested a few dollars more, purchased a cheap dress and a hairbrush. That left me with about three dollars, and my cab fare was two-fifty, tip included. So I had fifty cents left and a room that was paid for until eleven o'clock tomorrow morning. But I was confident. The dress was bright and colorful and it went really well with my sandals. I showered and scrubbed myself down, dried and brushed my hair, and checked myself out in the mirror. My breasts were heavy and full, and if you stared carefully enough, the dark triangle of my crotch could be seen through the thin fabric of the dress. Still, I suspected that that would not be a hindrance; especially if the job I was going for was anything as I had imagined it. There was a cigar store in the lobby of the green glass building, and I spent half my money on a candy bar. I realized I hadn't eaten all morning. While munching the candy, I wandered over to the building directory and looked for Button's name. I found it alphabetically, listed as: HERB SUTTON AGENCIES, ING. and it was located on the sixth floor, room 604. I felt just the faintest flutter of doubt as I stepped into the plastic elevator, but I fought it back. This is perhaps what I need, I told myself. Maybe what I've needed all along. A job of my own. Independence. A paycheck to spend as I see fit-on me alone. Not on the house, not for food, and not for bills. But for me. For things I want. For dresses, for clothing, for shoes, for makeup, and maybe even a beauty parlor once in a while. My own money, my own paycheck, and one day my own apartment. A chance to be
 

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   free. Maybe that's what I need. Perhaps that's what has been missing from my life. Music played down upon my head from somewhere above me, and I felt the slight tug of the elevator starting its upward journey. I began to think about what I had just told myself. I never really had very much freedom, I realized. I lived with my parents, went to a city college so I didn't have to travel, and met Peter there, in a Psych class. We got married when we graduated, lived in the Village for a year, then Peter got his promotion, and we bought a house on the Island. I worked that first year after graduation, as a secretary in New York City, but I had to quit when we moved to the Island. We couldn't afford to have us both commute, and besides, I had the house to take care of. And that was it. My whole life. All of it spent with in a radius of fifty miles or so. I lived in a house, went to school in a house, and got married and went to live in another house. Never on my own, never living alone, never doing anything with my life other than what was expected of me. Fulfilling my role as a woman in American society. From one closet to another. I tried-to think about being on my own, but it was so hard to visualize the concept; it was so alien to my previous way of life. My own paycheck; my own clothing-bought by myself; my own apartment -paid for by myself. It was an exciting idea. Freedom. Perhaps, perhaps . . , The elevator jerked to a soft stop, and I got off. Room 604 was off to the right, down a wide marble corridor. The entrance was a frosted double glass 95 door, with black stenciling on it. I read the name twice to make sure, then started to knock. I decided not to, and I opened the door and walked in. It was a small square room beyond, carpeted with a thick green rug that ran from wall to wall. The ceiling was low, with the lighting recessed behind large frosted glass squares. That gave the room a soft, hazy quality. The walls were painted a light green, and the painting and accessories around the room were also green. There were two large rubber plants pushed into the far corners, one on either side of the wall. The chairs and the sofa were brown leather, and the desk in the center of the room was dark walnut. The whole room was a play-off of green and brown, and with the soft hazy light, it somehow reminded me of a jungle or a forest. I wondered if the impression was an accident or the intention of the designer. The girl in the center of the room, sitting efficiently behind the large square desk was the only thing that was not green or brown. She was tall and cool and pink, with a long dangling shock of ash blonde hair. Her eyes were aqua blue, and she was wearing a powder blue sleeveless dress. She was strikingly beautiful, and she reminded me of my mental images of California. She smiled as I walked in, but waited patiently until I walked over to her desk. She asked: "Can I help you?" I smiled back, feeling very conspicuous under her gaze. My confidence oozed away like melting butter. I was sure she knew I was naked under my dress, and I tried to cover over my nipples. Had Ralph given me a false lead? I wondered, 96 looking around the room in that split second before I answered. It certainly didn't look like what I was expecting; it should have been sleazy, like my hotel room. Was I in the wrong place? Had I misunderstood Ralph? Td like to see Mr. Sutton . . . please," I said. She smiled at me with' dazzling white teeth that could not have been real. "I see. Do you have an appointment, Miss . . ." She ran a silver fingernail down the lines of the appointment book on the desk in front of her. "Bryant. Sally Bryant No I don't have an appointment." Her finger stopped moving, like the carriage of an electric typewriter, and she looked up from the book and smiled sympathetically. Her lips were perfectly shaped, and she wore a pale pink lipstick that was as thick and rich and creamy as a paste. I judged she was about twenty-three. "I'm terribly sorry, Miss Bryant," she began, "but Mr. Sutton is terribly busy today. Perhaps I can make an appointment for you for some time next week . . ." Panic stabbed into me. "No . . . qh!" I said, perhaps louder than I should have. "You don't understand. I have to see Mr. Sutton today. It's very important." She smiled sadly, sympathetically, pursing her lips. "Gee, I wish there was something I could do . . ." I tried to think. I had no money, no place to sleep, nothing to eat . . . nothing but the clothing I was wearing. "But-But Ralph said he called. He-he . . ."
 

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   A light went on in her blue eyes. "Ralph?" I grasped at it hopefully. "Yes. Ralph D'Angelo. Ralph D'Angelo. He's a friend of mine. He suggested that I come to speak to Mr. Sutton. For a job." Her perfect smile blossomed out, and this time I knew it was genuine. "Mr. D'Angelo. Why didn't you say so before. I'm terribly sorry, but I didn't realize." I sighed in relief. "That's all right." "I'll speak to Mr. Sutton immediately. Why don't you have a seat for a moment." I nodded, breathing again, and I walked over to the brown leather sofa and sat down. It was soft and firm and smelled of lemons. It made a soft crushing noise as I settled into it. The blonde rose from her desk and disappeared through a brown door in the middle of the far green wall, in between the two green rubber plants. The door was marked Private. I looked at her empty desk, and noticed there was a bronzed nameplate in the middle of it. Her name was Miss Mitchell, and I wondered whether it was her real name. It sounded too perfect. Too Hollywood. The door opened again, and Miss Mitchell stepped out. She left the door open just a crack. "You can go in now, Sally," she said, calling me by my first name for the first time. "Mr. Sutton is waiting for you." She smiled, dazzling rne with her teeth. "And good luck." I nodded my thanks, and pushed open the door marked Private. The room beyond was another green and brown square, almost identical to the one I'd left. The concept must have worked, for the decorator decided to carry on the motif. The same green rug 98 and walls, the same low hazy light, the same brown leather sofa in the far corner. Only the desk was different. It was larger and further back, and there was a man sitting behind it. Herb Sutton was-different from what I had been expecting. I'd imagined him to somehow look like Ralph, only much more refined and more businesslike. You know, over fifty, wide flowered tie, * mod suit, fat and balding and perhaps rimless tinted sunglasses. But I was pleasantly surprised. I guessed that he might have been forty, but he was probably less. His dress was comparable to what I had imagined, but it fit his slim tall frame the way a kid glove fits a hand. His suit was deep brown, obviously hand-tailored, with a tan shirt and a bright yellow striped tie. His hair was black and long, his eyes brown, and his handsome face was toasted from long hours under the California sun. His features were sharp and vivid as though his face had been chiseled from a piece of aged mahogany. He rose to greet me, extending his hand. "Come in, please, Miss Bryant. Have a seat." His voice was rich and cultured, deep-toned and sexy. He moved his body with all the lightness and grace of an athlete. I settled myself into the brown leather chair across from him, and he sat down. "How is Ralphi^' he asked, and I thought I caught the slightest hint of a double meaning. "I haven't seen him for ages." I nodded. "He's . . . fine. Fine." Herb Sutton smiled at me, to relax my tension. "I spoke to him on the telephone this morning, and he gave me a very thorough report of your . . . assets, shall we say. A very thorough and very good report." I felt myself blushing as I imagined what he must have said. "Oh." "You know, of course, Sally-You don't mind me calling you Sally, do you?" "No, no. Of course not, Mr. Button." He held up his hand. "Herb. Herb, please. All right, Sally?" I nodded. "Fine, Mr, Sut . . . Herb. Fine." He sat back in his chair, tilting back. "As you know, Sally, we run a very . . . unique service business here, and we sometimes have to be very careful about whom we hire. Not that it's illegal exactly, but . . . Well, you know how Victorian some legislators and law enforcement people can be. They don't seem to have any understanding of how life is changing around them. The whole sexual revolution, for example . . ." He went on like that, talking platitudes, never once mentioning what the job was, but hinting around enough to let me know that it wasn't another secretarial position. It seemed to me that he was trying to defend his way of life; as if he were trying to prove to me that he wasn't doing anything wrong or immoral. That seemed very important to him-• to make it and his motivations sound altruistic. Like a public service. I wondered why he needed to legitimatize himself that way? Why he couldn't even be honest with himself? "Well, what exactly is the job?" I asked impatiently. "Didn't Ralph tell you?" "Not in so many words. Not exactly." He was holding a pencil in his hands, twirling it 100 as he leaned back. He looked at me over the top of the pencil as if studying me. He flipped the pencil on his desk, then sat forward, leaning towards me conspiratorially. "Sally," he said, "you're a very attractive young woman. And as such, you can make an enormous amount of money if you are willing to … sleep with our clients for pay," Even in describing it, I thought, he had to clean it up, I don't have to fuck with them, only sleep with them. A very fine distinction. Expecting that land of an answer, that type of Job, I didn't hesitate in accepting. "All right. I'm willing." He studied me again. Tou understand, of course, what you are agreeing to?" I said I did. "And you'll have no compunctions, no second thoughts?" "No, I don't think I will." He nodded gravely several times. "All right, you're hired." He leaned across his huge desk and depressed the button on his intercom. "Miss Mitchell, would you come in here, please." I sat back in my chair, and realized my knees were shaking. My breasts were hard, and I could feel my cuntlips sticking together. "You understand, of course," he said, playing with the pencil on his desk, "that we do have to … test*yon first. You know, to make sure that you are capable of … performing to our standards." He made it sound as if I had to take a typing test, but I was half expecting some kind of trial 101 examination. I didn't think they would buy sex without first . . . trying the product, to use Herb's terms. I accepted this condition also. "I guess that's only fair. When is this test going to take place?" "Right now," he said, rolling the pencil. "Right now, Sally." My cunt throbbed, and I began to imagine what Herb looked like naked. I wondered how long and fat his cock was. "Are you going to test me . . . personally?" I asked, trying to be sexy. Herb dropped the pencil. "Certainly not," he said. "That is not one of my functions." He seemed insulted. The door opened, and Miss Mitchell, the ash blonde beauty from the outer room, walked in. She closed the door behind her, then locked it She said: "I locked the front door too." Herb nodded. "Very good, Patti." Then, turning to me, he said: "Sally, why don't you take your clothing off. I want you to make love to Patti." I felt my stomach rise up, then sink very heavily. I felt numb. "Wh-what?" I asked. Herb gave me a very cold long stare. "Do you object, Miss Bryant?" In my whole life, I have never made love with another woman. I have never so much as kissed another woman with any degree of passion, much less sexual intent. To be honest, however, I have thought about it, and found myself tamed on to the idea because of its perversity, but never, never would I ever have dreamed of doing more than thinking about it. Up to this moment, that is. In the split-second I had for reflection, I had to 102 make my decision. I was apprehensive to be sure, but I was also excited and fascinated by the prospect of making love to a woman. To touch a breast, a cunt that was not rny own … I found myself quaking in anticipation. My mouth tasted hot and sweaty. The nipples on my breasts pushed out the front of my dress like twin marbles. I rubbed my hand against my thigh. My palm was suddenly sweating. "No," I said finally, "of course I don't mind. I was just . . . surprised. I thought I-" Herb finished for me. "Thought you were going to make love to me?" He laughed softly. "No, no, Sally. Women just aren't my . . . thing." What a waste, I thought. What an incredible waste. "Now if we can begin?" he asked. He settled back in his chair, pushing 'it back, away from the desk. I rose up slowly, still uasure. My knees were trembling. I turned towards Patti, and I got my second shock of the morning. She was sitting on the edge of the brown leather sofa. Her pale blue dress was gone, and she was sliding her jpanties down her long, slender legs. Then, a moment later, she stood, completely naked. My breath sucked in loudly, but I didn't care. Patti was unbelievably beautiful. Her body was tall and slender, her breasts full and hard, touched off with broad pink nipples. Her waist pinched in and her stomach was flat. She had long, long legs, round and soft, like columns of ivory. Her flesh was a creamy color, smooth and supple and velvety. The mound of her crotch was like the smallest wisp of a V, and it was covered with pale blonde, almost white down-like hairs. I saw suddenly that ash blonde
 

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   was not her natural color, but it didn't matter. I was transfixed by her stark beautjc. "Aren't you going to undress, Sally?" Herb asked. Reluctantly I pried my eyes from Patti's nakedness. "What? Oh yes. Yes, of course. Right . . . now." I noticed my hands were trembling as I parted my dress. I could feel their eyes racing across my nakedness as the silky material whispered to the green rug, but I didn't care. I was excited, sexually excited by the knowledge of what I was going to do. Before I left thisjroom, I will have made love to a woman … I will have made love to Patti! "Look at that," Herb whispered. "Look at that! Looks like Sally came prepared. Nothing on but the dress." Patti ran her hand over her breasts, cupping one. She lifted it and pulled it up towards her mouth. She bent her head down, and I watched her tongue flick across the stiffening tip of her nipple. "Ohhh," she moaned. "That feels good. Why don't you come and do it for me, Sally? Please. Come and suck my titties, Sally." As if I were in a dream, I found myself moving towards her. The bristling softness of the rug brushed against the bottom of my naked feet. My thighs quivered with bubbling passion. Patti settled on the sofa, opening her legs and sitting back against the cushions. She parted her thighs wide, and I could see the lips of her cunt pulling slowly apart, as if they were sticky with excitement. She cupped her tit again, the one with the wet nipple, and she offered it to me. "Come and make love to me, Sally," she said. With 104 her other hand she patted the side of the sofa next to her. "Come and make love to me." The cool firm leather of the sofa felt like ice against my burning flesh as I slid onto the cushion, next to Patti. She greeted me with her arms open, as a male lover might, and I slid under her arms and pressed my nakedness against hers. Her mouth was open and waiting, and I kissed her. "Good . . . goodl" Herb whispered. Then he grunted. "Good!" Patti's mouth was soft and wet, and she kissed me with a gentleness that took my breath away. She moved her tongue like a snake, prying, open my lips, and she sunk it deeply into my mouth. I sucked on it hard, as I might such on a cock, draining it of the sweet, heady taste of her femininity. I heard a rustling of clothing off in the distance, from the desk. Then a moaning sound. "Yeah . . . yeahr Unlike my tits, hers were small and firm. My own larger, swollen orbs brushed against hers, the nipples tingling, and I cried out as the electricity of the contact surged into my body. Patti's hand came down and squeezed into my tit, and in return, I grabbed one of hers. -"You're big," she moaned, pulling her mouth from my lips. "I like a woman with big titties." She moaned, and squirmed against the sofa. "Oh, squeeze them! Squeeze them, Sally!" Her hand was driving me insane with pleasure. The softness of her hand, the smallness of her size, tile tender pressure of her grip was so unlike anything I've ever felt in my life. I pressed my breast firmly into her hand and kissed her hard again on 105 the mouth. My fingers tightened into her small hard tit, and I flicked her nipple. "Uh . . . uh!" Herb grunted. "I7W With the pressure of her arm behind my neck, Patti broke off the kiss by bringing my head down, pressing it against her nakedness. "Suck them, Sally!" she cried, straining up towards me. "Suck them . . . my tits!" My lips were trembling and my mouth was dry as I slid them across the gentle curves of her neck and shoulder. Her flesh tasted warm and delicate, soft, and it was strange not to feel the tickle of hair against my nose. I slid my tongue from between my lips when I reached the base of her tit. Patti shuddered and gripped my hair as I began to slide up the breast, searching for her nipple. "Suck . . . them," Herb echoed weakly. "Suck . . . them!" Patti's nipple slid softly into my mouth, and I pursed my lips around it. My head was spinning wildly, and my eyes had difficulty focusing. I couldn't believe what I had in my mouth, between my lips . . . Patti's nipple! "Suck it, Sally," she urged, squeezing my breast with tightening fingers. "Please . . . Please." The nipple felt odd in my mouth, unlike anything I've ever felt before. It was hard, yet firm, soft and tender, but pulsing. I licked my, tongue over it, starting at the base, then up and" over, until I was licking the other side. Then back again, over the throbbing nub of flesh. I stiffened my tongue, and began to beat it against the nipple, in short, rapid strokes.
 

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   "Oh … God!" Patti moaned. "God, Sally . . . God!" My cunt was oozing all over the cold leather seat of the sofa, and I ground my thighs together, bringing pressure against the clitoris. I rubbed up and down, moaning from the pleasure I was bringing to myself. "Beautiful . . ." Herb moaned. "Beautiful]" I tightened my lips around the tip of the nipple, and I dabbed down with my tongue. I tried to push the nipple back into the soft hill of pink flesh, bury it inside of her tit with the shoving wedge of my tongue. It slipped up and oozed into my mouth, hot and throbbing. "Ohhh," she moaned. "My cunt, Sally. Please . . . do my cunt. Touch it!" I got up on one knee, leaning over her, with my mouth fastened to the end of her tit, and I slid my hand down over Patti's flat belly. She hunched up, lifting her hips, and she pressed her cunt into my hand. "Oh . . . God!" she moaned, spreading her thighs. "God!" "Uuhhhr Herb cried. "Uh . . . uW Patti's cunt was incredibly wet, sopping wet. My hand slid across the soft silk of her pubis, over the curve of the mound, then down and under, between her thighs. I pressed into her damp soft flesh, spreading the oozing lips until my fingers were digging into her body. The burning ember of her clit jumped to immediate life unde amp; my hand as I opened the flap of her lips, and I pressed down onto it with my fingertips.
 

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   "Oh . . . yesr she cried. She hunched up against my hand, driving her body against my palm. "Oh . . . yes!" I began to roll the slippery bud, my fingers slipping in the wetness of her slit, and Patti began to writhe excitedly. She dropped her hand from my soft, large tit, and she buried it in the "sopping wetness of my cuntal folds. She touched my clit as I was touching hers, and we began to masturbate each other, each working and responding in a sympathetic tempo of mutual pleasure. I heard something moving off in the distance, across the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Herb standing. His pants were gone, and he was naked from the waist down. He still had his jacket and shirt on, and the long tails of material hung obscenely down his body. His cock was long and thick and erect, and he was jerking himself off savagely. He began to move towards us, stroking himself as he walked. "Uh . . . uhl" he grunted. "Beautiful . . . Toeauiv-ful!" My fingers slid from the high curve of Patti's cunt, down the slick path between her lips, and I stabbed the fingers into her cunt. She jumped with pleasure, as if I had impaled her with a dildo. The inside of her cunt was flaming hot, oozing her wet excited juices all over my hand. She responded with a similar reaction, driving two of her slender fingers deep into the tight lining of my box. I pressed back against her hand, squeezing my cuntal muscles around the invading hardness. Patti drove the fingers in and out, fucking me with her hand.
 

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   "Oh . . my . . . God!" I groaned, spinning with passion. Sweat oozed from every pore of my naked body, drenching me until I was slippery with excitement. Every fiber of my being was quivering with pleasure, and I twisted around against Patti, hunching my gripping cunt against her hand. Inches away from us, I could see Herb. His cock was a blur of color inside of the pumping hollow of his fist. His balls danced up and down as if they were on a string between his muscular, hairy thighs. "Sixty-nine!" he grunted. I could hear the slap of his hand against his straining belly, the slide of his cock through his fist. "Patti . . . Sally . . . Sixty-nine!" Like two halves of- a circle, we screwed around, twisting our sweaty, naked bodies against each other. I wound up on the bottom, my perspiring back sticking to the adhesive tightness of the leather sofa. Patti was above me, with her thighs parted, and her cunt coming down into my mouth. I reached up for the twin moons of hei1 ass, and I pulled her to me, my mouth open. "Eat me!" Patti moaned. I could feel her mouth against my cunt, her tongue between the lips. "Eat me, Sally. Eat mel Eat my cunt!" And then, for the first time in my life, I tasted a cunt. "Oh Jesus!" I cried, hearing "my exclamation 'reverberate in the sweaty hollow between Patti's thighs. "Ohhhhhr I could feel the tight folds of Patti's cunt opening around the point of my tongue. I could feel the wetness of her oozing cunt spreading across my face like a sexual mist. I could taste the heat of her body, the sweat of her body, the thick rolling juices of her 109 creaming pussy as I drove my tongue deep inside of her. The raunchy, sexual fish-like smell of her cunt filled my nostrils, making me dizzy with the sweetness of the aroma. "SoonI" Herb groaned. I could hear his body straining, bending, arching out, pointing his loaded cock towards us as he pulled himself closer and closer to "orgasm. "God . . . Jesus . . . I'm gonna come!" My hands tightened around the muscles of Patti's ass. I dug my fingers into her and pulled her cunt directly against my face. My nose slipped between the inner lips of her cunt, and I drilled my tongue up the tight, slippery passageway inside of her. I could feel the throbbing hardness of her exposed clit as it rubbed against my bobbing chin. Patti began to groan, rolling her head from side to side, stabbing me with her tongue and grinding her cunt hard against my mouth. Then her body tensed, and she dropped her weight against my face. She began to quiver, and I knew she was coming. She transferred her excitement to me, like an electrical circuit: from her bunt, up her body, out her mouth, through her tongue, and into my clit. She flicked the love button rapidly, cruelly, expertly, with swift rapier-like darts and stabs and licks and slaps. Her tongue trembled with the emotion of her orgasm, and she laid it against the sensitive arousal of my clit, sending those vibrations up inside of me until my cunt felt like a raw, exposed nerve. Sensations that I never knew could possibly exist rolled up from my cunt like waves engulfing my body in a searing tide of orgasm. My body began to 110 quake and I felt myself slipping down, under, drowning in the sensation of coming. "I'm . . . coming!" Herb screamed. "I'm comingr I felt his sperm splash on my body, like boiling oil splattering from a frying pan. My body blistered in pleasure as the thick, oozing slime gushed across my writhing nakedness. Spreading, oozing, coating me with the thick milky white heat of his orgasm. Patti moaned, going higher and higher. My orgasm reached out for hers, locked together, and went soaring out of existence in a painfully blinding white flash. Is this it? I wondered. A woman? Is this it?
 

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   The Geisha was a very special kind of massage^ parlor. The cheap, sleazy atmosphere of the earlier parlors was completely gone. In its place was an almost opulent material splendor. Literally thousands of dollars was spent on the decor. Every floor, even its many bathrooms, was carpeted with a thick, wall to wall rug of vivid, electric blue. The walls and the ceilings had a clean, wholesome look, and were painted a stark, brilliantly airy white. Throughout the house, the fixtures were all either crystal or silver or gold. Even the furniture was totally new: the most modem, most expensive that money could buy. The Gesha was a pleasure palace that ensnared your sensuality before it attacked your sexuality. Perhaps the most innovative aspect of the Geisha was its location: it was no storefront on some wide city street. The Geisha was an entire house, located far from the city, out in the middle of two acres of beautiful green rolling hills, at the foot of a mountain. You just didn't drop in at the Geisha. You came by appointment. We catered to a very special class of clientele: businessmen, executives, film people, politicans, and millionaires. People who were used to the best of everything, and were willing 'to pay to receive that special kind of attention. While waiting, they could
 

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   sit around and relax in a kind of atmosphere they were used to. They could have a drink, even a meal if they wanted. There was a swimming pool, showers, and a tennis court. I think they could have even probably gotten a massage if they wanted. But mostly there was sex. Sex of aH kinds, very expensive, and on a very elegant, sophisticated level. I was driven out to the Geisha by Mr. Sutton, personally. I was given a room where I slept, and my own private room where I worked. The first week I was there, I did nothing but go to classes. Classes on how to talk, how to act, and how to treat our very special guests. The following week, I began my new job. I was very popular that first week. Since I had no appointments because I was new, I was introduced to all our guests as the Geishds latest hostess, to keep me in mind for future appointments. Naturally, when all those horny men saw a new cunt, they all wanted to dip their cock into me, "testing the water," as , one aptly put it. I made over seven hundred dollars in my first week. The second week was slow since the novelty of my newness had worn off. I made less than two hundred dollars. I should explain that I received no salary from the Geisha for working there outside of my room to sleep in, and food to eat. My whole salary consisted of tips from the guests. They were called "tips," but actually there was a carefully worked out schedule of payment for every type of sexual act, and the girls were paid accordingly, depending on what their guest wanted them to do. A straight fuck was so much, a blow-job was a little more, the attention of two girls was even more, and so on. 114 I kept all my "tips," and the guests at the Geisha ·aid an annual attendance fee for tne right to be a member of this very exclusive club. In the boredom of the second week, I had plenty of time to wonder about what happened to me that morning with Patti. The perspective of the two weeks suggested that the expansive feeling of ecstasy I had experienced might have only been a result of the newness of the act: you know, my first Lesbian encounter. So I tried an experiment. I got friendly with another girl, Glori, who was a self-avowed Lesbian, working here only for the money. We went to my room one quiet afternoon, and we made love, slowly, tenderly, and with a great deal of experimentation. We did everything two women could do together sexually, even fuck each other with a dildo. I came that afternoon, perhaps a dozen times, but the magic of that first unique time with Patti simply was not there. It was good, and I really turned on to lesbian lovemaking, but it was not what I needed. It was not what I'd been looking for. But I enjoyed my job, despite this single drawback. I enjoyed the sexual outlet it provided me, naturally, and I enjoyed the freedom it allowed me. I had one day off a week, to go and come as I pleased, no questions asked. I was never asked how much I made, and no one ever told me how to work or how to take care of my business. Sure I did live there, but I was really on my own for the first time in my life. I looked at my sleeping quarters as no more than a hotel I, might have been living at. I was on my own, with no ties to the past and no obligations to the future. I was a free woman.
 

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   It was nearly two o'clock, time for my first appointment of the day. Benson Kores was his name, a man I'd never met. My name was suggested to him from a friend of his, a satisfied customer from my first prolific week. I asked around about him to some of the girls, and I found out that he was a very famous motion picture producer, although I'd never heard of him. I hurried to my room to prepare for the appointment. Like all the other work rooms in the Gesha, mine was identical. A perfectly square room, painted sfe rk white, with high ceilings, also painted white. The floor was covered with the same electric blue rug that stretched from one end of the house to the other. There was a black, leather-topped massage table in the center of the room, and off to one corner there was a bed. Two or three mirrors decorated the antiseptic whiteness of the walls. I closed the door behind me, and checked myself in the mirror. I took off my kimono, the standard garment all girls wore at the Geisha, and I sprayed myself strategically with an expensive perfume. Then I put on a clean kimono, and brushed my hair in place. A moment later there was a knock on my door. That was one of the better, more sophisticated aspects of the Geisha. Unlike a whorehouse, we were not permitted to hang around so that the client could make his selection. The appointment was set, the guest arrived, the girl remained in her room, and then the guest was escorted to her room. Very elegant, very classy. I parted the door and peeked out. He was standing there.
 

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   I said: "Good morning, Mr. Kores. Won't you come in, please?" He was an older man than Yd expected. Tall and gaunt-looking, thin-faced, thin-lipped, with dark hollows for eyes. His hair was a colorless shade, and lay like dead string on top his skull-like head. He was dressed in dark, somber clothing, like an em-balmer, or a mortician. He smiled brittily, as if he was afraid his lips would crack. I guessed he was forty-five to fifty, but it was difficult to really say for sure. He might have been one hundred for all I knew. "How do you do," he said, formally, with the faint^ est touch of a British accent shadowing the quality of his speech. "Please call me Benson, Miss-" "Bryant," I said, cutting in. Tm sorry. Sally Bryant." I closed the door behind him and locked it. He stood stiffly in the center of the room, not turning, not looking around, not moving. I walked around in front of him. He stared hard and long at my face, cocking his head to side slightly, as if he were listening to something. "New York!" he said suddenly. "Right?" I didn't understand. "I-I . . ." "You come from New York City, right?" Now it was my turn to stare. "Do I know you?" I asked apprehensively. He laughed, a loud explosive cackle. "New York City, am I right?" "Yes, but- He laughed again. "Hah! I knew it. I never fail." "But how? I don't understand . . ." 117 "Your voice, pussycat," he said. The way you speak. I have a very acute ear." I sighed in relief. "You had me frightened there for a moment, Mr. Kores." He held up his hand. "Benson! Benson, pussycat. Don't forget again." I nodded and said I wouldn't. "What part of New York City?" he wanted to know. I told him, and a momentary frown of disappointment registered on his frozen face when I told him that I lived on Long Island. But then it went away when I assured him that I had lived in the City all my life before I got married. "Did you work in the New York place?" he asked. Again I didn't understand what he was talking about. "What other . . . place?" The other Geisha," he said. The New York Geisha. They have another,one identical to this in New York City. In the Seventies somewhere. In a brownstone. Did you work there before you came out here?" "No, I didn't. I didn't even know they had one in New York. This is my first . . . job of this kind." Something glinted in his eye. "Is it now, pussycat? How do you like it?" I shrugged. "It's . . . good, I guess. The money and aH." "What about the sex?" he asked. "Do you like to get fucked, Sally? Do you enjoy having many cocks shoved into your hot little pussy?" I blushed. "That, too, I guess …" I answered, flustered. "It's all right." He clapped his hands together gleefully. "Why 118 you're blushingr he said, real emotion in his voice for the first time. "How positively unique. You really are new in this business, aren't you?" I nodded, gulping back the blush, blushing deeper because he had caught me at it. "I guess so." He settled against the massage table, crossing his legs and leaning back. I stood in the middle of the floor, feeling very uncomfortable and very naked. "Does that bother you?" he asked. "I mean my using terms like fuck and cock and cunt?" "No, I don't think so. It's just that I wasn't . » . prepared for it, that's all." "But you're still blushing, pussycat. Imagine that: a prudish hooker. A sensitive whore." He laughed deeply and gleefully, and I found it obscene. "I think we might as well get down to work," I said, turning from him, from my own embarrassment "It's getting late . . ." "This is work, pussy cat," he said, turning me around. "This is what I want. Talk dirty to me, Sally." I looked at him. "What?" "You heard me: talk dirty to me. Say obscene things. Say things like: 'I love to suck big black cocks' and 'suck my hairy cunt' You know-talk dirty." His hand was still on my shoulder, and I pulled slightly back, away from it. It slipped off, and slid down the front of my body, across my breasts. I shuddered from the contact. "You're not joking, are you?" I asked. "You really want me to do this." "You can bet your goddam cunt I do, pussycat," his voice'had somehow gotten harder, almost distant
 

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   "Now talk dirty to me, Sally. I'm going to jerk myself off, and you are going to make me come from just talking. I may even come all over you." He laughed, obviously pleased with the idea. "Now start talking," Something cold touched me. I grasped desperately for an idea. I didn't mind fucking or making love, but this . . . this was perverted. Obscene. "But the money," I objected. "The schedule. This isn't listed. I wouldn't know what to charge you." He reached his hand into his side pocket and pulled out a thick roll of bills. He peeled two bills off and threw them at me. He said: "Is one hundred dollars enough?" The money fluttered down my body, like leaves dying in autumn. I didn't stoop to pick them up. I left them there, on the floor. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his erect cock. "Now start talking," he said, pulling his fist up and down the length of the slender shaft The joke had gone out of his voice. "And take your kimono off. I want you to be naked." I stared at him, trying to judge his reaction if I refused. I didn't think it would be pleasant. At the very least I would probably be fired. And then what? Where would I go? I wasn't ready to make so radical a move so soon. I had gotten used to security again, and I was more than just a little intimidated. "AH right," I said. I began to unbutton the kimono. If you want . . . sure. Sure I'll talk." I slipped out of the silky dress and stood naked in front of him. I touched my breasts and caressed my cunt, watching the reaction in his eyes. "Ooohhh! That feels nice," I moaned. Tm hot … my pussy, my cunt is very hot. Wet. Juicy." 120 "More!" he said, strolcing himself, watching me. "More. And obscene . . . vile . . . dirty!" "You have a wonderful cock," I said. I began to masturbate myself, pressing my hand against the broad hairy mound of my cunt, I pushed my legs apart and stood flat-footed. "A wonderful cock. Would you like me to touch it? Would you like me to … suck it?" I reach for him. "Nor He slapped my hand away. "Just talk. Don't touch me. Just talk to me." Despite my initial lack of enthusiasm, my cunt began to respond to the manipulations of my hand. My clitoris stiffened to rigid attention, pushing open the lips with its hardness, and something wet was sliding down the clinging canal of my vagina, lubricating the labia. I worked my fingers around slowly, systematically, and pleasure began to s rise up my body, making my breasts hard. "It's starting to feel . . . good," I said, being honest for the first time. "Pleasurable, I mean. The first real sexual sensations." Benson's hand worked slowly up and down. Somehow his being fully clothed, with his cock just poking from his open zipper, made the act seem so much more erotic. If was as if we were doing something dirty: like two children playing doctor, "Good," he said. A film of sweat broke out on his forehead. I think he sensed the subtle change in my composure. "Very ; . . good." "I can feel the pleasure in my cunt . . . It's warm, pleasant. And my tits are hard. The nipples feel like they're , . . tingling." "More . . . grosser. Dirtier!" "My cunt is very wet now. I can feel myself 121 opening. The pleasure is building." My arm was beginning to ache, and my back was straining from standing. I said: "I feel like I would like to fuck now. I wish you were fucking me right this moment." "Uh," he said. He licked his top lip with his tongue. His hand jerked steadily up and down. "Do you like to fuck, Sally? Answer me honestly now." The lips were wide open, flapping loosely, and my cunt glistened with moisture. My fingers kept slipping off the nub of my clit as my fingers made a sticky, wet sound. "Yes … I do. I like to fuck very much. I like to fuck with many . . . many men. I enjoy the feel of different sized cocks in my . . . pussy." He swallowed heavily, and the tempo of his hand picked up slightly. "Do you like to suck cocks? Drink sperm?" The pleasure grew more intense, and I groaned. "Yes, yes … I do. Sperm tastes hot in your mouth, did you know that? They say it doesn't have any taste, but that's not so. It tastes . . . hot. Salty. It's like when you lick a sweaty body . . . that kind of a taste." My thighs began to quiver, and sweat began to collect between my breasts. My back and arm ached from the strain, but the intensity of the pleasure kept me from stopping, or even slowing my pace. I was no longer an unwilling pawn, I realized. I was participating. And what's more, I was enjoying it. "Do you know what I discovered the .first time a man shot his come in my mouth?" I asked, remembering Ralph. Benson grunted. He smiled. He stroked himself. "No … what?"
 

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   "I found that all .those fuck books tell lies . . . sperm doesn't gush or shoot from the tip of a man's cock. It sort of … /oozes out . . . slow and steady." He was stroking^imself deeply now, from the base of his cock down to the tip, then back .again. He was leaning heavily against the massage table, with his legs straight out in front of him, stiff and straining. "I didn't . . . know that," he said, grunting with pleasure. "That's good . . . very good." I could feel the thick pasty discharge of my excitement running down my inner thighs. My hips were bent out, tipped towards him, almost parallel to his cock. It was as though we were fucking, three feet apart, without ever once having touched each other. "I am a very horny woman," I confessed. "Although most of the time while I was married I was faithful to my husband. But I've always been fend of … preoccupied with sex, and I used to do … strange things." His cock was almost stark white, colorless, and it bobbled stiffly as he jerked it off. "Like what, for example." "I used to masturbate a great deal," I confessed. "I guess a lot of women do … home alone all day in a big empty house . . . waiting for your husband to come home. You know there is only so much house work you can do …" "Tell me about that," he grunted. "Tell me about the times you . . . jerked yourself off." Sweat was dripping into my mouth, and I licked it away with my tongue. "Most of the times I did it the regular , . . normal way. You know … on the bed, or in the bathroom, with iny feet up on the
 

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   edge of the tub . . . But sometimes . . . sometimes I did it differently." "How?" he asked tensely. "How?" "I used to practice . . . shooing things into my cunt. You know like pencils or hairbrush handles . . . Then I began to use larger things . . . like carrots or bananas … I tried a cucumber once, but it was too wide . . ." He was grunting as if he were straining. "Good . . . goodl I can . . . see it. In my mind . . ." "Once I shoved a bottle of warm soda up my cunt … I shook the bottle first . . . then squatted down on it … sinking it into my pussy. The gas in the soda bubbled over , . . violently, furiously . . . and gushed out into my cunt. It was like a thousand cocks all coming at the same time . . , It was . . . wild. I could feel the bubbles . . . the foam . . . inside of me. I came from just doing that." Benson's hand was moving rapidly now. He wiped the sweat off of his face with his free hand. "Good . . . more! More!" My back was breaking, and my forearm felt like it was going to cramp. But there was a fire in my cunt, a very real, very hot fire. I didn't want to stop. I strained my brain to remember all the vile, all the obscene sexual things I've ever done in my Me. I dredged them up, welled them up from the forgotten corners of my memory, and exposed them, vomited them out all over my perverse, straining nakedness. "Once," I said, between groans of pleasure, "once I was very hot . . . very horny, and I didn't know
 

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   what to do. I wanted to do something special . . . something dirty." "What?" he groaned, wringing his cock with his hand. "What did you do?" "I took all my clothing off," I said, remembering, feeling the shame flush my face, burning like my roaring passion until I couldn't tell one from the other. "I lay down on my bed . . . picked up the telephone . . . and made an obscene telephone call to a man." "Oh Godl" Benson moaned. Sweat had soaked through his dark shirt. "Tell me about it, Sally. Tett me about it!" "I kept on dialing until I got a man . . . and then I began to talk dirty to him. I told him what I was doing. I told him I wanted to fuck him. I made him tell me how big . . . how long his cock was. . . . And all the while I was talking, I was masturbating myself." "What . . . then? What happened then?" "I made a date with him to meet him … so he could fuck me. I could hear him getting very excited. I began to fantasize about him in my mind. And then I began to come." "Yes . . . yes . . . yes?" His voice kept on getting higher and higher and higer, "And then . . . then the worst part." I moaned in shame, in passion. "Oh, I can't tell you, it's too . . . too-" "Tell me, Sally. Please . . . tell mer "And then. . . when I was coming . . . when I was coming, I took the phone . . . the receiver . . . and pushed it up against my cunt . . . / came all over it . . . while he was listening . . . My cunt 125 . . . my coming cunt, all over the telephone receiver . . . trying to push it up inside of me!" "My . . . God!" I saw Benson's body tremble. His pumping hand was a blur. "Did you keep your date with him? The man on the phone? Did you fuck with him, Sally?" I was using the heel of my hand now, pressing it hard against my cunt because my fingers kept slipping off. I dug in hard, pressing down with my wrist, grinding the wet folds of my cunt against the blunt hardness. There was a knot of excitement in the pit of my stomach, and I began to concentrate on it, surprised that I was so close to orgasm. "No . . . no," I said, shaking my head. "I went there … to the place where I was supposed to meet him. I saw him even. He was young . . . very good-looking. I saw that he had a hardon through his pants. But I chickened out … I got cold feet. I went home and masturbated again. I had an unbelievable orgasm. Fantastic one." He moaned in disappointment. "You should have, Sally," he groaned, shaking his head. "You should have fucked him!" I swayed from side to side, my knees weak, my thighs like quivering jello. "I wanted to … but . . . but-" "More, Sally, more!" he cried. He was getting close himself, I could tell. "Tell me more . . . dirtier things." Pleasure began to course up and down my body, from my feet rooted like trees in the blue rug, up through my straining, sweating body, and exploding into my head. My body began to prepare for an orgasm.
 

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   1 used to do crazy things sometimes . . . Like go shopping in a skirt and not wear panties . . . Purposely not wear them because I found it exciting , . . sexually exciting. I used to fantasize that someone . . . some man might accidentally see up my skirt . . . see my naked cunt." "I can see your naked cunt, Sally!" Benson cried, staring at it, jerking off violently. "I can see your cunt, Sally!" I began to groan, closing my eyes because the pleasure inside of me was too sharp, too glaring, too bright. I closed my mouth, I shut my eyes, I held my breath, I tensed my muscles: it was as if I were trying to contain the pleasure, prevent it from escaping, giving it a chance to build up high enough, vol-atilely enough, like the bottle of soda I once shoved into my pussy, so that it would gush up inside of me and bring on my orgasm. A memory, a long forgotten, long forbidden memory came suddenly back to me. It startled me with its vividness, with its perversity. My cunt began to quiver excitedly. It was something I've never told anyone in my life. Not anyone. Not even Peter. "Once," I said, straining my hand against my cunt, "once I did something on the subway . , , in New York City." Benson moaned: "Soon, soon!" "You know how crowded it is on the subways . . . how some men like to take advantage of the crowds … by brushing up against women … by grabbing their cunts or ass or tits . . ." "Yes . . . yesl" he moaned. "Yes!" "Once . . . when I was young . . . about nineteen … I used to get excited when that happened
 

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   to me . . . sexually excited. Aroused very . . . very much." "Soon, soon!" he grunted, pulling his rigid cock violently. "Soon/" I fought against my own pleasure, tried to delay it, hold it back until the last possible moment. I fought to control myself, to think straight, to say the words correctly. My whole body was quaking with excitement. "I used to get so excited that I would purposely wait for the most crowded train . . . push my way in … and wait until someone began to feel me up!" Sweat poured down his face. His eyes were closed and he was straining desperately. "Mo . . . uhl . . . rel More, Sally. More/" "I-I once let a man put his hand on my cunt . . . under my skirt . . . inside of my pantiesr "Oh . . . God . . . I'm . . . going … to … come!" "He did that to me . . . put his finger inside of me … in my cunt … fingering me on the crowded subway . . . and I-I . . ." "What, Sally .. . Whatr "I touched himT I began to moan. I could taste the pleasure in my mouth. "I put my hand . . . .down his pants! I touched his cock . . ." "Now . . . nowr My hand was a swirling blur against my cunt. "… and while he fingered me . . . my cunt … I jerked him off!" "I'm coming, Sally," he cried. "Tm coming/" The sperm began to gush from the tip of Benson's cock, spitting across the room at me. Thick, swirling white blobs. Hot. Hot. Hot!
 

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   "We earner I moaned. My orgasm was screaming in my ears. "We came , . . on the crowded subway . . . his finger in my cunt . . . my hand on his cock . . . jerking him off. Sperm . . . sperm all over my hand … all over his pants . . . Hot … So wet! The first time I've ever felt itl . . . Oh my God, I'm coming!" I pushed down with my cunt, straining against the orgasm as if it were an abrasive friction rubbing up between my parted thighs. A quivering blob of sperm splashed against my thigh, landed on my belly, burned into the hair on my crotch. "I can feel it," I groaned, standing, coming like crazy. "I can feel your sperm, Benson. I can feel your sperm on my bodyr My back was screaming, pain fused with pleasure. My arm began to cramp, and my knees began to crumble. Pleasure soared up and down inside of me, like some crazy sexual elevator, going up and down, up and down, up and down until it blew the top of my head right off. I stumbled and fell, first to one knee, then all the way down until I was lying flat on the rug. My fingers twirled the bud of my clit, splashing through the sperm that dripped from my cunt. I lay there for a very long time on the electric blue rug. I had two fingers buried deep inside of my cunt. Standing over me, milking his cock, was Benson Kores, still fully dressed. And every once in a while, another spurt of sperm would drip from his cock, and land hotly on my naked back.
 

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   I lasted at the Geisha for about a month after my session with Benson Kores. The experience was a good one, and I made a great deal of money, most of which I did manage to save, but in the end, the Geisha was just another house, another trap that I had led myself into. It was no different, really, than all the other houses I've spent my life in, from my parents home, to school, to the house I lived in with my husband, Peter. Another trap, another snare, another false illusion of promise, of -freedom, that was as false and as deceiving as all the rest of the world. There was no more happiness there, no more freedom there, than there was in anything else I've looked very carefully at. It was a big, phony lie-with golden doorknobs, silver trimmings, electric blue rugs and crystal chandeliers. But no real, lasting happiness: only the illusion of freedom. Oh, sure, I did have some freedom: certainly more than I ever had as a housewife back in my suburban Long Island home. I could come and go pretty much as I pleased, buy what I wanted with my own money, work in a job that I picked, and I decided how I would perform that job, but the freedom, the real freedom just wasn't there. I did, after all, work for someone. I did work for the Geisha, for Herb Button. I still wasn't, my own boss.
 

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   So I moved on. I had a substantial amount of money saved, enough to get me started, enough to get me an expensive apartment and a complete new wardrobe of fashionable clothing, but mostly, I had a chance to begin again my search. It was out there -somewhere-I knew. All I had to do was Sad it. Find it! Logically, the next step after the Geisha would have to be something that provided me the kind of money I was used to, the taste of freedom that I had savored, and the important need to do for myself. To be my own boss. In a sense, the final step of my liberation. I became a prostitute. And that to me was freedom. A real, working freedom. I made all my own decisions. I answered to no one, was responsible to no one but myself. If I did not want to work-I did not work. 1 set my own prices, 7 chose with whom I spent my time and how I spent it. If I did not like a man's looks, I said no to him. For the first time in twenty-eight years. I stood up to the world. Sally Bryant did it her own way. And I was successful. My experiences at the Geisha, coupled with my own good looks, made it easy for me to score. Men liked me because I knew how to treat them. I knew how to make them feel masculine without ever once sacrificing my own independence, my own basic feminity. I knew what to say, how to say it, what to do and how to do it. I capitalized on what I had learned, and in my first few weeks at being a prostitute, I made more money than I've ever made in my life. In the beginning, I tried walking the streets, but 132 I didn't fare too well at that. Mostly it was tiring: hard on your feet. And you met a lower class of John that way. So after the first week or so, I took to working in cocktail lounges. I could sit there all night, drink my drinks leisurely, and make my selection with the same kind of simple ease. If the barman hassled me, I simply went to another bar. Believe me, there were more than enough places in L.A. for me to sample before I risked the chance of returning to one I'd already worked in. And, if I chose to work during the daytime hours, I'd discovered that hotels and business areas are a good place to meet horny men with money. Men on vacation or on business trips who were looking for a little illicit fun, or executives out for a long lunch, with money burning a hole in ther wallet, and a hardon they didn't know where to stick. Hotels and the business areas during the day, bars and cocktail lounges during the night. That's how I met Sidney. Sidney was an executive, one of ten or twelve Vice Presidents of an advertising company. He was about forty, a little paunchy, unhappy with his job and unsatisfied with his wife. I met him in an elevator. I used to go into the building where Sidney worked, before I knew him, and hang around in the lobby or ride up and down on the elevators looking for someone with whom I could score. It was a fairly easy thing to do. I simply wore one of my more sexy dresses without a bra, and half the men in the building would be falling over their feet just to get a glimpse. I've met several men that way, and, in fact, I've even made love to a company president in his private office, right in the building.
 

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   I was just getting onto a crowded elevator when I noticed Sidney,. I'd seen him before, on the elevators, and he always gave me a strange, searching look, as if he just wasn't quite sure about me or what I was doing there. I noticed the looks, smiled at him for encouragement, but waited for him to make the first move. He did, finally. I watched him come down an elevator, the same one I was about to get on, and he saw me. Something flickered in his eyes. The crowd came out of the elevators, Sidney included, and he disappeared. I waited for the crowd of ascending people to get on, then I got on, and then, just as the door was closing, someone else pushed his way on. It was Sidney. He stood next to me, sort of facing me, and I could feel bis cock through Ms pants, pressing up against my thigh. He had a harden. I smiled inwardly, and leaned towards him, pressing the erection back against him. He licked his lower lip nervously, and then I felt something brush against my thigh and cunt. It was Sidney's hand. I smiled back at him, and pressed even firmer against his erection. His fingers grazed the broad mound of my cunt. I nodded, and his hand closed over the mound. I pressed down parting my thighs, and Sidney nearly had a heart attack. We rode all the way up to the roof, with his hand on my cunt, and his cock against my thigh. A half hour later, we were in a hotel room. "That's wild, Sally," he said, kissing me. We were sitting on the edge of the mattress, and Sidney had his hand up my skirt, on my cunt. "That's wild." His finger pushed into my wet box, and I pushed 134 down around it, savoring the pleasure. I guessed that 1 wasn't probably a true prostitute; they're supposed to be sexually frigid, at least with their Johns. But I was far from frigid. I still enjoyed sex very much, and all the while I had been at the Geisha, and all the while I'd been working as a prostitute, I'd managed usually to have an orgasm. Only once or twice I didn't come, but it was the fault of the man I was with. They simply came too fast for me to get anything from the experience. "Don't you think we should get down to more . . . serious business?" I asked. I liked the warm cupping feeling of Sidney's fat hand inside of my panties. 'It's getting late." "If you think so, Sally," he said. He squeezed one of my breasts through the top of my dress. "Oh, no bra. How nice." I pushed his hand away, and stood up. His hand slid from my cunt and out of my panties. I began to undress. I had spent enough time with Sidney, and I didn't want to ruin the rest of my afternoon. I figured I could pick up at least three or four men before the five o'clock rush hour, and at twenty-five to fifty dollars a throw, that was a great deal of money. I dropped my dress on the chair next to the bed, and stepped out of my panties. I fingered my cunt to excite Sidney, and he pulled his eock out for my benefit. "You know something, Sally," he said, using his hand against his cock, "you are a remarkably attractive woman. Jesus, if my Emily looked like you I'd probably never fuck another woman in my Me." I laughed at his humorless joke. "Well, then I'm 135 glad I don't look like her, or you wouldn't be here, ready to fuck me." Sidney shuddered. "Say that again. I find that stimulating coming from such an attractive woman." I remember Benson Kores. "What? Saying that I want you to fuck me? Doesn't your wife ever say that?" "Emily?" he said, his voice rising with incredulity. "You gotta be kidding. You know what she refers to it as: it. After twelve years of being married, three kids and one abortion, and she says: "You want to do it tonight, Sid?1" I laughed. "And my cock," he continued. "You know what she calls that-my thing. Tut your thing in my thing, Sidney.' Not even clinical can she be. I wouln't mind penis even or vagina. But thing and it. It's like making love to Parts Department." I laughed again softly. I spread the lips of my cunt, exposing the wet underside. "Sidney," I said, "come and put your big thick cock in my wet, juicy pussy, and fuck the shit out of me." Sidney stood up and began to undress. His cock stood stiffly from the front of his gray slacks, very pink, and sort of stunted. It was about five inches long, and not very thick. He slipped out of his jacket shirt and tie and pants, and was down to his undershirt and blue boxer shorts when he turned to me with a question. "You know what I would like to do to you-with you, Sally?" He was very serious now, but I hadn't quite sensed the sudden shift in his intent. "No-what?" I asked, laughing. I ran my finger over the length of his cock, up and over the stiff ridge of 136 ihe circumcised head. "What would you like to do to or with me, Sidney?" He sat on the edge of the bed, still in his shorts, with his black knee-high socks still on. He looked at me through his horn-rimmed glasses. "Something that I've never done before in my Me. Something that my wife . . . that Emily would never let me do to her." I giggled, still not aware that he was very serious. "That's what I'm here for … to fulfill your fondest wishes. What would you like to do?" "Fuck you up the ass." I stared at him for a moment, without blinking, without breathing. I hadn't expected that. For some reasons I had managed to push it completely from my thoughts, almost as if it were a part of the past that I was afraid to deal with. In all the time I was at the Geisha, in all the weeks that I'd been a prostitute, in all the years of my Me" in fact, that was the one-the only sexual act I had never performed. "I … don't know," I said, considering the proposal for the first time, "That would cost more. A lot of money." "I'm prepared for that," Sidney explained. "I can afford whatever you want to charge me, Sally. Name the price," I could feel sweat running down the insides of my thighs, and I shivered as if I were suddenly cold. The thought frightened me. I've always considered that- I can't even say it-to be so painful, so perverted. It must hurt very much, very, very much. I remembered Peter. He always wanted to do that to me too-fuck me in my ass. But like Emily, like Sidney's prudish wife, I never gave him that pleasure. 137 Just as I never allowed him to come in my mouth. But I let other men do that. I thought of Ralph and the nameless men I'd performed that task for. But the other, ass fucking, I'd never done. For no man. Was it because I was only afraid of the pain, or was it something else? Was I holding on-to the past, to that other style of life? Was that what I was doing? Afraid to make the final break, the last link with the past? "Well?" Sidney asked. "What do you say?" I looked at him distractedly. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room with me. "Oh," I said, thinking. "I don't . . . know." "I can pay you," he said, as if that was the only consideration. "I have a lot of money." If I did this, I thought, then I could never-never -go back again. It would be the final break, the last link, the last hold I had with the past, with my old self. If I did this, I would be truly free. Truly free. In mind and body, but in spirit as well. My soul would be free. I made my decision. I could do nothing else. I looked at Sidney. There was a sinking feeling in my stomach, and my knees were shaking. I was more afraid than I was excited sexually. I kept on remembering, a similar scene, when I was a teenager. I was with a boy named Roger, and I had just agreed to give up my virginity. Roger and Sidney: two ends of my Me. I nodded my head quickly, more than once. "All right," I said. My voice cracked. "We can do that if you want. You can fuck me … in my ass, Sidney." "How much?" Sidney asked. He rose, as if to get his wallet.
 

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   I waved him back. "Well discuss money later," I said. "After." He nodded, as if he understood the significance of my request. He pulled his undershirt off, and dropped his blue boxer shorts. His flesh was milky white, and his cock throbbed stiffly. He had a blondish red hair on his crotch, and it reminded me of rusting steel wool. "Come and make love to me, Sidney," I said. "Get me in the mood for this." We came together, our two naked bodies, and I leaned across his puffy belly and kissed his mouth. His tongue pushed between rny lips, and I slid his stubby cock between my thighs, opening the lips of my cunt As we kissed, I rocked back and forth, robbing his erection against the nub of my clitoris until I could feel the wetness of my excitement begin la the empty hollow of my cuntal passageway. I broke the kiss off. "We're going to need more than this," I said. I needed real passion, real fire, sexual energy to make the final move. "Let me lay down on the bed." I sat back, puffing the pillow from the top of the mattress, and put it under my head. I spread my thighs open and drew them back and up. "Lick my cunt," I said. "Lick it hard. Wet." Sidney was very excited, and he nearly fell on top of me. He banged his knee getting down. He leaned forward, and I could feel his hot breath against the wetness of my cunt. He put his mouth between my thighs, and began to lick "Easy . . . easy," I said. His tongue was stretching tiie elastic mouth of my hole. He was trying to stuff 139 it inside of me. "Lick me gently, firmly. Lick up, from the hole. Stroke the clitoris with your tongue." He didn't know exactly what I meant, and I had to show him. Apparently his wife was even more prudish than I had imagined. But he learned after a moment, and he began to lick my cunt like an old professional. "Good …" I moaned. I pulled my legs back, lifting my cunt into his mouth. "That's very . , . good." I could feel myself opening and getting very wet. The lips of my cunt were sloppy with saliva and my own building juices, and my clit throbbed excitedly from the- unaccustomed directness of Sidney's attack. He did exactly as I had asked: he began at the hole of my cunt, licked upward, through the oozing slit, rubbed the flat of his tongue across the head of my clitoris, then stroked back again the other way, until he was at my cunt hole again. Then he began to innovate. Each time he reached the swirling core of my body, he darted his tongue inside me, sinking his tongue until I could feel his teeth pressing into the soft flesh of my hairy mound. He wriggled the tongue around inside of me, flitting it from one side of the canal to the other until I writhed with passion. Then he would pull the tongue out, and trail it again up my body, towards the clit, as if nothing at all had happened. "Oh . . . that's good, Sidney," I moaned. I humped my cunt up and down and tried to let him fuck me with his tongue. It was thick and fat, like his soft meringue-like body, and he filled my cunt with it. "Good, baby. . . . Good!" I could feel the confidence growing in Sidney. He slipped his hands up from my ass cheeks, and he 140 pushed them over the top of my legs. Sliding them back, he gripped into my flesh, and pinned me down with his hands. He pressed me back, dipping his face deeper and deeper into my cunt. With his hands holding me securely in place, I released my own hold on my legs. I reached down between my parted thighs, and I grabbed onto his balding head with both hands. I pressed his fat face deep into my cunt "That's it …" I moaned. "You're doing it well . . . very well." The pleasure in my cunt was vividly intense. I was wide open, the lips flapping, and the wet juices were oozing out from the sponge of my cunt, trailing down the back crack of my cunt, collecting between the cheeks of my ass. The sensation aroused me with tremors of anticipation. I pushed at Sidney's head. "Enough, enough," I instructed. "Now . . . further back. Further back . . . until you're licking my . . anus. Until you're licking my asshole!" I could feel the shaking of Sidney's arousal sink down into me. His tongue began to move back, slowly, torturously, until he left my cunt and was licking at my anus. "Oh . . God!" I moaned. It was as if fire was licking through me. Either the anus has to be the most sensitive spot on the human body, or the sheer perversity of having it stimulated was enough to make it seem that way. I crushed my ass up into his face. "Lick it, Sidney! Lick itr I could feel the wet tip of his tongue dancing around the tight mouth of my puckered anus. He spread my ass cheeks wide apart with the press of 141 his meaty hands. He licked the hole thoroughly, bathing it with saliva, until I could feel cool trickles of moisture dripping down inside of me. Then he stabbed his tongue in. "Oh my Godl" I cried. My body began to quake violently from the pleasure. His tongue was all the way inside of me; all the way in my assl "Jesusr I could feel the hard nub of Sidney's chin between the soft cushion of my ass cheeks, and his nose was snorting right into that sensitive crack an inch or two above the anus. His thick, spongy tongue was inside of me, stretching open the tight mouth of rny ass, filling the tight slippery passageway until I thought I was going to faint from the pleasure. "Oh . . . Godl" I cried again. Sidney flit his tongue from left to right, pushing up deeper, trying to touch every inch of that virginal tunnel. I could feel the saliva rolling down his tongue, pouring into me, until my asshole made the same land of sticky, squishing noise that my cunt had a moment or two earlier. I could no longer reach his head, and I flailed the air between my bent over thighs, reaching for something. Every time I moved, another knife of pleasure would stab into me. I grabbed onto my breasts for want of having something to hold onto. I dug my fingernails into the tortured flesh, trying to match the pleasure with pain. "I think I'm . . . ready," I groaned. "Enough . .. e-en-ough!" I trembled as Sidney's tongue slithered from my anus. It felt strange and wet, and I almost came from the withdrawal. But the sensation passed, and my legs fell heavily to the mattress once Sidney was no longer there to prop me up.
 

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   His face was completely coated in saliva. The lens of his glasses was smudged with the grease of sweat His chest was heaving fitfully, pulling his sagging stomach in and out over the stiff, swollen rod of his erection. "What bow, Sally?" he asked. "What do you want me to do now?" I rolled over on the mattress. My cunt and ass felt swollen between my thighs. I grabbed the pillow that was under my head, and I rested it under my chest. I lifted my ass, bringing my body to a declined angle to the bed. I spread my thighs, and jutted my ass out over* the edge of the mattress. "Fuck me, Sidney," I said, gripping the pillow with all my strength. "Put your cock in my ass." He moved heavily to me, reaching up on tip-toes. I could feel the hot graze of his cockhead against my right thigh. His Overhanging belly pushed against my ass. "Wet your cock," I said, steeling myself for the entrance. "Wet it with saliva. Spit on it." I heard Sindey licking his hands, then spread the moisture all over the rigid length of his nub-like cock. Then, for good measure, lie licked his tongue up and down the crack of my ass, dabbing against the tender ring of my anus. I shuddered as the sensation traveled up inside of me. "Now . . . fuck me, Sidney!" I said. "Fuck me!" He pushed his cock against me, about two inches below the hole of my ass. "You're too . . . high!" he squealed. He thrust desperately against me. "Bring it down, Sally. Bring your ass down!" I did as he asked, and I felt the tip of his cock 143 against my anus. I tightened myself, closing my eyes, tensing my muscles, and I pushed back against him. "Now, Sidney . . . Nou·r He gripped the qheeks of toy ass and ripped them open, as if he were trying to tear my body in half, rip me right up the length of my spine. At the same time, he thrust forward, against the resisting, rubbery hole of my anus. I felt the tight mouth strain to remain closed, to protect the last bit of my virginity, but the force of Sidney's thrusts was too powerful. The hole oozed open, and Sidney's cock slid up into my ass. "Christ . . . It hurts!" I moaned. I tried to pull away, I tried to expel it from ass by crushing down against it, by pressing out. "God … it hurts me …" Sidney was standing on his toes for leverage, leaning into me. His'hands moved from the cheeks of my ass, and he grabbed me by the front of my thighs. He pulled back powerfully with his arms, pulling me to him as he strained forward, attempting to push himself deeper into the canal of my ass. "You're . . . killing me, Sally!" he groaned. He slapped me on the flat of my back with his open hand, stinging me with pain. "You're . . . crushing my dick. You're gonna kill me … JeezF My asshole was on fire. I could feel the stubby head of Sidney's cock just past the rim of muscles that closed off the entrance. His cock felt like a steel bar inside of me. I strained back against him, wanting him to plunge deeper into me, yet afraid of the pain. "Fuck me, goddam itl" I screamed. "Push it … iff His fingers tightened like iron bands around my 144 thighs, and suddenly I felt my body lifting from the mattress. He pulled me back viciously against him, drilling his cock into my ass. The almost overwhelming force of his thrust nearly snapped my spine. I felt the length of his cock, his whole cock, straining to get it. And then something inside of me gave way. I screamed in pain, but before the cry was completed, it turned into a moan of pain. Sidney's cock slid up into my ass. "Ohmigod!" I moaned. It was like nothing I've ever felt in my life. 'OhmilordT "Oh … Oh … OHr Sidney screamed. "OhT My ass felt full. His cock was hard inside of me. There was no pain any longer . . . only excruciatingly intense pleasure. I squeezed down against his cock, and colors began to flash in front of my eyes. I was close to fainting and coming, and I didn't know which would happen first. "Fuck me, baby," I moaned, weak with the pleasure. ""Please, fuck me!" I could feel the whole length of Sidney's short, stubby cock inside of my anal canal. I could feel the heat radiating down into my body as the slippery walls of the canal clung to the sides of his shaft. The circle of muscles around the base of his cock felt loose and dilating, and I could feel saliva bubbling from the straining hole, under pressure. I could feel Sidney's balls: they were hanging down, between my open thighs, resting against my cunt. "Fuck . . . me!" I moaned. I began to pull back, away from his cock. "Please . . . Baby, fuck me!" Sidney began to pull out, and it felt as though he were going to drag my insides out with him. His 145 cock was like adhesive against the tight lining of my anal passageway. The straining fire of his pulling made me melt with pleasure, but he continued to withdraw. "Oh … God!" he groaned. "It's so … ttghtr Suddenly his cock dislodged, and I swooned with the pleasure. I could feel him drawing it back, scrap-Ing it down the clinging length of my asshole. I could feel the head of his cock, throbbing against the slick tunnel. It was a strangely sexual, deeply erotic sensation. "That's it. That's itF I cried. "In and out . . . push It in and out. Fuck me!" My anal channel loosened, or perhaps I relaxed, and I felt Sidney's cock sliding back. He moved fluidly, as if there was a sudden new lubrication inside of me that was easing the withdrawal. Fingers of sensations tingled in me as his cockhead scraped against the raw} untouched nerve endings in my amp;ss. "Don't pull out!" I cautioned, almost In a panic. "Don't pull out!" But he wasn't about to pul! out, and Sidney withdrew his cock almost to the end, and I could feel the swollen head of the organ pumping against the inner muscles of my anus. Then, just before he slipped out, he grunted, and thrust in again savagely, and I cried out with the pleasure. "Oh . . . yes!" I screamed, pressing back to greet his inward thrust. "Oh . . . yesf It was easy then, and Sidney ground his hips around, pressing the shaft of his cock around in a tight circle in my ass. I could feel him pushing up and down, exploring the tight new passageway, 146 searching out all the new corners and pockets of pleasure. Then he pulled back again, and I felt the passageway collapsing with intense sexual pleasure. "That's it … In and out," I cried. We were in rhythm now, and we were fucking. He was thrusting in and out, and I was matching his sexual tempo. We were working together, fucking each other. "In and out … in and out … in and outF Sidney gripped my hips with firm, unyielding hands. He pushed and pulled me, driving his turgid cock in and out of my climbing asshole. *Tm gonna come!" he grunted. I could feel his excitement as his cock quivered inside of me. "Sally …. I'm gonna come!" "Yes . . . yes!" I cried. "Come in me! Come in me! In my ass … in my ass . . ; come in my ass!" Sidney's cock began to swell, and he thrust in hard, deep, deeper than anything I've ever felt. I could feel his balls rising up against the soft cheeks of my ass. "Now! . . . Nowl . . . NOW! . . . NOWr He began to come. It was as though someone were pouring molten lead into my asshole. His sperm gushed into me, like magna, like lava, like liquid fire . . . coating my anal canal until it dripped from the drowning rnouth of my anus, and oozed all over my fluttering cunt. The moment the first drop of sperm touched me, perhaps before it touched me, I began to come. The orgasm began at a peak they usually end at, and it soared upward from there. Higher and higher and higher, one orgasm after another, like an endless string, with no second of breath between, no moment of relaxation. One on top of another on top of another on top of another until they reached so high 147 the pleasure was a scream in my ears. Then I realized it was my own scream, and I was screaming at the top of my lungs because the pleasure, the orgasm was so powerful, so total that it simply could not get out of my body fast enough. I had to provide another exit. I screamed it from my body. More and more sperm gushed into me, and orgasm piled on top of orgasm. After a moment my scream wasn't enough, and I fell heavily onto the bed, with Sidney still in my ass, pumping away. Something black and soft came up around my awareness and wrapped it carefully away. I tell into it, grateful for its numbness. When I woke Siney was gone. Sperm dribbled from my anus like blood from any open wound. I staggered from the bed. On the dresser top, I found fifty dollars, payment from Sidney. I took the money with me into the bathroom. I tore it up and flushed it down the toilet. I didn't do it for the money.
 

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   I leaned on the doorbell, and somewhere inside the magnificent hollow of the huge mansion, I heard the far off echo ringing. It was dark and I looked behind me, more than a little nervous. I had purchased a car, my first, a little foreign type, and it was sitting across from me, in the shadows of the ramp of the house. As yet I wasn't a good driver, but I was learning. I found out very early that you needed a car in California almost as much as you needed money. I looked at my watch and rang the bell again. I was late, I knew, and I guess that's why I was nervous. I got lost on my way up from L.A., even though I followed the road map. Santa Teresa seemed such an easy town to find. Perhaps I should have made a test run during the daylight hours. Then, at least, I would have known where I was going. From somewhere within the bowels of the massive estate I heard a shuffle of feet running across thick caipeting. I waited patiently at the door for the sound to come closer. It seemed to be coming from far off. Finally the door parted, and a bright light leaked out into the night. In the center of the light there was a man. T^ll, thin, balding, in a dark suit, white shirt and tie. He looked coldly out at me. "Yes?" he said.
 

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   I could see glimpses of the house behind him, and the inside seemed as magnificent as the outside had. There seemed to be a wide high hallway just beyond the door, and in the center there hung a glittering chandelier. I could see a spiraling marble staircase just beyond, twisting off into the shadows two stories above my head. "Can I help you, young lady?" the man asked again, touched with impatience. I moved my eyes from the splendor, finding it hard to imagine that people really lived in houses like this. Having that much money made my brain anxious because I simply could not grasp the differences in our lifestyles. For me this much wealth was part of a fantasy world. Millionaires and actors might live this way, but not real people. Not people like me. I trained my eyes on the man inside of the pool of light and gave him my best smile. I'm Sally Bryant. Are you Mr. Burroughs? Mr. Lawrence W. Burroughs?" "Certainly not, Miss." "1 flustered for a moment. "But this is his residence, isn't it?" He gave me a very long, suspicious look. "Yes, it is." "Well, I'm Sally Bryant. I'm here about the … film. You know … the film." He nodded gravely. "I thought perhaps you might be, Miss. Come with me and I will take you to Mr. Burroughs." He closed the door behind me and led me through the main hallway. I saw the chandelier clearly now, and it was suspended high above the floor, bolted to a white domed ceiling. The staircase was wide and 150 flowing, and I expected Loretta Young to come gliding down it at any moment. It was that kind of house. It reminded me of a hundred movie sets from -the forties. But Loretta Young didn't come down the spiral stairway, and we went up it instead. There was a thick burgundy colored rug under foot, and it absorbed the sound of our walking, and turned it into whispers. We reached the top landing, turned to the left, and continued down a long hallway. The same burgundy rug was underfoot, stretching from wall to wall,, and running out in front of us, down the long hallway, for what seemed a mile or two. There were paintings on the walls, originals, and I recognized some French Impressionists. Every once and a while there was a small sofa or a high-backed chair that reminded me of a throne pushed to either side of the hallway walls. It gave me the impression that I was in the lobby of an old-time movie house. We stopped at one door, and the tall dark man knocked gently. "Sir," he said. Behind the door someone said: "What is it, Perez?" "A Miss Sally Bryant to see you, sir." "Good. Good. Send her in. And thank you, Perez. I won't be needing you any further tonight." "Very good, sir." He nodded at the closed door. Then he turned back to me. "You may go in now, Miss. Mr. Burroughs will see you now." He nodded to me, then turned and walked back the endless hallway, leaving me standing alone in front of the high white door with the gold trimming. I didn't know what to do, so I knocked.
 

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   The same voice from inside said: "Come in, Miss Bryant The door is unlocked." The door handle was gold, covered with a fine, intricate pattern. It fit my hand smoothly, and I tightened my fingers around it. There was an ahnost inaudible clicking sound, and I pushed the door open. I entered what was probably the library. At least there were bookcases on all four walls, from floor to the high ceiling, and the shelves were stuffed with books. The room had a faintly musty smell, and was lighted by a few small-watt bulbs very high above us. Mr. Burroughs was sitting directly in front of me, in a wheel chair. That was something that was unexpected, but what shocked me even more was his age. He looked as if he was a hundred. He was old and wrinkled, bent over in the chair, and completely bald. But there was life in his gray eyes, and perhaps a wisdom that matched his many years. "Good evening, Miss Bryant," he said. His voice was remarkably strong, and seemed incongruous to the frailty of his body. "You are a very beautiful young woman." I flushed. "Thank you, Mr. Burroughs." I began to walk towards him, but he held up his hand. "Please stay there, Miss Bryant. I would rather admire you from this distance." I stopped in my tracks, feeling foolish and uncomfortable in the center of the room. "Would you mind answering a few questions before we get on with this, my dear?" he asked. "No, not at all." I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I tried folding them. That didn't work, and I finally let them hang at my sides. They felt very long and very heavy. 152 "What made you decide to answer my advertisement?" he asked. He was talking about his ad in an L.A. sex paper. I was reading the Personal Column one day, and the ad caught my eye. I read it and called the number feted. I was told to leave my name and telephone number. About a half hour later, I received a call from a Mr. Harrison Miller, Mr. Burroughs' attorney, although I didn't know that at the time. Mr. Miller questioned me about the ad, testing my sincerity, I guess, and then he made an appointment to see me in person. I met him the next day, we talked about sexual matters, and he had a photographer take some naked photos of me. He paid me one hundred dollars and said he'd be in touch with me. A week went by, and then Mr. Miller called me again. He asked me if I was still interested in the ad. I said I was, and he gave me the name of Mr. Lawrence W. Burroughs, gave me this address, told me how to get here and when to come. He said I would receive a check in the mail the morning after I had come here for one thousand dollars. And that was it. "The money, I guess," I answered. "The money." He shook his head, and I had the feeling it might fust roll from his shoulders if he moved it too rapidly. He made a tisking sound in the back of his throat. "Just the money, my dear?" he asked. "Surely that wasn't your only consideration." "Well, no. I guess it wasn't. I had . . . other reasons." "Such as, my dear?" he asked. He folded his hands in front of him, pressing his fingers against each other in a bridge. "What would make such an attractive, young girl like yourself want to do something like 153 this? Want to make you appear in an erotic-no, pornographic film?"§· A tremor of sexual excitement went through me. It was really going to happen, I thought to myself. It was really going to happenl I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe I found the idea exciting. You know . . . sexually exciting." "And did you?" I thought about it. "Yes. Yes, I did. Very exciting, in a perverse sexual way. Maybe I'm an exhibitionirt at heart. Maybe all people are. But there just seemed to be something . . . very erotic, very senusal in knowing that you are going to appear in a pornographic film." He seemed pleased with my answer. 'He rubbed the side of his jaw with a trembling hand. "Have you ever done anything like this before, Miss Bryant?" "No, not exactly like this," I explained. I told him frankly about the Geisha, and that too seemed, to please him. I left out the part about my being a prostitute, for I wasn't sure how he would react to that. Then, when I was finished, I added: "To me this was a new experience, something IVe never done before. I enjoy trying new things." "You would say then that you have a strong, healthy sexual appetite?" "I've never thought about it in that way, but I guess there's truth in what you say. I've always enjoyed sex very much." "Good, good!" he said. He hit the arm of his wheel chair for emphasis. "Then you are a woman after my own heart. I, too, was a sensualist. I spent my whole life, my whole fortune in amassing every conceivable 154 sexual experience. Look around you. At these books. The world's largest private erotic library. Every book a treasure." I looked around-me in amazement. Every book in the room: pornographic! It was hard to imagine. "In my lifetime, my dear, I have made love to, seduced more women than ten men could in one hundred lifetimes. I have made love to queens, my dear. Royalty! Actresses, heiresses, the wives of ^millionaires. Some of the most beautiful women in the world. Some names, that if I would tell you, you would be shocked. Shocked." He sighed deeply, moving his hands weakly around in front of him in a helpless gesture. "But," he said, sadly, tiredly, "no more. That part is over for me. Over for many many years. So now I make films, sexual films, and I watch others doing what I cannot. I find the most beautiful women in the world, women like yourself, and I couple them with men who are equipped with formidable sexual equipment. I film those coupling for myself, and I watch them, using their youthful passion to rekindle the final, dying ember of my own. Sexuality is a very solitary experience for me now. Very . . . lonely." He brushed aside his mood again, like any annoying fiy buzzing inside of his brain. "Enough," he said. "Let us get on with the reason for your visit. If you would be so kind as to push me, my dear." He indicated the wheel chair. I felt sorry for him, and I moved to help him. "Which way, Mr. Burroughs?" Through that door, back down the hallway, and to the right. It's the first door."
 

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   I followed his instructions, knocking on the door. It opened, and a young man in a blue demin shirt held it open for us. I pushed the wheel chair into the room. I saw immediately the room was decorated like a motion picture studio. There were rows of bright lights above us, snakes of cabled wires littering the floors, and huge, professional movie cameras set up in strategic places in the room. There was a bed in the center of a spotlight, very brightly illuminated. I suspected that was my stage. The man in the denim work shirt took Mr. Burroughs from me, and pushed the chair across the tangled floor to a position near the bed, but just outside of camera range. I wandered over to them and stood at his side. "Forgive me, Sally," the old man said. "I forgot to introduce you. Sally Bryant, this is Lance Kemmel-man. Lance is our cameraman." I said hello. "I don't know whether you are a motion picture fan, Sally, but Lance here is a very famous Hollywood cameraman. He has already received an Academy Award for … ." He named a very famous film that I had seen the previous year. It was a fantastic financial as well as artistic success. I remembered the film work vividly. I was impressed and I think it showed. I think I said something inane. Lance laughed, and the old man joined him. «sYou see, Sally," Mr. Burroughs said, "what you can do if you have money. There is almost nothing that you cannot buy." Lance laughed. "You should see some of the films 156 Mr. Burroughs has in his private vault. Films of world famous actors and actresses . . . performing for him for pay. Some of them Award winners." He named an unbelievably well-known husband and wife team. Mr. Burroughs waved his hand again. "Enough, enough. Look, Billy is here already." I turned, and standing there, stark naked was a slender, blondhaired boy. I say boy because I'm sure he could not have been older than fifteen or sixteen. He had a slender, almost effeminate build, with thin arms and legs, flat stomach and ribs pushing through his gauntly pulled flesh. His body was completely hairless, even his pubic region, but that wasn't what made my breath suck in so deeply. It was the sight of his cock. It was longer and thicker than any organ I have ever seen in my life. I guessed that it had to be at least ten inches long. I found out later that it was closer to eleven inches in length. I think my mouth must have dropped open, and I know that I felt an unmistakable throb in my cunt. My mouth went very dry, and I couldn't help staring at the fantastic organ. It looked like the end of a baseball bat. Billy saw me staring, and he touched himself with his shallow hand. He caressed his mighty weapon, sliding his hand protectively, proudly up and down the endless pink shaft. He said: "Hello." I answered him, I think, suddenly very frightened and envious. I ached to touch that colossal hardness, to see if it were real, and I hated his hand for the ease with which he fondled it. But my cunt was terrified. There was no way, no possible way that 157 I could get that log inside of me without ripping me in two. "Hello," I finally answered. "My God." Burroughs laughed, without any envy, and a sort of strange pride. I think he almost identified with Billy. 'It is impressive, isn't it?" he said. "And more so because of his tender age. Billy's not yet sixteen, are you, lad?" Til be sixteen on November 9th," she said. Burroughs shook his head. "Can you imagine, Sally, what Billy will be like when he has fully matured? Can you imagine that?" I could hardly imagine it. I could hardly believe what I saw right in front of me. I was overwhelmed. "Why don't you go over and touch it, Sally?" Burroughs suggested. "Go ahead." I moved as if I were in a dream. The heat of the spotlight burned against my flesh like some miniature sun, and I could feel perspiration collecting already between my breasts. I walked forward, with my back to the two men watching me, and I reached out and touched Billy. "My . . . God," I muttered. I could barely grasp it. My fingers couldn't go around the shaft it was so thick. I slid my hand slowly tip and down, deep, deep strokes until I touched his hairless belly, then stroking back up again until I squeezed the thick spongy head between my fingers. It felt cool and hard, like a column of ivory. "It's . , . fantastic." "Enough, enough," Burroughs shouted. "Let us get on with the filming." I let go of Billy and turned around. I was trembling with excitement and terror. I shaded my eyes and looked into the glare of the lights, at the two men 158 standing in the shadows. I was waiting for instructions. "How do you want to do it?" Lance asked the old man. "Do you want to do some secondary shots first? Build the story line?" "No, let's get down to the action sequences first," the man in the wheel chair said. "Use a handheld camera, Lance, and get in there close with them. I want some clear, vivid detail. I want it to seem like the camera is a part of the experience." Lance nodded, and he went off In the shadows, after his camera and equipment. I stepped towards the old man, the hand still shading my eyes. "What should I do?" I asked. Even to me it sounded like a foolish question. "My dear, the first thing you should do is remove your clothing. And then go and make love to Billy. Make love to him, don't act. Enjoy it. Enjoy as if you were alone with him. Forget that we are here. Just make love to that wonderful cock of his, Sally. Do what comes natural." I turned and stared at Billy. He was caressing his cock again, as if he were preoccupied with it. He looked up at me and smiled vacantly. "Don't worry, Sally." Lance said, stepping into the spotlight. "If you get stuck, I'll tell you what to do. Just relax . . . and enjoy it." I laughed nervously and began to undress. Lance watched me appreciatively, whistling at my nakedness. Billy hardly took notice. He was more interested in his cock. I imagine it was difficult for him to consider anyone but himself as a love object. He was a man who was literally in love with his own cock. "Okay," Lance instructed, "why don't you get up 159 on the bed, Billy." He looked through the eye of the camera, then tested the brightness with the light meter. Billy lay back on the bed, and his cock stood straight up in the air like a tent pole. From underneath, with his thighs open and his balls hanging between his legs, his cock seemed even more magnificent. Lance came over to me and took me by the arm, pushing me towards the bed. "Are you ready to fuck yet, Sally? Is your cunt open enough, wet enough to take a.cock comfortably?" He checked the light again, from another angle. I blushed; it was stupid, but I did. "No, not yet. I'm still . . . dry." "Alright then," he said, making an adjustment on the camera lens, "why don't we begin with a little sucking. Sally, get on Billy's belly, head facing his cock, and start sucking him. Use a lot of tongue, and make sure your hair doesn't fall in front of what you're doing." Numbly I climbed onto the bed. The spot glared down on me like the eye of God, and I began to sweat. My body was coated with a thin, oily film of perspiration, even before anything had happened. I climbed on top of Billy's prostrate body, leaning across his stomach, with my legs behind me, off to the side. I placed both my hands around the base of Billy's cock. It felt huge between my fingers. "All right!" Lance said. He got down on one knee, and he aimed the camera at us. "Get ready! All set Mr. Burroughs!" Off from the distance, I heard: "Roll it, Lance!" 160 The camera began to whirl, and I froze for a moment, holding onto Billy's cock with both hands. "Okay, Sally," Lance said, "start sucking." Still numb, with my mouth dry, I leaned forward and began to lick Billy's cockhead. The flesh tasted clean and hard, like marble. He didn't stir or respond, but simply lay there, as if I were paying him the ultimate homage. "That's it … That's it, Sally," Lance said, zooming in closer. "Open your legs a little . . . Wider . . . We want to see your pussy as well." I flattened my tongue against the swollen knob of the cock, licking up and down and over, dripping my saliva against him until it dripped down the hard pink pole, striping it like a candy cane. I wiggled the tip of my tongue inside of the narrow slitted opening, and for the first time, Billy reacted. He sighed softly, with pleasure. I dug my tongue in, as though I were trying to stuff it down the tight urethra opening. I chewed into the spongelike crown with my front teeth, biting him gently, the way a dog chews on a soup bone. Billy sighed again. "You do that real good, Sally," be moaned. "I like the way you suck it." I pursed my lips, and closed them over the top-half of the cockhead so that only one inch at the most was in my mouth. My lips were stretched widely apart to even get that little of him into me. I rolled my tongue around the crown of the head, bathing him with saliva. He began to rock gently under me. "Why don't you try sucking a little, Sally," Lance suggested. He moved to the side, camera whirring, to get a different angle. Try and sink your mouth down him."
 

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   With the ice broken, and the pleasant warmth of the lights awakening my sleeping passion, I was glad to respond. I stretched my mouth wide, as wide as I could, and I could feel the flesh straining at the corners of my lips. My jaw cracked as I dropped it. And, as if I were trying to swallow a whole ear of corn, I felt Billy's cock move up into my open mouth. "Good . . . Good!" Lance said. "Very good." Billy's cock was enormous in my mouth, like the end of an Italian bread. My tongue was flattened under the throbbing shaft, and he touched all points inside my mouth without any of my effort. I could feel him sinking up into me, my teeth scraping along the tender shaft, until the head of his cock was pushed back against the opening of my throat, and he could go no further. "Beautiful . . . Beautiful!" Lance moved again. Excited now by the hugeness of the instrument in my mouth, I began to suck hard on Billy's cock, I allowed my saliva to flow wetly down all around it, packing it in a moist wet sleeve. I squished my tongue around, sliding it from left to right, over the throbbing bulge of the cock shaft. I began to rock up and down on it, sliding it up and down in my mouth. I could see my lips, clinging to the sides of the shaft, pull up and down as I slid the cock in and out of my mouth. "Good, Sally . . . Good!" Lance stood up and leaned down over us. "Do it as if you're enjoying it." I was, I was! I was enjoying it. The size of it, the bluntness of it, the columnar hardness of it was enough to make rny cunt quiver. I was aroused, passionately aroused from just sucking on it. I wondered how I would react when he put it in my cunt.
 

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   I bobbed my lips up and down the portion of Billy's cock that I had in my mouth. The rest of him, about three quarters of his length, remained outside of my straining mouth, with no way I could possibly get him in. I squeezedt both hands into the tree-like base of the shaft, jerking them up suddenly. I slid the clasped hands up until I was touching my own pursed lips. Then I jerked the hands down again, and I felt the cool fleeting hardness of Billy's cock sliding through my fingers. "Good . . . goodr Lance encouraged. "Just hold it like that. Don't stop what you're doing. I'm just going to reload. Don't stopP I had no intention of stopping. I could feel Billy's mighty cock throbbing in my fingers, deep inside of my mouth. Finally he was beginning to react with serious pleasure, lifting his hips, pressing upward with his crotch, aiding my mouth and hands. He moaned: "Nice . . . nice move . . . nice." I pulled my tongue free of the heavy press of his cock, and I snaked it over the head of the plunging shaft. As I moved my head up and down, sinking the erection in and out of my mouth, I swirled my tongue over the swollen, sensitive cockhead. I pulled my hands furiously up and down the other part of the cock, the part as yet untasted, gripping him tightly as I jerked and sucked him off simultaneously. Saliva dribbled from my fluttering lips, oozed down bis cock, and coated the shaft for my sliding hands. I stroked him harder, faster, until my hands were a blur, and I was banging my doubled over fists hard against my own plummeting mouth. My lips cut and ripped open, and I could taste my own
 

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   blood in my mouth, mixing with the saliva and the salty, warm taste of Billy's cock flesh. "Good . . . Good," said Lance. The camera was reloaded, and it whirred in my ears. "Now you, Billy . . . Touch Sally's cunt . . . Reach down between her legs and finger her and play with her clit." I felt Billy's hands on me, and I almost moaned. I felt him opening the lips, fingering the clit with his twirling fingers, and then he plunged deep into me, opening the passageway between the lips. "God …" he cried. He turned his fingers around, twisting them inside of me, stretching my hole wide. It was as if he were readying me for the entrance of his cock. "She's all wet, Lance. Sopping. She's just oozing pussy juice all over my hands." He dug his fingers into me, and I ground my cunt back against the flitting pleasure. I tightened my mouth around his cock, jerking my two hands up and down the broad tube of swollen flesh. I began to screw my lips around, twisting my head, letting the column of his cock slide around inside of my mouth. I moved my mouth from side to side, rolling my tongue, darting it against him, pressing him hard up into my straining lips. "I'm going to move around to your side, Billy," Lance said. I heard him move away, then to the side, and finally he was behind me. I heard the whir of the camera rolling over my twisting body. The bed moved, as if someone had just crawled onto the mattress. The sound of the camera came closer. "Sally," Lance said, "without stopping what you're doing, slide around on top of Billy's body. Put your 164 cunt in his face. I want to get some shots of him eating you." I did as I was instructed, sliding my sweaty body over Billy's cool hardness. I felt him lift me, parting my thighs around his head, and I felt his mouth press against the lips of my cunt. I moaned at the contact, but the sound was muffled against the gag of Billy's cock shaft. I pressed my cunt back into his face, and I felt his tongue sinking up inside of me. After a moment the tongue withdrew, and Billy darted it against my throbbing clitoris. I almost screamed. "Beautiful shot!" Lance announced. "Beautiful, Billy. Good tongue work." I could feel the heat of the spot burning hotly against my oozing flesh, making me slippery with perspiration. Sweat just poured from me, and I rubbed my body up and down against Billy, as if we were two moving parts of the same machine. "Let me get in closer, Billy," Lance said. I could almost feel the vibrations of the camera. "I want a tight close up. That's it … Now more tongue . . . stick it out all the way . . . That's itl Brush it up and down against her clitty . . . Now jab it in!" I felt the hot wedge of Billy's tongue sink up inside of my cunt. I squeezed down with my vaginal muscles, attemping to trap the flitting tongue deep inside my box. I could feel the slick walls of the oozing passageway closing around him. "Now pull it out, Billy," Lance instructed. "Hold those lips open . . . Wider . . . widerr I could feel Billy pulling the lips of my cunt open. There was a pinching, burning sensation in my vagina as the cool air tickled against my exposed underside. 165 The sensation was erotic, and I sunk my month down hard again, trying to press more and more of Billy's cock between my lips and into my mouth. "Good . . . Good!" Lance said. I felt him lean in closer to me. "I want a real tight closeup of that creaming pussy. I want to see the lips and that wet hole." The camera whirred, clicking away at my cunt "Sally, Sally . . . now I want you to tighten and relax your cunt hole . . . Do it easy, slowly … That's it, make that pink ring of muscles look like a winking eye . . ." I could hardly control my cunt, and the muscles were gripping open and closed on their own. Spasms of pleasure made my cunt quiver, and I could feel a thick, gooey discharge sliding down the canal of my vagina, seeping out of the clutching hole. "Now I'm going to do something wild," Lance warned me. "I'm going to bring the camera right up to your cunt. Right against the lips … as if I was fucking you with the lens. The camera is a cock, and it's going up into you." I felt the lens touch me, and I nearly bit down into the shaft of Billy's cock. The camera felt so hard, so cold, like a cock, and I pressed my cunt tightly against it, humping it, trying to fuck myself with it "Good . . . good!" Lance cried. "Great, Sally . . . Great shot!" I felt the camera sink up into me. "Oh . . . God!" I moaned. I pulled my mouth from Billy's cock, trying to control my lips enough to make them bend around words. The camera was still between the lips of my cunt, probing into me. "I want to … fuck. Please, fuck me. Billy. Anybody . . . fuck Billy let go of my cunt, and I felt the camera withdraw. I jerked his cock savagely up and down, using both hands. My arms began to ache. "Should I, Lance?" Billy asked. "Is it all right if I fuck her?" "Okay, yeah-good. We can use that now. But fuck her from the rear first. . . Let me get some more film." I didn't care if he fucked me sideways, as long as he fucked me. Billy pulled out from under me, leaving me flat on the mattress, my tits crushed under me, and my cunt aching for a cock. "Pull this up," Bill instructed. He jabbed his finger into my cunt, lifting me. "Get up on your hands and knees. I'm going to fuck you like a bitch in heat" I was like a pawn, willing to do almost anything just to feel the hardness of Billy's cock inside of me. I rose up, on my hands and knees. My arms were straining to support me, and I was swaying back and forth in my passion. Billy's hand was still in my cunt, pumping his fingers in and out of me. "Fuck me . . . pleaser 1 moaned. Crocked back against Billy's fingers. "Please . . . fuck me!" I sensed Lance standing in front of me once again. I heard the camera whirl to life. "That's good, Sally . . . good position. Now open your eyes, Sally. Look at the camera. Give me a very sexy, sensual look . . . Show the camera how juicy, how aroused you are. Melt the lens." I opened my eyes, half blinded by the glare of the spotlight high above the stage. I tried to focus my pleasure blinded vision, and after a moment I managed to succeed. Lance was standing far front of me, perhaps three feet away, with the camra mounted
 

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   on his shoulder. He was operating the machine with one hand, but with the other, he was caressing his cock. It was pulled from his pants, and he was jerking it up and down, obviously very aroused. "That's it!" he said, working the camera and working himself. "Give me a hard . , . sexy look . . . Moan at the camera . . . Tell it you want it to fuck you. Say the words." "Fuck me," I moaned. Billy's hand worked in and out of my cunt. I pleaded, in pain from so much pleasure. "Somebody . . . please fuck me!" Lance said: ''Good . . good. Now Billy, move in behind her. Put your cock into Sally's pussy." I began to tremble from the mere thought that it was about to happen, and I began to squirm, on my hands and knees, like.a dog shaking water from its body. Billy's hand slid from my cunt, and I felt him climbing between my thighs, positioning himself against me. "Fuck me . . . fuck me," I moaned. The room was going in and out of my awareness, and I had sweat in my eyes. The lips of my cunt were shivering with anticipation. "Please . . . fuck me . . . fuck me . . . fuck me . . ." Lance jerked his cock off, and aimed the camera. "I'm going to come in close to her now Billy. . . I want to get a shot of you driving it into her . , . from the top, looking down, over Sally's back. Sink it into her slowly, Billy. Slowly." I watched Lance moving in closer to me, the camera purring like a live animal. He released his hold on his cock, and used both hands to steady the camera. Billy came up behind me. I felt the blunt tip of 168 his cock against my cunt. I cried out, anticipating the pleasure, as if he had seared me with the burning end of a torch. "Okay," Billy said. "Here she goes . . ." Pain like nothing I've ever felt in my life ripped into my body. I tried to pull away, but Billy's hands held me firmly in place. Just the tip of his cock had slid up into my cunt, but it was enough to make me ache all over with the intensity of the pleasure. I couldn't have moved if I'd wanted to. I was impaled, like a pig on a spit. Billy's cock throbbed inside of me and I screamed in the agony of my excitement. "Ohmigod . . . he's so bigl He's killing me … killing mer "Good, Billy, good," Lance said. He moved in closer, the camera above me, his cock inches away from me. "Very good . . . now push it in, Billy . . . Push that cock up into her cunt." Billy's hands tightened around my hips, and he pushed his groin forward. Despite my pain, I found myself pushing back against him, straining to get his monster-cock into my screaming, protesting cunt. I felt myself opening up, as though someone had impaled me with a tubular vise, and it was opening inside of me, prying me apart. The walls of my cunt clung to the side of Billy's cock as if I was oozing glue instead of the slimy discharge of my excitement I could feel the inner lips pushing in, moving up inside of me, as if there was no hole there, and Billy's cock was drilling one. I pushed back against it and screamed again. "God . . . GodI It hurts so … goodT "Jesus, she's tight," Billy moaned. "She's gonna crush my fuckin cock . . . She's making pulp outa it!" "Beauty shot!" Lance moaned, excited artistically as well as physically. "Beautiful fucking shot!" My cunt was one fire, the walls of the canal were screaming with the torturous friction of penetration. I felt every inch, every throb of Billy's cock, scraping against the bloodied tightness of my flesh, gouging out the path for his cock. I pushed back with everything I could, my whole weight and all my strength. I dilated the muscles of my cunt, hunching down hard, quickly, pouding myself against him. He responded with a similar enthusiasm driving his cock into me with vicious jerks of his hips. It was as if his cock were a nail, and he was trying to hammer it up into me. And succeeding. Inch by inch Billy's swollen cock moved up into the tight channel of my cunt. I pressed back, and he thrust forward. I groaned and cried, torn between the pain and the exquisite pleasure. Then, suddenly, there was nothing left to push, and Billy's cock was inside my cunt "Jesus . . . she took it!" Billy cried in amazement. "She took it … my whole fuckin cockT I could feel the cock inside of me, huge, swollen, reaching right up into the pit of my stomach. My body was wrapped tightly around it, and I could feel the tense swing of his hairless balls hanging between my wrenched .open thighs. The organ pulsed inside of me, like a second heart, sending vibrations of pleasure into every corner of my body and brain. "My . . . God." Lance exclaimed excitedly. "She really did . . . Look at that! Let me get a shot of 170 that." He leaned closer, pressing his body down against mine, leaning on my back. Without thinking, needing it desperately, I tilted my head up, and I swallowed Lance's cock into my mouth as he bent over me. My cunt was aching with the tremendous hardness of Billy's cock, and I burned with an uncontrollable fever. Lance jumped, startled, when he felt my lips on his organ. He began to pull back, but my mouth was not to be denied. I slithered forward, gobbling the hard, hot shaft, until it was pushing against the back of my throat, and my lips were scraping against the sapper of his open pants. His whole cock, from the thick root down to the throbbing head was in my mouth, pressing down against my wet, licking tongue. I began to suck him desperately. "What are you doing?" he said, trying to disengage. "What are you doing?" Billy, apparently excited by my sudden passion, leaned over me, placing his hands on my back, to see what I was doing. His cock slithered an inch or two deeper into me, and I crushed feebly back against it with my stretched cuntal muscles. "Look at that . . ." There was admiration in his voice. "This bitch can't get enough cock." I rocked my hips back against Billy, feeling the deadly swing of his balls between my thighs. My eyes were closed, and I was sucking as hard as I could, trying to swallow the entire length of Lance's cock right down my throat His balls were pressed against my slimy, saliva smeared chin, and they were swinging against me, matching the tempo of the other pair at the other end of my cock. "I can't . . . concentrate!" Lance said desperately. He was longer struggling to pull away from me,
 

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   and was, in fact, pushing his cock deeper into my mouth, sliding it in and out as if he were fucking me. I heard the camera whirring above me, but God knows where it was pointed. "I can't film this way, Sally! … I can't . . ." Off to my left, like a sudden intrusion, I heard another voice. I'd forgotten we had an audience. Burroughs was talking very loudly, in a trembling, excited tone. "Let her. Let her, Lance!" he said. "Film it. Film it! Aim the camera down . . . Get a shot of Sally sucking your cock!" Whether he was doing as instructed or not, didn't matter to me. All I knew was that Lance was responding to my needs. He was driving his throbbing cock viciously in and out of my mouth, pulling it back until the head was pressed against my teeth, then driving it in hard, the full length, until his balls smacked dully into my face, and the head of his cock was making me gag. I sucked furiously, licking him, drawing him up into my mouth, bathing him with saliva, screwing my mouth down into his heaving belly until my lips were rubbed raw by the grate of his open zipper. Then Billy behind me began to move. He began to fuck me with his tree-like cock. He slid back, and the sensation was so intense I bit down into the shaft of Lance's cock as I tried to bear the pleasure. Lance groaned, but grew very excited, and pumped even harder and faster in and out of me. Billy held me in place with his hands, although my mouth was securely fixed to the end of Lance's cock, and he withdrew the full length of his cock except for his cockhead. That he let remain inside of me.
 

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   I tensed myself for the inward thrust that I loiew would come. Billy waited, teasing me with the suspense, then, when I thought it would never happen, I felt his hands tighten on my thighs. He drove down, deep, deep, deep into my cunt The sensation of pleasure rushed from the tip of his cock and pushed up inside of me. I felt it race through my body like a series of waves, one washing against the other, growing larger and larger, until I felt the sensation in my mouth. It washed against the throbbing hardness of Lance's cock as he drove it in and out of me. I sucked Lance, and pushed back against Billy. He began to draw back again, and I felt the walls of my cunt collapsing around his retreating hardness. Then he shoved himself in again, and the walls ripped open, as if an explosion had cleared a path for his driving cock. I felt the sensation down the length of my body, right up through the roots of my hair. It prickled my scalp as though Billy were fucking me with an electric prod and not his cock. I don't know who came first. I think it -was Lance. I think it was a chain-reaction: Lance came in my mouth, the sensation of his orgasm traveled down the length of my body, tripping off my own pleasure, and then it gushed around the thick plug of Billy's cock, seeping down into the shaft until it ignited the fires of Billy's passion, and he began to come in my cunt. Three people, all coming at the same time. I felt my body filling up from both ends. I swallowed the sperm in my mouth, drinking it down desperately to keep from drowning. My cunt performed similarly, sucking out the pumping flood of semen from the end of Billy's throbbing cock. Sperm flowed thickly into me, gushing hotly, and both ends
 

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   of my body, both drinking, greedy mouths sucked up the swirling goo as quickly as it could be pumped into me. I felt the hot, incandescent flow draining inside of me, as if there was a hole somewhere inside of me, an emptiness, and the sperm was draining into it. The emptiness begari to ache, the emptiness that was there, has always been there, and may forever be there. It was the emptiness, the dissatisfaction, that I felt with Peter, with French, with Zach, with Ralph, with Patti, at the Gdisha-the emptiness that I felt right at this moment of colossal orgasm. Like a hole- inside of me, an empty bottomless pit, and the sperm of two cocks poured into it, trying to fin it with heat and passion and pleasure. Sperm from two ends of me, from two cocks inside of me, and that deep drinking emptiness was still left hungry and unsatiated. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was flooded with sperm and I was muzzled by the hardness of Lance's cock. I wanted to scream out, to cry out to the world for help, but all I could feel was the undulating throb of Billy's cock in my cunt, bleeding sperm into an open sore that would never heal Far away, like a whisper ^to my brain, a voice filtered down through the pastel layers of my orgasm. It was Mr. Burroughs, the old, old man, the cripple, the millionaire who had to buy his passion through the bodies of other people. He was shouting, gleefully, as if he too had somehow experienced an orgasm. "Good, good!" he cried. "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me, Sally … I knew you wouldn't disap-appoint me, Sallyl . . . Good . . . Good! . . . GoodT GoodT
 

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   CHAPTER NINE Things began to go a little downhill for me after that night with Billy and Lance, although not immediately. I did enjoy the attention of the two men, I must honestly admit, and I did enjoy the one thousand dollar payment I received for making the film. And so, it wasn't too much of a surprise to me when I received a second call from Mr. Burroughs, coming directly from him. He was very pleased with my performance, and he asked me frankly whether I would consider making a second film for him. I said no, feeling that I had explored the possibilities of that kind of experience as fully as I was able. I saw no sense in repeating the same thing over if it didn't open to me any other possible avenues of experimentation. That would be doing it solely for the money, and that simply was no motivation enough for me. I was surprised, however, when he did offer me a new possibility of experience. "I throw parties," he said, "for some of my very special friends and clients, and I am in constant need of new . . . entertainment for these parties." "What kind of parties?" I asked. He thought for a moment. "Intimate parties," he answered cryptically. "Would you care to be a part of this entertainment, my dear?"
 

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   He was talking about my performing in a live sex show, in front of an audience of men and women. I considered this for a long while, and honestly, I found myself fascinated by the prospect of doing something as … perverted, as daring as performing sexually for an audience. Unlike the films, I could gauge the immediate response of those people watching me. I could hear how they reacted to me. I could see how they were responding to my getting fucked for their voyeuristic pleasure. And yet, there seemed to be even one more positive incentive. Doing something like this is as far from being a suburban housewife as I could possibly imagine. It was at the other end of human experiences, at the other end of life's spectrum. Another new experience, another horizon, something new to explore, to see if it could possibly satisfy the restless urge, the nagging dissatisfaction, the empty hole in my life. What could I say to him? The only answer I could have possibly given: of course I would do it. J went to his house again, at night, and I was led to another room in the mansion. There I met another woman and three other men. Together, we were the performers. We smoked some marijuana and drank some wine to break the ice and get us in the mood, and we were led out onto a stage. The curtain went up, and out before us was an audience of men and women, all as naked as we were. Our stage performance began, and I got fucked in every possible position by every possible man, sometimes taking on two or the three at once. I even was fucked up the ass by the woman. She strapped on a dildo, and while she was fucking me in the ass, she was 176 being fucked in the ass by one of the three men. I must have come twenty or thirty times during the course of the night, and my body was completely soaked with sperm, sweat and the slimy discharge of cuntal juices. The night ended as an orgy-my first real orgy- when the men and women of the audience climbed onto the stage and joined in with us. There was fucking and sucking going on all over the place, everywhere you looked. It was the wildest night of my life. I retired from prostitution after that night. My cunt, inside the canal, was literally raw from the friction of all that fucking. I bled for a week afterwards, and couldn't fuck for another month without sharp, burning pain. Still, I didn't mind, and it didn't cost me anything. I was paid twenty-five hundred dollars for that night, and was given another five hundred dollar bonus from Mr. Burroughs for film rights to the performance and orgy. All the while we were "working," he had a full crew of cameramen, Lance included, capturing the whole night on film. J wasn't sorry, really when I left this world of open sexuality. I had tried it, experienced it, but like everything else, it paled under a close examination. The edge, the sharp edge of intense pleasure simply was no longer there. I had done everything you could /possibly do sexually. There was no further challenge in it. It got to the point where-and I know this is going to sound strange-but it really did get to the point where sex became . . . boring. So, as has been my practice in the past, I moved on. My body needed a rest, I had money, security,
 

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   a good place to live; now all I needed was a little time. Time to think, -time to sort out a new direction, to see where my life would lead me this time. I had reached the bottom, in a sense, I realized. I'd sort of sunk to a low point … to the point at which I had been willing to perform sexually for an audience, for pay. There was no way to go now other than up. Happiness simply wasn't there. I know: I tried it all. So it was strange that at this point in my life I should have met someone like Rick Tanner. Fated, I guess would be a better word. Destined. I met Rick through my job. After the month or so was over after the orgy at Burrough's house, I decided to try working again. I still had my old skills as a secretary, and I got a job working for a law firm, much like my first job after I had graduated from college. The money wasn't bad, certainly not as much as I had been making, but it was a nice change of pace. The men were interested in other things than fucking you. They treated you like a person and not like a cunt. Even the women were fascinatingly unique. They were so petty, so bitchy, with such little, small human problems, like what to cook for dinner or where to go on vacation. It was like a breath of fresh air, and I savored the freshness of this old, new world. Rick didn't work for my company. He was an insurance agent, working for one of the largest insurance companies in the United States. My boss was a policy holder, and Rick came to the office to make some kind of adjustment in the policy. We got to talking, and he asked me out. I felt flattered. It was my first date in ten or twelve years.
 

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   I went out with Rick that night. It was nothing special. He picked me up at my apartment, we went out to dinner, then to a local movie, and had coffee later. We didn't make love that first date, although I did let him loss me goodnight. We didn't make love until after the fourth or fifth date, and then when we did, for some strange reason, I began to cry, as if I were a virgin again. Rick comforted me in his arms, stroking my hair. He told me he loved me. He told me he caredJror me very much. He said he respected me for making love to him, for it showed him how warm, how human I was; how much I cared for him. We went out several times after that, although I never allowed him to make love to me. We kissed heavily, petted, and once he fingered me to orgasm, but never full, naked sexual intercourse. Until tonight Rick was coming over tonight, and-he said he had something very special to tell me. I could guess what it was. The doorbell rang, and I made some last minute touches in the mirror. "Just a moment," I shouted. I rushed to the door. Rick was standing there, smiling. He had one hand hidden behind his back. "Here, Sally," he said. He brought his hand out from behind his back. There was a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. "For you." I grabbed the roses from his hand and crushed them to my breast. It had been so long since anyone had bothered to bring me flowers. "They're . . . beautiful," I said softly, strangely close to tears. I hugged the flowers and sniffed at their perfume. "They're beautiful, Rick. Beautiful." "They're for a beautiful woman," he said simply. 179 I blushed and my head spun. I closed the door, and together, with his arm through mine, Rick and I walked into the living room. Rick sat on the sofa. Til put these in water," I said. Til be back in a second. Why don't you fix yourself a drink." Til fix you one too," he said. "I want to celebrate tonight, Sally." I stared at him curiously before I turned. My stomach fluttered and I felt light-headed and giddy. I had champagne in my blood, and it was going to my head. The smallest anticipatory twinge gripped my cunt, but I pushed the thought away from my awareness. If it's going to happen, I told myself, then let it happen naturally. I smiled at Rick. He was gloriously handsome. Tall, dark wavy hair, jet black eyes, and a quick easy smile. His tan was so dark he almost looked like a Latin, and that somhow excited me. I wondered if he had hot, passionate blood. He reminded me oЈ someone, but it bothered me that I couldn't place who it was. Maybe someone from my . . . other life. He was thirty-two, the same age as Peter, and he had his whole life before him. "Hey," he said, smiling at me. "You better put those in water instead of standing there and mooning over them. You're dripping them all over the floor." I flushed, then laughed. Tm sorry, I forgot for a moment. I was just . . . thinking." I turned, still smiling, and I got a vase from the kitchen. The cold water was filling the vase when I heard Rick's voice calling to me. I lowered the pressure, turning the faucet. "What would you like to drink, Sally?" he asked. 180 "Do we have time for a drink?" I asked, being perverse. "Won't the film be starting soon?" "We'll have time for this drink," he said. "Now, what would you like?" I shrugged and shut the water. "Anything, honey. Whatever you're having will be fine." I began to arrange the flowers in the vase. I cleared a spot on the coffee table for the flowers. They looked beautiful: they made the room look so bright and cheerful. I sat on the sofa next to Rick. He handed me my drink. "Here you go, Sally." "What are we celebrating?" I asked. Rick laughed excitedly. He was like a little boy with a secret, trying to contain it. His happiness kept bubbling up and overflowing. "All right," he said, "are you ready for this?" The excitement was contagious. I giggled: "Yesl What is it, now?" "I did it," he explained. "I did it. I finally went over the mark. Over the million dollar mark. I've sold over one million dollars in life insurance policies!" "Oh, Rick! That's marvelous!" I shouted. I threw my arms around his neck, spilling my drink, and I tossed him. "That's wonderful, honey. Simply wonderful." He nodded his head, excited himself. "I really did it, Sally. The million dollar mark. That exclusive club. And you want to hear the best part? Do you know what Mr. Kahn said to me? He told me I was the youngest agent to have ever done it in Westerns history. The youngest and in the shortest space of time!" "Oh, that's wonderful," I said again. I kissed his 181 cheek. "Oh, I'm so happy for you, Rick. I know what this will mean to you." He sipped his drink, then put it down impatiently. "It will mean everything for me. The big opportunity; the opening of the door. Ill be getting a substantial raise, but more important than that, Til have to be considered for Ryder's job when he retires in September. A Vice Presidency, Sally. Think of that!" I put my own drink down, placing it next to Rick's on the table. I kissed him softly on the lips, Tm proud of you, Rick," I whispered. I touched his sofV handsome face. T truly am." He stared at me, his eyes becoming misty. There was a quaver of emotion in his voice. "Are you, Sally?" he asked. "You're not just . . . saying that, are you?" I kissed him again, full on the lips, gently, tenderly. I moved my lips around in a slow, sensual circle, allowing the sweetness of the kiss to linger. Only our mouths touched, no other part of our bodies. It seemed appropriate somehow: it matched the intimacy, the solemnness of the moment. Rick broke off the kiss. Emotion had drained his face until it was pale. His hand was trembling as he reached for his drink. He said: "I need this." I stared at Rick and did not speak. Instead, I waited; I hoped. He put the glass down again. "I love you, Sally," he said. "Very, very much." Somehow the moment was awkward for me. I felt uncomfortable as I sipped nervously at my drink. "You told me that the other night, Rick Do you remember?"
 

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   He nodded gravely. "Yes, and I'm saying it again. Sally, I love you. I love you very much." I wanted to believe him; I ached to believe that it was so. Inside of me that old emptiness, the burning hole in my Me needed to be filled with that love. Sperm couldn't fill it, nor could passion. Maybe it needed love. "How can you say that, Rick?" I asked. "You hardly know me. Three weeks ago we were strangers." "And who knows what we'll be to each other in three more weeks." I stared mistily at him. "Don't say that, Rick. Not unless you mean it." He touched my hand. "I do, Sally, I do mean it. I want you to … be my wife." A shudder went through me. Images flashed through my mind, racing like a series- of motion picture frames being shown too rapidly. I saw all the men, from Adam right down to that final night at Burrough's mansion. I shuddered as if I had seen a nightmare, a horror movie. A door closed in my memory, shutting off the images. They were gone, forgotten, like all things of the past, as if they had never happened. "Are you . . . serious, Rick?" I asked. I shook with the need to make this last and final change. This final metamorphosis. "Don't play games with me." "Sally, I couldn't be more serious if I tried. I love you. I want to marry you." My head began to spin. Marriage? I asked myself. Is that it? Is that what I need to be finally . . . happy? Marriage? I tried to think. Maybe that's what has been miss-183 ing from my life-stability. Lasting relations, emotional commitments, trust. Marriage. But it was more than just marriage, I saw. It was the whole emotional commitment I would be making to the idea of marriage. To marriage as a life-style! Rick has a good job, one that will lead to promotions, advancement. That's something solid, stable, sound, secure. You, could build a life on that kind of foundation. A steady job, respectability, a husband who loves me, perhaps a family some day, and maybe, maybe a home of our own, in the country, away from the noise and the dirt and the pollution of the city. A future. A real future! Rick's eyes were large and dark and open, waiting for my answer. I touched his face and caressed him. He was so strong, so confident. I needed that. I tried the other way of life. I tried the freedom, the wandering, the self-indulgence. It didn't work. I didn't find what I need in it. It didn't make me happy. Perhaps it's time, I thought. Time for Sally Bryant to settle down . . . again. "Do you really want to marry me, Rick?" I asked, my voice trembling. He shook with emotion. There were tears in his eyes. "Yes …" he gasped. "Yes . . , yes . . . yes, I do!" I gripped his hand tightly. "Make love to me, Ricky," I said. "Please, Ricky, my love, my lover. . . make love to me!" We came together, like two magnets. Like vines on a tree, our arms entwined. I kissed him hard on the lips, and his tongue pushed into my mouth. I sucked it, tasting the sweetness of his breath. I gave him my
 

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   tongue, as a gift of my love, and he accepted it in his mouth. "Oh, my God … I love you, Sally," he moaned. Rick's fingers worked on my blouse, parting it. His hands fumbled with my bra, pushing it down. He fondled my naked breasts, pinching the nipples until they were stiff with fire. "Jesus, believe me … I love you, Sally!" I kissed his mouth hard, shutting off the flow of words. I placed my tongue between his lips, and he drew it back into his mouth. His hands worked feverishly on my breasts. Passion began to work between the lips of my cunt. It had been so long since I had last been made love to. Only once, with Rick, in the long weeks since the orgy. I needed a man. My body burned with desire. I reached down between us, and I touched Rick. He sighed with excitement and stabbed his tongue into my mouth. My fingers curled around the stiffness of his rod, brushing it up and down through the straining material of his pants. The heat of his erection burned into my palm, and I hardly minded that he wasn't as endowed as some of the men I've been with. But it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he loved me and I loved him. There! I've said it! I've admitted it to myself. I love you Rick Tanner! I opened his zipper and pulled out his cock. He was very hard and very, very hot. I caressed him expertly with my fingers, and he moaned. "My God . . . Sally!" he cried. "That feels so … wonderful!" I scooped out his balls and rolled them about in 185 my hands. They felt elusive: hard and soft, squishing under the pressure of my fingers. I could feel the hair curling between my fingers as I tried to smooth out the wrinkled fiesh. "My . . . vagina," I said, pressing my cunt against the loose hardness of his cock. "Touch me . . . there, Rick. Please!" His hand came tentatively down, and he placed it between my well-parted thighs. I pressed the swollen mound against his hand, and I sighed when I felt his fingers curling down and under. I hunched up and down against him, spreading the wetness of my hand, and I was afraid he would come. I let go of the stiff rod. "Touch me … under my skirt," I said. Rick I squeezed into his cock, jerking him off. He began to breathe very heavily, sucking in breath and expelling it hotly. His cock throbbed in my hands, and I was afraid he would come. I let go of the stiff rod. Touch me . . . under my skirt," I said. Rick trembled against me. 'Tut your hand on it" He fumbled with the side button on, my skirt, and finally I had to help him with it. The skirt parted, and I stepped out of it. Together we pushed my panties down my legs. I laid back on the sofa and parted my thighs. "Make love to me, Ricky?" I moaned. My eyes were closed and I was thinking, remembering, dreaming, 'Tut it in … your thing . . . put it in me. Make . . . love to mel" Rick came down between my thighs, trembling. He pushed his smallish cock against my cunt, but he could not get it in. He tried once or twice, thrusting 186 uselessly against my thigh. He moaned in frustration, as if he were in pain. I reached down between us and guided his cock into my body. He felt the warmth, the wetness, and he thrust himself forward, savagely. "Ohmygodr he cried "Sally . . My Godr I squeezed down around the shaft of his cock, and Rick began to come almost immediately. His cock simply opened up and he began to flow, pumping his sperm up into the wet hollow of my pussy. "Ricky!" I cried. "Rickyf I didn't mind that he was coming; really, I didn't I hunched up against him, crushing my cunt against his belly. I could feel his balls expanding and contracting between the wet slit of my oozing cunt. I really didn't mind. I was happy, I realized. Rick was coming in my cunt, and I was happy. It would last this time, I knew it. This happiness was real. I could feel it; I sensed it. It would last. It had to! The search, my long, unsatisfied search was finally over. I had found what I was looking for. I had been correct-it was there, just where I thought it would be, just behind the next hill, over the next horizon, in the very next experience. The grass was greener there … I knew it would be, I knew it, I knew it, I knew itl "Ricky," I moaned. The sperm from his deflating cock was oozing all over my dripping pussy. I knew I could tell him-about Peter, about my other life. He would understand, I knew he would. We could get married now. We could fly together to Mexico. I could divorce Peter. And then Ricky and I would get married. "Ricky, darling!"
 

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   He moaned against my breast. "What . . . Sally?" I kissed his sweet mouth. "Ask me again, darling," I said. "Ask me again," He sobbed and pushed his lifeless cock against the spermy lips of my cunt. "Would you marry me, Sally?" His voice was shrill with hope. "Would you?" I wrapped my thighs around his hips, and I squeezed him with my arms. I said: "Yes, darling . Yes . . Yes . . Yesf
 

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   AND NOW BEELINE IS PROUD TO PRESENT . . , BOOK H WITH THIS RING, I THEE LUST by Poncho V. Ilia
 

A

 
   BEELINE DOUBLE NOVEL LAWFULLY WEDDED NYMPH
 

Formerly Published by

 

Carlyle Communications, Inc. as:

 

PASSION AND FUN, Jan. 1985

 

SEX-HUNGRY SALLY, Feb. 1982

 

INSATIABLE SALLY, Oct. 1979

 

SALLY'S SAUCY LIPS, July 1977

 
   WITH THIS RING, I THEE LUST
 

Formerly Published by

 

Carlyle Communications, Inc. as:

 

SEX FOR EVERYONE, Jan. 1985

 

ENCORE FOR ECSTASY, Feb. 1982

 

NEVER-ENDING ECSTASY, Oct. 1979

 

EAGER-TO-PLEASE, Aug. 1977

 
   All characters and events depicted in this book are purely fictitious. All rights reserved
 

Beeline Double Novels are published by

 

Carlyle Communications, Inc.

 

New York, New York

 
   ISBN: 0-503-07272-9 Covers posed for by professional models Printed in the United States of America

   When I was fresh out of Cape County High School, Julie asked me why I didn't enter the Miss Mackerel contest. "Julie," I said, balancing a tray of dirty dishes, "you're shitting me." "No," she said, "it would be good business." I was working as a waitress for Julie in Julie's Seafood Restaurant, Old Town. I was just eighteen. "You've got the figure for it," Julie said. "Good tits. Nice ass." She was a plain spoken gal, Julie was. I liked her. She talked my language. "You were Homecoming Queen, weren't you?" I had been, but when she said it I had to smile and then I spent the next few minutes thinking about how I became Homecoming Queen, by spreading my legs for not only my current steady but for that big, black stud who ran fullback on Cape County High's championship football team and for-well, that's a story worth telling 5 and since this is supposed to be the true confessions of me, it's as good as any as a place to start. One tiny bit of background, however, before we get down to the nitty gritty and talk about one of my favorite subjects, screwing. My father was and is a no good sonofabitch who then and now exists on a combination of lying, welfare, unemployment and stealing. They have a saying in Cape County. When Juby is out of jail, watch out for your water pumps. Juby special-ized in water pumps. You know, in Cape County, city water systems are limited to the County Seat, Old Town, and one of the beach towns. Elsewhere they get their water by pumping it up from the ground with an electric pump which, tank and all, costs about two hundred bucks and which, sold as hot merchandise, can bring' in about fifty bucks. Juby had a good hacksaw and he could run it in the dark of night, whip the two pipes in two with his hacksaw and be off with the water pump in less than five minutes. Juby had another speciality, which I'll mention later. I believe in not putting the really shocking material right up front, since it might sear the pants off any ready who stumbles onto my little account. O.K., being Juby Gore's daughter got me assigned to a particular place in Cape County, the general area of low life. I didn't give a shit at first. I once told a goddamned social worker, who was trying to get me lifted out of Juby's house, "Look why shouldn't I give the old fart a little? He feeds me don't he?" That was when I was young and innocent. And, whoops, I'm hinting at the shocking material which I was going to save. So I was Miss Low Life of Old Town, which is as corny as it's name. An old town, indeed, with the blue-fucking-bloods to go with it, although they fall generally
 

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   into the old southern catagory of being too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash. You had to be third generation Old Town to be accepted in that burg and I was white trash come in with my father's generation. Juby came in on a shrimp boat, being a Florida cracker, and found that state's unemployment payments to be great and stayed living in a tar paper shack on the beach road with my mother, who he never got around to marrying. She was a good old gal, sort of stupid, I mean, she was, like, retarded, but she didn't pass it on to me or my two brothers. Like, I think, her problem was brain damage at birth, so that she was a slow, smiling zombie in my life and I remember her best going about in a old house dress, clean but ragged, smiling and singing hymns while Juby had his hand under the dinner table finger fucking me and grinning at me across the table. But I was going to tell you how I came to be Cape County High School's Homecoming Queen. The Queen was elected by popular vote. I was already pretty popular with certain elements of the school. I liked 'em big and strong and the football team was a good one that year. I was going more or less steady with Bill Murphy because he was the only young stud I'd found with the staying powers to give me my whees. Most of them I'd tried would shoot off inches away from my muff and leave me stranded up there on a cloud of the hots. Bill was hung like a Shetland pony and he knew how to make a girl feel good. We'd make it every time we had a chance and once we almost got caught in the janitor's closet at the school knocking off a standing up piece between classes. Bill was the captain of the team. He was a nice looking boy, blond, built like a champ. The team, itself, was integrated, as was the whole school. And it was not
 

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   quite half spades. I'd sampled the wares of, maybe, five or six of the white players and they all called me buddy. They, at that time, didn't know that I'd spread it so freely, because I learned early that you keep it quiet if you're going to screw a little. I learned that when I popped off about my dad to the social worker and had to lie and cry like hell to get out of it. You don't tell and you make it damned sure that the stud doesn't tell, either. I had it made in that case. Once, when I was a kid, I put out for a young kid and he, icky kid that he was, started telling it all over school that Ruby Gore was a hot piece. I didn't mind the praise, but I was trying to make something of myself, made pretty good grades, and didn't want my reputation ruined, because I wanted to be in a couple of clubs and the clubs sort of frowned on what they called "bad girls." So I told my two brothers, Sam and Ruf, that this little shit was bad-mouthing me. Sam and Ruf whupped up on him a little and after that I told each of my boyfriends, "Look, if I give you a little, buddy, you'd better make damned sure it's just between you and me, for if I ever get word that you've been bragging around about screwing Ruby Gore, I'll sic Sam and Ruf on you." Sam and Ruf were both older. Sam had been in and out of the chain gang a couple of times, once for nearly killing a guy, and Ruf was built like a horse and could lift the front end of a car by himself. After they heard me say that they kept quiet. But there was no need to tell Bill Murphy that. He loved me. Bill was a sweet guy. When I first let him screw me I pretended to be tight, holding my twat muscles in and grunting and moaning, and he thought I was a virgin and wanted to marry me. That would have been great, except that Bill, popular as he was, Old Town and all that, was just the son of a commercial
 

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   fisherman and I didn't see myself getting assfat and chasing snotty' nosed kids in Old Town while Bill went fishing and made, maybe, five grand a year. But he served the purpose in High School, because he was Old Town society and he got me into a few of the clubs and got me more or less accepted, except with the snitty girls of the town, who knew rough competition when they saw it. Then, when we were seniors, Bill asked me why I didn't run for Homecoming Queen. Man, that turned me on. I'd picture myself riding the Boat at the big game, dressed in virginal white, ha ha, and looking down on those snitty bitches who wouldn't speak to me in the halls. "I can guarantee the support of the team," Bill said. Well, the way it worked, the Homecoming Queen was always the girlfriend of one of the players, usually the captain. I began to think that maybe I could make it. I said, "Yes, I'll do it." We started the campaign with posters saying RUBY GORE FOR HOMECOMING QUEEN. And the snits of Old Town came up with Selena Smith, daughter of the crooked lawyer, because the nice ladies couldn't stand the thought of Juby Gore's daughter representing their school at the big game. And the spades, who had developed the technique of block voting through their N.A.A.C.P. training, put up a nice looking black girl with a neat Afro. I saw the handwriting on the wall. The spades would vot for the black girl and the "nice" kids would vote for Selena Smith and little old Ruby would lose. There was this great, black stud who was fullback. Jesus, he was a boss. Give that spade bastard the ball and he'd bulldoze his way through the entire opposing team. He was built like the proverbial brick shit house, strong, Jesus. I'd seen him carry three men for twenty
 

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   yards without slowing down. He was built a lot like my brother, Ruf, and sometimes when I was easing Ruf's growing pains, my legs spread, his stocky, strong body on mine, I'd pretend that instead of Ruf's cock in me it was Roalt's. That was his name, Roalt Pepperdine. He went on to play fullback for one of the big pro teams, if you remember. Roalt was as poor as we Gores. His family, consisting of two old women and his fat mother, no men, the black stud who sired him having taken off for parts unknown, lived in jigtown in a shack about as bad as ours. So I thought me and Roalt might have something in common. But I had a devil of a time getting a chance to talk to Roalt. The spades sort of stuck together. We didn't have any knifings in the hall or like that, but the blacks and the whites didn't really integrate, they just went to the same school. But one day, when we were rehearsing for the Senior Play, I got a chance to get Roalt alone. I was playing a minor part, the society gals having glommed into the best parts, and Roalt, being black, was the butler or some such, so we didn't have much to do but sit around and wait for our one or two lines. We were sitting back in the auditorium behind the rest of the cast. There were only a couple of other spades in it, so they were up on the stage, leaving Roalt alone. I went and sat beside him. "Roalt," I said, getting right to the subject, since I didn't know how long we'd have to talk, "are you bound and determined to vote for Chicky?" Chicky was Roalt's steady and the black gal who was running for homecoming. "You know I am," he said, looking at me, his white eyes rolling and his face looking mean.
 

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   "You know if all you Hack cats vote for Chicky that Miss Sweetpants Selena Smith will win, don't you?" "That's the way it looks," he admitted. "And Selena doesn't even go to the football games," I said. "She thinks they're cruel and barbaric." I had fought my way onto the cheer leading squad and was at every game, jumping and showing my bottom through my royal red panties and urging the boys on to commit slaughter on the opposition. I cheered next to Chicky, who was not a bad looking girl and we'd talked some. "I'd rather see Chicky get it than Selena," I went on, "but you know and I know that the whites won't vote for her." 'Tuck 'em," he said. "On the other hand," I said, "if I could get a few black votes," I looked him in the eye and gave him my best smile, his eyes meeting mine in fine black defiance, "we'd at least have a queen who is one of us." "Not one of us," he said. "You want Selena to get it?" "Shit," he said. "Couldn't make a deal?" I asked. "Sell out Chicky?" "Talk to her, tell her how it is. I think she'd agree she'd rather see me than Selena up there." "Not a chance. We'll go down together." "You haven't heard all my offer," I said. "I don't want no^offers," he said, turning away. What I was going to say sent little flames into my panties and made me wet down there. "Roalt," I said, leaning close so he could smell me, "I'd do anything to get elected." I put certain emphasis on the word, anything, so that he looked at me again. "I've always admired you," I said. "Gee, when you go 11 banging into that line-" I sighed. "You're one strong bastard," I said. "I like strong men." He was looking at me with a funny expression. "I haven't got much to offer," I said, being humble. "But what I have . . ." "Shit," he said, but I could see the old devil in his eyes. "Maybe we could get together and talk about it?" I was leaning close. It was dark in the auditorium off the stage. I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed. "When?" he asked. "Tonight?" "You shitting me?" he asked. "Not a bit," I said. "Look, there's a dirt road goes back of my house. Right after dark I might take a walk down that road, that is if I thought there might be someone there to keep me company. I'm scared of the dark." "There might be," he said. "Right after dark." Juby was in jail for stealing water pumps. Sam had married a slit from the beach and was living over there working at the pier. For dinner I gave Ruf beans and chicken and then I cleaned the table and Ruf went off to smoke dope over on the beach. I waited until dark. I left the house in a skirt and sweater. It was warm for October. I left my panties and bra at home. I felt my boobs swing with my steps and began to think about Roalt and all that power bottled up in his big body and wondering if I'd be able to take that strength and vitality without flipping out completely. He was already there in an old ambulance that I'd seen him drive around. I saw it and walked up to the passenger's side and got in. He was a dark, massive blur. I said, "Hi," lightly. He grunted. "Waiting long?"
 

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   "Naw," he said. "We can go to the house iЈ you like," I said. "No one's home." He reached over and put his big, ham-like hand on my shoulder and pulled me to him and I felt that he was going to crush me. "I gave. I let my body melt into his and gave him a feel of my unbound knockers, which were, even then, something to feel, I'd guess, and he was panting and snorting like a bull. My curiosity was overwhelming. I shot down one of my lily whites and closed it over his cock and, whee, was it a stud. It felt like a club down there between his big, muscular thighs. "God, Roalt," I said, my voice going fuzzy. I'm what is known as an easy lay. I can think myself into a state of near climax and sometimes I blast off being handled. I mean, when I feel a man's hand down there at my glory hole I feel all girl and am one huge, wet, slick, throbbing cunt of passion and just feeling all that man, his arms around me, my hand on his massive cock, made me begin to tremble. His lips were big and demanding. They covered my whole mouth. I gave him my tongue. I like kissing. You know how it is in certain circles. People are always kissing. You kiss a casual aquaintance at a party. Sometimes you kiss him on the cheek or on the lips. A lot of people kiss other people of the same sex. It's sort of a social ritual. If you'll notice, if you're ever at a party with me, I don't kiss casually. When some dizzy broad comes at me with a kissing pout on her lips, I get the hell out of there. And I don't kiss any male I don't want to kiss. None of this smack on the cheek shit for me. If I kiss a man he knows he's been kissed even if it is just a quick thing at a party or a meeting in an office or something. I mean, I look at a man and I think, gee, I'd
 

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   like to kiss him. And if I feel like that, I kiss him. I lay one on him. I give him my mouth turned inside out and he's wet from the nose to the chin and if there's a bit of time I'll drive my tongue into his mouth to taste him. I like the feeling of being sexy. It sends me. And one kiss, from a man who turns me on, makes me sexy and I'm often able to keep myself in a state of excitement just by kissing a few selected studs at some dull affair. But about Roalt. He was the first spade I'd ever kissed. Nqw, as I've said, he was a big man, boy, then, I'd guess. But he was all spade. He had these big, wide lips and one of them made a mouthfull for me. When I gave him my tongue, my lower lip was spread all over his face and then, with a little shiver of pure satisfaction, I took his lower lip between mine and began to chew on it. It was big and meaty and all man and it made my belly start dancing with the delicious trembles. I climbed all over him, trying to make every inch of my body contact his. I rubbed my tits on him and put one leg over one of his so that I could press my twat against his hard-muscled thigh. I felt all that strength. I turn on easy. I was wound up like an eight day clock. You'd think I'd been without it for weeks. I was shivering and trembling and when he tried to get his hand in between us I gave him space and gasped when he gave one of my knockers a squeeze, hard. He got a nipple between his fingers. There was nothing between his fingers and me but a thin summer pull-over thing and when he clamped down on it the hurt was so good I made a little crying sound. He stopped. "Be rough," I said, my voice hard to control. "You can't hurt me." I liked 'em rough. I'd had good training. Ruf. "For a white gal, you're sure hung," he said, taking 14 both my knockers into his hands and weighting them before he began to rub and squeeze and find the nipples, which had hardened and were pushing against the material. He pinched, hard, and I went into orbit and began to try to eat his mouth. "Jesus," he breathed, his hand going down my body, feeling its way, trying my waist for size and then finding my bulging hips and squeezing them. He wasn't the first to be awed by my wild willingness and I was pleased to think that I could make him say "Jesus" that way, for I'd always heard that spade gals were pretty wild. His hand finally started trying to make its way into. my lap. I had my leg thrown up over his, and my skirt was hiked up. He rubbed up my bare leg to my thigh and I felt wonderfully sexy as I lifted my leg like slow and held it up and his hand went up and his fingers touched my pantiless twat. I was gooing and ready and shaking. "Jesus," he said, for the second time, when he felt me. I laughed down inside with pleasure. He felt around, letting his fingers find my labia. I have nice fat twat lips. They're small. They serve to guide anything hard right straight into my glory hole. And I'm very, very wet. I find that men like that. They like to think that it's them and them alone who has created enough hots to make me wet my panties and, if it goes on a long time, have my slick, inner oils running down and making a slick sheen of liquid on my pudenda and my anus. Roalt found that wetness and he fingered it and played with it. He wasn't a dummy, because he knew that I lived up there in that little round thing at the top of my slippery slit. He would wet his fingers in me and then slid them up and rub my clit and I was begging and crying inside, wanting to feel something more than that. I mean, I
 

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   have to have penetration to really live and I wanted to be stuck. "Let's put our bods in the back," he said, croaking in his need. Man, I was willing. I pulled away and started to scamper over the back of the seat. I raised one leg and he froze me in that position because he shot his hand up my skirt and his big social finger gave that sign, up you, and up me it went, all the way to his third knuckle. I moaned and began to screw wildly, not even knowing what I was doing I was so hot. I screwed around on Ms finger and moaned and bis finger was shooting in and out of me. He had me from the front and his palm was pressing hard on my clit and I was bucking and crying and he was panting and I said, "Gaaaaa," and came like a nym-pho, wildly, poundingly. I almost fainted with the goodness of it and then he was pushing me over the seat. I was so weak I just fell down on the back seat and there were quilts and an old mattress there instead of a seat. The whole back of the old bus was a queen-sized bed. I lay there on my back and watched him crawl over. He filled the whole space he was so big. He put his weight on me and I could feel his hard cock through our clothing and it didn't take much more than that to have me ready to go again. He body-fucked me. I spread my legs and he slid between them, his hard cock pressing into my softness. His mouth found mine. He was drilling me so hard that I thought he was going to push a hole right through his clothing and my skirt. That was a beauty I had on his fingers, but that was just a warm-up. I was going to come again just dry-fucking. His cock was really hard. At that moment I didn't give a shit about being Homecoming Queen, I
 

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   just wanted to be fucked. "Put that thing in me," I gasped, reaching down to seize his cock in my hand. "Get naked, mama," he said. I sat up and lifted my pullover. He helped. It came oS and his hands found my bare tits and gave them a work out. I put my hands behind his head and pulled him down and thrust one tit into his mouth. "Bite it," I gasped, "Bite it, you bastard, bite it." On my knees, one knocker pushed into his mouth, my hands on his head pulling him close, I reached down with one hand and did my skirt and began to push it down. He was biting me hard, so hard that the little shoots of pain were going all over my body and sending messages of whee down into my wet twat. I had my skirt pushed down as far as it would go with me kneeling and then I began to work on him. I got his shirt open and gushed my white tits up against his black chest and rubbed them and then had my hands down undoing his pants and when I had them open and went inside to feel that cock, oh, God. He wanted to see me naked. He pushed me away and pulled the skirt off and then, in the light of the night moon, he gazed at me and rubbed me while I moaned and squirmed under his hands. I knew what he was seeing. He was seeing whiteness in skin, a nice figure, small waist, large ass, good legs, big tits. I wanted to see and feel· too. I reached out and seized that monster as it came out of his pants and I could put both hands on it and have room left. I was so hot I had to do something. I was holding his cock in one hand, frigging it gently. I was trying to push his pants off with the other and then I made a sound and fell down and smelled him just before I kissed that big monster. He smelled like man. I opened my mouth, one hand hold- 17 ing the cock and guiding it, I took the head of it and tried to push more into me. I had just the head and maybe a half inch more and it was back at the back of my throat and I kissed and sucked and licked the cream as it oozed out of the little eye of his beautiful cock. "You're gonna waste me, mama," he gasped, plunging his cock into and out of my mouth. I let my wet mouth run down the big vein under it, all the way to his balls. Then I fell back. "Now, Roalt," I said, "fuck me now." He pushed his pants off and I pulled and tugged as he put his weight on me. He was no gentleman. He didn't support his weight. He just threw it on me, about a ton of man, and I didn't care. I like to be treated rough at times. He was crushing me and his cock was down there banging at my box and I squeezed one hand in between us and threw up my ass and, wow, it hit and went in and it was nice, nice, nice, the finest cock I'd ever felt, huge, throbbing already. I knew he was so close that he'd go like a house afire, but I wasn't worried. I was so dose I was throbbing up in my cunt and I ground my ass up and took all he had to give and came blindingly, the second one in a couple of minutes. I knew from the feel of it and the strength of it that it was going to be one of those great, great nights. He was pounding me. I, feeling those sweet after feelings, made it great for him by moving just right, reaching up to take him, letting it drive all the way up to my liver as it went in. He came with a power which left me breathless, and hungry for more. He dug his fingers into my soft ass and lifted my pelvic basket to punch his cock ever deeper. He must have come a quart. I could feel his cock swell and burst and throb and I could feel his come jetting out into me and I had this 18 secondary climax which was so sweet and it lasted and lasted and didn't stop until he'd pumped himself dry and had let his body just sag down as he relaxed. ] squirmed under him from time to time, just to feel his cock. He was panting. "You're some hot mama," he said. "You're not so bad yourself," I said. "You got my vote, mama," he said. "Any woman knows how to handle poon like that I'd elect president." "I'm glad," I said. "But let me tell you, you spade bastard, the way you rang my chimes I'd fuck you anytime, anywhere. I mean, Jesus, Roalt, that was the best I've ever had. I mean, wow, you're great." "Don't shit me," he said. "Get off me and lay down," I said. "Huh?" I pushed him off and started working on him. He lay there, his cock relaxed. I started kissing his mouth and eating those big, delicious lips. I had the hots again. I ran my hands all over his naked body. I kissed him all over. I'll admit, now, that I was ignorant then. I had expected Roalt to' smell just because he was spade. You know how it is in the redneck South. They say a nigger has a peculiar smell. Well, I guess a spade who doesn't take a bath has a smell, just like whites who don't bathe smell, but Roalt, although I doubt if his shack in jig-town had indoor plumbing, was clean. I guess he took showers every day at the gym. He smelled like a good after shave lotion and clean, sexy sweat and of us. When I started kissing him around his belly I could feel, under my lips, the hard rows of muscles. I timed it. I didn't want him to get hard, not yet. I felt his cock and it was still soft and then I went down on it. Soft, I could get almost all of it into my mouth. 19 That's still one of my favorite things. And I think that was the first time I'd ever done it, I mean, taking a soft cock into my mouth and tonguing it and kissing it and sucking it until, as it grows, gets too big and hard for the space available in my mouth and pushes itself out backward. It tasted of come and pussy juice. The taste of love. Come and pussy. I loved it. Back in those days I was usually so eager to get laid that I didn't do much Frenching^nd I guess I really learned to love it with Roalt. He had not been circumcised. He had this great flap of foreskin. I pulled it up and nibbled on it before he got hard, covering in his head with his foreskin and chewing on it until he squirmed. Then I pushed his soft cock all the way back into my throat and tried to swallow it. You'd be surprised, unless you're a French expert, how far down you can get a limp cock if it's long enough. I did a swallowing motion and the head of his cock slid down to my belly, it seemed. I mean, it was into my gullet. I would have thought that it would gag me, but I guess I was so hot that I didn't think about that. I just swallowed it. My teeth were pressed up against his mound, his whole soft shaft in my mouth, the head of it actually swallowed and the swallowing things in my throat working on it. That's when he started to get hard. He told me later that he had been a little scared then, afraid I was going to actually eat him, I mean, swallow the whole thing. It was soft in my throat and my throat worked every time I tried to swallow and it squeezed and he got harder and harder and it began to back its way out. Then I worked on the head of jt, running my tongue around the rim, nibbling with my teeth and making him 20 squirm. Then, with it hard, I licked it up and down and took his balls, one at a time, into my mouth and toyed with them ever so gently. He was getting hot and moaning and squirming. I was turning him on and did I ever get a bang out of it. I liked it. I like anything, and I mean anything, about sex. I ate and sucked and licked and kissed that huge, black cock loved it, swelling for me and growing into a forearm-sized club which had both my hands on it and my mouth as wide as I could over the head of it sucking and then I felt his loins go tense and his hips begin to rise and fall, fucking my lips, my mouth, stretching my mouth painfully and I knew I had an opening which could better take it, so before he rammed it all the way down my throat I climbed on. I mean I threw myself astride his big, hard body and looked down and damn me if he wasn't invisible, black in black, but I could sure feel him, and I found the prong and sat on it, lowering myself, letting his cock slide in one inch at a time on the slick highway paved by his own come and my juices. I felt short. I didn't think you'd ever see me alive again. I mean, it went on and on and my body took it, that big club frothing at the tip, inching up into me, splitting me, filling me to the point of joyful screaming. I took it all and let my weight down to drive the head of it up against my useless womb. I'd had this problem when I was a kid and they'd done something up inside me and the doc said I'd never have a kid, 50 I didn't worry about getting knocked up, ever. I had that huge black mother squeezed in my cunt and I was throwing my body around wildly, circling the thing with my hips, riding, squirming, bouncing, feeling my eyeballs pop when Roalt lifted his hips to drive it home. I was in my
 

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   element, I'm Miss Sex Queen and I've never had it better than it was with Roalt. I mean, baby, he had it. He was Mr. Sex. He loved it. "Shit," he said, "you've got a sweet cunt." He drove. He lifted. He pinched my boobs. He mauled me. He was rough and I loved it. Then he threw me off and overtopped me and lifted my legs so that my knees were against my chest and drove that third leg of his into me and I screamed with the good, good, hurting brutality of it, because I was in serial climax with that, that pain, that pounding, that brutal blow each time he hit my clit, that panting, hard, strong body of his, his clasping hands, his fingers digging. I came and came and then when he came I came again and we came for an eternity, his cock throbbing and pumping and my cunt squeezing him as it throbbed out another story of pure heaven. We lay there, his cock going soft in me. "You liked it?" he said. "Honey, I loved it." "I think you did. You like black cock." "Is it black?" I asked, laughing. "I can't see it." "White lady fucking the nigger," he sneered. "Don't give me that nigger shit, Roalt," I said. "I don't allow it. You wanta be goddamned bigoted, you go find someone else to bigot on, because I don't like that sort of shit." He laughed. "I'm gonna talk to the people," he said. "I don't know if it'll do any good, but I'm gonna talk to 'em." "I'd appreciate it," I said. I kissed him. "I'd also appreciate it if you'd rub my ass just a little. I think you've bruised it." I rumpled his kinky hair and turned over. He rubbed my ass tenderly and when he bent to 22 kiss it I said, "Unless you want to rouse the sleeping tiger, don't do that." He went on doing that and he roused it and when we finally left that old dirt road I was oozing come and loving it. I like to keep it up inside me, feeling it, knowing how it got there and remembering every stroke of it. He left me off at the house and I went in and sat on the John and peed and felt a huge glob of it slop out and make a splash in the water and then I had a balh, but didn't wash too good inside the lips of my pussy because I liked to go to sleep with it nice and gooey. Nothing happened for a couple of days. Then I saw Roalt at play practice. "I talked," he said. "Yes?" "I talked to the guys on the team, the brothers. They say, what the hell. It's no skin off their ass. I mean, they don't care whether it's you or Selena." Well, that shot me down. "We can still be friends," I said. He looked at me. "Mama, it was good rocking, but I ain't in the mood to get hung." "No one will know," I said, remembering that huge weapon of his. "The guys wonder why I'm pushing for them to vote for you." "Oh." I went up to do my three lines then and when I came off he was gone and I didn't see him for a day or so. Then I heard Selena Smith saying, "That little whore can't win. We have to stop her. I could never face the disgrace of losing to that little whore." I cornered Roalt in the hall. "I can't accept it," I said. "I want you to get the guys on the team, the brothers, to hold a meeting. I want to talk to them." "I won't do no good," he said.
 

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   "Tonight, at about eleven o'clock," I said, "I'll be walking down that dirt road. Now no one ever goes down that dirt road. My dad's in jail and Ruf will be off. I want to talk to all of them." He looked at me and grinned. "You want that Queen shit bad, don't you?" "I want it more than anything in my life," I said. "I want to be able to spit on Selena Smith." "There's ten of us," he said. "I'll be there." I walked down the road at eleven. It was pitch dark. I was, frankly, scared shitless. I'd never had a gang bang before and there I was going to take on ten spade studs. I had the screaming willies about it, not knowing whether to be hot as a pistol or scared out of my dress. I had on a one-piece, buttoned down the front, no pants, no bra. I started to turn back. I thought they'd call it off. Then, rounding a curve, I saw the dark mass of the old ambulance and then it was too late to back out. They were standing around the old bus with their hands in their pockets. I couldn't see very well in the dark, but I picked out Roalt by his size. I went up to him and said, "Is it a deal, Roalt? Will they vote for me and have their friends to vote for me?" "Only if you're a good rocking, mama," one of them said. There was a general laugh. "If I do it for all of you and make it good, will you vote for me?" "Deal," one of them said. There was a muted chorus of assent I whispered to Roalt. "You first?" He took my arm. "How come him first?" someone wanted to know. "Because I'm bigger than you and can whup your ass," Roalt said.
 

24

 
   "I knew there was a good reason," the other one said, laughing. I crawled into the back of the bus, nervous, not sexy at all, a hell of a lot scared now. I took off the dress and put it over the front seat and Roalt was playing with me, squeezing my tits, running his hand up my legs to find my twat, which was scared into an odd dry condition. "You sure you wanta do this?" "I'm sure," I said. He put a finger into me and found some moisture and began to play with my clit, rubbing the wetness from my soft insides on it and, in spite of my nervousness, I began to feel sexy. As I said, I'm an easy lay. I fell down on my back like a bug and opened my legs and, with some of the cats outside looking in and saying, "Hurry it up, you fucker," I took Roalt in for the second night and fondled his body and found him to be as sexy as he'd been before and had a beauty before he blasted his come into me. Up until then, I've never had the fun of having more than one man a night. I was steamed up from Roalt's good rocking and I just lay there while another stud, and it was so damned dark I couldn't recognize any of them, crawled up and drove his cock into me, sliding right in on Roalt's come and filling me up, but not as much as Roalt. He must have been an inexperienced kid, because he came just as soon as he was in me and his cock wilted away. I didn't try to push him off, because I knew they'd laugh at him if he came out too quickly, and he lay there a little while, only moving his ass as his cock dwindled and fell out and I felt a stream of come begin to ooze down my thigh. I was looking ahead to number three and liking the idea. The quick come in me by the second kid felt good. 25 I mean, I like to have a man come in me. I like the feel of his swelling cock and the tender clasping of his arms and the way his whole body comes to attention. I like it. And then there was number three and he was almost as quick, but not to quick for me to work up a good one, driving my ass up to help him, moaning with it, coming as he jetted his come into me and then four and after that it was a glorious blur. None of them was sophisticated enough to want to share me. They came one at a time. I lost count. I went into the sex daze, my body ablaze, my cunt wet, oozing. I felt the quilt under me get wetter and wetter with escaping come and I was so like slick with it that they used my legs as a guide and sort of skidded into my waiting cunt. I was a perpetual fucking machine. My ass kept pounding and twitching and my legs kept twining up and around and my arms kept reaching for man after man and I lost count and just lived for the next one to drive into me, feeling sexier than I'd ever felt in my life, feeling like the eternal woman, the machine put on earth for man's pleasure, and I didn't care if they came and came in me, because each time I felt them grunt, heave, come, jet, I felt a new little thrill of lust and my cunt would squeeze and bite and make it good for them and I'd come and moan and cry out and sob and laugh with it it was so good. I mean, I'd had good ones before, but never, never an unending stimulation of my cunt and my ciit so that it seemed I never stopped coming and my tight pussy got looser and looser and my thighs were slick with come and it was up over my belly where one poor guy came before he got it in, wetting down my bush with it and making me smell like semen, that rich, starchy, warm odor, and guy after guy came
 

26

 
   and once I heard someone say, "It's my turn for seconds." They were going around twice and I was in a wild, blind, lovely daze of pure sex, coming, my cunt pounding, my body trembling and crying out for more. Finally I was dozing, weak, happy. Not thinking. I was the best fucked girl in the world and I just wanted to sleep forever. They all crowded in and held my head in someone's lap and I heard Roalt saying, "You all right, mama?" I laughed. "We gon' have the sexiest fuckin' queenie in the world," someone said. "Wow." You may think that I've sort of shortened the story of my gang bang. I guess I have. I mean, well, like I said, after the first down and come with Roalt and then two or three more, I really went into sort of a hazy state. I can't really remember the details. If you're a broad and wonder how it would be to be the center of a Hells Angels gang bang, I'd say, it won't hurt you, and it might do you some good, but you've got to be sort of strong. If you're one of these gals who gets tender after getting your jollies once, forget it. I don't get tender. I just get ready for more. I haven't got a tough cunt. No one has ever said that. I mean, it's not like the cunt of some old whore, with teeth in it, and when I was young it must have been even more tender than it is now, but even I was sore for a week after that wild party. I try, now and then, to remember the details. I'd like to have living color pictures of that night, in close-up detail, so I could study the size and shape of every cock that went into me. Cocks do vary in size and shape and there was a good assortment, small, medium, long, slim, big, fat. But I missed all the fine details because I was Miss Fucking Sex Assed Queen and loving every min- 27 ute of it and it was, in effect, like having one continuous man. After a while they seemed the same. They had cocks and they grunted when they came in me and their come was wet and slick and I could feel it jet out into me, because they were all young, horny studs. I don't regret it. But I've never done it again. Oh, I'd admit, if pressed, to being four in a bed, two broads and two studs, and three in a bed, both ways, two gals and two guys, not at the same time. But as things went, I learned that quality is better than quantity, after that first wild rush of youthful lust. Still, I'd give a couple of grand for pictures of that night. I know that if I could lie on my bed and watch myself that night, with ten young, horny studs taking turns, I'd cream without even touching myself, for when I think of it these days it takes on the aspects of being one of the sexiest nights of my whole life. Ten studs. Not quite a whole football team. And it was me, my cunt, my body that felt every one of them and milked them and drained them so that all of them were smug and satisfied. And me floating in come. I like the story about the French girl who saved all the come she took and then put it into a bath tub and wallowed in it. I like the feel of come, like the smell of it, the taste of it. But I don't think that French thing actually happened, because come loses its white color in minutes and, if kept in a bottle, gets thin and unexciting.
 

28

   "You were Homecoming Queen, weren't you?" Julie asked. "Yeah," I said, dumping the dirty dishes into the sink, "but that was done by popular vote." "You don't want to spend the rest of your life slinging hash, do you?" Julie asked "It hasn't done bad by you," I said. Julie had a nice house overlooking the Marina and she wore nice clothes and drove a new bad Buick. "I didn't do it slinging hash," she said. "These big spenders here think a nickel tip is generous. I did it with my first husband's insurance money, honey." "Well, there's that," I said. "I guess 1 can get married." "Shit, to one of these local yokles?" "What else?" "You could go to college." "Shit," I said. "Sure," she said. Old man Worths put up a thou- 29 sand dollars scholarship for the Mackerel Queen." She put out her cigarette and looked at me. "And you and I both know that who old man Worth says is Mackerel Queen is Queen." "Yeah," I said. "And this year it's going to be Selena Smith." She was still haunting me. Jesus, I lorded it over her. I rode that fucking float and looked down. I'd made my dress. I started working as a waitress in Julie's place when I was fourteen and had enough money to buy a few things and look pretty good, so I bought material and made the dress and I thought I looked good, and looking at the pictures, I know I looked good. Virginal. With all the black studs on the football team standing around grinning. But you know, not one of them ever talked it, as far as I know. I heard that Roalt put the fear of God into them, threatening to whup their asses if any one of them talked. "Maybe, she said, grinning. "Doesn't your brother work for old man Worth?" I nodded. Ruf had gone to work for the Worth fishing fleet and was running a commercial fishing boat for old man Worth. "Gets along all right with Worth, doesn't he?" "I guess so," I said. "Let's see what we can do," she said. I forgot all about it and begin to think about, maybe, taking off. I had a few dollars saved. I wasn't bad to look at. I thought about maybe New Orleans. Or New York. I was still dating Bill Murphy. He picked me up and I went out to his place, his parents were away, and had a shower to get the smell of trench fries out of my hair. Then I put on a bathing suit I kept in Bill's car and we went to the beach and had a couple of beers. I didn't drink much, because, at eighteen, I was at the peak of SO my figure. I mean, when a girl matures early, she has to start watching the calories. Then when I went into work the next day there was Julie grinning at me. "Honey, if I'm wrong, tell me," she said, "but I get the idea that you're not above using certain feminine weapons to advance yourself, huh?" I thought I knew what she meant. "I don't sell it, Julie," I said. "O.K." She was grinning like a possum. "I talked to old man Worth last night." She wouldn't say any more, but at mid-afternoon old man Worth came in. He was the daddy rabbit of the fishing industry in Old Town, and fishing was all Old Town had going for it. He owned a fleet of boats, shrimpers, trappers and charter boats. He was the cat who lived in the big white house on the top of the hill, the richest man in Old Town. He owned stores and houses and the docks and what he said went. I served him, doing my best smile and waiting for either him or Julie to say something. It was Julie who said it. "Go clean up a little, honey," she said. "Mr. Worth wants to take you for a boat ride. I looked at her. The evening business was coming up and she'd be rushed without me, but I shrugged and went back, washed, brushed my hair and came out. Mr. Worth was standing at the door. He was short, thin, grey. He had never been known to smile in public. He had the reputation of being a shrewd man, a man who'd cut your throat for a dollar. He wore clean work pants and a light blue shirt all the time. He was, probably, in his sixties, although I didn't know for sure. He was spry, active. He could work with the best of them. Julie caught me by the arm as I walked out. "Play it right, kid, and you're in."
 

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   I followed Worth to the docks, across the street from the restaurant, and he stood back to let me board his big old cabin cruiser first. I'd seen it and looked at it and had never been on it. He unlocked the hatch, still without having spoken a word to me directly. I looked in and saw a cabin with carpets and all sorts of fancy fittings. There was a set of twin bunks forward, neatly made. Worth was starting the engines and throwing off lines. I stood and watched. He backed her out expertly, wheeled her out of the Marina and headed for the inlet. "You're Juby Gore's girl," he said as the lovely old boat began to pitch with the first of the bar breakers. "Sorry sonofabitch." "You know him," I said. "Your brother's a good man." "Yeah," I said, thinking of Ruf in a different way and laughing to myself, wondering what old man Worth would think if he knew how I knew Ruf was a good man. "We'll have to send you shopping for some clothes," he said. I gulped. Hell, he was sounding as if he owned me. "Our Queen is sexy but proper." • "Surer* I said, gulping again. I'd attended some of the Mackerel Festival doings in the past and the beauty contest was run like all others, with the girls parading in bathing suits and gowns and the judges making notes. Now it seemed that I was Mackerel Queel even before the Festival started. "I'll give Julie the money and Pearl Phelps will go with you to do the shopping." 1 knew Pearl. She ran a little shop in town. She was a single girl, about thirty-five, I'd guess, good looking in a sort of way, big, blond, brassy. She was always advising the girls who entered beauty contests from Old Town
 

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   and once had carried an Old Town girl all the way to the state pageant I felt a little strange, as if I'd waked into a dream or something. It was all too easy. Old man Worth wasn't talking. He stood at the wheel, taking the old cruiser offshore at about twenty knots. The fishing fleet would be working well off and the shrimpers were down the beach. Ahead of us was a stretch of ocean which was not often traversed by boats, since there was no good bottom there for shrimping or fishing. We were about four miles off and the ocean was rolling gently and we were all alone when Worth cut the engines, pushed a pully which dropped anchor and the old boat swung to the chain. "You don't have to undress fully," he said, looking at me unsmiling. "Come down when I call you." I stood on the deck looking around, getting myself psyched for screwing an old man. I was thinking of Selena Smith's face when the master of ceremonies at the Mackerel Queen Beauty Parade said, "And the winner is . . ." Then I heard Worth calling my name. "Ruby. Ruby." I opened the hatch and walked into the bad cabin, wild, soft carpet, curtains at the windows. The door to the forward bunk cabin was also closed. I opened it. He was lying on the port side cot, buck neeeked, except for one ladies shoe. It was an old fashioned thing they used to call a pump, thin, high heels, arched sole. He was wearing it on his cock, I mean, it was over his cock and he was holding it with both hands. His cock was big enough to fill it and as I walked in he drove his hips up and punched his cock into the shoe, pushing the head of it all the way up into the pointed toe. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything.
 

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   He looked up and said, "1 think this will fit you." I stood there sort of thunderstruck and he made an impatient sound, threw the shoe at me and said, "Put it on." I kicked off my waitress clodhoppers and tried the pump. It was tight, but O.K. He tossed the other. His cock was big enough. It was hard and blue-veined and the head of it was sort of purple. It looked as hard as his body. He was a well preserved old fart. I was in my waitress white with the pumps making my feet fee! swollen, standing beside the bunk. He sat up, bent, began to rub the shoes on my feet. He guided rae to the other bunk and I lay back and he picked up my feet and started rubbing his cheeks on the shoes. He kissed the soles of them. All this time he didn't touch me at all, just the shoes. After a few minutes of that, he sighed, fell onto the other bunk, and motioned to me. I started to take off my clothes. "No," he said. "Up here." He indicated that I was to stand on the bunk. I took my position, thinking that he wanted to look up my dress, but he didn't. He put his hands on my feet and lifted one foot and placed it on his cock. He had the shoe's insole cradled over the bulge of his cock and he rolled it around. "Stand on it," he said. "Honey, I weigh a hundred and twenty pounds," I said. "Just do as you're told." "Well," I said, standing with part of my weight on his cock. He began to squirm and moan. "Let all your weight on it," he said. I stood on one foot, holding onto things. I was crushing his poor cock under the shoe. The sharp heel was digging into his groin. He was moaning as if in pain. He 34 began to make blubbering sounds and I eased off. He opened his eyes and said, very cool, "I want you to walk on me. All over. Don't be afraid you'll hurt me." So I walked. I put my weight on the fucking shoes and the sharp, heels dug in and left bruises and red spots and he guided me with his hands on the shoes up and down his chest, making the sharp heels bite into his hard little male tits and then down until I was standing with both feet on his hard cock, the shoes hurting him like hell and he was blubbering and saying, "No, mama, no, mama, please, mama." And all of a sudden he came and white come squished up, held back by the weight of the damned shoes with me behind them, caught in the vein of his cock, oozing out slowly, his cock pumping and him blubbering and crying out, "Oh, no moma." I eased off and the come gushed out and he cried and then he used his hands on my ankles to ease me off. His body was a mass of red spots from the heels. He sat up. "Thank you," he said. "Now, please leave me alone for a few minutes." When he came out he was composed. He was dressed in the work clothes. He did not speak or smile. I went back to work. I was one puzzled chick. That night Julie handed me four hundred dollars and said, "Hi, Miss Queen." I went out and made Bill fuck me in the back seat of his car before it got dark, parked on the river road. He gave me a good ride and I had a nice one, but I couldn't forget that poor bastard wanting me to mutilate him with those fucking sharp shoes and standing on his cock and all. But old man Worth was not my last surprise in the great and glorious Mackerel Festival. Next day I was given the day off and Pearl Phelps picked me up in her 35 GTO and we drove to the big town and went shopping. We started with underwear and Pearl bought things which I'd never been able to afford, fancy pants, the most expensive bras which felt like no bra at all. Then we started on outfits and I was out of my head with joy when we drove back to Old Town with not just four hundred bucks worth of finery, but about six hundred, for Pearl had had a few bucks stashed for me, too, just in case the four wasn't enough. We went to Pearl's place, a nice old house on the river. She had me strip and began to try on things. She helped and at first I didn't think much when her hand would brush my tit or my fanny when I was taking on and off the glamorous outfits we'd picked out. Then I began to notice that she was breathing hard. It was funny. She was acting like a stud who hadn't had any for a year, looking at my bod in bikini panties with the lust in her eyes so unmistakable that even though I'd never seen a real live lesbian before I knew what was on her mind. Now me, I'm always interested in learning something new, and after a while, when nothing developed, I was wondering what she was going to do, just stand there and tremble and snort through her nose or make a play for me. She had me in a bathing suit and was fingering the bra and the fit and brushing my exposed skin and about to burn up, I damned well knew. Her hands were trembling. She was flushed. She pulled out the bra and peeked down at my dark, hard nipple snuggled inside the bra. "Is it comfortable?" she asked. She almost choked on the words. "Is there anything wrong?" I asked. "Oh, no," she said. "It's just that . . ." She'd been so nice to me during the shopping, giving 36 me tips all along on how to walk and talk and hold myself. She knew what she was doing. I felt sorry for her. I pulled off the bathing .suit and stood there in the buff. "I'm worried about my hips," I said. "Are they too big?" She looked at them with hunger in her eyes. She had to feel them before she gave an opinion and her hands were warm and so very, very tender. "No," she gasped. "No They're . . . they're beautiful." "And my breasts?" I asked. "Are they firm enough?" Wow. She almost went through the ceiling. She looked at them. I turned, thrust out my chest. I put one hand under my left breast and held it up. "Does it need support?" She swallowed. "Feel it," I said. "See if it's firm enough." "Oh," she said, eyeing the boob, reaching out a trembling hand. "Oh," she gasped, as her hand cupped it, fondled it, held it with such tender, loving care that I felt it all the way to my ovaries. "Oh, God, Ruby," she cried. "Honey," I said, "it's all right. It's all right." "Do you know what you're saying?" she asked, her hand still on boob left. "Yes," I whispered. I put my hand up and put it over hers and squeezed, cupping hers more firmly over my tit. "I don't know what you want, but it's all right." "Oh God," she moaned, moving toward me, pushing her warm, clothed body against my nakedness, her arms going around me. "Oh, Ruby, if I do anything, say anything . . . just tell me . . . oh, God, she was moaning and then her hands were soft and caressing my back, going down to cup rny buttocks, smooth their way up. I was feeling sort of groovy. She knew how a woman likes to be felt up, and she was doing it beautifully. I 37 just stood there, eyes closed, taking It all la. She had a tantalizing, tickling touch. When she fingered my boobs and my belly I felt a trembling want creep into me and I licked my lips and opened my eyes to see her face just an inch away and then, without thinking much about it, I went after it, pushing my mouth to hers to have a very sweet, lingering kiss. "It doesn't offend you?" she whispered, her lips close to mine. "It's kind of fun," I said, "but I don't know how." "I'll show you, darling," she whispered, kissing me again, her hands going up to cup my boobs and squeeze the nipples tenderly. "Oh, yes, Pearl will show you." She guided me into her bedroom and pushed me down. I lay on my back and watched her undress. She had a nice womanly body, all plush. She had great tits. She came to me and instead of pouncing me like a guy would have done she began to tease me with her finger tips, feeling every curve of my body, sending the most delicious tickling sensations all over me. That woman knew about nerves that I didn't even know existed and she went to work on every, one of them, finding them in my arms, my tunny, on my thighs, on my legs, even on my feet. Then she started working on me with her soft, hot, damp lips and it was like fire and ice all over me as she kissed my shoulders, my breasts, my belly, my thighs, my knee-backs, my instep. Then she rolled me over. It wasn't like being with a guy. With a guy, I'd have been stabbed long before and would have worked off one or two climaxes by the time she rolled me over and began to show me that a girl's backside, from top to bottom, can make one mass of nerves which send signals to the little ball of nerves down there at the top of the slit. I mean, that woman had me crawling the walls. I 38 mean, it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. She kissed every inch of my back and then began to work on my ass and when she bit it gently I moaned and drove my clit into the bed to get a feeling and then she was pushing her face down between my cheeks and her tongue found my little brown anus and sent me writhing. I'd had no idea that the anus was a sexy spot, but the way Pearl worked on it, it definitely was. I went ape. I bucked and fought and then she reached down with her tongue, between my legs, and punched the softness of my vulva and suddenly I wanted something there. I rolled over and said, "Jesus, Pearl," and my ass was doing a wild little dance and I was getting a bit paniced because I'd been hot before, but never that hot and Pearl didn't have an inch of cock for me. Only that same equipment I had, a pussy. But she soon showed me there were more ways than one to skin a cat as the old saying goes. I was humping and moaning, my legs coming open, begging for something, and I got it. I got Pearl's nice face down there between my legs. Would you believe that I'd never been eaten before? I mean Juby and Ruf were hardly the sophisticates. They joked about eating pussy but they thought it was something only queers or something did and they were whim-wham-thank-you-mam types who knew only one thing, get that cock in there as fast as possible. And the boys I'd known were young and just about the same way, so I'd never been eaten before until sweet Pearl went down on me, burying her face in my nest, crying out in joy as her mouth opened wide and sucked labia and all into it and tiny teeth began to devour my labia and then that wonderous tongue went out and flicked my clit and I cried out and she left me coming and kissed me real
 

39

 
   hard, her lips pushing down as I humped and fucked her sweet mouth and had a glorious one. "Good, darling?" she asked. "Ow, wow," I said. "Don't stop now." She giggled and went to work. She had the most educated tongue. It could whip back and forth a thousand times a minute, lashing my clit into wild, swollen orgasms and then driving hard and long into my cunt to make me feel as if I were being eaten and flicked at the same time and when she was through with me I was panting and weak. I said, "Whooo, you've done me in." Then I looked at her. She had this sweet smile on her face. She'd made it so good for me I began to wonder what she'd gotten out of it. She had her hand lightly on my curved hip and was rubbing softly. "This is the first time I've done it with a girl," I said. "Did you like it?" "I thought it was great," I said honestly, "but I'm wondering what you got out of it." "Oh, darling," she said sort of swooning. "No, really, you didn't get anything, just a lot of making me say oh, eeee, ah." She smiled. I liked her smile. She didn't look so brassy after I'd had her lips all over my bod. She looked sort of sweet and soft. "I had mine." she said. "How?" I was genuinely curious. "I mean, if a guy had been doing those things to me he wouldn't have come. I mean, he'd have had to put it in me." "Don't you remember when I did this?" She rolled up beside me and pressed her pussy on my thigh. I remembered, then, that she'd pressed it against me at the height of my fun. "Remember?" "Is that all?" I giggled. You must be some hot gal." 40 She kissed my left tit and the little begger responded, the nipple rising. "There are better ways, but I didn't know if you'd like them." Her hand had gone down and where I thought there was only a dead thing, there at the top of my slit, her lovely little fingers made life, causing the clit to swell up with blood and get tingly again. "Tell me," I said. "You could, ah, do to me what, ah, I did to you," she said in a small, scared little voice. Hell, I was game. I'd never done it. In fact, never having had any real friends among the female sex, I didn't know much about girls except by examining myself, and even at that age I knew that I wasn't typical. "You'll have to tell me how," I said. She was about to swoon out of her hide. I mean, when I put my hands out and tentatively felt of her boobs she began to tremble and make little sounds in her throat. Now I've always liked the female body. I mean, I'd look at the nudies in the magazines Ruf and Sam would have around, and if the gal was well glommed together I'd thinkj wow, what a beautiful thing. I've found, since, that I'm a little inclined to what they call narcissusism, which means that I like myself and think I've got a great bod. I don't see anything wrong with that. I mean, if you don't like yourself, then who the hell is going to? Well, Pearl was a grown woman, full, maybe a teeny little bit too plush, but she had this great set of knockers, making up two great, soft mounds on her chest. She had nipples which would have fit into a thirty-two A cup bra, I mean they were huge. And when I fingered them they swelled up and became little pointed knobs on the huge, white mounds of her tits and I got curious. Every boy I'd ever been out with had liked to do a little 41 titty chewing and I felt, then, that they couldn't be all wrong about it, so I went down and took a taste. She tasted of clean skin and a mild nice little perfume and the tits had this nice texture and I tried it all ways. I mean, I knew how I liked to have mine treated, so I gave her what I'd always wanted. First, after just nipping the nipples into swelling life with my teeth, I ran my tongue, flat, all over the big boobs and paid special attention to the dark circles and the nipples and all of a sudden she was flopping around on the bed like a fish. I sucked all I could into my mouth, and since I like to have mine treated a little rough now and then, I treated hers rough, biting and sucking and pulling. She began to moan and I started feeling her up, running my hand over her lush woman's body and thinking how much fun mean old men must have, feeling all that sweet goodness. She got so wild I had to sort of put my body on hers to hold her down and, wow, when I did that, she scooted under me and pressed her pelvic mound on mine and started fucking like a mink. She was reaching for my mouth with hers and I kissed her and it was a sweet, very wet kiss. All that action down there rubbing against my mound and my clit had me making sounds, too, and the first thing I knew we were coming together and laughing and clinging and then lying there, sweet and warm. "You're an easy lay," I giggled. "You went so fast I didn't even get a chance to feel this up." I put my hand down onto her pussy and it was soft and hot and wet. "Ohhhh," she moaned, lifting her hips to drive the cup of her cunt into my hand. I don't remember a time in my life when I wasn't making it. I mean, I guess I was born with the ability to 42 get my rocks off. You know, the faead-shrinkers have determined that babies, especially girl babies, are bom with sexual awareness. If you don't believe me try this. I'm not advising you to corrupt a baby, but to conduct a scientific experiment. If you have a girl baby or change diapers for someone else's girl baby, just take your finger and gently, ever so gently, play with that tiny little twat. I've seen it. The baby will be kicking and cooing and wiggling around and looking all over the place and when you put your finger down there and rub gently she'll get ever so still. I started so early I don't remember the first time I made myself come with a wet, soapy washcloth in the bath water, or with a pillow thrust between my legs and, later, with my own hands. I took a while to discover screwing, but after my operation, sort of complicated D.N.C. with extras, which made me permanently sterile, juby found out and knew that he'd never have to worry about making me a baby and he and RuЈ gave me my education. After that I didn't have to play with myself. If I got randy, all I had to do was twitch my butt in front of either my father or my brother and I was going to be serviced. Oh, I still played with myself a little, but a lot of the time I was just doing it to get my interest up so that when one of them topped me I'd be sure to get mine before they, being typical unsophisticated men and not concerned with a girl's pleasure, came like a rocket in a matter of seconds. I knew how I was built. I'd spend a few hours looking at myself in mirrors. I'd lie on a bed and hold a hand mirror down between my legs and study my twat and wonder at its complicated structure. I experimented with putting things into it. I tried a candle and found it 43 too hard. I tried a fresh cucumber, with the warts peeled off, and found it to be sort of fun, but nothing like having the real article in there. Once I saved my money, to order an artificial cock from one of Ruf's dirty books, but I never got around to it. I have had some experience with dildos and will tell you about them later, but there's nothing like a real cock. I'm sidetracked. I was talking about twats. My own twat, up to that day, was the only one I'd ever seen. I didn't know anything about twats in general. I was surprised to see that Pearl didn't have the fat, nice labia that I had. Her twat had little mounds on each side of the hole. I was fingering it and she was working up a head of steam again and I got really curious and put my head down so that I could see up close. I looked at the first twat I'd ever seen and it was an odd, sort of nice thing all dark and red and wet and I continued to feel it with my fingers. I traced the outline of the slit and found her clit and toyed with it, just feeling and getting to know how other women were built. Her lips were writhing and she was saying, "Oh, darling, Oh, Ruby." I ran my index finger up and felt inside. It had a hot, wet, mushy feel. The sides of it were spongy and had little imperfections. When I pressed around inside I could make the vaginal cavity expand. I could see, feeling it, how a cunt can expand and take the biggest cock available if you're careful. As I felt around inside, she began to hump. I gave her the social finger, because it coujd go in deeper. She was getting so hot and I was getting hot watching her get hot. She had told me to do to her what she'd done to me. Well, I'd eaten a couple of boys and I'd tasted my own pussy juice on them. So it was no new thing, pussy taste, except that hers was so clean and sweet. There 44 wasn't a hint of come there. I leaned in, put my mouth down, stuck out my tongue. I licked the clit and she tasted nice. There was woman taste and something else. "You taste funny," I said. "It's the feminine spray," she said. I said, "Huh?" "The feminine hygiene spray." "You mean a cunt deodorant?" I asked, giggling. "Yes. Don't you use one?" "We're sounding like a T.V. commercial," I giggled. "If you don't like the taste," she gasped, "I'll go wash." "Naw," I said, licking and feeling around with my tongue and making her ass twitch. I played with her for a while, using my tongue, and then, when she was gasping for air and making strangled sounds, I pressed my whole mouth into the cunt and gave it a huge kiss and put my tongue out and tried to run it up her hole. She screamed and a huge shudder went through her body. I had~ my tongue thrust in as far as I would go. I felt the inner muscles throb and pound and I knew she'd gone. Then she was tugging and pulling on me and I was sort of on my hands and knees over her, my behind up into her face and her gone tongue working on my anus, my slit, my pudenda. I kept on eating her, sort of liking it. Kissing a twat is sort of nice. It just sits there and lets you kiss it any way you want to. I mean, you can turn your mouth inside out and rub it on it, you can tongue it, you can lick it, and it just takes it and likes it and mine was really liking it with Pearl's educated mouth working and I came and went into a spasm it was so good and 'she moaned and yelled and came again and I came and then we were sort of exhausted. We lay there and I had a 45 nice little nap. When I woke up, Pearl was leaning on an elbow looking at mei "Oh, darling," she whispered. "I want to tell you how wonderful it was." "It wasn't bad," I agreed. "Better than with a man?" she asked, looking at me with a sort of heartbreak in her eyes. Well, I'm not much on lying. "I can't say that, Pearl," I told her. "It was fine and I really grooved on it, but there's something to be said for having a cock in here." I rubbed my twat and grinned. She shuddered and looked as if she were going to vomit. "I'm sorry, I said. "That's just the way it is." "All right, darling," she whispered. She got up. "We have work to do." We spent the evening learning how to walk. That is I learned how to walk. I thought I knew how, but Pearl said walking in a beauty contest or on a public appearance is something different. You walk proudly, briskly. You swing your arms just so. I walked up and down Pearl's living room until I was tired and when she was finally satisfied she started on my smile. Now smiling is easy. It just comes naturally. Unless you're standing in one place for twenty minutes, your back killing you, your shoes too tight, a million people out front staring at you. Then smiling can become damned hard work. I found out that, although I was a natural smiler, when I had to force a smile I looked sort of sick. She had me stand in one place, as if I were on a stage with the judges looking at me. She had me smile into a mirror and I saw what she was talking about. "Think of something pleasant," she said, "And smile 46 with the eyes, first. If the eyes look as if they're smiling, then the rest of the face is all right." I thought of Bill Murphy and being in the back seat of his car with my legs wide open, that first lovely moment of eniry when you're so hot your head is dizzy and your lungs can't get enough air and the whole body is trembling and iny eyes smiled. And then I thought of Roalt Fepperdine and the first time I'd opened my legs for him and how his cock was so huge and lovely and Pearl said, "Honey, you're a natural." So, baby, when you see me smile, when you see one of the T.V. commercials I've done, or see me on the stage, or signing autographs, just remember what I'm thinking. I'm thinking, maybe not of Bill or Roalt, because that's been a long time ago, but I'm thinking of cock. Cock in me. Cock lifting me into that nice, heavenly haze of sensuality. I'm turned on when I'm slyly smiling. And think what you're missing, huh?
 

47

   I, Kitsy McRae, known to you, the reader, so far, as Ruby Gore, am basically a sexual bteing. As I write this, I am twenty-eight. I weigh what I weighed when I was eighteen, entering my first "beauty" contest at Old Town. I measure 36-24-36. My hair is my own. My skin is smooth, tans well. I'm writing this while seated on the balcony of a fancy resort hotel in Barbados, where I've come with a man who could buy and sell my first benefactor, old man Worth, a million times over. I don't look a day over twenty. It's funny. In these few days, when I've been resting and thinking I remember things I haven't thought about for years. My current lover is down in the bar, making a dollar, talking about buying this hotel and half a dozen others over martinis. In my bank account, my checking account, there's just under fifty thousand dollars and I'll have to make a deposit soon, for I don't like it to get below fifty. My stock portfolio, managed by another friend, is valued in six figures and that, duckies, 49 means that I have over a million bucks. And to this date I've never done a real trick. I mean, I've never laid my old bod down and said, "The price is X number oЈ dollars." I like to think of myself as a modern courtesan. I'm not alone in this field. Throughout history there have been women who have traded their bodies for things and have not been called whore because the things they were trading for were like castles and empires and money of such considerable amounts that mere whoring cannot cover it. I mean women like Madame Pora-padour and a couple of blond bombshells who have been active in our society recently, whose names I won't mention, because the nice man who is going to market this book says I should not name names lest we get sued, but you've seen them on T.V. and in the movies and you know who I'm talking about, Modern courtesans. That's me, too. You might ask, now that I'm independent as far as money is concerned, why I continue my career. Why do I, in effect, sell my body to the highest bidder? Well, it isn't quite like that. Not exactly. I've said, and have demonstrated with a few examples from my early life, that I am a sexual being. I like men. I do not, in fact, offer myself to the highest bidder. Oh, the bid has to be high, but-1 also have to be, attracted to the man. That is one luxury I can afford. Fortunately, those who can afford me seern to have that extra something which makes a man a man. I mean, in this day and time, no one makes it without having something on the ball, and quite often, that fantastic drive which makes a man a power in his field, also makes him something else in bed. I've had, tightly held in my body, the organs of men who have made it and men who haven't made it. A man 50 doesn't have to be rich to be good in bed and not all rich men are good in bed, but I've found that a man has to have something to be good. I mean, well, take my old friend Roalt Pepperdine. He had a fierce drive to be good on the football field and that drive was also evident in his love making. I look back over my life, and \. certainly don't consider it to be over at twenty-eight, not by a shitpan full, and I find that it was the failures in life who were also just pieces of meat in bed. Take Ruf. Poor Ruf didn't even learn how to screw a woman and give her a little fun, too, until I forced him out of Old Town, got him to quit smoking dope and take an interest in looking good, making a dollar and all. But philosophical observations aside, writing this book is serving a lot of purposes. First, I'm promised, in writing, with a very good contract, that I'll make a minimum of thirty thousand dollars and probably more, since one of my old flames is already reading the first chapters with the idea of making it into a movie. Aside from the money, which I love, writing it is giving me a chance to look at myself and discover myself. It's bringing home to me the contrast between the Kitsy McRae you see in the commercials, on the covers of magazines, in the movies, and the little girl from Old Town called Ruby Gore who once bought the Crown of Queen of the Mackerel Festival by walking in high heels over the body of an old man. There are those in our society who use me, Kitsy McRae, as an example of decadence. I am damned in certain quarters as being completely amoral. Hell, I'll admit that. At least where sex is concerned. But, you see, I don't consider sex to be in the field of morality. I consider sex to be in the area of personal choice and, 51 although I didn't have much of a choice in the beginning, I've certainly learned enough to know that I have a choice now and I choose to let my body enjoy itself. I choose to have sex when and where I please so long as it doesn't hurt . . . too badly. Some pain can add. Admittedly, I was trained early that my body was good for just one thing, giving a man pleasure. Perhaps it would serve a purpose, before telling you about the great Mackerel Festival and all the other events which followed, to go back to my formative years and show you how I developed sexually. Incest is a shuddery word. I think incest is bad in the minds of most people for one damned simple reason. I think it's gotten in bad because women of age, say of forty, fat, sloppy, just couldn't stand the competition from teen-age daughters. I mean, take an average household, an average family. There's a sixteen year old girl with slim hips, nice, tight little breasts, a cute face. And there's mama, over forty, letting herself go to pot, having a big belly, fat, doughy thighs, her hair stringy and unwashed half the time. She doesn't give a shit. She looks like hell. And papa, although he, too, might be over the hill, is still a man who can see the cute little figure of his daughter and think it's great and maybe get a little dreamy about the time when he was screwing girls just like that. Then he goes to bed with mama and has to fight his way through rolls of fat to find her unwashed cunt. I mean, given a choice, mama would be exiled to the kitchen and the man would be sleeping with daughter all the time. So mama, through the centuries, shows that incest is evil, perverted and sinful. Like, incest doesn't always produce idiots. Take the Egyptians. They, the 52 rulers, had an incestuous society and they kept a damned fine civilization going for six thousand years. So I don't cringe and call myself evil because I used to screw my father and my brother. Shit, I loved every minute of it. I remember well the first time Ruf and I were able to complete the act. We'd been' playing around for a long time and no one thought anything of our sleeping together. Hell, we had to. There weren't enough beds in the house. And we took baths together because we had to heat the water on the stove and by taking a bath together we saved on water and wood and labor. So I knew from the time I was a baby that Ruf and I were different. I resented it for a long time, because he seemed to have so much fun with his weenie. That's what he-called it. When we started becoming aware of sex-he was aware of it first, of course, his weenie was a little worm of a thing and I paid no attention to it most of the time. Then someone taught him that there were things to do with it and he started educating me. We'd go to bed at night and I'd feel him moving and I'd tell him to stop it so I could go to sleep. Finally, I realized that he was doing something to his weenie. I guess he felt guilty, because the first time I reached over and felt his hand on his weenie, which had changed from a little worm into a hard little stick, he made me move over and he stopped. But it didn't take long for me to know when he was playing with himself and I'd lie there and listen and wonder why he was doing it. I asked and he said it felt good and that if I told mama he'd whup me. I said I wouldn't tell if he'd let me do it. He sort of snickered. So I put my hand on his hard little stick and fumbled around and he showed me how to do it, moving the foreskin up and down, 53 holding it just so in my hand and moving my hand slow and then fast and when I made him come for the first time and the little stick throbbed in my hand and lie made grunting sounds, I didn't know what was going on. Out behind the outhouse, he made me, asked me, he didn't have to make me, take down my panties and show him my "thing." He fingered it and played with it and told me that if he could put his weenie in me that we'd both feel good. Hell, the way he enjoyed it when I played with his weenie, I was willing to try anything to feel the way he seemed to feel. We tried it standing up against the side of the outhouse and he couldn't get it in. I had my legs close together, not knowing anything about how to do it and he didn't know much more. We played around and couldn't do anything and then I ended it by playing with his weenie until it throbbed. I must have been about seven when I started mastur bating Ruf. And that went on, oh, a couple or three years before Ruf, all excited, with a hard on, got me into the bedroom one afternoon with no one else in the house. He had one of the old fashioned cartoon pora booklets showing Popeye and Olive cutting it. He said, "See, this is the way they do it." Olive was on her back, her legs thrown up to the ceiling, and Popeye was thrusting a huge cock into her and grinning happily. "I guess I have to- take all my clothes off, huh?" I asked. "I reckon so," he agreed. "Me too." So we skinned out and I lay down on the bed, threw my legs up in the air and Ruf crawled between them with his erection and started trying to punch into my little girl's twat. I, of course, was completely dry and tight as hell and he couldn't find the hole. He tried to 54 put it into my belly, into the pudenda and into my anus. I balked at that. We must have been backassward, because it took us about two weeks, even after seeing how it was done, before, one day, Ruf punched and used his hips and I felt his weenie slip in and push hard and I yelled, because it hurt, I was so dry, but he, feeling his cock in me, wouldn't let me up and so, about ten, I was no longer virgin, having been penetrated by my brother. I felt him throb in me and I kept waiting for that good, good feeling he'd promised me. He kept talking about how great fucking was and I didn't get the first thrill. He went so fast that I felt nothing. I was game, however, and the next time he wanted me to take all my clothes off I did. I stuck my feet pointed-toed up in the air, like in the fucking cartoons, and he went at it. Nothing. "Shit," I said. "I ain't gonna let you do it any more." He fussed and fumed and tried, for a long time, to do it again, but I wasn't having any of it. I could get my good feeling from rubbing myself with a soapy wash cloth or by rubbing myself, after having put some butter on my twat. I wasn't going to let Ruf have fun when I didn't just because he wanted to. We had some grand fights and he tried to rape me a couple of times, but when you're about the same size, Ruf was still just a kid and didn't do his growing until later, it's hard for a boy to rape a girl, especially when her twat is dry and tight. I was wondering, at this'stage of my life, if I hadn't been cheated by being made a girl. Ruf told me about screwing a girl down the road and how much fun it was, but I wouldn't believe him when he said she enjoyed it, too. All I ever felt with Ruf was stuffed. I went on for a few years doing my thing. I mean, I'd 55 play with myself until I was panting and shivery and then I'd come and feel good and lie there and doze for a while and do it again. The next thing I remember about Ruf was his pride when he reached puberty. By that time we were not sleeping together. My mother, bless her fuddled head, had heard in church that it wasn't nice for young kids to sleep together, so she put a cot into the room and made Ruf sleep on it. When it was cold he'd come and get in bed with me and feel me up and cuddle for warmth, but he'd given up on screwing me, for I steadfastly refused. But when he discovered that he'd become a man he came up to me one day and said, "I've got something to show you." Mother was out in the kitchen. We went into our room and he sat down on the edge of my bed and took out his cock. "Shit, I've seen that thing," I said. "Just look," he said. "Jack it off." "I'm not gonna let you do it to me," I said. "You don't know how or something." "Naw, just jack it off." I put my hands on it and began to masturbate him. "Matter of fact," he said, "we can't ever do it again." "Why?" I asked, relieved, but curious, "I'm gonna show you why." I worked on him and he began to move his hips, thrusting into my hands. He came and I gasped, because instead of just throbbing the way it always did, the sonofabitch reared back and spit at me. It spit out a white, thick fluid which got all over my hands and arm. I took his shirt tail and began to wipe it off. "That's come," he said proudly. "So?"
 

56

 
   "That's why I can't fuck you ever again." "Well, that's no skin pff my ass," I said. "That's what makes girls have babies," he said. I was interested. "You're shitting me," I said. "No," he said. "If I fucked you and pumped that come into you you'd swell up and have a baby." I couldn't believe it. I went into the school library and couldn't find a thing about having babies and then I went to the public library and found out that sure enough it's come that makes girls have babies and I was a little envious about it, because I couldn't do anything like that. All I could do was rub myself and throb inside. But I also learned that I couldn't have a baby until something happened inside to me, and I thought seriously about trying it again with Ruf, just to feel how it felt when the come came out. But I didn't. I came into womanhood late, about thirteen, I'd guess. It scared the shit out of me to start bleeding like a stuck "pig, but I talked to the school nurse and she straightened me out and gave me a box of Kotex. She also told me how girls get in trouble and she said, "Don't ever let a boy have intercourse with you." She said, "They'll tell you that it will be safe with contraceptives, but they've been known to break." I knew what she meant. Ruf carried a three pack of rubbers in his pocket all the time. He always was willing to tell me about his sexual adventures. He was getting it regularly from the girl down the road and one time he sweated blood for a while, because, in the heat of action, the rubber broke and he unloaded about a quart right up his girl friend's old kazoo and until she came around with the red flag there was one worried stud carrying a new three pack of rubbers and cursing them every time he saw them.
 

57

 
   So, I was almost sixteen before I had my first load of come, before I found out that fucking is one of life's most pleasurable items. I got sick when I was fourteen and we had to go on the welfare, because Juby was off in jail again. The welfare people sent me to a doctor and he poked around in me and said I needed an operation. I told my mother and she said, "Pray, Ruby, and the Lord will heal you." He didn't, but I didn't pray too much. I spent about two years of pure hell, with irregular periods, thinking maybe I was pregnant from a cucumber, being just miserable. Then the welfare people sent me to the hospital and the doctor didn't even have to remove the whole works, but he left me a helluva playpen. He told me, sadly, that I'd never know the joy of motherhood, because I'd been born messed up and had not had early treatment, but all I was thinking was, hey, now I can do it and not have to worry about getting pregnant like other girls. It took a helluva long time to heal. And I was sore, Jesus. I couldn't even play with myself. I worked up a real lust and was wondering if it wasn't time to try it again with a boy. There was this boy in school. He rode our bus. He was a nice looking stud and I flirted with him and he with me. I kept hinting that he should come and see me, but he must have been shy. I'd lie in my bed and dream of him while I was healing up. I imagined him doing all the things I'd read about, all the things Ruf told me he did to his girls. I'd get the delicious trembles thinking about it, and that little bastard, who could have had a willing piece for the asking, didn't have the guts to even hold my hand. I tell you, it was a time of frustration. Cut off from my regular masturbation, feeling sorry for myself, I 58 dreamed of him and wanted him and must have worked myself into womanhood, because the night I got my first; load oЈ come it was wild. It made me come. I felt that cock swell up and then burst in me and, wow, I was a woman. I felt that wonderful splash of come up inside of me, against my harmless womb. I mean, I could feel his come driving out into me. I'd seen him come and knew that he could shoot about five feet on the first throb and that first jet of it was something else going into me. I went wild and came and giggled as he emptied into me. But I'm getting ahead of myself. It wasn't the boy down the road, not the boy I dreamed about. I couldn't get him to come to my house or pick me up or anything. I was ready to give him what was probably his first piece and couldn't get him interested enough to come and get it, so that left good old Ruf. Ruf was spending about half his nights off somewhere about that time. He had an older woman on the beach, divorced, who liked young cock and he was making it with her regularly. He was telling me about it one night. It had been seven weeks since my operation. I was feeling all right and my cunt hair had grown back into a prickly, short beard. When Ruf was home he slept in the room with me. He and I were used to each other and didn't do much in the way of preserving modesty. I slept in a tattered old pair of pajamas from the welfare grab bag and he slept in Ruf and I was not ignorant about the way a nearly grown man is built, because I'd seen Ruf plenty of times. I'd seen him soft and I'd seen him hard. He'd grown a sizeable tally whacker and he was growing as a man. He was a big bastard and tough as nails and I didn't mind having him for a brother.
 

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   That night when Ruf opened a whole new world for me he came in about half drunk. I was»reading in my bed. He undressed and fell into his cot. I looked over. His cock was limp and hanging off to one side. "That goddamned woman doesn't know when a man needs a little rest," he said. "I thought you were a stud," I said. "A man gets tired of old cunt," he said. "I'm going out with JeanJtomorrow night." "Jean won't buy you a new suit," I said. His divorcee was buying muchly loud clothes for Ruf. "I want me a nice, young, tight cunt," Ruf said. My muff, growing out, itched me. I reached down and scratched. I saw Ruf's eyes following my hand. "Damned stuff itches," I said. He laughed. "I don't see how a man can stand a beard," I said. "That's the way my muff is, all short and wire-haired and itchy." "Let me see," he said, getting up. There was just the one light, beside my bed. "They say whores keep it shaved," I said, opening my pajamas, they were men's pajamas, to show him my short-haired mound. He looked at it gravely. "I can see where it'd itch," he said, matter of factly. I gave it a good scratch. He laughed and said, "Need any help?" He put his hand down and scratched my mound. "I don't see why he had to shave it," I said. "Keep germs out, I guess," he said. "What did they do to you anyway?" "Same thing they did to mama," I said. "I guess." "What did they do to her?" "I don't know. Some kind of operation. Juby wanted 60 it because he didn't want any more kids. They did it because they said mama was mentally defective." "Shit." "It was the same doctor," I said. "I talked to him. I asked him if he was going to do the same thing to me he'd done to mama." I was remembering it, then, and it made me angry all over. "What do you know about such things?" the old bastard asked me. I'd been waiting for a long time to tell that old bastard off. My mama had few pleasures in life, but she loved little babies and if it had been up to her she would have had a dozen. But they took that pleasure away from her, my father and the doctor. "I know you fixed my mama so she couldn't have kids and you knew all along that she couldn't pass along her feeble-mindedness, because it was some pill pusher like you who did it to her in the first place, yanking her out of the womb with a pair of pliers or something and doing brain damage." "You're a sassy little snit," he said, all insulted. "And you're one of those bigoted bastards who goes around yelling about welfare and how we welfare people should be forced to get off our asses and go to work. You're the kind who says sterilize the welfare people to stop welfare from becoming a way of life. Well, you silly sonofabitch, here's your chance. Fix me. Then you can be sure I won't be bringing any little bastards into the world for you to have to lay welfare on." He punched a needle into me and I yelped, because I knew the bastard hurt me deliberately. He said, "Unless it is absolutely necessary it would be illegal for me to sterilize you. It could be that your condition has already done the job."
 

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   As it turned out, my condition had. I came out permanently free of the worry of ever having a baby. In the hospital, I thought about it, and regretted it a little. I felt I'd lost something. I didn't crave any babies then, but you never know. But then, as I healed, I began to think that if there really was something to this screwing thing that I might be better off the way I was. I got hot just days after the operation, when I was still in the hospital, and I couldn't even play with myself. The doctor didn't see any of my family. No one bothered to come into the hospital, except my mother on the morning of the operation and he didn't see her then. She just found out that I was still alive and would be all right and went back home, so no one knew that I'd been fixed so that I'd never get pregnant. I remember how the doctor put on this pious act about being sorry and I laughed at him. Then he told me that I couldn't do anything strenuous, like sweeping, for six weeks. That suited me. I don't know if his examination showed him that I wasn't virgin or if he merely assumed that I wasn't since I was just white trash. I don't think he'd have been able to tell, really, because Ruf had just fucked me twice when I was a kid and that had been years, so I assume he just thought that Juby Gore's girl would not be. At any rate, he said, "And no sexual intercourse. Do you know what that means?" "You mean I can't get laid," I said, trying to shock him. He had a shit of a daughter in school. She was just a year older than I and she was one of the queen bees and I hated her guts, so I said and did everything I could to shock him. Well, I was remembering all that with old Ruf 62 scratching my muff and grinning and then his fingers went down and felt my twat. "They didn't take oS the most important part," he said. As I've said, Ruf was big for his age. He'd dropped out of school and was working for a bulldozer man, and he did a lot of muscular things in his work which had built up his already good body. That night, when he came in, I'd already had my bath. By that time Juby had gotten prosperous stealing waterpumps. He had installed a waterpump for us and for the first time we had running water in the house and even a John. So I was clean. Rubbing his fingers around my twat, Ruf grinned down at me. Then he did a sexy thing. It was the sexiest thing he'd ever done and one of the sexiest I'll ever see. He took his finger, wetted by my twat, and smelled it. He closed his eyes and sniffed and said, "Ah," and then he looked at me and grinned. There was the light by my bed. He was buck naked. And he was built. I looked and saw that his cock had begun to throb and was lifting itself. It was one helluva lot bigger than it had been back in the days when he had me play with it for him. "Too bad," he said. "What's too bad?" I asked, this funny feeling all over me. I was lying with my legs apart, the men's pajamas open to show my mowed mound. "Too bad you're my sister," he said. "Didn't bother you once," I said. "That was before old John Henry got loaded," he said, grinning. Old John Henry was now fully hard, standing up arrogantly against his belly just about even with my face. "He's loaded now and I'm not going to risk knocking up my own sister."
 

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   He was still plaving with my twat and Miss Twat was feeling it. She was gooing for him. Remember, I hadn't even so much as played with myself for seven weeks. I had night dreams now and then and had a climax in my sleep, but that was not for real. That was just nature's way of keeping down the sexual tension. "Ruf," I said, my heart pounding, "you wouldn't have to worry." "Huh?" His hand was down there, his finger easing into my slit. I did nothing to stop him. Jesus, it felt good, his finger going in, lubricated by all my flowing juice. "I told you they did the damned same thing to me that they did to mama. I can't have kids." I saw his eyes take on a gleam. He cupped his hand and drove his finger all the way up my cunt to my ovaries and rubbed his palm on my clit and my hips, knowing what to do even if I didn't, lit up and lifted and pushed and squirmed. "You sure?" he asked. "Lead pipe cinch," I said. I wanted him to do it some more, run his finger up me. I'd run my own finger up me and I knew that if he kept it up for a while I'd blow my fuse. "You ever done it, Ruby?" He was working on me and my hips were dancing. "I mean with anyone but me?" "Never," I said. "I know I used to promise you it'd be good, but you were too young. It'd be different now." "O.K.," I said. He flushed and shivered and threw-himself down onto the bed. He still had his finger up me. He put his nose and mouth on one of my knockers and chewed it through the pajama top. His entire body was quivering.
 

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   I don't remember Ruf ever kissing me. He would guide one tit into his mouth and chew on it and he'd cup the other and squeeze it. That night I had my tits chewed for the first time and, wow, I found out that they were something else, those mounds on my chest. I found out they were for something other than to hold the front of a sweater out. I was moaning and groaning and wiggling and his finger was up me and giving me a wild ass. I made him switch and chew the other. He'd opened the pa jama top and was going at them good. I've talked about my wetness. Some women are dry. Some are wet. The wet ones have a liberal flow of juices when they're hot. The dry ones are usually tender and sensitive. The wet ones are more apt to like having fingers and other objects tucked up into their twats. I'm one of them. I'm a wet one. I can ruin a pair of panties and, if the condition isn't fixed, I mean, if I get hot and don't have a chance to cool off in bed, I'm apt to flood my panties and have the hot juice working all the way through my dress. I was a wet one that nigh,t with Ruf's finger up me. I was ready. I loved Ruf s big finger. It was much better than having my own finger up me. It was wild. His hand cupped, his social finger reaching up inside me, his palm on my dit. I fucked his hand and finger with all my might, discovering ways to sling my ass that I hadn't known existed but which came naturally for a sexy girl. Then he claimed me. He went between my legs, having worked the pajamas off. He fell on me. I felt his wildness. I felt his weight. It was Ruf, I guess, who made me like rough men, men who don't worry about supporting their weight on their elbows. I want a man all over roe, his weight smothering me, his weight helping his cock drive into me. I want to feel all of him.'
 

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   Old Ruf threw his body on mine as if he were going to absorb rne right into him. Long, hard cock thrust and searched. It wanted me. It wanted my cunt. It used its hard length to rub its head all over my wet pussy and then it found the hole and wham it pushed and my breath was driven out of my body and I let my ass lift up and it was going, getting bigger and harder, driving, searching now for my most secret inside spots and I was panting, trembling, jerking my ass fast and hard and making his cock go into me deeper with each stroke. I felt that hard, fat, cocky cylinder slide into home and, whee, I gave him a few jerks and bumps and grinds, all of it coming naturally to me, and then we settled down to long, hard rhythm and I came just as Ruf came and pumped his come into me, making me all soft and warm and wet inside. We moaned and ground together and he didn't even stop, just kept right on fucking into his own come. The second time was ever greater. I blacked out for a moment after the goodness was over. I came and my pussy clutched at Ruf's cock and he felt it and held it hard up in me, just a little movement to make it good for me. "You're fast," he said. "You're not going to stop now?" I wailed. He didn't. He began to pump and my twat came alive again in three strokes. He came. I felt that sudden gush of come and he grunted and pumped and I said, "If you stop now, Ruf Gore, I'll let you rot in hell before I ever give you any again." "Damn," he moaned, moving his relaxing cock tenderly. "Goddamriit, Ruf," I said. "You can't stop now just when it's good."
 

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   He fell off and lay on his back and breathed heavily. I looked at his useless cock. It was shriveling up and it was coated with his come and my juices and I wanted that thing hard again and in me. It had been a long life without being laid and now that I'd found out how wonderful it was I wanted more, more. I wanted it pumping load after load into me. But Ruf was shot down. But I'd been reading his books and I thought of a way, although I'd never tried it, to get him interested again. I gave my first blow job. I fell down and before I could take much time to think about it I took that lax cock into my mouth, tasting his come and my juices and I was so hot and so eager that I loved it immediately. I sucked and tasted and licked and the first thing I knew I'd created my first miracle. I resurrected Ruf's lax cock and he was pumping into my mouth, making fucking motions. "No you don't," I said, jerking away. I mounted him and sat on that stiff joint and sank it up into my body and began to dance on it. He just lay there, his back stiff, his hips lifted, and I used him. I mean, it was the first time in my life I'd ever screwed just for me and it was one wild experience. I danced and twisted and lifted and sank and bounced and moaned and came twice before Ruf got interested and came into me, pushing it up until it moved my liver aside and blasted out white joy into my thirsty womb. I said, "Ruf, that was just lovely." And we slept side by side until we woke up, hearing my mother in the kitchen singing hymns, and he crawled on me with a morning piss hard and we went wild with a quickie and went out to breakfast, me holding a load of his come, and Ruf looking smug and happy. Shit, why not? We didn't have much. We ate fish and 67 grits and wore hand-me-down clothing. We had nothing, we Gores, so why shouldn't a good Gore boy enjoy the body of his good Gore sister? Well, it was just a couple of months after that that good old Juby began to see me as a woman, I'd guess, because he started reaching out to rub a tit when I'd get close. We'd never been an affectionate family, at least not between parents and children. So Juby's sudden fondness for putting his arm around me and for patting me on the ass came through just for what it was, lust. It got more and more obvious that my dear old pump stealing papa was thinking of more than father-daughter love and I began to try to decide what I'd do. I decided, since Juby always seemed to have an extra dollar for a bottle of Thunderbird wine, that I'd get something out of it besides a jazzing if he ever worked up enough nerve to punch me. It came on a Sunday morning when Ma had gone off to church and Ruf was off somewhere and Sam was on the chain gang for nearly killing a guy in a bar. We were sacked out and I heard Juby get up and go to the used refrigerator. He drank all weekend long. Ruf had been gone all weekend and I hadn't had any. I was lying there, warm and a little hot, toying with my clit. I'd long since stopped sleeping in anything. I was getting well rounded by that time, a girl reaching for a nice figure. I listened to Juby bumble around. When he opened the door I closed my eyes and pretended sleep. "You 'wake, Ruby?" he asked. I grunted. He came in and stood beside the bed. I had the sheet over me, but I knew that he could see my nipples sticking up through it. "Wanna cook me somethin'?" "Ah, Pa," I moaned. "I don't wanta get up." He stood there and I could hear him breathing. Some- 68 thing in me, I don't know what, made me stretch. I arched my body-and the sheet clung to it, outlining my boobs and clinging to my mound, which stuck out nicely. I opened my eyes and say, he was taking it all in, his eyes wide, his mouth open. "Honey," he said, "you're going to be a woman soon." "I already am, Pop," I said. "I mean, you're growing up." He sat down on the side of the bed. "Pretty soon the boys are going to be after you." "I hope so," I said, giggling. "Poor little gal," he said, his voice almost on the weepy side. "No mama. Look, you ever have any questions, you come to your pappy, you hear." "Sure, pop," I said. "I mean your poor old Ma can't help you, there," he said. "Like, she don't know nothing about such things. And boys will be boys." He paused. "Ain't no boy tried anything with you, have they?" "What do you mean, pa?" "I mean, like feeling you up and all." "Oh, no." I was laughing at the old fart. I decided to have some fun with him. "What do they do to you, pa?" He swallowed and gulped and got red and his hands jerked as he said, "Well, they try to play with your boobs." "Why would they want to do that?" I asked. "They're just boobs. Only thing they're good for is suckling kids, and these won't ever do that." I arched my chest and stuck them out at him. I looked down at them. He was ogling them through the sheet. "Well, boys are like that," he said. "They like it." "Do you like It?" I asked. "Do you play with mama's boobs?"
 

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   He grunted and got red and cleared his throat. "I want you to be a good girl, Ruby," he said. "I am," I said. "What else do-boys try to do to you?" "Oh, they try to feel between your legs," he managed. "You mean where I pee?" I asked, really giving the old bastard a ride. "Yes," he gulped. "Boys must be crazy," I said. "Well, it ain't all one way," he said. "You'll be wanting things like that, too." "Not me," I said. "I can't imagine it. I mean, why would I want to have a boy feel my boobs and between my legs?" "You just will." "I don't believe it. If they try am I supposed to let them?" "No sir," he said. "I want you to be a good girl." I decided to see just how hypocritical he was, because all this time his eyes were eating up my boobs and my mound and my body through the sheet. 1 let the sheet slip and show most of one tit and the beginning of a nipple and his eyes widened and he gulped. "I think I should know what it's like," I said. "I mean, if I'm going to know what jto do and what not to do, and if I can't talk to ma, better you show me what I should watch out for, huh?" "Well," he said, wondering about it. I could see the lust in his eyes. Now don\ get the idea that I was lusting for my father. Juby wasn't the fine figure of the man. Years of cheap wine and no work had put a pot on him and he was a short, chubby little man in the first place. But I was just playing a game,with him. "I mean, if a boy tries something and 1 like it I might 70 not be able to stop if it felt good, like you say." I looked up and gave him a smile and forced a yawn which uncovered both my boobs and I just left them out for him to ogle. I looked down and the old fart had a hard on and I thought, "why you old hypocrite" and decided to see just what he'd do, given the chance. "Since you're my father, it seems right that you'd show me those things," I said. "I mean, show me how a boy would play with my boobs, so I'll know and will be able to head him off." That did it. He gulped and swallowed and his hands reached out. "I reckon it might be a good idea," he said. And his hands glommed down onto my exposed booby mounds and squeezed and his body started trembling. I thrust them up into his hands and lay there looking at him. "They'll do this," he said, squeezing them and playing with them. "Then they'll do this." He pinched my nipples and the little bastards felt wonderful. They swelled and got big and I could see that thrilled him. He sat there playing with my boobs for a long time. "How does it feel?" he asked, looking at me. "I see what you mean," I said. "It does begin to feel sort of fine after a while. Do it some more so I'll know for sure." He was panting and gasping. I let him play with my boobs until it sent the juices swirling down into my twat. I closed my eyes and pretended he was that good looking boy in my home room and I got hotter than a firecracker. "Do they do anything else?" I asked. "I mean, I heard some of the girls saying they sometimes sucked them, like babies." "They do that," he said. "Show me," says I.
 

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   He bent, whistling and panting and sank his face into my boobs. He needed a shave. His rough beard made a tingling sensation all over me. His mouth was like any mouth, only a little more experienced, him being older. He sucked me into a blazing hot and I was threshing around on the bed and jamming my tits up for his mouth and teeth and I wanted more, much more. I didn't care who it was, by now. I was just hot. "Show me how they feel between your legs," I said. I kicked off the sheet. He quit chewing my tits long enough to look at my whole body, his own body atrem-ble. Then he went back to my tits and his hand went down my flat tummy and found my wetness. When he felt it wet and hot, he must have been surprised. He began to shake and gasp while he did his work on my tits and I began to lift my ass as he rubbed and felt and I almost came when he finally put a finger into me. 'This is what they'll try to do," he gasped. "Do it feel good?" "Sort of good," I said, "but do it some more so I'll be sure." "I reckon I oughta show you," he said, fucking me with his finger and lifting me closer and closer to coming. "How do it feel?" "Your finger in me?" I asked. "Yeah." "Well, it feels like you're putting something up my pee hole," I said. "That ain't your pee hole," he said. "That's where babies come from." "I can't have babies," I said. He went stiff for a moment. I could almost hear his mind working. I was getting hotter and hotter and I wanted something more than just a finger in that hole where babies came from. 72 "Pop," I asked, "do boys put their things in there where you've got your finger?" "They'll try to," he said. "Maybe you'd better show me what they'll try to do," I said, wanting cock, cock, and it didn't matter whose. "That's a mortal sin," he said. "I can't show you that." I tried a different tact. "I've never seen a boy's thing, except Ruf's when we were little," I said. "Will you show me yours?" He thought about it for a little while. "I guess that would be all right," he said. He got up and slipped down his pants. "Now, Ruby, it may be a bit of a shock, but I'm doing this so's when you get married you won't be scared the first time you see your husband with a hard on." "Good idea," I said. He took it out. Wow. My old man may have been a little guy, but he made up for it in the right place. He had a whacker on him, did old Juby. It was a huge, purple headed, long, thick monster which made Ruf's look like the cock of a teenage boy, which it was. "That's what they look like when they try to put it in you?" "That's it," he said, holding his cock. "It doesn't look so bad," I said. "Can I feel it? Just to know what it feels like?" He was gasping for air. "I guess so." I put my hand on it and caressed it just the way Ruf liked it. If Juby wondered how I'd learned to play with a cock he didn't mention it. He closed his eyes and moved his loins and enjoyed it. "Does it feel good?" I asked. "It sure do," he said.
 

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   "Pop, how does a girl get anything out of it?" I asked. "Does the boy have all the fun?" "No, the girl gets some fun, too." "How?" "Well," he said, reaching for my pussy, finding it and my clit, "doesn't that feel good?" He was rubbing my clit hard. I squirmed and moved the skin up and down on his big, hard cock and wanted to just pull him on top of me and ram it home. "Does it?" he asked. "Oh, wow," I said. "Do it some more. Make me feel good, pop." "God, I can't," he said. "It's a sin." "Put your finger in me again," I said. He inched it in. I began to frig him good, but I don't want him to come, so when he got to close I'd stop and he was fingering me good and I couldn't come, I wanted that huge thing in me so badly I just couldn't waste it on his finger. "Pop," I moaned, "since it's an educational demonstration, it can't be a sin. I mean, what's the harm in you showing me what I have to avoid in order to be a good girl?" "Oh, honey," he moaned. "Oh, honey." "Show me, pop. Show me." I was milking his cock, making the seminal fluid come out of it, then smearing it on the head of it to make it slick. "It won't be a sin." "If I do it, you have to swear on your blood you'll never tell," he said. "I swear." It happened so fast, then, that I couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted to. He was up and out of his pants in a flat second and throwing himself down on my slim, teenager's body with a hunger which almost scared me. He guided his huge, purple-headed cock in and, wow, I was filled up for the first time in my life. I even
 

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   forgot to pretend that it hurt, but the stupid old fart didn't even notice he was so hot. He rammed that thing home in me and it pushed up against my eyeballs and I was moaning and coming with the first penetration, and I guess he thought that was my virgin's pain. "Hurt, honey?" he asked. "Oh, yes," I moaned. "But it's all right." "That's what boys will do, hurt you," he said, pumping and filling my cunt with each movement of his hips. I began to work at it, hoping for another one before he came, and I learned the value of older men that day. I'd had only young boys to then and they went like fire crackers, giving me a hard time having one climax before they were finished, but my Pop, the old darling, with his huge rod, and his fat little body, pounded me and rooted up there next to my sterile womb and made long, sliding entry strokes for a full fifteen minutes and I had one, two, three great ones before he began to grunt with each stroke and pumped me full. Well, I'd determined in advance that I was going to make him pay, but I'd ended up begging for it and almost forcing him to fuck me. I had to wait to get paid. After that first time, pop made me swear again and again that I wouldn't tell. He said if I toki they'd put him in jail and send me to the girl's reform school where they had an electric whipping machine. They strapped you in a bed, bottom up, and turned on the electric whipping machine and it wore out four razor straps before it cut off. I said, "Listen, I won't tell, but I think you'd better plan to do it again now and then-to keep me from being a bad gir! with boys." "You're a sensible girl," he said. "It's better to do it at home than out there where you can get into trouble." My pop wasn't a great lover. He just liked to crawl
 

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   on, after a little titty chewing, and put it in. Well, that suited me. But he also liked to do it from the rear. The second or third time we did it he turned me over and put my legs together. Then he rammed his huge, long cock into me from the rear, him on his knees, his thighs holding my little ass between them. I got nothing out of it and told him so. After that, I had my way of picking up a quarter now and then. When he'd want to screw I was ready, but I told him I wanted something out of it, too. So I'd balk at letting him do me from the rear. We arrived at a compromise. He'd get my rocks off once and then he'd do it from the rear, after me crying and making him promise me a quarter. Then the quarters started cutting into his wine money and he stopped and it made me mad. Meanwhile, I was getting out and around more and more, having a little now and then with nice boys, and pop was a little jealous, although he was convinced that he was keeping me virgin by screwing me once or twice a week. He started trying to make me get home by ten o'clock and I revolted and he beat me. I told the welfare worker who came to check on us that my pop had "taken advantage" of me. She, willing to believe anything of a degenerate like Juby, went ape and called in her superior and, meanwhile, I thought about Juby going to jail, me going off to a home, my poor old mom left alone. I cried and told them I had just been mad at pop and that he was a good, Christian man who always told me to be a good girl and, although it was harder to make them believe that he hadn't screwed me than it had been to make them believe that he had, they finally give up, sort of pissed off because incest would have been a feather in their cap. I mean, if they could have proved incest, they'd have got their names in the papers and all 76 and they were sorely disappointed when I wouldn't admit that Pop had been throwing it to me. I told them I was a virgin and didn't really know what I'd said that first time. But the incident put the fear of God into Juby. He stopped laying me, except now and then when he'd be drunk and out of his skull, and when he was like that I'd pick his pockets afterwards, while he slept it off, and he got wise to that and decided, I guess, that it wasn't worth it. Meanwhile, Ruf was finding his own girls and I was going up into high school. I was soon a good girl at home, except on rare occasions, and getting mine from my boyfriends. I screwed more boys and men before I was seventeen than I did between seventeen and eighteen. I mean, in high school, I discovered the value of reputation, and although a Gore couldn't have much reputation around Old Town, I went to work and got nice clothes and began to act like the Ail-American girl. Up to this time, I discover, having reread what I've written, I haven't described myself. I matured early. I don't know how I did it without getting fat on our diet, but I did. And, in high school, I was five-six tall, weighed about one-twenty or twenty-five, had my figure, by the time I was sixteen, and grew up to that perfect figure of the glamour girl. I had dark hair, almost black. Ever noticed, when watching hillbilly shows, how the hillbilly girls always have a shock of hair like a horses mane? Well, that's the way mine is. I have a great head of hair. It's full and I can do anything with it. Any do comes easily to me. And once in place, it's so thick and heavy it'll hold anything. At eighteen, and I have not added a pound or an inch since then, I was a real brunette, I mean, dark, dark. I 77 had wide, big, surprised eyes. I learned to accentuate them with make up. My eyes give me a look of innocence. My nose is classic and trim. My face is rather like Natalie Woods's in shape, and I have the same delicateness of feature. My lips are nicer than hers, bigger and softer. And I'm naturally dark. My mother had some Indian in her and, probably, since most southern tribes were touched by the tar brush, maybe a little bit of Negro. At any rate, I tan beautifully and am often mistaken for. Italian, or Black Irish. My blue eyes help there. I started learning how to handle myself under the tender instructions of Pearl Phelps, the Beauty Queen's friend and lover. And I've never stopped learning. Talk about body language, I make it a career. I mean, I can move and men almost come in their pants. So I'm a blue eyed, delicate featured, dark haired knock-out. Why be modest? In recent years I've made up for the lack of a good diet in my youth by eating only the healthiest of foods, limiting my intake of sweets, alcohol, starches. I like organic foods when I can get them. (A lot of my intake is organic in another sense, ha.) So that's me, and my background, I'd guess that the odds of Ruby Gore making something of herself must have been five billion to one. Poor, white trashy, incestuous, amoral, you name it. That was me. And then I bribed the football team into making me Home Coming Queen, walked on old man Worth's cock and made him come and got to be Miss Mackerel, for Christ's sake, met Pearl Phelps and found out that a girl can almost make a career of entering beauty contests. But let's get back to the Miss Mackerel contest, where it all began.
 

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   Since old man Worth was Selena Smith's uncle, the smart money was on Selena. Old man Worth ran the Mackerel Festival and almost hand-picked his Queen, although they went through the motions of having judges. Of course, if anyone had stopped to think that Pearl Phelps was helping me, they might have realized something was up, because Pearl always picked winners. The festival wasn't much. Girls from all over the country were elegible to enter and we had a field of about fifteen, including miss Sweet Pants Selena. There wasn't any talent contest, because most of those country chicks had none and my talent wasn't suitable for public display. We walked onto the stage and turned around in gowns, bathing suits and business suits and the judges picked a girl from up country as second runner-up and Selena as first runner-up and, wow, me as Miss Mackerel and I went parading out the ramp in my gown with real tears in rny eyes, because that was me, Ruby Gore, up there with the people clapping and whistling and the
 

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   flash bulbs going off and Pearl, back stage, hugging me after it was over and me in a crown with a few gilded fish on.it and then riding the float in the parade and being at the head chair at the banquet for wheels, which included His Honor, the Congressman, a little man with a nice smile and a shock of grey hair, He was about sixty, I'd guess, and he sat on my left while Old man Worth sat on my right. His Honor the Congressman couldn't keep his eyes off me and after the banquet there was a small party at old man Worth's nice house and Pearl came up to me, after everyone was feeling no pain and said, "Honey, you don't have to do this." "What?" "Him." She pointed to His Honor the Congressman. "Mr. Worth has hinted that it would be great for Old Town and the ashing industry and for him if you'd, uh, be nice to the Congressman." "What's in it for me?" I asked. "No more than the Queen usually gets." The Queen got a couple of trips, a thousand dollar scholarship and the clothes she'd been given. I shrugged. He looked nice enough. He was thin. His gray hair was wavy in an old fashioned style. He had laugh wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth. "Shit," I said, "I don't mind." He looked a lot like the father I dreamed about when I imagined myself a different person living in a big house on the hill with automobiles and all the nice dresses I would want and people looking at me as I walked by and saying, there's Miss McRae, the rich man's daughter. You see, even then, I was getting away from being just plain Ruby Gore. I'd picked out this great name for myself, Kitsy McRae. I liked the sound of it It sounded like some movie star or model or some member of the jet set, you know?
 

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   I was seated next to the Congressman. He had been given the seat of honor, at the head of the table at a dinner for all the^festival big wheels. Old man Worth was on Ms right and I was on his left. His Honor smiled at me and complimented me on my winning and said that I was, indeed, a truly representative fiower of the old South, He was very polite during the talk and the meal, not doting on me or paying me undue attention, except once he put his hand down under the table and squeezed my thigh. I smiled back at him, to let him know it was all right. Now you might think that running into two kinky old men when I was young and impressionable would have had an adverse effect on me. There was old man Worth, with his shoe fetish and me walking all over him and crushing his cock under all my hundred and twenty pounds. You know, that didn't shake me up at alL I guess it was my background, I was hardly the average young chick, you know, having started being a sexual being as soon as I discovered that I could coax feeling out of my clit with a variety of instruments plus my hand, being educated to sex by my own loving family. I guess I thought that people were people and that if they had these little kinks when it came to getting their jollies, well, that was the way it was. At any rate, neither old man Worth nor the Congressman had any traumatic effect on me. In fact, His Honor sort of added to my education and opened up a lot of doors for me in the field of self expression and enjoying myself at those odd times when there wasn't a suitable man around. Ah, that banquet. I was in my glory. Pearl had done a beautiful job on me and I was looking better than or at least as good as I'd ever look in this world that night, 81 that first night of my glory. The photographers took picture after picture and my face and body were in newspapers all over the state the next day and I spent long, glorious hours clipping them and pasting them into a scrapbook which was one of the little gifts which came with being Miss Mackerel. And Sweet Pants Selena, way down the table, couldn't keep her jealous eyes off me and I looked at her now and then and smiled innocently, acting the true queen, with no malice in my eyes, but gloating in my heart at having done her in again. That night, following rny victory as homecoming queen, made up in large part for all the slights I'd received over the years from little bitches like Selena. I've often wondered if they would have asked Selena to entertain His Honor the Congressman if she'd won. The odds against Selena being pure and virgin were high, for she'd been going steady for years with a jerk from Old Town and when you went steady in Old Town it was like being married. So she probably knew what a dick was for, but I wonder if she'd have made herself available to the congressman. I guess not. She had what I wanted, after ail, money, position. She had it and didn't have to work to get it, whereas I had nothing and had to do everything I could to get something. I didn't see myself, for example, going back into Julie's Seafood Restaurant after being Miss Mackerel. So, call me whore if you like, but, as I've said previously, I prefer to be considered a modern courtesan who used the weapons she had to become a success. My career really began while walking in high heels on old man Worth's belly, and it had it's second installment, not the night of the banquet, as I had expected, but the next night. I expected to be hauled off to a 82 motel or something and screwed by his Gray Haired Honor, but instead, I received an invitation. "Perhaps," His Honor said, when things were breaking up and there was no one left but me, Pearl, old man Worth and His Honor, "this lovely young lady could use a quick vacation." "She's certainly, ha ha, earned it," old man Worth said, and I wondered if I'd earned it by walking on his cock or being queen. "What did you have in mind. Congressman?" "As part of my duties," said His Honor, "I am about to make an inspection tour of American military installations in Puerto Rico. There is space available on my plane for this young lady and a suitable escort, if she would kindly agree to honor us with her beautiful presence." "I'm sure that Miss Gore's advisor, Miss Phelps, would go along to provide the proper escort," old man Worth said. I saw him wink at Pearl and she told me later that he paid her well to take the trip. So, goddamn, there I was, little Ruby Gore, crawling up the steps into a slinky, wild, executive jet. I've been on just about every kind of passenger plane there is and once I was given a ride in a F-4 Phantom by a nice Air Force one star General, but there's been nothing to match the thrill of that, my first airplane ride. There were just the three of us aboard, plus the crew, a young spade who served drinks and two pilots. We left old Cape County early the next morning and were basking in the sun, Pearl and I, beside a luxurious world-sized swimming pool, by late afternoon. It was an experience. "Pearl," I said, "this is what I want." "Play your cards right, honey," she said, "and it's all yours."
 

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   The card game started that night after dinner. We ate together, the three of us, and had our pictures snapped a few times and then Pearl and I went to the adjoining rooms we had in this fantastic hotel and I said, "I thought I was supposed to do something." "It's all arranged," she said. "Just cool it." We had a drink. I wasn't much on drinking, having had only beer in my life, with a shot or two of white lightening now and then when Juby had some around the house, and I didn't really like drinking until I found champagne, and then I found that, after the first glass, I liked it rather well. In fact, during those early years I may have overdone it a little, until the night in front of my mirror when I saw that all that bubbly and all those steak and lobster dinners were putting a little too much me on my ass and then I began to notice that sex is not quite so great when you're drinking and I started limiting myself to a glass a night or so. But that night in Puerto Rico, the country girl out on the world for the first time, I drank bubbly while we waited and then the telephone rang and Pearl answered. She came over to me and put her hand on my shoulder. "If there's anyone in the hall when you go to his room, keep right on walking. Don't let anyone see you go in and don't let anyone see you come out. Have fun and I'll see you in the morning." I was a little tipsy and the wine had gone right straight to the seat of my pants and I was looking forward to it. I walked down the hall and there was no one around, so I knocked on His Honor's door and he opened it quickly as if he'd been standing in front of it waiting for me. He was dressed in this real nice maroon lounging jacket with some kind of light colored slacks and he didn't look bad at all, not old, I mean. I expect- 84 ed him to grab me and I was ready. Instead, he put his hand on my arm and guided me into this wild pad and didn't stop until he'd gone through the plush sitting room into the bedroom. "May I help you, my dear?" he asked, his hands gentle and steady as he turned me and zipped the zipper on the snazzy black dress I'd worn for dinner. I said, "Sure, honey." "That is an expression of the uneducated," he said, in his kind voice. "A young lady would say nothing, or she would smile and say, in a soft voice, just yes, or perhaps, if you'd like." What the fuck, I thought. Is this a grammar class or a bedroom? But I didn't say anything. I let him undo my fine dress arid then he slipped it off the shoulders and let it fall. It went all the way and puddled around my feet and left me standing there in a low-slung bra and bikini panties. I struck the bathing suit pose and gave him my beauty queen smile. "Indeed, a queen," he said. He walked around me. I swiveled my neck to see what the crazy old fucker was doing and all he was doing was just looking. Well, I let him look until I got tired standing there. "Want I should take the rest of these do-dads off?" I asked. "A lady almost never undresses herself," he said. Shit. Well, to get down to the nitty-gritty, the old fart ogled me for what seemed like an hour. Then he guided me gently to the king sized bed and laid me out like a size-double-a side of beef and looked at me some more. When he finally came to the bed he knelt on the foot of it, looking up my body. I arched my mound at him. It stuck up good through the panties and he could see the 85 black hair through the thin material and I knew that the reinforced crotch of them was wet, because crazy or not, he was a man and I was getting hot, laying there in my scandes waiting for him to grab a handful of tit or something. Well, kiddies, he started. 1$ was the Goddamnedest thing I'd ever seen. He began at my feet. He bent down and started licking my instep. It was a warm, tickly feeling. I'd done the tickling bit with Pearl and I knew that it wasn't bad, but I wanted the real thing. But he started tickling me with his rough tongue and going up to my ankle and then licking and kissing his way up to my knee. And, by Gawd, as he kissed and licked, he began to make sounds so much like the old hound dogs Ruf and Sam used to keep for fox hunting that I almost giggled. He was sniffling and whining and growling in his throat. But my legs were getting a workout and the good feeling of being stimulated somewhere was moving all the way through my seven acre body and concentrating in my cunt. I began to wiggle a little. He went on kissing and growling and licking and whining and worked all the way up u· my business end and then, oh, shit, he switched to the other leg and went all the way down it, licking and growling and kissing and sending me righ up the wall with the hots. I thought he'd never get tired of kissing my legs and feet. Finally, after a long, long time, when I was moaning I was so hot, he skipped past my bikini panties and worked on my tummy and then skipped my bra and worked on my neck and shoulders and then, when I felt sure he'd rip my clothes off, because he was panting and moaning himself now, he flipped me over and started on my back. Jesus. My back is sensitive. I mean, you can
 

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   take a feather and run up and down it and make me so hot I'd screw all night, His tongue worked and licked and kissed and tickled and covered all of me and even went under my arms and licked and kissed there and I was glad I'd had a bath and used the scentless deodorant Pearl had. That's sort of kicky, being kissed in the underarms. It was a first, and it sent sensation all over me. I mean, wow, I was steaming. And it must have got to him, too, because, with a great growl, he ripped my bra part way off with his teeth and let it hang while he growled and whined his way to my suffering boobs and began to suck and chew them like they'd never been sucked and chewed before, I mean rough, leaving teeth marks and making me cry out with the goodness of it. I was lifting my hips, making fucking motions. I wanted it. God, I wanted that cock. I moaned and said, "Do it to me now, honey." He growled and went down and attacked my panties with his teeth. They were made of stronger stuff than the bra strap and, although he managed to bite and jerk little holes in them, he finally had to just tug and jerk them off, never touching the panties with his hands, but doing it all with his teeth. Then I was naked and he was looking and panting and then, all of a sudden, he fell down and, wow, did His Honor know how to French. He bit me. He put his whole mouth over my wet, seeping twat and bit down and collected all my excess flesh, labia, clit, hair and all, and he nipped and nibbled and his front teeth were biting into my clit and I screamed once, real loud, and hoped in the back of my mind that the room was soundproof. I screamed and he bit harder and rolled my clit and, wow, I shot. I mean I came like a tornado, steaming and whirling and bucking
 

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   my ass and then I lay back and sort of tried to get my breath. He was kneeling, still dressed. "Let's do it good now," I said. "Yes," he said. "Yes, of course." But instead of getting on, he got off. He went to a suitcase on a rack and opened it and came back to the bed with a little box and then he opened it and there was an assortment of things which opened my eyes. He had an electric vibrator and a huge cock made of pink, soft rubber. He had brush attachments for the vibrator. He plugged it in, with the brush on, and began to work on me with it. I was still steaming. One shot while being eaten wasn't going to hold me that night. The vibrator made the little sable brush work fast and it sent thousands of shivers up and down everywhere it touched and I was back on cloud nine soon. I let him work me, thinking that sooner or later I had to get fucked. But he went down between my legs with that thing and put the brush right on my clit, holding back the hair and flesh from it with the fingers of his own hand. The brush was moving a mile a minute and it was whipping back and forth on my clit with the weight of a butterfly's wing and I started fucking and bucking and, wow, before I knew it I had come again and he smiled down at me and said, "Nice?" "Wow," I said. "That's not a proper form of expression," he said. "A lady would say, oh, yes, or, very nice." I was getting pissed. "Well, shit," I said, "it was O.K., but aren't you gonna fuck me?" "Patience," he said. Next he put the rubber head on the vibrator. It had little soft teeth and when he used it on my skin and all it made a different sensation. It was nice and restful and
 

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   I just relaxed. But then the old sonofabitch attacked my pussy with that thing. I mean, he brushed it by, let it just touch something, a lip, the clit. The thousands of little vibrating sensations went right to work and I was hot in minutes and then he drove that thing, vibrating a mile a minute, right down over my clit, covering it, and the big trembles hit me. The vibrations went all the way through me, and my clit swelled up and came and I said, "Ah," and like that and tried to push it away, but he kept tingling my cunt with the vibrator until I had another and then I was wild, coming and bucking and panting and screaming. I pushed his hands away before he could get to work again. He smiled and put the huge, pink, artificial cock on the vibrator. It had a place on the base of it where it plugged onto the shaft of the vibrator and then, with my eyes getting wider and wider, he put the head of it at the soft, wet, steaming entrance to my cunt. "That sonofabitch is too big," I gasped, just as he shoved and the head spread me wider than I'd ever been spread. "The female vagina is capable of taking objects of immense size," he said wisely, and .1 was wiggling my hips, because that huge mother was going into me a quarter inch at a time and it was riding on all the good goo I'd created with my climaxes and my hots. It felt good. I mean, there I was, having been milked a couple or three times, having had my jollies without even having a cock in me, and an artificial one was better than no cock at all. But the bastard was splitting me. It was about two inches thick and about nine inches long. I felt it pushing ai my bones down there in my crotch, spreading them. I spread my legs. I felt the head of it push hard on my womb and push in more. I felt as 89 if my entire body was one huge twat and it was being filled with the biggest cock in the world. I made sounds through my nose. I wept a little. And all the time my greedy cunt was gobbling up that monster. And then it was in. I felt this little ring around the base of it press up against me. It pushed into my softness around my widely split cunt. It pushed against my dit. I worked my hips experimentally. Jesus, it felt good. It was the biggest thing I'd ever had in me. I began to fuck it. He was holding it in, fully dressed, smiling, not a hair out of place. And I was working my ass and feeling that huge monster in me and then, oh, Jesus, he flipped the switch and a million vibrations bounced through that cock and sent my whole insides into a quiver and I didn't think I could stand it it was so good. I mean, the vibrator sent that cock trembling and shaking and the whole movement seemed to go right to my dit.and I came and screamed, because he wouldn't stop. It was tremendous. I came and he pressed the thing in and out of me, fucking me with his huge artificial cock, driving it deep and pulling it out and all the time it was vibrating a mile a minute and the vibrations went into my bones and my gut and I came again and screamed it was so wild and he wouldn't quit. I went into serial orgasms, one come right after the other, and he was panting and moaning and whining as he fucked me with the machine and then I must have fainted. I came out of it and he was naked. Oh, wow. I didn't think I could ever fuck again. I mean, I was like wasted. I'd lost time and I'd lost count of the number of comes I'd had. They had been coming right on top of each other, my cunt never stopping its 90 throbbing and clutching at the hard, rubber cock. And now he was naked and I was going to get more. Except that he didn't have a hard on. Since then I've met a lot of men who were impotent, either permanently or temporarily. I've cured some of them. Some of them, like the congressman, are just incapable of getting a hard on. At that time I'd never seen a cock I couldn't make hard one way or the other, and I was grateful to the congressman for hi amp; having brought me to wonderful Puerto Rico and for the wildest set of comes I'd ever had. So I was willing. "As you can see," he said sadly, "I have this problem. As the old saying goes, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." I put my hand on it and paid it a lot of attention, expecting it to swell inside my fingers. He seemed to enjoy it, but nothing happened. So I went down in a flash and sucked the whole thing into my mouth. At one time the congressman must have been -well hung, for even lax, his cock was big. But it stayed soft. I gave it my best, tonguing it, sucking it, kissing it, rolling it all over my tits, which he seemed to enjoy. But no go. "Ain't there no way?" I asked. "Don't say ain't," he said. "Yes, there is a way." He pushed me onto my back. I let him raise my legs until my knees were on my tits and then he crawled between them and began to rub his soft little cock on me. It felt nice. He would rub it all over my cunt, and was I ever wet, then he'd rub it on my clit. Finally, he took two fingers and stuffed it into my cunt. It was like trying to push a piece of wet spaghetti through a needle, but he managed to get it in, just the head of it, and I moved gently for him and it slid out. He seemed to be enjoying it, so I let Mm play. I just 91 lay still. He'd shove it in, stuffing it, and then he'd pinch it between his fingers to make the head swell just a tiny bit and move a little and moan and sigh and he was getting all wet around it, all his hairs and everything. I began to get a little hot again, believe it or not, with his cock rubbing me and going into me just a little ways, but even when I squeezed my cunt muscles, I couldn't hold him in. Then he turned me over. I lay on my stomach and he crawled up on me. He sat on my thighs and held my hips between his thighs and stuffed his cock down between my legs and pushed it into the wetness around my twat. Then he started working on a different hole. I mean I was so wet that my goo had run down all over my ass and my^ anus was well oiled by it. He started trying to stuff it in there and that was my first experience there, and I jerked'my ass. "It won't hurt," he said. "That's dirty," I said. "Nothing which gives pleasure is dirty," he said. Well, I owed him. He'd made a night for me. So I let him stuff and push and wet my anus with juice and then he said, "Relax, push down as if you're going to the bathroom." I did. He pushed and stuffed his soft cock and I felt the head and a little bit of it slide into my ass. "Now close and pull up," he said. I worked my muscles and, I'll be damned, his cock sort of got sucked up into my rear channel and I had more of him in me back there than I'd been able to get in front. It wasn't bad, either. I mean, his cock was soft and it felt like I was going to the bathroom, not unpleasant. "Suck it up some more," he said, in a hoarse voice.
 

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   I worked my muscles and got the hang of it. By working them as if I were cutting off a turd while taking a shit, I was able to suck all of it into me so that it felt like it was maybe three inches up into my anus and then he began to wiggle a little. "Keep doing it," he said. So I did my muscles. He'd pull out a little bit, just a little bit, and I'd suck him back and then he got all excited and I began to feel real good, because his excitement was transferring itself to me. He put his hands down under my waist and worked one of them down until he was fingering my clit. I was pulling his soft cock up into my anus and he was pulling it out and his fingers were milking my clit and all of a sudden I felt myself begin to really enjoy it. Having a soft cock in the ass isn't bad. Having a hard one there, after you learn how, isn't bad, but that was my first and I'm glad it was the way it was, because it taught me that I had two holes for a cock in my bottom without the initial pain of taking a hard one in the ass. "Come, my beautiful little girl," he whispered. "Come for me." "Oh, ah," I said, and came, and while my cunt was throbbing he could feel it in my anus, and he gave a couple of grunts and I felt his soft cock throb and he came in me, giving me my first load of come in my ass. We stayed in Puerto Rico for three nights. All were fine.
 

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   In three nights in Puerto Rico I learned a few valuable lessons. I quit saying ain't, for example. I learned that if a girl can give a man what he wants, he'll do almost everything for her. The Congressman offered me a job in Washington. I talked to Pearl about it. "Honey," she said, "you know I want the best for you. I won't tell you that I'm selfish not wanting you to go away just yet." You see, me and Pearl made it right regularly, and I was getting to sort of like it. I mean, hell, why should a girl reject over fifty-percent of the population of the world as potential sex partners just because they don't have cocks? When we did it it was fun and slow and lovely and sweet and there was always my old boyfriend, Bill, for real cock. "You could make a good career in Washington," Pearl said, "but maybe there's a better way to get what we both want for you." What Pearl had in mind was more beauty contests. I think she was a little bit influenced by my being the 95 hottest lover she'd ever had, but she said I was the only really natural beauty she'd ever seen. Well, I was natural, all right. We went upstate, me wearing my Miss Mackerel crown, and entered the Miss Blueberry contest. I. won. I didn't even have to screw a judge, although there was a nice looking one on the judges panel which I wouldn't have minded screwing, although I found out later that he was a fag. In that summer I took three more crowns, all local contests. I was a star guest at several other contests, and I was getting a name around my state. Ruby Gore, beauty girl. Pearl started talking about college. I wasn't so sure about that shit, because I felt I'd done my stint in school and wanted something better than listening to dusty old farts talk about the rise and fall of the Roman Empire or something. Actually, my sex life that summer was not too exciting. Mainly I made it with Pearl and Bill, There was one pretty good night in a mountain town where I was going to get the Miss Mountain Flower Festival crown. We had the poop on it and it looked as if we were wasting our time. It was, first of all, a small time thing, even smaller than my first crown, the Miss Mackerel contest. This dinky little old mountain town always selected one of its own for Miss Mountain Flower and that was the way it was, just like old Man Worth picking Ms own queen all the time down in my home town. But by this time the J.C.'s of Old Town had discovered that I brought them a few newspaper stories everytime I went out on the beauty contest trail. I guess I got Old Town more publicity than anything since the time the British burned it down in 1777 or something like that. I'm not 96 very good at history. So the J.C,'s offered to foot the bill for me and Pearl to drive the new convertible which I was using for one year as the winner of the Miss Long Leaf Tobacco contest. Off we went to the mountains. "Even if you don't win we'll have a nice trip," Pearl said. I wasn't going up there not to win. I'd accumulated quite a nice wardrobe as part of my prizes. That's about all I got out of being the winningest beauty queen in the state, some nice clothes, the loan of a new car for one year and a couple of college scholarships. I couldn't cash in the scholarships for money and I couldn't transfer them and all the time Pearl and my old employer, Julie, kept telling me I should plan to use the scholarships to go to school in the fall. Anyhow, we set out in this nice new car and I was driving. I got stopped up around Charlotte by a highway fuzz and when I pulled off the road I was thinking like crazy. I didn't want a traffic ticket. So when the fuzz came up and said, in his oh, so original way, "Where's the fire, little lady?" I burst into tears. I'd decided on that route instead of trying to vamp him. It would be awkward, on that well traveled highway, to offer to bribe the fuzz with my bod, so I decided, quickly, on the tears and helplessness routine. I start wailing, with real tears, and telling the poor sonofabitch how I was off in the big world, just a country girl, trying to help my poor old hometown by winning beauty contests and how I'd just not noticed that I was going so damned fast and begging and asking him, "Oh, what can I do, what can I do?" He said, "There, there." He flushed and shifted from one foot to the other and ended up, although I'd been doing ninety-five in a sixty mile zone, lending me his 97 handkerchief and wishing us the best of luck and telling me, rather gently, to hold it down. "You should be an actress," Pearl said, as we drove away, and I changed my tears to laughter. Doing! An actress. Why the hell not? I had the looks for it and there were girls on the screen who didn't act,worth a shit. "Is this a dagger I see before me?" I hammed it up, laughing. Why the hell not? So I was thinking of that as we drove on into the mountains and came into this little town and checked into the one hotel. In my room I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself and that was it. I was going to be an actress. I didn't know exactly how, but I was going to do it. We went to a reception for the queen contestants and the judges and town wheels. There we saw the competition and I almost laughed. I was the only outsider. The rest were locals. There were fat ones and skinny ones and not a damned one of them could come close to me. I circulated and met the judges. There were three men and two women. All were from out of town, but after a little talking with them I found out that two of them, the women, had been local girls and married into the nearby communities, therefore they'd be all for the home folks. One of the men was local, the organizer of the beauty thing. The other one was a fag decorator from Raleigh and the fifth, the one I started to court, was a country-western singer of small fame, but maybe on his way up, who had grown up in the hills around this little town. He had his own T.V. show and it was syndicated and seen all over the country, although it wasn't on a regular network. He was going to be on the Grand Ole 98 Opry, he said, someday. He'd just been married, but his wife couldn't make the trip. He was full of himself. He was not a bad looking guy. He had this big, manly voice, like on a Marlboro commercial, and he talked western and slow, although he was a southern hillbilly boy. He had an eye for a girl, I could tell. And he was putting away the drinks. There was a non-alcoholic punch there for everyone, but he was sweetening it with his own pocket flask. His hair was long, but not hippy, his clothing was rugged, but tailor made and expensive and he had a fine, manly bod. These receptions are something else. They're for the birds. You stand around with this painted smile on your face, being nice to everyone. You stay on your toes all the time because the judges are looking at you. At least they are when the results of the contest are not predetermined. I knew that this contest was over before it started and I'd picked out the local belle who would win. She was a stringy-haired little blond with big shoulders and a. bigger ass. She was as out of proportion as a smashed beer can, but the judges were fawning all over her. While I was courting this .hilly singer, whose name was Rod Hensley, Pearl pulled me aside and told me that I was right, that the smart money was on the big-assed blond. I went back to Rod. Everyone kept calling him Junior. I smiled my best and asked him why. "Wall," he drawled, giving me his lop-sided smile, "I changed muh name." "From what?" I asked, pretending to be really interested. "I'm tryin' to ferget," he said. "I'm good at keeping secrets," I told him, giving him a bit of hip as we stood side by side to let him know I 99 could keep that secret, too. He was looking down the neck of my dress and I didn't have on a bra. "Yew ever tell I'll put the black hex of the mountains on you," he said. "Cross my heart." I crossed it, letting my finger brush a nipple so that it stood up and saluted him. His eyes I went to it right away and stayed there. I could almost feel them, because he was quite a man and I'd been exposed to things like His Honor and his lax cock, to ,f old man Worth and his shoes and to Pearl's feminine , lovemaking with just little old fast-going inexperienced , Bill Murphy to do the raw and real man thing to me. I t was ready for some mature, manly cock and I had eyes for this Rod Hensley as much as he had for me. You know how it is when two people meet and have this thing for each other. I mean, you can feel the sparks fly. They were shooting out from me and Rod like spar- ( klers. "Junior Albercrombie," he said. He laughed. I laughed with him, not at him. "God, I know how you feel. I'm hung with the tag of Ruby Gore." "Ruby ain't bad." "It's going to be Kitsy," I said. "When I'm ready to · blow the dust of this state off my ass. Kitsy McRae." "Has real class," he said. "I got plans, Rod," I said. "And among them is winning this dinky little high country shit-fest of a beauty pageant." He frowned. "Wall." "I know," I said. "They've got the little country girl with the big ass all dressed up for the part and they've indicated to you that you should look at her twice." "You been around, huh?" He grinned at me. "Not as much as I'm going to," I said. 100 "Youlnow how it is, then." "What do you owe them?" I asked. I was looking into his eyes and giving him all my charge right through the eyeballs. He killed his drink, eyes squinted. "Come to think of it, Ruby," he said, dropping his Walt Disney animal story narrator voice, "I don't owe these bastards a fucking thing." I thought I knew the boy then. I took a long shot. "When you were going to school here were you elected class president?" He looked at me. "Nope." "Who was?" He didn't answer. I looked over at the big assed little blond who was sucking around the women judges. "Was it her? I don't mean her, herself, but someone like her? Her big brother? The son or daughter of the banker or the newspaper editor or the town's rich man?" He was pouring himself a shot into the non-alcoholic punch. "They shit on you all your life, didn't they, Junior?" I used his old name deliberately. "And now that you've made it all by yourself … look, how did you learn to play the guitar? I'll bet it was sitting all alone in a mountain cabin because they shit on you and you couldn't buy your butt into their little social circles with a pair of ragged-assed jeans and bare feet." He grinned. "You're a smart gal, Ruby Gore. You sayin' let's us poor folks unite against them fancy folks?" I didn't know if I was winning or not, but I went ahead. "I'm saying something else. I'm saying we're alike. I'm saying we're both trying to lift ourselves by our own bootstraps. I'm saying let's pull together. You give me a lift and I'll give you a lift." "I'd be one against four."
 

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   "They'd listen to you." He grinned again. "So I can give you'a boost, honey, but what can you do for me?" "Well, I damned sure can't get you a contract with the Grand Ole Opry," I said, smiling and standing so close he could stand there and look down and see my nipples. "But I can make you feel like a tiger, buddyHE can make you eat raw meat and go out there and fight the fucking world." "I'll bet you could at that," he said, thinking about it. Then someone came up and I didn't get a chance, although I tried, to talk with him again. "How'd it go?" Pearl asked, when we were back in my room. "I don't know. If the phone rings in the next few minutes we're in." "Nothing definite?" "He was interested," I said. "But he spent the last part of the evening with the locals. I saw the big-ass belle trying to vamp him." "Ruby," she said. "I don't think the phone is going to ring. I think we've made a useless trip." We sat around for thirty minutes and it seemed that she was right. I was getting mad. I told Pearl to go to bed. I went down to the,desk and asked if Mr. Hensley was in his room. I was carrying a manila envelope containing my pictures and press clippings. I told the clerk, who wasn't too swift, that it belonged to Mr. Hensley and that it was very important to get it to him that very night. He said he'd give it to him. I said no go, that I was going to put it in his room personally, since it was valuable original sheet music Mr. Hensley had written. The clerk fumed and fussed a little, but in the end he went up with me and unlocked the door to Rod's 102 room. I went in and put the envelope on the dresser and came out, being careful to leave the door unlocked. "Did you lock the door?" the clerk asked. I wiggled the doorknob and said I'd locked it, thanked the old fart and went off down the hall. He got in the elevator and went down and I went back to Rod's room, stripped to the buff and made myself comfortable on his bed. Now I just hoped that he'd come in half sober and alone. I thought it would be funny if he came back with some girl he'd picked up, maybe the big-assed little blond, and I was prepared for anything. I was not going to give up without a fight. I was dozing when I heard the door. I woke up, fully alert. He was alone and he was sober. He was loosening his tie when he turned around after closing the door and turned on the light and all of me hit him right in the face. "Jesus H. God," he said. I stretched, making my boobs stand out. "I've waited for a long time," I said. He was frozen in his tracks, both his hands up on his tie. "We didn't get a chance to finish our conversation." "Ruby Gore," he said, his eyes locked onto my boobs for a few seconds and then dropping to the quite openly displayed goodie between my legs, "I think it would be best for all concerned if you got your ass out of here." I got up on my knees. I knew that the position accentuated my hips and made my tits stick up nicely. I held out my arms. "Come over here and say that." "Honey, you can't bribe your way through the world." "That's funny. A congressman told me just a while ago that if the price is right you can buy anything in this world." "You're just a kid," he said.
 

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   "If you're worried about statutory rape I'm past the age of consent," I said. "Why don't you be a good girl and'go on back to your own room?" he said, picking up my dress and throwing it at me. "Because I've seen you looking at me," I said. "Because I can make it very, very good for you, Junior Rod Hensley Albercrombie." "You done much of this?" he asked. "I'm not virgin^ If I were I'd be a lousy lay. I'm not used up, either. This fable about a woman being used up is shit. A woman improves with experience and if you don't know that it sure is time you learned." "Honey," he said. "I'm going in to take a shower. When you hear me come out you'd better be gone." I waited until I heard the water running. Then I went into the bath and there was just a curtain on the shower. I could see his shadow through it and he was right up under the shower head with the water running over his hair and face. I opened the curtain quietly and stepped in behind him. I let him wash the soap off his face and out of his eyes and then I stepped forward and put my arms around him and pressed my hot tits, my belly, my hard mound up against him. "Jesus Christ," he gasped, trying to displace my arms. He was all slick with soap and the feeling of my skin sliding on his was delicious. He turned in my arms and pushed at me and I slid down, holding my arms around him, until I was kneeling with the water running over both of us and my arms around his knees and his cock against my cheek. I was holding on for dear life and was feeling the delicious trembles, because he had a nice cock, all tight and clean looking, even when it was not hard. I clung and turned my face and sucked it into my 104 mouth and he was pushing on my head and saying, "Stop it, Ruby. Stop it." He pushed me away and lifted me. He was a strong man. He tore down the curtain getting out. I was clinging and calling his name and running my hands over his body and reaching for his cock. He said, "Now I asked you to get out of here." "I ain't going," I said. "You're going." "No." He sat on the John and pulled me down. I thought for a minute that he was going to pull me into his lap and start the festivities, but instead, before I knew what he was doing, he had me across his knees and, Jesus God, he was pounding on my ass with his palm saying, "Now you're going to get out of here." I hadn't been spanked since I was a bubble-gummer. I was spread out over his knees, our bodies sliding because we were all soapy, and I felt his hand slap, whap, flam and felt the sharp blows and I yelped and cried and tried to escape, because he was hurting, leaving red marks on my fanny, but he wouldn't stop. Slap, whap, flam. And all of a sudden this tremendous heat started generating in my smarting ass and blew like a storm through my entire body and centered in my glory hole and I was moaning as I cried and squirming now in a different way. It was my first experience with being spanked and it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, I'd known before that a little pain is nice sometimes. Later, I ran into a real nut in Rome, Italy, who wanted the pain to be severe and that's for the shits, I mean, really being hurt, but titty biting and pinching 105 and love marks, that's all a part of the game and can be nice. And under the proper circumstances a good spanking can add spice to life. I was being spanked good and his hands were stinging and leaving these red marks on my white fanny and I was moaning and squirming and my mound was against his thigh and the first thing I knew I was coming like a fire, blazing, my cunt throbbing and pulsing and pounding and me moaning in a different way and he stopped and said, "Holy smoke." "Rod," I whispered. "Oh, God, Rod." "You came," he said. "Ummmm," I said. His hands were not spanking anymore. Instead, they were rubbing. They were feeling my smarting, tingling ass. "Did \ hurt you?" His voice was soft, hoarse. His hands were fondling my ass. He let one finger track down into the sweet little grove at the top of my crack and it was hot in there and he breathed a jerky little breath and I felt his cock getting hard as steel against my side. Hot? I hadn't known the meaning of the word till then. I mean, I was hot. I was steaming. I was crying inside for cock. I pushed myself off and knelt beside the John on which he was sitting and I put out my hands and felt of his hard cock. "God, it's beautiful," I whispered, and it was. It was the most beautifully proportioned cock I'd ever seen. "I love it, Rod. It's so beautiful." And I wanted it. Oh, how I wanted it. I wanted it with every fiber of my body, all my soul. I couldn't wait. I straddled him, stood over him. I eyed that cock down there between my legs and reached down and held it and guided it up as I lowered myself, facing him, seated astride his legs.
 

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   I guided it to me. I was hot and loose. I'd come. I was slick and hot and juicy and wonderful. I guided it into me and drove if into me with my own weight and he was holding me with his hands around my back and his mouth went down and he gasped and sucked and chewed a tit and I whispered, as I buried his cock up to the hairy hilt in hot female cunt, "This one is for you, honey." He had his arms low, at the base of my spine, and he was' squeezing me. His face was buried in my titties, kissing and chewing one after the other. He began to hunch up and drive his nice cock into me and I lifted and fell, sucked with my vaginal muscles, twisted, making it as good for him as I could. I've often tried to describe the wonderful feeling of being fucked, but I suppose that only a woman can ever really know the true feeling. It's much more than just having something stuck into your cunt. It's a state of being. I mean, you've a different entity when you're filled, lovingly, with cock. You're more than a woman. You're something else. A man just extends a part of himself and puts it into a hole and I've heard men say that an animal's cunt, like the cunt of a cow, is just as good as a woman's cunt. They say that .a cow's cunt is even hotter and slicker. Well, with a woman there are substitutes, but nothing to match a good, well shaped, big cock. It comes into her and becomes a part of her. I wouldn't be a man for anything in the world. I mean, I'm a girl and I love it. I like being used. Possessed. Think of any word that has ever been laid on the act of fucking and it has meaning. My guess is that the word, fuck, was first invented as the grunt of a very hot cave man getting his rocks off. I've heard men grunt as they came, Unkkk, ufffg, all manners of sounds. I like the word. Fuck. It has a pretty sound to me. And I like 107 all the other words describing the act. I've done some research on it. Some people think it came from the Greek jutueva, which means to sow or plant seeds. Well, a man plants seeds when he fucks. Others say it came from the Latin futuere, meaning to strike. Well, a man strikes the body of a woman with his, making the main point of impact the meaty, protruding mounds under which, in the case of the woman, rests the little jewel which contains all of it, the clit. The Latin word, pun-gere, means to prick and a man pricks the body of his partner, driving his cock into her like a thorn going into flesh. Ficken, in German, means to strike, same thing. I like the common odd words, too. Screw. When your body is wild and your hips are switching and swishing as you're being ficky-ficked, you're screwing your hips all around in circles. When you're familiar with a man, and have lived with him for a while, and the fucking comes peacefully and often, you're copulating. I don't dislike the coarse things men say about it. Getting a piece. A piece of ass. That's quite literal. A piece of tail. A piece of meat. There's this, nothing is more meaty than the business end of a woman. She's all ass and a man can bury his fingers into the softness of that ass and drive one finger up her anus and feel nothing but meat all around and drive his cock up and feel nothing but the best prime meat and, well, shit, I like fucking and all about it and the words used about it. And on that John in that hotel in that little mountain town, Rod Hensley and I fucked. He got a piece of ass. I rode him. His cock pierced me, took me, was stiff and proud and demanding up inside me, knowing all the folds and crevices of my cunt. His arms squeezed me and his mouth ate my tits and, when he came with a great 108 roar and a wild grunt and frantic movements of his loins, pumping his glorious come deep into me, he kissed me. I had a nice one with his cock pumping into me. I moaned and chewed on his lips and clurig and moved my ass and milked the last sweet drop of semen from his cock and then we got up and, laughing, feeling happy and smug, went back into the shower. He washed me lovingly, paying attention to my tits and my twat. His hand down there roused the napping beast in me and I washed him, feeling his nice body. I washed his cock. It had gone almost soft, but my hands on it brought it back to half life. "I started to do this a while back," I said, dropping to my knees and taking his member into my mouth. He held my head, my hair wet, with his hands, and I licked and laved and sucked. He pulled me up and thrust his great cock into my belly and said, "I want to be on top of you." While he dried me, he kissed me on the back and the shoulders. He couldn't ever get enough of my tits, and he spent a long time drying and kissing them and then he dried my muff and I dried him, and licked his balls and sucked his cock and then he made this growling sound and lifted me and tossed me onto the bed. One of the sexiest pictures I have of me is a color enlargement from a movie I made. In it, I'm on a satin sheet, naked, my tits standing nicely, my eyes closed. I have one arm lying loosely at my side and the other goes down between my outflung legs to seize a hard cock and guide it, with just the head of it already in me. I have on a jeweled bracelet on my right arm, the one I'm guiding the cock with. My stomach is indrawn, with the 109 expectation of being fucked, my mouth open in a sensuous gasp. That's the way I must have looked with Rod. He tossed me onto the bed and I fell onto my back, my legs opening automatically. He got between them, on his knees. He looked down at my cunt. He felt it I felt his loving fingers explore my twat and I was creaming almost immediately, even if I had just been washed good in the shower. Then he moved closer, still on his knees. I looked down the length of my body, seeing my breasts, my mound, my pubic hair, his beautiful cock. I cpuldn't stand 'it. I reached down and took it and tugged and guided and when it hit my cunt, I closed my eyes in ecstasy and fed the whole length of it into me. He drove it in, still on his knees. He was a big man and his cock was nice and big and I felt that wonderful feeling of completion and I just lay there and let him play with me a little. He drove it up and held it and then he started pinching my tits and I began to writhe and moan and he pulled my legs together. This way, both my legs were between his. He was kneeling astride me. His cock was hilt deep in me. He squeezed my hips between his knees and began to rock back and forth. In that position he couldn't go all the way in and out, but the movement was great. He was pushed up way high and his cock was pressing my clit very hard and I was out of it. "Good?" he asked. "Beautiful," I whispered, giving him a twist and a grind, making my cunt suck and chew and squeeze on bis cock. Rod was my first really sensuous man. He liked everything about sex. I thought he would go ahead and screw me, since he was in me, but he pulled out and eyed my 110 body and felt it and then he started kissing my belly and I put my hands down and held his head. He was going to eat me. I knew that. And I yearned for the feel of his lips on my cunt. He took a tantalizingly long time doing it, and when he finally took my cunt in a quick movement, driving his mouth down into it, sticking his tongue into the hole and smearing his lips all over it, his oddly soft top lip on my clit, I cried out in delight and began to fuck his mouth and came almost like lightning. Then he crawled on and worked slow and long. I threw my legs up over his back and pulled him deeper, rolled up on niy shoulders. He drove it in so hard that I was rocking up and down on the bed and I came in that position, with my body bent up into a ball, his cock driving deep, his balls bouncing on my pudenda and ass cheeks. I came and cried with the joy of it, real tears. "God, don't stop," I whispered. "Don't ever stop." He rolled over and held me on top, pulled one of my legs up alongside his chest. His finger went down and started playing with my anus, which was soaked with our juices. He was fucking very hard, getting hot. He put his head under and bit the hell out of my tit and I moaned with it. Then I was coming again and just before I went he drove his finger into my anus and I screamed, because the entry of it was like being fucked again, in a different place, and I went wild and came and he said, "I feel your cunt throbbing on my finger." He could feel it throbbing on his cock, too, and on his finger, and I was trying to bite both of them off with my spasms of goodness and then I lay still for a minute. "Can you go again?" he asked. "I don't know, but it feels so good." "I want you on your stomach," he said. I rolled over. He crawled on me from the rear and
 

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   drove his cock down between my ass cheeks and found my well used cunt. "He went in about a mile. That position, from the rear, allows a man to go deep. And he gets the sensation oЈHbeing even deeper, because the base of his cock, which never really gets into a cunt, is held between the meaty flesh of the lower ass. You take a guy with a seven-inch dick. About three inches of it goes in in an ordinary position. In some of the better ones, like with the girls legs pulled up against her chest, you can get about four or five inches of the seven actually into the cunt. But in that one, with the girl flat on her stomach, her legs tight together, the man gets this sensation, since his whole cock is either in the cunt or held between those lower cheeks, that he's all in and they love it. A girl has to get a kick out of penetration or play with her clit or have the man play with it. But I was feeling so smooth and smug and done in and all that I was loving it just feeling Rod drive in and out of my cunt from the rear. He was kneeling, holding my ass tight between his knees. And then he put his hands down and caught me right above the thigh joints in that soft place with both hands and lifted my ass up and that made it drive in even deeper. He began to really throw it to me. I began to buck and suck with my cunt muscles to make it good for him and, goddamn, I began to get hot and when he came in me, I came out of sympathy, without even having my clit stimulated, a real, banging good, throbbing chewing pussy come with his cock emptying itself deep into me, so deep that my whole womb was washing in cunt and come. He rolled me over and quickly drove it into me, after he'd quit pumping, and we just lay there, his cock going lax in me, both of us drowsy and being loving and dose. 112 He woke me in the middle of the night eating me, I had a beauty like that and then we just fucked gently and without too much fire for about a half hour before we both got wild and had a climax together and then he did me in again in the morning, after we'd had coffee and cakes in bed. The morning one was just a quickie. We were both hot and he just crawled on and we pounded and jerked and moaned and he came first and I came just as his best shot of come jetted into me. "Ruby," he said, "would you like to see me again, even when I'm not a beauty contest judge?" "If you weren't already married," I said, "I'd carry you ofL Anytime you want to see me, Rod. Anytime." As I went through the next few years, marriage was offered to me, but Rod Hensley, a couhtry western singer, was the only man I would have married, and that was because he was such a tender lover, because he was nice dear through and because we sent each other. We continued to send each other for years. So, you see, Rod Hensley isn't really his name, and you'd surely recognize it if I told you, because he did make it big. But once I screwed him in his dressing room backstage just before he went on for a big concert. We fucked quickly, both of us hot, me leaning back on his dressing table, my long, formal skirt hiked to expose my cunt, he without removing his trousers. When he'd come and I'd come he pulled out and grinned at me. "I ain't gonna wash," he said. "I'm goin' out there with our love juices still on it and maybe the people will smell it and think that Rod Hensley is a sexy sonofa-bitch." "And I'll keep yours in me," I said. "All through the program I'll be sitting there with your come in me." That's the kind of friends Rod and I were. We could 113 get a kick out of a five minute quickie standing up or we could give each other the delicious trembles for a whole week. We had a week together once, after he'd left his first wife, in the mountains of Colorado, and it was wild, great, beautiful. We thought ab@ut getting married then, but I was in the middle of my first big movie and he was on a contract to do a nationwide tour and we decided we wouldn't spoil a beautiful love affair with marriage. But that morning we lay there soaking in each other, my tits hot on his chest, his weight on me, his cock going soft until it finally fell out of me and his come ran down the inside of my thigh. "Ruby," he said, "I guess you've bribed me." "I meant it to be that way," I said "but now that I know you I don't give a shit about this pissy little contest. You vote the way you want to. I'll make it without being Miss Mountain Flower." "Ah'm glad yew said that, gal," he said, giving me the western accent shit. "Because all along I was going to vote for the best girl." Which, of course, was me.
 

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   Yep, as I went through the next few years I'd watch Rod's career and now and then our paths would cross and there'd be a hot time in the old town, whatever town or city it was. Ever get fucked in a New York taxi? It's wild, especially if you do it on the day before Christmas Eve, with the streets a true madhouse, cars blowing and honking and having fender benders all around and people screaming and banging on the sides of the cab at pedestrian crossings and big trucks passing in the other lane and the drivers doing double takes as they look down and see two people naked from the waist down screwing like minks in the back seat. And the driver saying, through his mugger guard, "You fuckers get me busted you pay the fine," and Rod yelling, "Drive fast, Mac." "Drive where?" he yelled back. A nice Jamacian boy, with that beautiful sing-song accent. "Anywhere," Rod yelled. "Just drive and give us a few thrills."
 

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   "If I were in that back seat I'd be getting enough thrills," the driver said, almost rear-ending a car as he watched me do my thing with one leg hanging off the edge of the seat and the other thrown up along the top of the back of the seat and me full, stuffed with cock and champagne. "It's Christmas," Rod giggled, drunk out of his skull. "Let's let him smell my finger for a thrill." "Since it's Christmas, let's let him come into the back seat," I said. "Ruby Gore," he said, using my old name, "you're rotten clean through. You're a pervert." I closed my cunt muscles, bent my body and almost broke his hard cock. "And you love it." "Arrrrrrrrg," he yelled, coming and jerking and pumping as I laughed and let the goodness flow and had my come. I was dressed in a gold lame dress with a simple upswept hairdo and a set of earrings which had set someone, and I'll get to that later, back a few grand. They dangled and banged against my cheeks just like Rod's balls dangled and banged against my ass. Whenever I met a man who would make me a good husband, he already was. Rod was married again, to a tobacco heiress. She was down in the islands screwing rich buddies and Rod was doing his thing in Madison Square Garden, packing them in. I was in New York for a week of guest shots on the biggest talk show and wowing them. The network vice-presidents were going crazy because no matter what I said it came out sexy. Well, you know me. "Let's give him a Christmas present," I said. "Hey, buddy," Rod called, through the little speak-window, "the lady wants tb give you a Christmas present."
 

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   "You're Kitsy McRae, aren't you?" he asked, looting at me in the rear view mirror. "He didn't recognize you until you took your clothes off," Rod yelped, sending himself into a convulsion of laughter. "You want sloppy seconds, Mac?" "You're kidding," the driver said. "Pull over and let me have the wheel," Rod said. "Oh, shit." I could tell the driver was torn between lust and sanity. Putting a mad man like Rod, drunk out of his mind, behind the wheel was crazy. But it had become a challenge to me. I purred and arched a little and he almost ran into the sidewalk in his haste to park. Cars blew and honked and pulled around with a roar of engines and Rod was waving them on and playing bull fighter with them, waving his red jacket at them. He got in the front seat and this nice Jamacian boy, about twenty, I'd guess, got in the back seat and went suddenly shy. I was reclining. My dress was up around my waist. My working end was exposed, my cunt wet with Rod's come. Rod jerked the taxi away from the-curb and gave a wild cowboy yell as he forced drivers to slam on brakes and yell. I said, "Merry Christmas." The driver looked at me and gulped and reached out and put his hand on my leg. "Miss McRae .. ." he gulped. "You'd better hurry, before that sonofabitch wrecks your cab," I said, reaching out and starting to do his pants, finding a weapon of good size and admirable hardness inside there. Rod swerved and threw the driver atop me. I latched onto him, one arm around him, the other down between us, fingers clasping his hard cock, guiding it to the general area of my cunt where, because things were so
 

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   slick and because a woman is bulk that way, It just naturally found its way to the glory hole and drove in, "Do you dance the samba?" I asked the driver. He grunted as he lunged and pinned me to the seat. I had to repeat the question. He looked at me, shook up thinking I was either crazy drunk or cold to ask a social question ^at a time like that. The car was jerking and banging along, engine roaring fearful clashes of gears, shouts and horns from all sides as Rod hogged the street and dared the fates and New York's maniac driver population. "Yes, Miss McRae," he said, finally, pulling Ms cock out and driving it into me. "Fuck me in samba time, then," I said. "Ah," he said, grinning. He began to twist his ass and hum and I matched and we did a dance of pure lust on the back seat, with my legs wide open to take his rather nice cock and my body loving all of it and the car jerking and stopping with a screech of tires which threw us into the floorboard. Then the car was moving again. "You missed a beat," I whispered, driving my ass up to get his cock seated again. He moaned, close, wild, his cock sliding in and out on the leavings of Rod's come. He took up the rhythm, but forgot to hum. I took up the tune and we came together in rhythm to music and as I was squeezing the last drop of come out of him and loving the feeling in my cunt, having had a nice one, I said, "Merry Christmas," and the car banged into a new Lincoln from the rear, throwing us hard against the front seat and banging Rod's head on the windshield to leave a neat little dent there with fracture cracks radiating out all around the point of impact. "Madre mia," the driver yelped, plucking up his pants as he leaped out, buttoning the waist as he tugged Rod out of the driver's seat and laid him full length on the 118 pavement. He did it so fast no one saw that Rod was driving. I let my dress drop into place, felt come ooze out of me, wet the inside of my thighs delightfully, and I put on an act of frantic concern for poor Rod. Well, we split the bill, not repair-a new cab for our friend-and he was happy and I told him, "Shit, I don't care if you brag about screwing Kitsy McRae, darling." I told Rod I thought it was good public relations. I was building my reputation as America's sex queen, and I didn't think it would hurt to let it be known, although Rod was sure that only fools would believe the driver, that Kitsy wasn't too proud to put out for the common man. Frankly, he was a lousy lay, that cab driver. No imagination. Hung up. I've had people take seconds and be so turned on that they'd fall down and eat the leavings, I mean, clean the come out of my cunt and sent me into heaven with some inspired eating, but that cab driver, all he did was crawl on, go wham wham and come in me. Carlo was one of them. One of those who liked taking seconds because he said that a woman's cunt is creamier and nicer when it's lubricated by semen. I met Carlo in Rome. Now here's how I got to Rome. I mean Rome, Italy. Not Rome, Georgia or some shit. After I met Rod at the Miss Mountain Flower Festival, I went back home. The summer was nearly over. All the little local beauty contests had been held. There was the official Miss America thing coming up and I was working on a talent, with Pearl's help. Meanwhile, I was doing the hash slinging bit at the seafood cafe and telling my friend, Julie, all about how it was to fuck 119 Rod Hensley, who was on her jukebox and whom she loved. Believe me, old chums, it was a comedown. I mean, you try going from head of the table and a loaned convertible and bugging around over the state being ogled and oohed at and walking like a real queen down the victory ramp with the spotlights on you and then come back and start slinging hash for quarter tips. But a girl has to eat, and as I've said, those contests paid off in a few nice clothes, a loaned convertible and college scholarships. But we had lots of time for work, Pearl and me. And there was good old Bill, who was getting so that he could actually fuck for two minutes without coming. Bill had his shortcomings, and to me shortcomings in a man are premature ejaculations, but he was all I had except for Pearl and I got a little tired of her cockless body and her playthings. I got so bored that I actually went up to college to look it over. I took the college test thing and just barely passed it, I mean, I couldn't have gotten into a big state school I was so low in score, but I could get into a couple of smaller schools. But I looked around and saw teeny-boppers. Shit. Boys who thought the big deal was to have long hair and look like refugees from a Salvation Army grab bag and who thought that smoking grass was the ultimate in sophistication. Shit. Not for me. I kissed the idea of college goodbye, went back to work with Julie and practiced my dramatic recitation for the talent part of the official Miss Cape County thing. Now I'm going ^o skip over this very rapidly, because I don't like to dwell on failure. I mean, you get into the real establishment when you start with that fucking Miss 120 America thing. You're up against gals who have had singing and piano and dancing all their lives. Our big mistake was that Pearl thought I'd gained enough poise to take the fucking thing honestly. I mean, she said, "Look, I don't think you can screw your way to this one, honey." So we played it straight, I went to the county contest and did my thing, read my dramatic recitation, won the bathing suit division and wasn't even a-runner-up. I mean, I bombed out. Well, you know what Miss America looks like. Miss Sweet Pants of any year. Sometimes not even pretty, just glowingly healthy, with more ass and legs than I'd like to have. I'm the trim type and Miss America is full blown. I'm the slinky type and Miss America is straight forward and All American girl shit. It was a mistake from the beginning. And I felt like doing the suicide bit. I even considered, as that fucking, endless winter dragged on, marrying Bill Murphy and trying to teach him to come inside me instead of on my muff in eagerness. I considered college again. Then, with Spring coming, I decided against another year of campaigning in local contests around the state. I'd had that. I wrote to Rod and he said he'd help me get a job in Nashville. Nashville? Oh, shit. Who wants to go to Nashville? I'd been to Puerto Rico and seen the jet set at play. I wanted New York, Paris, and all the goodies. I was holding a few hundred bucks I'd saved and I was packing for New York when the Congressman called. "Ruby," Julie gasped, dragging me away from a table where I was clearing dirty dishes. "It's the Congressman." I went to the telephone. "Little lady," His Honor said, "I've been thinking about you." Oh, shit. I wasn't 121 in the mood for a man who couldn't get it up. "How ' would you like to go to Rome, Italy?" "I might like that fine," I said. "You're going to represent our great state in Rome, Italy," he said, giving it the campaign speech treatment "I don't doubt for a minute that you'll bring us honor." Well, he talked on and I got more and more hot about it, because the bastard was serious. There was this new beauty contest, going into competition with Miss World and all those others. It was called, he told me, Miss One World and, although it was a true international effort, he said the Reds were trying to take over and use it for propaganda purposes. He said the Communist countries were sending all their best, movie star? who weren't internationally known and like that, and he wanted me to go over, win and show the world that true beauty was a capitalist monopoly or something. Shit, I didn't care about the fucking politics. I quit my job right then, leaving poor Julie to clean up. I drove like fury, I still had the loaned convertible, and dashed into Pearl's and yelled, "We're going to Rome, Italy." His Honor was sending a member of his staff to help us, to tell us what it was all about, and to go along with us to help the country girls in the big city. She arrived the next day, bearing cash for a new wardrobe. She was over forty, well preserved but severe looking, her hair pulled back in a simple bun, her clothes sensible, her Phd. degree from our state's largest university. Her name was Ms. Vivian Maples. She used the power of the Congressman's office to put a real crowd of state reporters into the city hall for a press conference and she made a speech about this little girl, from humble beginnings, fulfilling the great American dream by rising to 122 the heights of beauty and talent. She laid it on and the reporters took pictures and there I was, in all the papers and on T.V.: Miss Mackerel, Miss Mountain Flower, Miss Long Leaf Tobacco, etc. etc. And soon to be Miss One World. She sounded so stuffy and cold that I didn't think I was going to like her until, after the press conference, she grinned at me and said, "I also have a B.S. degree. B.S. for bullshit." She wanted to know all about me. I reluctantly took her to my humble beginnings, my home. Juby was out of jail and Ruf was home trying to get rid of some bad flashbacks from some Florida Sunshine, an inferior grade of LSD. He saw Ms. Vivian Maples and said, "God, Ruby, you've brought Vanessa Redgrave!" He was flashing and out of his skull, but Ms. Viv, as we began to call her later, thought that was real cute and took a shine to old Ruf. He was laying around in a tight bathing suit and showing off all his muscles. "That wonderful boy is your brother?" she whispered to me. "That's old Ruf," I agreed, "He must accompany us," she said. I shrugged. "You wanta go to Rome, Italy, Ruf?" I asked. "Why not?" he said. "It will show that it's a down to earth, grass roots family effort," Ms. Viv explained. "He's so, uh, earthy. Know what I mean?" "You got the hots for him," I said. "Ruby," she gasped. "One of the first th'ngs you must learn is that a lady doesn't use vulgar language." "So you don't have the hots for him," I said. "No matter to me. He might come in handy to carry luggage or something."
 

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   You talk about a wild scene. Wow. We flew over on one of those 707's? You know, the big ones before the really big ones, which I don't like. I mean, if I'm going to die in a plane crash, I'd like to have my pieces mixed with, like, maybe eighty people instead of a couple of hundred, so I don't fly the jumbo jets a-tall. Bnt that one from Washington city to Rome was a nice one, and Ms. Viv let me and Pearl sit together while she sat with Ruf, who had been hand dressed by Ms. Viv, I mean, she'd bought all his clothes. He looked great with a shave and a haircut and neat clothing and he wowed Ms. Viv with an imitation of Gary Grant from an old movie saying, "Vivian, Vivian," like Gary Grant used to say, "Judy, Judy." But Ms. Viv didn't have the hots for my brother. We had this suite of rooms, four of them, in a regular palace. I mean it had marble floors and-gold facets in the king-sized bathrooms and all this old, beautiful furniture and old pictures on the walls and connecting doors. Ms. Viv didn't have the hots for old Ruf, but she put him on the end, then her, then me and then Pearl. I took a nap, tired from the plane ride, and woke up to hear old Ruf sounding off in the adjoining room. I knew those sounds, snorts, grunts. He was fucking and he was in Ms. Viv's room. I giggled and went to sneak a peek through this big, old fashioned keyhole and saw that Ms. Viv finally had the hots for old Ruf, fore and aft, because she was kneeling over him sixty-nine, his big old cock in her mouth, and she was sucking it like an ice cream cone and Ruf was doing his bit by gobbling her cunt and I had a good view and they were so interesfed in each other and it was night and there was not much light, just a little one by the bed, that I opened the door and went in and watched.
 

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   I got the delicious trembles watching, because Ruf had learned a lot since I'd tried him. He was no longer just a wham bam thank you mam lover, but liked eating and all that. I sat down in a big soft chair and felt like playing with myself, but didn't. They got tired of eating each other and Ms. Viv crawled on Ruf and rode him. I had a beautiful view of Ruf's cock stitching up and down into Ms. Viv's ample bottom, and when she fell down on him, moaning and crying, and I saw Ruf's cock burst and pump into her, I clapped my hands and they sat up like a shot and said, "Who, who?" "Don't mind me," I said. "I was just curious about who was killing who. You two are noisy fuckers." "Ruby?" Ruf said. "Kitsy," Ms. Viv said. "I was just auditioning Ruf." "Is that what you call it?" She very calmly took up a corner of the sheet and wiped her cunt. "I happen to know that one of the female judges from Norway like dark, strong, young men." "Ms. Viv," I said. "You're not suggesting that we cheat to win this contest." "Darling," she said, smiling sweetly and toying with Ruf's lax man pole with one hand, "we're going to do anything necessary to win this contest. It wasn't just for your looks that the Congressman picked you." "Well," I said, "now that we understand each other, I'll leave you two alone." "Thank you, dear," Ms. Viv said, and I went out, looking over my shoulder to see her fall down and start to put new life in Ruf's member with her expert tongue. "Don't use him all up," I said. "Save some for that judge from Norway."
 

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   "Don't sweat it," Ruf said. "There's plenty to go around." God, those Italian men. I mean, like wow. Some girls talk about Frenchmen being sexy, but give me the Wops every time. They know how to eye a girl. They can fuck you with their eyes better than any men in the world and when one of them gives you a love pinch you know you've been pinched. We went out walking and I got a few looks and a pinch or two in crowded places and then we went over to the-hall where the contest was to be held and it was a big mother. There we met Carlo. I didn't know until later that it had all been arranged in advance by Ms. Viv. Carlo was a minor figure in the Italian movie industry and one of the judges. He was about thirty, darkly handsome, tall, very smooth. He spoke English with only a trace of an accent and his hand on my arm spoke another language. It waited on nothing else, that message. Even wlbile we were doing the polite chit-chat bit he was rubbing my arm and telling me he was going to bed me. I was willing. 'To know you better, as a contestant," he said, "may I take you to dinner?" "Sure," I said. We ate in a little place which Carlo said tourists didn't know about. He said it served the real food of Italy, not the fancy Americanized dishes like pizza and that shit. I ate some cheese pasta at his suggestion and it was great and had a few snorts of a good red wine and then you can bet we didn't waste any time. "I will show you my home," he said. "Suits," I said. It was on a river and it was a wild pad and smallish. But rich. He was apparently making a dollar, and I 126 found out how later. I was wearing something slinky and one piece without underwear. My hair was up. I had on a pair of cheap earrings. I mean, just onyx and pearls. Nothing fancy. I was wearing the natural look, little make-up. Inside his big main room there were soft lights and music, and they started as if automatically when "we went in. He served me a frozen thing with rum in it and sat next to me. "You are my first choice of all the contestants," he said. "Why, thank you, Carlo. I'm so pleased." "It is not, however that simple," he said. He was leering at me and I took the ball. I don't believe in beating around the bush. "Carlo," I said, smiling at him. ''I'm a simple girl. If you Want something in exchange for your vote for me, just name it." "Ah," he said. "A realist." "I guess I am," I said. "I'm going to be an actress, you know, and I need a start. I figure this Miss One World thing will do it. So I'm willing to pay any price." "Any price?" "Yes," I said. "You wanta start now?" I was ready. He turned me on something fierce and I was dying to find out if the Italians were as sexy as they seemed. "Where's the bed, honey?" "Ah," he said, rising. I stood up, too. He reached out suddenly and grabbed the front of my dress and like to tore my shoulders off ripping it down. "Goddamn, you stupid bastard," I yelled, the dress falling to the floor to leave little Kitsy standing in the buff. "That dress cost five hundred dollars." "Poof," he said, shrugging off five bills just like that. He reached for me. I guessed it was worth it, because I 127 was going to have one sure vote and there'd be others who'd listen to this big movie man. Then the bastard hit me. I mean, he hit me in the gut, his fist doubled. He didn't give it the full treatment, because if he had he'd have ruptured my spleen or something, because he was a strong bastard. I gasped and yelled and doubled up and he slapped me and my head rang and then he grabbed my arm and twisted up behind me and I stood on tiptoe because the bastard was about to break it. Oh, .shit, I was hurting. I mean, he hurt me bad. I was screaming and cursing and trying to stand tall enough to not hurt and he pushed and shoved me toward the bed and threw me down and slapped me and then I got mad. I mean, I don't mind a little rough stuff. I've told you that, but this was going too far. "You don't have to be so goddamned rough," I shouted. "Don't worry, I will not bruise me." "You touch me again, you dumb wop sonofabitch and I'm going to kill you," I said, my arm aching and my gut hurting like hell. He slung his hand at me, trying to connect with my face and I ducked. I mean, I grew up with two rough boys. I mean, if you'd put this wop movie maker and old Ruf in a room and say sic 'em, you'd have nothing left of the wop but a little greasy spot and I'd learned to defend myself a little. I ducked his slap and rolled off the bed, landing on my hands and knees and scurrying away from a kick he aimed at my ass and then I was on my feet and I surprised him. Instead of moving away, I moved in. I moved in fast and low and then, when I was right up to him and he was about to shove me, I brought up my knee, hard. Wham. Right in the jewels. The wop doubled up and grunted and his face was 128 white and he was straining and then he started crying and I was hurting so bad I kicked him in the face with my foot, turning it sideways so I wouldn't break a toe. I had on fancy, heavy high heels and he went over backward, his nose smashed and bleeding. I guess I went a-little crazy, because I'd never had a man treat me that way before. I started kicking and hitting him as he cowered there and he was sobbing and moaning and holding his ruined jewels and not offering to defend himself. I tired myself out and hurt my fists hitting him. I stopped and stood back, breathing hard and sobbing. He sat up and looked at me. There was a smear of blood on, his upper lip. He smiled. "In the closet, darling." Jesus Christ. I'd just ruined him and he was calling me darling. "I'm getting out of here, you crazy sonofabitch." "I've hurt you," he said, "you must hurt me in return. It is the law of the jungle." I couldn't figure that one. "Look in the closet," he said. Well, I'm just a country girl in Rome, Italy. These wops have strange ways. I went to the closet and opened the door and saw the goddamnedest assortment of things I've ever seen. There were whips and big belts and like that. There were switches and handcuffs and ropes and like that. "I like the big belt with the studs," he said, limping over, taking off his clothing. He kissed me tenderly on the shoulder. I was a little leery of him, but he didn't offer to hurt me. "Let me get this straight," I said. "You knocked me 129 around so that you'd make me mad enough to beat you with this fucking belt?" "Ah," he said. "You're nuts," I said. The belt was leather and it was studded with soft little tufts of suede. It was sort of heavy, but big and fiat so that it wouldn't leave cuts or anything. "You want me to beat your ass with this?" I asked. He nodded, and he was panting. He was naked now and I hadn't ruined him after all. I decided then and there that I'd practice more, because the knee lift I had for him should have smashed his balls, but they were intact and his cock, a good, big one, was hard. "I don't dig this shit," I said. "You try to lay one lick on me again and you'll lose your balls for sure." "Come," he said. He fell down onto the bed. I stood beside it. What the hell. Ms. Viv said do anything to slick the judges and win. I gave him a whop with the belt and he squirmed. It was wierd. I let him have another and he cried out, but not in pain. The sonofa-bitch was lying on his stomach and screwing his hard cock into the bed with each lick. I shrugged mentally and laid it on him and he started moaning and crying and saying, "Oh, mama, please, mama." It takes all kinds. Those were about the same words old man Worth used when I was walking on him with needle sharp high heels. So I figured that Carlo was just a crazy old man like Worth and I did my bit, beating the shit out of him, all over his ass and his back and his legs and when he rolled over his cock was hard and it was oozing passion juice. "Once or twice, lightly, here," he said, indicating the soft flat skin over his hip joints. I hit him there a few 130 times and he was moaning and saying, "Oh, please, mama." "Look," I said, because I was getting sort of hot, looking at him all heated up, even if it was from being whipped, "are you gonna fuck me at all?" "Ah," he moaned, reaching for me. He pulled and guided me. I straddled him. His belly and legs were red from the whipping. His cock was creaming and hard. He wanted it in me and I wanted it in me and I sat on it, driving it damned near up to my liver the first sitting, taking it with one swift, downward, hard plunge. I was cockfull, I used him. I ground my cunt on him and felt his hardness way up inside and I came like a rocket. He rolled me off and crawled on, his cock still hard. He put the fallen belt back into my hands. I didn't know what he wanted. He made motions, showing me. So while he topped me, I reached up over his shoulder and beat his ass with the belt. I discovered that the harder I hit the harder he fucked me and I was steaming and hot and I didn't think I could ever get enough of his cock. I beat the shit out of him and with each stroke he'd sob and cry and moan and then drive two or three quick, hard thrusts right into my throbbing, fire-hot cunt. We started down the home stretch and I was beating him as fast as I could to make hilt-deep and lightening fast raids into my soft cunt by his cock and he screamed and moaned when I went, starting a come which lasted about five minutes and was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, when I came, my whole body came, and my cunt almost bit his cock off throbbing and biting it and then he cried out again as I struck him and the point of the belt went down on some of the licks and hit my thighs and the pain made my 131 climax peak and peak again and then I deliberately started hitting myself and him together and his come was flushing out and filling me and we were sobbing and crying and fighting and coming like the world was going to end and this was the last glorious fuck. I mean, whee. I still don't like much pain, but that was a wild one. And we were both completely spent when it ended. And I rubbed him with soothing stuff and he cooed and then he did something which sent me up the wall. He was feeling better, his red patches fading where I'd whipped him, and we were lying side by side. "Now I will clean you," he said. I thought he was going to go get a wash cloth or something, but he went down between my legs and began to lick the come which had run out of my twat, and he'd come a quart or so. I thought that was sexy, because it'd never happened before, I mean, a man cleaning my cunt after he'd fucked me with his mouth. I lay there and soaked it up and he licked and sucked and then I tightened my muscles inside and sent out a little flood of come and he lapped and licked it up and begged for more. I came. Then I went home, success one judge closer. And that was not the last I was to see of Carlo.
 

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   Lately the head shrinkers and some M.D.'s liave gotten onto this kick that screwing keeps you thin. Hell, I formed that theory before any of the college types even thought oЈ it. I was making love, not fat, when I was in Rome, Italy, as a contestant in the Miss One World Contest. Now I'll be the first to say that merely screwing a lot won't keep you thin unless you use a bit of common, sense. They had this delicious food in Rome and I went for it in a big way. Carlo liked to eat. He said the secret was to eat Italian food all the time. He said, "Eat pasta dishes all the time, not just one or two times a week, you won't gain weight." He was trim and nice, so maybe he had something, but I suspect he just had one of these marvelous metabolisms which doesn't store fat but burns It off. I tried eating the Italian foods and in the first week I began to put on weight. It was just a pound or so, but it showed in the shape of my hips and on the scales which Pearl and 5- carried everywhere with us. I started cutting my portions by one half and then by
 

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   two-thirds. I limited myself to one glass of champagne a night. It worked. And I lost the three pounds I put on by screwing. A really active girl can burn up a lot of calories screwing, and Carlo gave me opportunity to use up a few. Then he put me onto the English judge, a nice, middle-aged Lord Something or Other, who was staid, except when he got in bed, and then he was a wild man who liked to have his male nipples pinched like hell. That put two judges into my bag. And, with me taking care of both Carlo and Lord What's His Name, I burned off about two hundred calories each time we crawled into a bed. Not a lot, but every little bit helped. Meanwhile, old Ruf was having the time of his life. Ms. Viv introduced him to the blond viking from Norway. He told me about her. She liked to be on top, he said, pretending that she was the man. It wasn't bad, he said, since she did all the work and really knew how to throw her ass. That was three judges out of fifteen in the bag. I was assured by Ms. Viv that the American judge would vote for me if I had a hare-lip and warts. Four. The judge from Iceland was leaning toward me, Ms. Viv said, because Iceland hadn't sent a contestant. Five. The commies had five sure votes on their side. The U.S.S.R., East Germany, Poland, Mongolia, which had entered this really beautiful Eurasian chick, and Hungary. There were contestants from all the Iron Curtain countries, but Ms. Viv thought they'd all decide, after casting a vote for the home town girl, to put their weight behind one Iron Curtain maiden, probably, just to show that Russia wasn't calling the tune, to the Mongolian chick. With five block votes for the Reds and five for me that left five uncommitted: France, West
 

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   Germany, Brazil, Canada and Japan. The Frenchman would die with his French girl, West Germany was unpredictable. We had to work on Brazil, Canada and Japan. The Canadian judge was a nice looking man who ran a model agency with New York connections. His name was Frank. He had wild assed socialist political beliefs, according to Ms. Viv, and was expected to go with the Iron Curtain judges. But Ms. Viv also had other information on him. He was a frustrated cock hound. He had the reputation of being a lousy lover. Ms. Viv had had someone talk to models working in his agency. He chased all of them, caught some of them, frustrated them and then had a hell of a time catching them again, because when a girl gets laid she wants to get her jollies out of it. Carlo and I were spending a lot of time together. There were official functions, of course, but they ended at some hour or the other and left the rest of the night If it wasn't Carlo it was Lord England. Meanwhile, Ms. Viv was trying to gain the Canadian's interest and not doing too well. I was getting to know Carlo pretty well and I asked him, one night, after one of our nutty bouts with whips and things, if he knew this Canadian Frank, He laughed. "Ah, it is not assured for you yet, eh? You want to bribe one more judge?" "It take? one to know one," I said. "Little one," Carlo said. "I have plans for you whether or not you win." He'd made hints like that before, and I kept begging him to tell me what he meant, but he wasn't talking. His time, he said, was being taken up by the Miss One World gig and until he finished with it he would not make plans, "But I want to win," I said. 135 "It would be better for both of us if you won," he said. "O.K.," I said, "help me get to this Canadian." "We are brothers, comrades, for we are both members of the Communist Party," Carlo said. "You're a Red?" "I am what it is profitable to be," he said. "At the moment, certain people think that having a member in the movie industry is worth a lot of money." "And this Canadian?" "I have talked with him. I am not sure why, but he is an unhappy man. I get the most, how you say, clear impression that he is fighting himself, but thinking that he is fighting the world." "I don't get it," I said. "I think he is a latent homo," Carlo said. "That would explain his lack of success with girls," I said. "He talks a great fuck," Carlo said, "saying how would you like to dick that one and how would you like to eat that and other things." He shrugged expressively. "But all the time he talks he looks at my crotch. I think, he, himself, does not know what is eating on him." "Makes it sound hard to get him into a case of hots over me," I said. "I have thought," Carlo said. "Why not get him a case of hots over us?" So, with a couple of slick maneuvers, Carlo got Frank into his pad the night before the actual competition was to begin. There's been almost two weeks of preliminary things, public appearances, rehearsals, posing for pictures. Now the real thing was about to get under way and, try as he might, Ruf had been unable to lure the cute little Jap judge into bed to get her on our side. She 136 told him, "My son, you are too huge. Although my body craves you, I have enough intelligence to know that you would hurt me. Besides, I am married woman." So it was vital that we convert this Canadian. He was a nice looking guy, blond, tall, well built. He had deep green eyes and shaggy eyebrows. He was very sophisticated. He spoke perfect English and handled himself very well. Carlo fed us and wined us. He'd picked out .my dress, a naked-look thing which showed all of my back to the crease in my butt and most of my chest down to the brown circles of the nipples. He, himself, wore tight double-knit pants and I swear the crazy wop didn't have on any-underwear. His cock and balls showed through. And old Frank couldn't keep his eyes off them. I saw him eyeball Carlo every time Carlo crossed the room to mix a drink or something. Well, it got drunk out for Carlo and the Canadian. I limited myself, counting calories. I waited for Carlo. Oh, I vamped the Canadian all evening, batting my eyes and arching my back at him to thrust out my un-braed tits. He looked and seemed to be interested at times. Long about eleven, with both of the men feeling no pain, Carlo started talking about the movie industry and he said, "I have a little hobby which might interest you." We were interested. He pushed buttons and a screen came down over the bar and a hole opened in the wall and a projector came out. He said, "Not many people know about this side of my business, so I trust I am among friends who will not talk." We assured him that we'd keep quiet. He dimmed lights and started the goddamedest film that I'd ever seen. It was my first fuck movie. The first one was a good looking, heavy assed dark girl and a slim, strong stud who ate and screwed with a certain verve.
 

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   I got the delicious trembles, watching the girl have a huge weiner put into her bun and apparently loving it. Then there was another and this time there were two men and one girl. They took turns. .One ate and one screwed. Then they sandwiched the girl and one had her in the cunt and the other in the ass. When it was over Frank was breathing hard. "I say," he whispered, "that was rather interesting." Then Carlo put on the killer. It was a homo film. Two pretty boys, who were hung with truly unbelievable cocks, played with each other and ate each other and then, with wild contortions and evident enjoyment, browned each other with those huge cocks. Old Frank was figeting and breathing hard and his face was flushed and he could hardly talk. Carlo looked at me, with the lights back on low, and winked. "I must ask you to excuse me," he said, going off in the direction of the bathroom. That was my cue, I guessed. I rose, stretched. I arched my boobs at Frank and he licked his lips. "Whee," I said, "is a girl supposed to watch that stuff and remain perfectly calm?" "I would think not," he drawled, "depending on the girl, of course." "Well, this girl found it very exciting," I said, moving closer. "I mean well, I guess it's natural, seeing all those sexy people, to feel the way I feel." He looked at me musingly, licking his lips, "How do you feel?" "Honey," I said, moving to stand beside his chair and push my hip against his arm, "if I had on panties they'd be scorched." He swallowed a gagging sound and leaped at me, crushed me into his arms and his mouth found mine. I 138 went limp, let my body mold to his, felt his cock all hard and demanding pressing into my belly. I raised myself on tiptoe and let the hard cock slide below my mound and then I went to work, for myself, for him, moving my hips, rubbing my cunt all over his cock. I knew that I was oozing and that there was a wet spot on the back of my dress where I'd creamed, because watching those films really turned me on. He was digging his fingers into my nice ass, lifting me, pressing his cock hard into my softness. "There's a bedroom right over there," I said, "and this dress comes off real easy." He moaned and started to carry me off. About half way there Carlo came back in and said, "Ah, you were going to start without me." "I say, old boy," the Canadian said, "we didn't expect you back so soon." "I'm selfish," Carlo grinned, "if there's to be fun and games I don't want to be left out." 1 could see the speculation in Frank's face. I said, "The way I feel, three can play," "Sounds like fun," Carlo sighed, coming over to put a hand on my shoulder. Frank was still holding me in a bear hug. "What do you say, sport? Shall we make it a threesome?" "Might be interesting," Frank said, his face very flushed. We went into the bedroom and I loosened my gown and dropped it. I stood there naked, posing for them, my two judges. I could see the Miss One World Title shining in their eyes. I moved to Frank and started to undress him, I said, "To play the game right we have to get rid of these." He started to protest but Carlo was 139 shucking out of his clothes. Carlo's prod was hard and Frank looked at it with hunger in his eyes. All three of us naked, we went to the bed. I threw myself down in the middle and rolled my hips and shoulders in a tantalizing way. Frank uncertain of himself, was on my right. Carlo went right to work, bending to plant a kiss on my left breast and then biting it lovingly. "The feast is here before us," he told Frank. Frank, with a sigh, bent and tentatively chewed on my right tit. He didn't seem to have his heart in it, so I reached out and put my hand around his cock and played with it. Right then it ceased to be business for me and became pleasure, because I reached out and got another cock and this was the first time I'd ever had two cocks in my hands at the same time and my mind leaped ahead to what those cocks could do for me and I went ape. I mean, it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. With my hand frigging them gently, Frank got more interested and let his hands get to know the rest of my body. Once his hand went down on my creaming twat and Carlo put his hand over Frank's hand and held it there for a while and I noticed a decided increase in Frank's interest. I felt Frank's finger go up me and I went wild on it, throwing ray hips around, loving the thrust, the penetration of it. Then Carlo went down on me and ages of delightful eating. Later I came and moaned and put on a great show. Frank, who was able to see both my passion and Carlo's long, hard cock, ate me and got me right to the verge of a come and then Carlo sort of pushed him into the saddle. I spread my legs for him, ail weak and wild with ye olde lust. Frank made a stab at rny cunt and almost pushed a hole in the softness on one side of it. HO Then Carlo reached down and seized Frank's cock and said, "Let me be your bombadier." He took longer than necessary to guide Frank's cock into me, but meantime, Frank had this male hand on his cock and he was going wild, making fucking motions and stabbing me all around my pussy with the head of his dick. Then it hit dead center and I wanted it. I lunged up, threw my legs around his back, took him in, swallowed him into my creamy, slick, silken maw. He was snorting and moaning. I looked down and saw one reason. Carlo had not removed his hand. He was rubbing the base of Frank's cock, making tentative incursions into Frank's anus with a finger, feeling the slickness of the point of entry and rubbing and teasing and I knew Frank was going to come like a rocket, but I, too, was close from his eating and I put on a show, letting myself go and humping wildly. I came and my cunt started to close and pound on Frank's cock and he yelled as Carlo ran one finger into his ass and buried it to the hilt and checked out, blew, exploded. It must have been his first half-way satisfying come, because he had a man's finger up his ass and a man's hand playing with the exposed base of his cock, the big, thick part which wouldn't go into me. Carlo let Frank fall into a relaxed position and lay there, with me moving slowly, feeling his cock go soft, liking the little afterfeelings of fucking. Then when Frank rolled off with a sigh, Carlo said, "I hope that I didn't offend you by joining in your pleasure." "Not at all," Frank said. "I found it rather nice." "I don't think anything people can do together is wrong, as long as all are willing," Carlo said. "Does that offend you?" "I, ah, agree completely," Frank said. 141 Then that nut Carlo went down on me. He had a twat which was full of come. It was oozing out. He licked the sides of it, taking off the oozing come. He cleaned the outside and then he latched onto it and sucked and got more and all this time Frank was watching, his lax cock coming back to attention. He was thinking, I'll bet, that man is eating my come. He was panting and wild when Carlo crawled on, having brought life back into my little rose down there. Carlo's big cock slid in and he winked at Frank and said, "Three can play." With a grunt of pure release, Frank let his hand down and felt Carlo's cock going in and out and then he truly went ape. He tried to thrust his fingers into my pussy with Carlo's cock and that was the sexiest thing, his fingers pushing in alongside that wonderful, huge cock. Frank got down there around our working ends and put his face up close. He could smell the scent of pure sex, mixed come and juices and a bit of honest sweat. He toyed with Carlo's balls and his anus. He put a finger into Carlo experimentally. I could tell Carlo was close. I wondered why he was holding back. He pulled out of me and came, on his knees, to thrust his cock into my mouth from the side. I took it, all I could, and gave it a good sucking. "A pretty sight, no?" Carlo said, "a nice cock in a mouth." Frank made a wild, grunting sound and, in desperation, he was so hot and wanted Carlo's cock so badly, he dived into me, fell atop me, drove his cock into me. I winged it, with one huge cock in my mouth and another working desperately in my well-oiled pussy. Frank's face was right up there next to my head, where I was eating Carlo with evident pleasure and I could see the look of
 

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   envy on his face. I let Carlo's cock slip out and kissed Frank. I gave him my mouth with Carlo's cock out of it only a split second and he must have realized that. He went wild. And Carlo, seeing his chance, slid his cock between our faces and I Mked it, I licked the cock and bit it, closing my mouth around the baYfel of it with the head sticking out against my cheek. Frank made a moaning sound and put his mouth down on it and I grinned inside, because we were sharing Carlo's cock between us, Frank's lips closed over it just as mine were, our lips making contact now and then as Frank threw his body into mine hard, hard. I moved my head and took the round, hot head of Carlo's cock into my mouth and sucked and licked. Then I let it go and said, "It's nice, try it." He hesitated only a moment. Then, with a wild cry, he opened his mouth and took Carlo's cock. He gobbled it as far as he could and then, experimentally, let it slide in and out. Then he was gone. He went wild and didn't care. He had a cock in his mouth for the first time and his own cock was buried in a woman's twat and he was all sex, all, sex, all sex. Carlo started fucking his mouth and he took it, letting the huge cock slide all the way back to his throat. I kissed around it, kissing Carlo's balls and the barrel of his cock and Frank's lips as they were extended around the cock. I knew Carlo was close and I wondered if it would be wise to get his rocks oS in Frank's mouth the first time, but they didn't stop. I helped by kissing the base of it -and the balls and then I felt Carlo go tense and there was a wild sort of look on Frank's face as the first jet of come went into his mouth. Then he hit me wildly a few times as Carlo pumped into him. I was working myself, being near that heavenly re-143 lease, and I started coming just as Frank's mouth overflowed, thick come oozing out around Carlo's cock. I was so hot I started kissing and licking it up and that inspired Frank, because he swallowed and took the come down his throat and some of it leaked for me and I was coming and then Frank came and pumped a load deep into me and we were licking and sucking Carlo's cock, cleaning the come from it. I got the last little drop. I ran my fingers up his cock, milking him down, pushing that last drop up the big vein and out the eye and I licked it off and smiled at Frank, who was collapsed on me, his full weight on me. "I hope you don't think. . ." Frank said, a little later. "I mean, I hope you don't think…" "My friend," Carlo said, "nothing about sex is bad. We are three friends. There is nothing evil in liking the feel of a well-turned cock." To show he meant it, he fell next to Frank and took Frank's lax cock into his mouth and ate it until it began to come up again. "You see," Carlo said. "I can enjoy that, and yet I can enjoy the body of a beautiful girl like Kitsy. It is the best of all possible worlds, no? I mean, I feel sorry for those who are hopelessly heterosexual. They miss out on a lot." "Yes," Frank said. Then, more positively, "YES. OF COURSE." You could see this new world up there in his eyes. "Yes, of course." He smiled at us. "I am very grateful." "There are more games, if you're interested," Carlo said, and I was afraid he would bring out the whips and gadgets and that, I was sure, would be moving Frank along too fast, but that wasn't what he had in mind. Instead, he browned Frank. He thrust his cock into Frank's backside, while Frank moaned and said, "Oh, God it hurts."
 

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   "Relax," Carlo said. "Here, let me show you." He assumed the position and, with eagerness, Frank mounted him, drove his cock into Carlo's anus. "You see," Carlo said. "You relax, so. And then you suck, so." I was being left out. I slid down under Carlo, who was on his hands and knees. I got my well-used cunt under his hard cock and lifted myself until I could feel the thing there at the door to my happiness. "Wait/' Carlo said. He moved and wiggled and was lying atop me, his cock sliding in as he lowered his body, Frank's cock still in his rear entrance. And in that position, with Carlo sandwiched between us, his cock deep in me, Frank's deep in him, we spent a lovely ten minutes, all getting hot and wild at the same time, bucking, humping, grunting and moaning and coming wildly one after the other. "It has been a delightful evening," Frank said, after he'd showered and dressed. I'd just slipped into my gown. Carlo was in a fancy dressing gown. "Perhaps we can do it again?" "Yes," Carlo said. "After Kitsy is named Miss One World." Frank frowned. 'Tes, I see." "Look, comrade," Carlo said. "Is friendship worth anything?" "You have done much for me," Frank admitted. "The Party wants glory," Carlo said. "You and I are practical men. We know that glory for the Party puts nothing into our pockets, no?" "What do you mean?" Frank asked. *'I mean that I want Kitsy to be Miss One World because I have plans for her. Plans which could include you." "1 was told…." Frank began. 145 "To vote for a comrade, I know," Carlo said. "But if voting in a certain way meant a considerable amount oЈ money to you, personally, and I am not talking about a bribe, but about something much more substantial, would you consider it?" "I'm listening." "Kitsy, remove your sweet ass," Carlo said. "I am not yet ready for you to know." I pouted and fussed a little, but in the end I went into the bath and had a shower while they talked. When I came out they were having a drink. "Here's to Miss One World," Frank said, waving his glass at me. "I love you both," I said. "With all my heart." The contest was a typical thing. Bathing suit competition, gowns, street clothes, talent. I did my thing in a bikini and won the bathing suit competition. Ttie judges gave points based on a ten point system. The higher the impression, the higher the point count. Ten was perfect. Nine-point-something was great. I had, in the bathing suit thing, four tens, one nine-point-nine- the American judge said later he didn't want to make his vote look suspicious by giving me a perfect ten-and one nine-point-seven. That put me a few points ahead of Miss Monoglia, who had five perfect tens from the Iron Curtain judges. The four other judges split the vote among other contestants. In evening gowns, the American had seen that the Soviet Bloc was trying to stack the points by giving Miss Mongolia perfect scores and he gave me a ten. Carlo, who had been talking around gave me an eight-point-five, because he knew that West Germany had swung to me. I squeeked past, because France seeing that his chick didn't have a chance, got piqued and joined the Soviet Bloc. And then it was evident that it was going to
 

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   be me or Miss Mongolia and Japan swung to me in street clothes and then everyone gave Miss England, who was a helluva dancer, the talent contest prize, with me placing second. Here she is, Miss One World, walking down a huge ramp in Rome, by God, Italy and smiling and crying a few happy tears as if she'd won the contest by pure beauty and talent and not by screwing two judges and turning another one on to A.C./D.C. sex and by siccing her brother onto another judge. Shit, I didn't care. I had what I wanted and I had fun getting it. I wasn't the only one who bribed judges. That sonofabitch Carlo told me later that he and Frank had balled Miss West Germany and promised to vote for her and Miss Mongolia had taken on all five of the Iron Curtain judges, one of whom was a butch dyke. Miss One World. As Queen of Peace, I made a tour which covered fifty countries. I was on T.V. and in papers all over the world. I was given the royal treatment everywhere I went. I was escorted by good old Pearl and she found some nice lovers in France and I got laid in England, Germany, Japan, and in Russia by a huge, bearded Party official who roared like a bear when he came. I officiated at political things and social things and I cut ribbons on bridges and put a shovel of sand from here to here when new buildings were being dedicated and I made little speeches for peace and understanding, written for me by the committee which had organized the contest and maybe I did some good. I don't know. The world is a big, hairy place and I don't think one little beauty queen is going to stop nations from wanting the property of other nations, but I did my thing 147 and got a little out of it for myself, for I met some interesting men and got laid a lot. My reign as Miss One World was one year. When that year ended I was almost twenty-one years old, famous in, my own right, but with no money of my own. In Paris, where the second annual Miss One World contest was held, I put the crown on a girl from Finland and stepped back into the shadows to let her have her moment of glory. Next day I had an appointment with Carlo at his studio in Rome. I was a private citizen again, no driver, no escort, Pearl having flown tearfully back to good old Old Town. I told her when I made it I'd send for her, and I meant it. I told her that Carlo had plans for me and that I thought those plans were concerning making movies. Carlo, as the result of his contacts as the chief ramrod of the first Miss One World thing, was getting some backing from money people and his movies, two of them during my year as Miss One World, had been getting some publicity and making a small dollar. I saw myself starring in his next production. I was absolutely right. I was the star. I was in the movies. But I didn't know the extent of Carlo's movie operation. When I found out, I was really pissed, but I was broke, the Finn was getting the pictures in the papers and doing the T.V. interviews now, and I was a has been. "It is a start," Carlo said. "There will be other times, other things. You must begin somewhere." "All right, you filthy sonofabitch," I said. "Let us begin."
 

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   Carlo gave me the red carpet treatment. Jesus, I felt like a star when he escorted me around his studio and introduced me. "This is Kitsy McRae," he would say. "We have big plans for her." Then, in his wide, carpeted office, he had his lawyer there with a stack of papers an inch thick. I wished for the Congressman or someone who knew that lead-weighted legal shit, but I was on my own. I trusted Carlo. Oh, well, I would probably have done it even if he hadn't used a bit of trickery. There I was. I had in my pocketbook a plane ticket from Paris to New York and then back to the nearest airport to Old Town. That was from the Miss One World Organization. I had a few bucks in expense money from the same place. Back home in the Old Town bank I had about five hundred bucks, which I'd carefully saved. But during the year of being Miss One World I'd lived high on expense account money and my tastes had developed accordingly. I couldn't quite see Kitsy 149 McRae, Miss One World and the toast of fifty countries, going back to Julie's Seafood Restaurant. So I would have done it. But Carlo, the bastard, acted like a man with a paper asshole and shoved me into signing the contracts before I knew what was going on. The plum was a big part in a production which was tentatively scheduled for the next winter. It was great. He let me read part of it there in the office. "The part is very demanding," he said. "You will have to work very, very hard. That is one reason why we are delaying the start oЈ it for so long. You must take dramatic lessons and work very, very hard." "Sure," I said. "That's nice." I signed. But what was I going to do in the meantime? I said, "Hey, Carlo, can you get me some kind of a job?" "You have a job," he said, grinning at the lawyer. That worthy blushed and made himself scarce. "You mean you pay me while we're waiting for the picture to begin?" "Of course." He grinned at me again. "You did not read all of the contract." "Maybe you'd just better tell me," I said. "I'm not too good at fine print." "Tomorrow on the dot of eight, you will report to this address." He gave me a slip of paper, "Then you will go to work." I stayed in Carlo's house that first night and it was like old times. We had a ball. He had a new kick which turned me on. He'd push seedless grapes up my twat and then suck them out and chew them with wild relish. He knocked off early, however, saying that we both had to be at work early. He woke me at seven and we threw together a small breakfast and he didn't even take time 150 for a morning quickie. I was sort of eager to see what was in store for me, thinking and hoping that I was going into training for my new career as an actress. Well, I was. This place was on the outside of Rome in a tiny little village. We drove there and arrived at just after eight and it was an old, barn-like building with a few cars parked outside and no windows at all. Every chink was boarded up so no one could see in or out. Inside, there were flats, I mean like stages, and every damned one of them wa§ some kind of bedroom. There were about a half dozen and the lights were all around, with big cables for power running everywhere. All but one of the flats were dark and in that one which was lighted there was a scene which just about curled my carefully made up hair. These two big-dicked studs were lying naked on a bed grinning at each other and a little man with a red face was shouting at them as cameramen stood around and stared. I couldn't understand Italian then, so Carlo said, "He's telling them that it's time to go to work and that they'll have to get them up." He meant the huge cocks of those two studs. They started laying it on each other, frigging each other's cocks, and one of them got hard and the director said, "Ah," and began to shout instructions. The one with the hard-on began to rub his cock all over the face of the other, who lay there, an ecstatic expression on his face, soaking it all up. The lights were bright and the cameras were running. "Goddamn, Carlo," I said, "what the fuck is this?" "Don't be stupid," he said. "You knew that I am the premier maker of sex films in all of Europe." "You made those things we saw at your house with Frank that night." I was beginning to see the light. 151 "Look, baby, I've got a future. I'm not going to shit it away making fuck pictures." "Ah, once again, I must remind you that you didn't read your contract." "I signed up to make a legit movie," I said. "Contract or no contract these things are illegal and you couldn't force me to do something which could get me tossed into jail." "You are right, of course," he said. "Too bad." "What do you mean, too bad?" "I had some hope for you," he said sadly. "I was sure that your appearance in my production of Passion's Queen would establish you as an instant star." "You're saying no fuck, no legit film?" "It is a brutal world, little Kitsy. The, as you call them, legit films have not made the nut. I am sure that with Passion's Queen 1 will break into the black and establish myself as one of the industry's bright young men, but I can as easily do it with another girl. The new Miss One World, for example. She is already blond and the part calls for a blond." . "You sonofabitch," I said, "you're putting the shuck on me. "You know as well as I that if I starred in one of these fuck films I'd be ruined. Someone would be sure to recognize me once I'd made the legit film and then all hell would break loose. The picture would be banned everywhere in the world." "Come," he said. "I show you." I followed, seething inside. He led me to a dressing room. "Sit," he ordered. I sat at a dressing table and he fitted me with a flaming red wig. Then he did a few deft things with makeup and then he added a cute little mask. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a different girl. "Now, do you see? We have scripts written
 

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   around you. The Mystery Girl, Who is she? No one will be able to tell."' "Wei!," I said, beginning to think about it. "I envision a time, my Kitsy, when the world will be ready for a revelation. Suppose we do make a tremendous hit of Passion's Queen. Then, when you are firmly established and I am in an unassialable position in the movie industry, we will break the news. The masked Mystery Girl of the hottest set of stag films ever made, is none other than Kitsy McRae, the first unabashed sex queen the world has ever known." "The world is ready for that?" I asked, doubtful. "Not yet. But think of it. Already, the codes in movies are breaking down. Think of the realistic sex which is being published in book form. Think of what has already been on the screen in artistic movies. And in the X rated movies. Soon, I am sure, we will be able to show the entire act with all of its embelishments and then we will draw millions to the theaters. I assure you that I will not be premature. I have my own reputation to consider as well as yours. We will make standard things for the trade and we will make a dollar. Your contract, which you didn't read, gives you not only a guarantee, but a cut of the net profit from the sale of the short sex films. And while we are shooting, we will do a feature length film with a plot. Not much plot, but some, enough to patch together all the sex scenes we will shoot." "I don't know whether or not I can turn on with people watching and with the lights," I said. "That Kitsy, is why I choose you. You are the most passionate girl of my knowledge. You are turned on easier than any girl I've ever seen. You are completely uninhibited. I have every confidence that you will do 153 well under the lights. I am sure, that you will not only give a good performance, but an authentic performance. I mean, you will, when the script calls for you to have a climax, have a genuine climax. And the look you get on your beautiful face when you are having a climax is going to make both of us a lot of money." He put his hand on my shoulder. "We have for the queen, the most beautiful sex star, the most handsome young men in Rome. We have saved them, forcing them to be celibate. They have seen your photos. They have watched you in the public appearances. They are yearning for you. We will shoot genuine passion, not soft-dicked play acting. We will revolutionize the industry. You will become the most famous girl of sex films. Once an American strip teaser did a stag film and it must have netted a million dollars, but she was fat, had artificial tits filled with plastic and was a very poor actress. You will make her look like Mother Goose playing at sex." After that build-up what could I say? And I had no choice, really. "Lights, camera, action," I said, shrugging. My director was an Englishman. His face was florid and he nipped on a vodka bottle during work hours. But he knew the business. And the set up was entirely professional. Carlo wasn't shooting anything legit at the time, so we had the finest equipment from his main studio and the cast of characters made me glad I had agreed. There were three of them. They were the flower of Roman youth, tall, strong, dark, devilishly handsome. None of this dopie, druggie, alkie trash which you see in American sex films. And they were hung. I joked a lot about them being the three stooges, because they were 154 named Gino, Angela and Marco. None spoke English. They spoke sex. We were shooting in lengths of fifteen minutes. That's a standard roll for home movie projectors. The English director, Dirk, talked to us, me and the three stooges. "We will begin simply, kiddies," he said, nipping a shot of vodka, "for those who want the most for their money when they buy our films. There are those who want a plot, however simple. Fuck them. We'll get to them later. Right now we're shooting for those who want crotch shots, those who want to see, from beginning to end, acres of genitals, minutes of eating, more minutes of close-ups of a cock going in and out of a cunt." My three stooges were in robes. They looked so much alike that I never quite got to the point where I could tell them apart, so I'm just going to call them, inter-changably, Romeo, that being a good Italian name and it not making one fuck's worth of difference who was on the bed with me. They were stamped from identical molds, had cocks so near the same size that I couldn't tell the difference there and they responded to me in that wild Italian style of panting, mooning and then frenzied lovemaking. "Miss McRae, if you will prepare?" Dirk said courteously. I stepped out of my robe and walked into the stage, sat on the edge of the bed. "Look, gentlemen," Dirk said. "Who is ready?" The three stooges tried to push each other out of the way. Dirk screamed at them in Italian and they halted sullenly and dropped their robes. One stooge was intimidated by the cameramen, the director, Carlo and the other technicians and was limp as a dishrag. Dirk made a face and pushed him aside. Stooge two was playing with himself wildly, trying to get it up, but stooge three was ready, ramrod ready.
 

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   Dirk smiled, looking down at the pole which was standing arrogantly up against his belly and said, "You." I was wearing my,naming red wig and my mask and my makeup. Dirk issued orders to the stooge in Italian. He came onto the set and seated himself in a chair, a wide,, armless thing. "Now, Miss McRae," Dirk said. "I don't want to tell you your business, D"irk," Carlo broke in, "but I must remind you that Miss McRae's main value is her genuineness. She has not been prepared." "Oh, sure, boss. Forgot." Dirk shrugged. "I'm used to working with those damned Lesbian whores." He turned. "One of you stooges want to work on Miss McRae?" Neither of the stooges understood. "I'll help," Carlo said. He came to the bed and pushed my legs open. He grinned up at me. "I'm a man who believes in doing his part." He went into my nest with his face and although I was a little nervous, doing my thing in front of all the people, it felt good to have his mouth, his familiar, knowledgeable mouth, bite and chew at me. He worked on me with his tongue and I began to feel the flow of juices, wetting my cunt, giving him something to lick and suck. "Might as well not waste this," Carlo said, speaking over his shoulder. "Put it on film." A camera came in and began to roll. He positioned himself so that the camera could come in close and take his face between my legs. I went cold when the camera started to hum, but Carlo took care of that quickly and the first thing I knew I had forgotten that I was on camera, under lights, with an audience of men behind the cameras and the lights. I began to feel it and my body started to respond with motions of my hips and 156 loins and ass and I put my hands down and the director yelled at me to move them that I was hiding the action. I put them behind my head, fell over backward, and began to writhe to Carlo's inspired eating. His gone tongue was working a mile a minute at my clit and now and then going down to thrust into my cunt. I started humping. "Great, great," Dirk yelled. "Just great." Shit, I didn't care. I was reaching and loving it. Carlo knew my every sensitive spot and he was working them wildly. He brought me to the edge and then jerked away. "Now," he said. "Go to Romeo and kneel beside his left leg," Dirk said. "Think sexy," Carlo said. "Think about getting that cock into you." I looked at Romeo's cock and I was so hot I could have fallen down on it and wiggled for a minute and blown my stack. I knelt beside his left leg and he was told to slide down so that just the edge of his ass was on the chair. His cock was standing up. "Now," Dirk said, "I want you to make love to that cock as if you'd never had any in your life. I want to see every movement, so keep your face up and into the camera. You can put your hand on it, but don't hide it." I gasped and reached down with one hand. I have the greatest respect for a beautiful cock and this one was a winner. It showed in the curve of it, in the proud, hard head of it, in the length and width of it. And my passion, my love for a nice cock, came across nicely with the way my hand touched it almost worshipfully. "Good, good," Dirk yelled. I fondled it for about a minute with the camera 157 coming in to show my face and the cock right in front of it, for I was down to within inches of it. "Now," Dirk said. "Make love to it." I stuck out my tongue and touched the head of Romeo's cock. It jerked with interest. "Good," Dirk yelped. I licked it. It was clean and sweet. I ran my lips up and down the length of it, wetting it with my saliva. I licked. I kissed lightly. Romeo was going wild, moaning and jerking with real passion. I could believe that they'd starved him for sex for weeks. I licked. I sucked the sides of it and then I put the head of it into my mouth and Romeo began to buck and fuck me. I liked it. He was so hot it was transfering itself to me and I was already boiling from Carlo's eating. I was beside myself, wanting that cock in my hole. I was not aware of anything. I was pure sex. I ate it as if it were the most delicious bit of food in the world and I'd been starved for a month. And then Romeo bucked and plunged and came. I felt his come jet into my mouth, my pussy began to throb in empathy, but I didn't come. I was screaming with passion and I let his come jet in and then Dirk yelled, "Let a little run out." I let it run out onto his cock. It rolled down the shaft of it in a white, thick mass. Then, wild with passion, I licked it off, like a child licking ice cream running down his ice cream cone. "Oh, Jesus," Dirk yelped. "You were right, Carlo." I lapped it, licked it, sucked. I wanted it in me. I cleaned the last little drop by squeezing his cock with my hands and itty bitty kissing the last white drop which oozed out, lapping it up. "Cut," Dirk said. "Get in there," he said in Italian to stooge two, who had gotten gloriously hard by watching. 158 " "We've got about three minutes, Miss McRae. We need seven and a half minutes of you eating him." Stooge two sat in the chair. "Get back into the same position, Miss McRae, and take it up where you left off before Angelo came." I saw another cock, a hard cock, looking so much like the first that no one would be able to tell the difference. I was eating it royally, I remembered, when the first one came. I put my mouth over it, tried to drive it down my throat. Romeo number two sat back and enjoyed. "Try to make it last four and a half minutes, Marko/' Dirk yelled. "Hold back if you feel it coming." I was already working hard, loving the taste of a new cock, taking it all into my mouth, all I could get. I felt it cram back against my soft palate. I liked. I licked and liked and I sucked and liked and I was boiling, boiling, boiling in my steaming twat and wishing that I could get it in rne. I began to really milk it'and Romeo Two began to hump and fuck and grunt and Dirk said, "Hold it for another minute and a half and then let 'er rip." I licked up and down the length. I could feel the come bottled up in his fine balls. I knew that I could get him in thirty seconds. I killed a minute licking the barrel of it and biting his balls gently and then I drove it home and Dirk began a countdown. "Thirty seconds. Twenty. Fifteen." I sucked. I milked that beautiful cock. And, as Dirk said, "Five," I felt it began to swell and then I bit it and sucked it and it burst into my mouth and he was humping and moaning and coming a quart and I swallowed most of it, let some ooze out onto the shaft of his cock, licked it off. "Great," Dirk said. "Cut."
 

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   "Oh, God," I moaned, as Romeo Two left me. But there was Romeo Three in the chair, sitting with his cock thrust up, his legs stuck out in front of him. "All right, Miss McRae," Dirk said. "I want about thirty secdnds of you eating Gino while you play with yourself. The camera will switch from your face and his cock to your box and I want you to really give it a workout." I took cock number three and I was still boiling. I spread my legs in my kneeling position and put my hands up and found my clit and toyed with it. The camera shifted down and I ran a finger into my creaming hole, kept my mouth going on, Romeo Three's cock, fucked myself wildly. I almost came. "O.K.," Dirk yelled. "Now get up, Miss McRae, nice and easy. Sit on his legs with your face out. Take your left hand and guide his cock into you." Oh, wow. Was I ready! I rose, turned quickly, threw one of my shapely legs over his and sat, that high pointing cock jabbing me into heaven as it centered right on my gooy glory hole and punched. I guided it into me with my hand and let my weight drive it into me. I began to writhe and moan, completely forgetting my audience, the lights, the cameras. I wanted pressure on my clit, but penetration was better than nothing. I had to keep my hands out of the way, because the camera was in close, centered on Romeo's cock plunging in and out as I lifted and fell. Time stood still for me as I enjoyed a good cock in me, as I lifted, plunged, wiggled, moaned. Another camera was in on my face and it was getting the look of lust and ecstasy. But the main center of attention was where Romeo's cock was sliding in and out on my generous wetness. I felt it plunge up and hit my womb each tirae I went down. I 160 felt on the verge of coming. I wanted to turn, get face to face with the owner of that cock, wanted to feel it drive in from the front and give my quivering clit a good blow, but it went on and on and then Romeo Three couldn't stand it any longer. With a wild cry, he squeezed my hips with his hands, moved wildly, pumped up and down, ran his cock in and out fast, fast, and then, burst inside me. I felt his cock swell and burst and then the nice, hot jets of come and I went wild, wiggling and fighting, but I couldn't get a climax. "Cut," Dirk yelled. Romeo One came in, sat. He was half hard. "Get him worked up," Dirk said. I sat on him, fed his half-soft cock into me. The nice cock felt the slickness, the heat, and it obligingly got hard and then I was working and working as I'd been working on the first cock. I was panting and gasping and putting on a great show and Dirk began his countdown and just at the most beautiful time, just as I was about to climax regardless of lack of clitoral stimulation, Romeo One came. I mean, I had two loads of come pumped into me in the space of seven minutes. "Great stuff," Dirk said. "Now we shoot the ending." I thought that would be me coming. But Romeo Two came in, his cock revitalized by frigging and watching, and I sat on him. "Now when you come," Dirk said, "remember to pull out. And you lean back, Miss McRae, so that his come will shoot up onto your titties and belly. Kid, you put come onto her tits and you get a five thousand lira bonus." It was more of the same. Me squirming and fighting to reach a non-clitoral climax, hot as hot, wild with passion.
 

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   "Is he close yet?" Dirk kept asking. "Remember, the customers want to see that come shoot out. They can't see it in your cunt. We want it to shoot out onto your belly." I felt, after a short while, his cock swell and he began to plunge and I made myself ready. I was selfish, however, I kept him in me for his first jet of come and felt it shoot out into my screaming pussy and then I jerked and fell back. His cock came out and jerked up against my belly and the second jet of come landed directly on my right nipple and the men cheered. The rest shot out and dribbled down my belly and the camera came in dose and took shots of his cock emptying his come onto my white, smooth skin and then Dirk said, "Cut." "What about me?" I wailed. "I told you," Carlo said, laughing. "Look, let's not waste it." Get the blond." "On the bed, Kitsy," Carlo said. I staggered to the bed and fell onto my back, opening my legs, begging for something to fill the aching void in me. Carlo took a warm, wet cloth and wiped the accumulated come from me and I had to fight to keep from fucking the hand and the cloth as he wiped. "Honey, I've got a great one saved.' Come to bed with me. Come and put it in me," I was begging Carlo, wanting his cock. "Hold on," he said. A cute little blond girl came out. "Doris," Dirk said, "this little girl is in dire need. We're planning to shoot a whole thing with you and her, but right now we'll do a few minutes of eating just so she won't expire." "Oh, shit," I said. But a girl was better than nothing. I opened my legs and when she went down air rushed out of my lungs 162 with the thrill of it. I drove my hands down, pushed her head deep, deep, felt her expert mouth on my cunt. I began to fuck her unmercifully. I mean, with her lips pressed hard on my clit, I fucked and humped and the cameras were going and I was not giving a shit, because I'd been teased past endurance and I wanted it. I fucked and humped and there were cameras on my face and cameras all over and a camera down where Doris' mouth was giving me release and then I popped and screamed and writhed and moaned and her tongue shot up me and felt the contractions of my cunt and when it was over and Dirk had said "Cut," she looked at me and said, "Honey, I'm looking forward to working with you." We made about fifty fifteen-minute films. Before we finished shooting Carlo was selling the first products. He had cleaning houses in Scandinavia, Germany and the United States. The man who bought a few thousand copies from New York was a Maffia fellow, nice, whom Carlo asked me to entertain. He was funny. I was introduced to him as one of the clerical help and I found out why. He was moralistic. He told me, while he was lying atop me with his cock going soft after giving me an inexpert but rather vigorous ride, "You know, those chicks that do the movies, I wouldn't like going to bed with one of them." "Why not?" I asked, all innocence. "Well, you know," he said. "Too many ruts in that road for me." He meant he didn't want merchandise which had been used too mu.ch. He told me that I was a sweet girl and I told him, "I hope you don't think I do this sort of thing all the time." "Oh, no," he said.
 

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   "I mean, you're the first man I've been to bed with since my poor husband died two years ago." And the poor stoop believed me. He said that he could believe it because I was so passionate. I liked watching my films. I have to this day a complete set of them. My favorite is the one in which I am lying on a satin sheet, my left arm at my side, my eyes closed, my mouth open in an expression of sex, my right hand guiding this beautiful, long, hard, big cock into my busy pen. That's the shot I had blown up and hanged on my bedroom wall. I mean, my private bedroom, where I go alone. There's another one for company. I think it shows me as I truly am, a beautiful girl who was made for sex. In other films I was played with, with shots of big, male hands on my cunt, fingers thrusting into me. I was kissed, chewed, eaten. I ale, kissed, chewed. I was fucked from the top, from the bottom, from the back, from the sides, from any angle which gave the cameras a good view of cock going into cunt. That's the main rule in ordinary sex films, give the paying customer a lot of shots of cock going into cunt. That's what it's all about. I've seen some of the competition. Some of them are very, very lousy. You don't get good views of the cock-cunt bit. All you get is pissy little pots on the men and the women trying to look sexy with some ungodly kind of underwear and in stripping off their clothes. All you've got to do to make a dollar in the stag film business is show cocks going into cunts. We proved that. My cut of the business, over a five-year period, was around a hundred thousand bucks. Our films were such a success because they had clean-cut people in them. Me, and I'm beautiful, trim, clean, healthy, wholesome. Others perhaps not quite so attractive, but no pigs and 164 – no druggies and bums. Every man in our films had a hard-on. None of this stuffing a soft cock up against a cunt and calling it sex. Our Lesbian films were fantastically successful because little Doris and I used all our charms and turned each other on. When you see a close-up of our faces when we're supposed to be coming, we are. That's true about any of it. And that seemed to be the main thing that impressed everyone about me. I mean, when I come, my face gets this expression which can be pain or joy, but it's a strained, intense, beautiful, odd look which goes on and grows as I get closer and then, when I come, you could tell, even if you didn't know what I was doing, because my look when I come is eternal woman. We did a few gang-bang things, which were O.K., but my favorites were the ones we shot with the three stooges. That way I had a hard cock available all the time. While I was working on one, the other two were taking vitamin E and frigging and thinking sexy thoughts to get hard again. So we shot everything which featured a woman and one or more men with dispatch and I got my rocks off with regularity. I had a thousand comes there under the lights of Carlo's studio, I'd guess, and every one was a beauty and every one was recorded for posterity.'And one of them came in very handy after Carlo, bless his heart, got shot by an irate Roman husband who caught him in bed with both wife and daughter, eating one and frigging the other wildly with his lovely, now dead cock. I'll always remember Carlo. He started me on my real career, acting. It was a humble beginning, I'll admit, making stag films, but it got me my gilt-edged break. I have something to remember Carlo by, too. It's a specialty film we did with the whip and boots bit I was 165 spectacular in black leather and high heeled boots and I beat old Carlo's ass royally for the cameras and he came like mount Versuvious for the sado buyers of a film which sold for one thousand bucks a Super-8 color copy. Poor Carlo. He got done in just as things were picking up for him. A victim of what he said was his last remaining sexual ambition, to diddle a mother and a daughter at the same time. The mother wasn't even sexy, fat and dumpy, and the kid was just tiny, about fifteen, I'd guess. I got the details from a friendly Roman policeman who'd investigated the case and he said that the irate husband came in just as Carlo had done in the daughter, after leaving pecker tracks in the fat mama's cunt. So he'd pumped out two loads of come just before he died and he died happy, I guess.
 

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   I keep a sexual diary. I started it during my year as Miss One World. There were times when we'd be traveling and there's nothing more boring than riding from, say, Japan to England on even the most luxurious jet It's just long hours of doing nothing, so I started keeping the journal to pass the time. I'd stopped drinking by that time, finding that it added unwanted ounces, so I couldn't do the martini bit all the way across the oceans and the continents. I began by trying to remember my early life. Went back to the days when I played with myself. Days when I lost my virginity, found the joy of sex with Ruf, did the incest bit with poor old Juby. Oh, incidentally, I sent Juby a letter when I started getting my money from the films we did in Rome and told him that if he'd take care of my mdrn and be good to her I'd send him enough money so that he wouldn't have to steal water pumps anymore. I started with a couple of hundred a month and then, later on, I had more to send, so Juby 167 and my mother moved into a new twelve-foot wide mobile home with air conditioning, and the last time I went down Juby had gone mod, buying those flare slacks and shaving regularly and I'll be damned if the old sonofabitch wasn't out chasing young chicks. My big brother Sam got into a fight in a honky-tonk in the next county and got shot seven times. It did him in. Six he could have taken, because the first six were in non-vital places, but the seventh got him in the liver and he didn't make it. I didn't mind Juby chasing chicks, so long as he chased the ones who liked being caught. But I told him if he got into trouble he was on his own, that I'd put mother in a home and stop his allowance, so he was careful. The real kick was when I went home and found him shagging around in turtle-necks and bell bottoms and was a pissed young lady until I went home one day in the middle of the afternoon when I was supposed to be in the next town and caught my dear, chubby old mom in bed with this nice elderly gentleman from down the road. She was put out and ashamed until I said, "Mom, do you enjoy it?" She smiled sheepishly and said, "Honey, he does the naughtiest things and it makes me feel just wonderful. You know, with your daddy, I didn't really know what sex was." So Juby was getting his kicks and my mom was getting hers with this nice elderly gentleman and old Ruf had latched onto an Italian countessa or some shit and was living the life of a playboy flitting all over Europe. Those years get all mixed up in my mind. Things began to move fast after Carlo got killed. It looked bad for a while, because Carlo's main movie studio was all in debt and it was taken over by the Italian movie estab- 168 lishment and the man who moved in was a cold-hearted sonofabitch. His name was Roberto Cartechelli. He was forty-five, dapper, a conservative in view, both financially and politically, and he looked at me as if I were just so much meat when I went to him and asked him if he were going to live up to Carlo's contract with me and star me in Passion's Queen. I was twenty-one years old. With the money I had been earning from the sex films I'd bought a knock-out wardrobe, took drama lessons, kept myself in shape by going regularly to a health farm for exercise and organic foods. I was a regular customer at the finest hairdresser's in Rome. I was a girl with obvious class, for I'd taken Italian lessons and English lessons. (You might not think so from the style of my writing, but I've taken pains to write as I used to think.) I was ready for Passion's Queen. "Ah, Miss McRae," Cartechelli said, "as you know, this picture is an ambitious undertaking. The sets alone would cost much money. And we, frankly, hesitate to risk such a large investment on an unknown actress." I knew that I could handle the part. But I could see that merely talking to Cartechelli would not do the trick. I'd read and reread the lines of the screen play and I knew them by heart The picture was about Marie Antoinette. But it was not just another historical show piece, it was an adult study of Marie's life, and as you probably know, Marie Antoinette was a sexual being. That was why I was sure that I could play the part better than any actress living, for I was also a sexual being. "We will let you know," Cartechelli said. "Please have patience." I waited around for a couple of weeks and the trades 169 printed rumors of Cartechelli trying to get Loren for the part. I breathed a sigh of relief when she stated publi-cally that she would not take it. Then I decided it was time for me to do something. I called Cartechelli. "Look," I said, "I've spent a year getting ready for this part, the least you can do is give me a shot at it." "Of course," he said. "There's one scene I'd like to do for you. In fact, it's already on film. May I show it to you?" "I didn't know any of the picture had been filmed," he said. ' "It was just a rush," I said. "But I'd like to show it to you." I went into Carlo's old office, missing that wop sonofa-bitch something terrible. Roberto Cartechelli was seated behind Carlo's desk. I had the film in my bag. I knew the set-up, so I went into the adjoining room, loaded the film in the projector, cocked it for automatic start from the desk and went back into the room to lower the lights and close the drapes. Cartechelli sat glumly behind the desk. I sat on the corner of it, swinging my leg. "Mr. Cartechelli, as you know, the intent of this film is to show the human side of those who were riding the crest of that wave of revolution which began to change the world. The author seems to be asking the question, why could not Louis and the members of his court see the discontent of the people? Why did they not realize that things would soon be out of control and institute simple reforms. Historians agree that it would have 4aken very little action on the part of the rulers to avert the Revolution. One important part of the puzzle was the character of Marie Antoinette. And our author has chosen to treat her as a totally sexual being, selfish, 170 spoiled. Seeing her in this light is important to the overall message of the film." "Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "Antoinette's mind was between her legs, if you'll excuse the vulgarity," I went on, "and because she was rather indiscrete, she gave the Jacobians much ammunition for their propaganda. They told the people that while the people starved, Antoinette ate caviar and committed adultery with the king's own brother. It was Antoinette's behaviour which helped to precipitate the Revolution and we try, in this movie, to understand her. Thus," I said, getting him ready, "there is one key scene in the first reel. This is the scene which sets the mood for the entire picture, which presents Antoinette as she was." I pressed the button. The leader I had spliced onto a certain scene began to run through the projector. "She has found that her new husband, the King to be, is not at all, interested in sex because of his deformed penis. She, on the other hand, has been looking forward to marriage. Disappointed, she turns to the Count Carlo was not yet certain just how implicit he could or would be in this scene, but he was definite on one thing. At the moment of Antoinette's satisfaction, there was to be a close-up pf her face, and it was first and foremost in his mind to have that close-up show how much Antoinette enjoyed sex, how much it meant to her." I paused. "Here she is at the moment of her fulfillment. She has been to a masked ball. She has not removed her mask." This bit was necessary because, of course, what I was showing Cartechelli was shots of me making it with the three stooges. I came on the screen. I had my eyes closed. My mouth was twisted in a sneer of ecstatic lust. My head rolled
 

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   from side to side. My teeth showed, held tightly tightly together. My sex showed on my face. The moment went on for a long minute and I felt a twinge, because I knew how I'd been feeling at that glorious moment. It wasn't acting. It was for real. I had one of the three stooges firmly planted in my cunt and I'd been teased by hours of film making into a super case of the hots. I was really climaxing and it was awesome, if I do say so myself. I've told you that when I'm coming the look on my face is eternal woman, eternal sex. "We shot several takes," I said, as a second scene came on, the same, close-up, my face in bliss. I sneaked a look at Cartechelli's face. He was frozen. His mouth was open. His eyes were wide, unblinking. He held that pose through three more climaxes, spliced together. There was no other thing on the screen, no man, no indication that I was actually being fucked. When it was over, I turned on the lights. "If you can find anyone who can play that scene better, I step down. I withdraw from my contract without contest." He swallowed and cleared his throat. "I must admit, Miss McRae, that I am impressed." He was impressed enough to call me to the studio for an interview with his hot-shot director. Poor old Dirk had been phased out because of his drinking, but he came out smelling like a rose, because Carlo had done the wise thing, he'd kept his porno film firm separate from the main operation. Dirk got his hands on the contracts, the inventory and he'd made enough loot to buy some equipment, so he was still in business and if the thing didn't go through with Cartechelli I could always go with Dirk and make my living with stag films, But there I was in the main studios, with this fop of a director, and he was talking to me and making me walk 172 and then I read a few scenes from the screenplay, impressing him because I knew my lines by heart. He told me to go into a dressing room and put on one of the thin, revealing gowns in which Marie Antoinette met with her lovers in the film. I came out. The thing was so thin that you could see all of me, and not hardly leave anything to the imagination. I was just twenty-one years old but I'd been around enough to know when to try to bribe a guy with me. I'd known, for example, that such an attempt would have backfired with Roberto Car-techelli, but in the eyes of my director, Michel Giorelli, I could see the lust which told me that I could influence his thinking with my bod. "Ah," he said, "very nice." "You be the Count," I said, "and I'll run through the seduction scene in the first reel." "Ah," he said. "I am no actor." Antoinette, having been rebuffed by Louis, who was going off on a hunting trip, had come to the Count's bedroom in tears. I stood there for a moment and thought all the sad things I could and my eyes began to blink and the tears began to seep out and then, psyched up, I burst into the scene. It went something like, "I hate him, oh, how I hate him," and like that and then the Count tried to soothe her and their bodies came into contact and woops, there was a different feel then. I stormed through the anger and then, clinging to Michel, I changed and my bare, or almost bare, boobs were up against him and my mound, which was nicely protuberant, was rubbing on his cock and I sent soft and sexy and when I kissed him I knew that I had his interest "You do that well," he said. "Act or kiss?" I asked.
 

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   "Both, darling." "I enjoy doing both for the right man," I said. "Ah," he whispered, and I felt his'cock go hard against me. He put his arms around me. Me and generations of down-trodden women put all we had into the act. "Michel," I whispered, "I must confess that I find you very attractive." "Perhaps," he said, looking around, "we should go into the dressing room and talk." He grabbed me the minute we were inside and laid his mouth on mine and lost no time at all in fumbling his way up to seize my right boob. I laid against him and gave him my tongue and felt his cock. It seemed to be rather small. For my taste I'd have preferred one of the stooges, but this was business. "Kitsy, Kitsy," he said. "Michel, Michel," I said, trying to sound like an early Loren. He was about to demolish the gown. I said, "We shouldn't destroy studio property." I shucked out of it and posed for him and his eyes popped. He rushed me and enclosed me in his arms and I gave. I sidled over to a bed. "Michel, darling, aren't you just awfully hot in those clothes?" He broke records getting out of them and his cock was small. It was not much -bigger than a good man's ring finger. But he was hard and ready and when he came to me I fell down and took every inch of it, all four of them, into my mouth and gave him a super job and he was crying and moaning and tossing his hips to drive his little cock into my mouth. When he was getting really wild, I pulled away, lay down and held out my arms to him. He gasped and fell atop me. I guided his cock into me. I had worked up a heat, it doesn't take much for 174 me, and I was eager to have in me even that tiny little member, and it felt good and by working my ass wildly I could get a feel out of it. He worked and pumped and then he stopped. "What?" I whispered. "Ah, Miss McRae…" "Gail me Kitsy." "Kitsy, there is, ah, I mean…" "You want to do it a different way?" I asked. "Anything, Michel, darling." He rolled me over onto my stomach. I was thinking that with his four inches he'd have trouble getting it in from that angle, but he took his fingers and lubed my anus with our juices and I knew that he had something different in mind. If he'd been a big stud I'd have said no go, because a huge cock can tear a girl's ass out, but his was small and not much bigger hard than the Congressman's cock had been soft. I relaxed and pushed on it as he tried to get it in and I felt it pop past my spincter muscles and then I felt a hard cock, for the first time, go up into my bowels and it was the sexiest thing that had ever happened to me. I mean, if you're lucky enough to have loose muscles and can take a huge cock, it must be great, and if you're not the best is to have a small cock" there. I love anything new. And this was new. It was my first hard-cock reaming from the rear and I felt it push up into the heat and odd softness of my anus and then Michel was bucking and lunging and I was swirling my ass and it seemed that he was reaching far, far up inside me. "You like?" he gasped. "Oh, God, I love it," I said, meaning it. "Hit me hard, darling. Drive it in hard." He obliged. Then, knowing girls, I guess, he put one 175 hand under me and began to play with my clit and I boomed and gave him a swift ride, making my ass go in circles, sucking with my muscles to give him a feel there, trying to cut off his cock with my strong spincters. He worked mightily and drove his cock into me as fast as lightening and when I was coming he came into me and felt this vat of come jet into my warm ass and I moaned and wiggled and sucked on his cock with my anus and he groaned and jerked and then was still. "You came?" he asked. "Oh, wow," I said. "I sure did. That was great." "The look you had when you were climaxing," he said. "I want to achieve that in that scene in the first reel." "You've got it, darling," I said.
 

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   Michel was a good director. He was moody and tem-permental, but I knew how to handle him. Once, when he was really put of sorts, and we couldn't get a scene right, I said, "Michel, can we take a break? I'd like to talk to you." He fumed and fussed, but he did. We went into my dressing room, the star's dressing room, and I smiled at him, tossed up the empire dress I was wearing and bared my butt. For coolness, I was not wearing underwear. I leaned over a table and wiggled my butt at him. "Work off your frustrations, darling," I said. He went silent, then he grinned. He smeared cold cream on my anus to give it lubrication and, without removing his pants, he took out his cock and drove it into my anus from the rear, with me bending over the dressing table. He grasped my hips in his hands and pulled my ass to him with each lick and he drove and drove and then, very quickly, came into me with his hard, surprising jets of come and I almost came by 177 empathy. Then he said, "Thank you, Kitsy," wiped his cock on a tissue, wiped my butt for me and I let the empire gown fall into place, strode regally back to the set and we went through the scene without a goof. My leading man was an up and coming French actor. Rene was a young Tony Curtis. As the Count, he helped make the picture the success it was. But he had trouble with the seduction scenes." "I just can't seem to get into the mood with all these people," he kept saying, when we were shooting the most important scene, the first love bout between Antoinette and the Count. "Michel," I said, "could you clear the set except for one cameraman and one light technician?" He nodded. The Count was in his night clothes when I, as Antoinette, burst into his bed chamber. I lifted the old fashioned night shirt and saw that Rene had on underclothing. "No wonder you can't get in the mood," I said. I, made him remove them. He was shy and went around behind a siding to do it, but when he came back I could see his limp cock banging against the night shirt. "Now, Michel, if you and the techs will go away for five minutes," I said. Michel was getting impatient But he did want to get the scene right and he'd learned to have confidence in me. He went, taking the others with him. "All right, Rene," I said. "Get your ass over here on this bed." "He came, sheepishly. "We're going to get you in the mood," I said, reaching under his night shirt to seize his nice cock. I was pleased with it. It was huge, even in repose. I playecbwith it. "I am not a queer," he said fretfully, "but I can't perform private acts before people." "The secret is to forget they're there," I said, playing with his cock, which stubbornly refused to get hard. 178 Well, I'd fix that I pushed him back and knelt over him, throwing the nightshirt, up over his chest. I went down and took his sweet cock into my mouth. He had a fit, but I wouldn't let him get up. When he tried to pull his cock out of my mouth I bit it hard and he cried out, but the biting did it. It began to get hard and then it swelled and pushed its way out of my mouth and I laved it and kissed it and then I crawled onto him and kissed him and thrust my breasts into his mouth until he was steaming and squeezing my ass and trying to move me on top of him to get it into me. I said, "You see?" He laughed. "When we have the cameras going, think of this and nothing else," I said. "I'll see to it that you're interested." We called Michel and the two techs back and I told Michel we were ready for a take. We started standing. Rene, with an audience, had lost his erection. I rubbed my soft body on his and we went through the dialog and the kisses and the camera got his hand on my breast. We had, that is the powers had decided to make it an X-rated movie with some real sexual action, going about as far as anyone had gone. You know, a hand on a breast, a quick shot of a naked boob, the man's head and the woman's head with the woman's head bobbing up and down as if she were being pounded from below, the strength of the blows moving her entire body. On the bed, we went through the prescribed activity and the dialog with the Count protesting that he could not take advantage of his brother's wife and the future Queen of France. Antoinette, me, said, "You can't say no." The honorable count tried. But the honorable me put my hand down and out of the camera range raised his 179 night shirt and squeezed his cock. I whispered, during a cut while the camera was being moved, "Think of nothing but me." Action. He was lying atop me. We were supposed to be fucking. "Cut," Michel yelled. "Rene, you're not showing it. You're a passionate man having the sweet body of a beautiful young girl for the first time. Put something into it." "I cannot," Rene yelled. "Goddamnit, Rene," I said, "lie down on top of me and shut the fuck up and let me do the work." Michel gave me a minute. I reached down and pulled my gown up around my waist, exposing my thighs, my bush, my twat. I had Rene's cock in my hand. It was half-soft. I put the head of it at the soft, wet entrance to my vagina and stuffed and Rene's eyes popped. "Not here," he said. "Here, damnit," I said. "This is where it counts." I was moving my ass. I felt his cock, in spite of himself, get hard. There's not many young men who cannot get a hard-on if the head of their cocks are placed inside a warm, wet, ready female cunt. He got hard and I got this lovely slide as it pushed itself into me. "O.K., Michel," I said. Michel was saying incredulous things in Italian, but he had the good sense to start the camera. "Fuck me," I said. "Fuck me as if you meant it. I want to feel you come in me when you're supposed to. I want to have a climax when I'm supposed to. I want this to be the most authentic sex scene ever filmed." Well, with his cock in me, he was willing. We went through the dialog and then, when we were supposed to be fucking, we were, and I mean that Rene was a stud. 180 He banged into me and I gave it back to him, camera taking it all, but only our heads and shoulders of course. Close-ups of Rene's face, in the throes of passion. Close-ups of me with that sensuous lovely sneer and then he was pounding, forgetting all of them, knowing my sweet cunt, taking it, possessing it, owning it, reaming it all the way up to my womb and I was reaching, reaching, crying out his name, flinging my head from side to side in true ecstasy and then I felt his cock swell and drive deep and I came and cried out and he moaned and grunted and the camera came to my face as I had a beauty and then we lay there, panting and gasping and grinning. It was a take. It was the scene they talked about. It was the scene which established me as an actress. It was the scene which attracted Hollywood to me and put me in my first big Hollywood film and it was a scene which was repeated in private several times before Rene went back to France at the end of the picture. But before he went there was one other moment to be remembered. I suggested a private party to celebrate the completion. I served fine foods and fine wines and there was just me and Michel and Rene. I got slightly tipsy and told them both that I LOVED THEM. Rene, slightly tipsy, too, said, "One at a time or both together?" "Anytime, anywhere, anyway," I said. To make it short. We ended up on the bed. There was some good natured kidding about the size of Michel's cock, but I told Rene that it was a specialist's cock. I ate both of them lovingly. I churned them up and got myself churned up. "Now, darlings," I said, "the star wants to please both her director and her leading man." I pushed Rene onto 181 his back. He was huge and hard. I gloated and enjoyed his cock with one last loving kiss. Then I crawled on, hoisted one leg, guided his hard cock into my ready cockpit. I lay full length on him. I felt Michel's hands down there, playing with Rene's cock and my twat as they came together. Then he smeared juices on my anus and came. I mean, he came into me. I felt his cock drive past my tight muscle, pop in. I wiggled my ass. I was twenty-one. I'd completed my first picture. I was happy. And I was a sandwich for the first time in my life and it was glorious. I mean, any woman who hasn't felt two cocks in her, one in her twat and one in her anus, hasn't lived. I felt so luxurious I cried with happiness. Rene, understanding, kissed my tears away and screwed me gently. He was lifting his loins and just moving his cock in me and Michel was moving his in my rear. I could feel the two of them meet up inside, with just a thin membrane of body flesh to keep them from coming together to rub heads. I felt so gloriously full. "You two are in for a long night," I said, beginning to swirl my ass, making it good for both of them. The rhythm was difficult to work out. We finally achieved it. I would hold fairly still, except for circular movements of my ass and spasms of my internal muscles, both in my vagina and my anus, and they would both drive into me at once. Rene's cock would fill me from, the front and Michel's would drive into me from the rear and when they both were in full length I'd sob with pleasure. They began to work on me hard and regularly and I felt my first one coming. I kissed Rene and tried to swallow his tongue. I put one hand between us and pinched one of his male nipples hard to make him hit me harder and then I came. My body exploded. My cunt pounded. They could both feel it. My muscles
 

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   tightened and loosened and spasmed and grabbed and loosened and grabbed and Michel said, "Who came?" "Me," I whispered weakly. "Don't stop. Don't ever stop. This is the sexiest thing that has ever happened to me." I found that I could control the action by the pressures of my internal muscles. I could move them well by that time, since I'd been working on them for years, training them. I could squeeze Rene's cock until he moaned with pleasure and I could almost bite Michel's off with my tight anus. "I want you both to come in me at once," I said. We worked. We toyed. We played. We fucked and fucked and fucked and my ass was a perpetual motion machine, weaving, circling, sucking, biting, soothing. I felt Rene begin to go harder and Michel followed close behind. I milked them with my muscles. I gave them exquisite pleasure. I moaned and came again and it inspired them. Rene was pumping, pumping, lifting me and Michel both with his strength. Michel was driving hard. "Now," Rene yelled, pushing it hard and deep into my cunt. "Now," Michel moaned, reaming me, pushing it far, far up, so far it straightened out the first bend in my intestine and made it seem to me that I was all cunt and ass and full up to my mouth. "Now," I screamed, and we all three exploded at once and gouts of come filled me in both holes and their cocks pounded into my pulsing holes and I cried and sobbed and laughed with the goodness of it. "Let me try," Rene said, after a rest. "If it hurts I'll stop." My ass was gooey with Michel's come and it was loosened by his cock. I relaxed and felt this perfectly
 

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   huge thing battering at my anus, trying to push past the initial resistance. I was sexy again. I made shitting motions and, open sesame, the thing popped its huge head into me, almost slicing me open. "Hurt?" Rene asked. "Don't stop now," I gasped, the worst of it over, the lovely feeling of his cock sliding into my come-greased hole filling me with lust. He drove it in and I felt as if I were impaled on a huge pole. I wiggled. It was lovely. I crawled, with Rene's cock in me, atop Michel and put his lovely, small cock into my used cunt. And it was encore, encore, with Michel coming just behind Rene and Rene's huge cock making a pain which added to my overall sexiness. I do remember that night. However, Rene's was the last full sized cock I've allowed in my anus, because my doctor told me that old queers, the kind who go for browning, destroy their spincter muscles by being holed by huge cocks and can't control their bowels, so I didn't want that to happen to me, no matter how lovely it is to be browned by a huge cock. I've managed to find some small ones since, and that's good enough for me. And there's no shortage of Huge cocks for my front entrance.
 

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   After my first big Hollywood movie, for which I received an Oscar, as you may recall, Dirk, my old sex film director, came to wild America. I saw him, of course. I was on top of the heap and he was down. He'd been having a rough time. He wanted to release the stags we'd made, making my identity known. He said we could make a million. I said I'd already made a million and that I was not going to do it, not right now. The world wasn't ready for it. Dirk threatened to do it on his own and I called my lawyer and we had a three-way discussion. My lawyer came up with this idea. "Your image was built on sex Kitsy. Passion's Queen was pure sex and the whole industry knows how you achieved that climax scene. The world is changing. People don't condemn you for being sexy, they envy you. Now, while it isn't a good idea to release those films and say, definitely, that it's Kitsy McRae doing all those things, I think we could get away with asking, Is This Kitsy McRae? See what I mean?"
 

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   "I got it," Dirk said. "We, of course, deny it and file a huge suit against Dirk." "Hey," Dirk yelled. "Which, of course, will be dropped- after bleeding it for all the publicity we can get," I said. "I get the drift." Exactly. So underground theaters began to show the long, feature film we put together out of my many and varied sex scenes shot under Carlo and the question was raised. It caused a furor. Me, the Oscar winner, a paid fucker? Heavens. It hit every newspaper in the world and then we hit our own company, which we'd formed with Dirk, with a huge suit and got even more publicity and then we started selling copies of the short things I'd done and the gross from the feature and the shorts was four point four million. And then Dirk made a public confession, that he'd deliberately chosen a girl who looked somewhat like me, and we proved that I couldn't have made the films because^! was in Pakistan or some sort of shit and Dirk, with a half million in cash, went back to jolly old to drink himself into happy oblivion; I pocketed my share of the loot, went off on a cruise with, well, never mind his name, his wife might be reading, and came back to ink a contract for the biggest spectacular movie since Cecil Bee. I was twenty-three. After that movie, which was filmed in Africa, I was tired. I had offers from everywhere. I wanted some time off. I took it and flew in a nice man's private jet to Aruba, where he had this wild layout, and fucked myself into relaxation and then spent some time wondering where to go next. I had a share of the gross on my latest movie and it was going to outpull anything since Gone With The Wind. I decided not to do a movie for a year 186 or so and called old Ruf, who was still in Europe, and he flew over and we went back down to Cape County and, once, we fucked in the old shack where we'd grown up, mean and quick, me leaning against a wall. "We've come a long way, huh Ruby?" he asked, wiping his cock on his handkerchief. As I sit here now, rereading this, my first book, I have to agree. We'd come a long way and fucking there in that tumble down shack, standing up, was sort of a symbol of coming full circle. Ruby Gore, starting out playing with herself and dreaming dreams, fucking her family, then making it big'and coming back to fuck her brother against a wall for the last time. Ruf was getting married. Maybe, someday, I will, too. Get married, I mean. But not now. I'm leaving this lovely place with my completed manuscript, and then there's another movie, and some commercials to be shot up jn New York. And the head of the agency where I do the commercials is a nice man with a desire to tickle my body with feathers before he makes wild love to me. I rested. I've told you about me, about Ruby Gore or Kitsy McRae. I think I owe it to the world, because, somewhere there's some small girl with dreams and I'd like for her to know that she doesn't have to settle for marrying the local undertaker or a service station mechanic, not that there's anything wrong with that, but the Great American Dream still lives. I think I've proven that If I can do it, then this little girl with dreams can do it. Good looking chick, good luck to you. You were given certain equipment. You have as much of it as I do, tits, body, ass, hips, belly, face. Use it wisely.
 

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