In the United States today, four out of every ten marriages end in divorce. Thrust abruptly into a couple-oriented society, the single woman has a more difficult time readjusting than her male counterpart. There are fewer opportunities for a divorced woman to meet eligible men, and the sexual freedom that is taken for granted by the male is still considered immoral for the female. Yet the woman's need for love, companionship and sex with the opposite gentler does not dissolve along with the marriage.
Divorced after a long and unsuccessful marriage, thirty-six year old Terry North finds that her sexual appetite has been thwarted and dimmed by an inept, indifferent husband and a middle-class environment that regards sex as a necessary evil. Afflicted by feelings of guilt and shame, Terry enters into sexual relationships quite uneasily and, at first, against her will.
But her inner feelings gradually emerge. Convinced of her need for uninhibited, healthy sex, she begins to experiment in several sexual dimensions and directions, including that of incest, until she finds her own true sexual nature.
-The Publisher
CHAPTER I
Panic seized Terry the moment she entered the room. But instead of running away as fast as possible, she remained as though paralyzed, rooted to the spot. Her widened, blue eyes rolled over the glossy color photographs that covered the walls from ceiling to floor.
They were lewd photographs, brazenly depicting the sexual posturings of the most unlikely couples. An older woman had her lips clamped tightly over the swollen cock of a teenage boy. A middle-aged man hungrily tongued the hairy, pair-shaped vulva of an ecstasy-gripped pre-teen girl. A huge, black man with a foot long cock-bone speared the narrow slit of a shapely blonde girl.
Terry's eyes remained fixed incredulously on the scenes that depicted three-way sex. One man with two girls, or two men ravishing the willing body and mouth of one girl.
In several photographs, someone had lettered dialogue. Terry winced as she made out the crude mouthing:
"Fuck my creamy, white cunt with that long. black prick," the blonde girl was saying to her negroid lover.
And the teenage boy whose penis was being ravished by an elderly woman seemed to be screaming the words, "Suck my cock, MOTHER!"
The woman who stood by the door in a state of shock and paralysis squeezed her eyes tight as though to reassure herself of a few basic facts.
A few hours earlier Terry North, age 36, recently divorced and the mother of one teen-aged son, had eagerly looked forward to her interview in this office. Replying to an advertisement for a secretary in a computer dating service, she thought the job would solve all of her problems.
Alone after twenty years of marriage to the same man, Terry had found the world of single people both frightening and very lonely. Meeting eligible men of her own age, she discovered, was almost impossible. All she'd met were married men on the make for lonely, gullible women.
She had to have more than vulgar sex. Terry craved love, companionship, respect, and last of all sex. Indeed, in the last years of her marriage, sex had been totally non-existent and she didn't miss it at all. Had she made a mistake and entered the wrong office?
A hurried, anxious glance at the nameplate on the desk assured her that she had, indeed, entered the correct office. The plate read: Agnes Hunsucker, President Hunsucker Dating Service.
There was no sign of anyone in the small, outer office that so openly advertised the real purpose behind the dating service: to match couples up for the kind of sexual intercourse that Terry had never thought possible, even in her wildest imaginings. Throughout her many years of marriage, sex had been an infrequent, almost polite exercise between two people who were fond of each other. Certainly she could not remember when her husband had ever touched her private parts with his tongue. Civilized people simply didn't act like animals, she'd always believed.
If the Hunsucker Dating Service acted as some kind of matchmaker for sexual perverts, she'd have no part of the place.
But, as Terry reached back for the doorknob to move swiftly out, she heard the sound of voices from an adjoining room. For a moment, Terry stood undecided, listening, scarcely breathing.
And then she did something that even surprised herself.
She moved forward towards the door in order to better hear the sounds.
As she tip-toed across the room, the beating of her heart accelerated, the room began to reel about her.
She managed to reach the door and slowly, carefully slide it open a hair. The sounds grew louder.
As the tall, shapely divorcee inched the door open, she kept telling herself that her actions were perfectly justified. She wasn't merely snooping. After all, Agnes Hunsucker had spoken to her over the phone and had given her a definite appointment.
Perhaps there was a perfectly logical explanation for the lewd photographs on the wall in the outer office.
They could be perfectly valid depictions of the so-called Pop Art craze that many business offices adorned their walls with. At any rate, under the circumstances, Terry didn't feel like a snoop or eavesdropper. An explanation was due her!
But she wasn't even remotely prepared for the explanation she received. The images that swarmed across her eyes weakened her knees and compelled her to grasp the door-knob for support.
At the moment, Terry didn't realize there had been a sudden, dramatic change in the temperature and humidity of her pussy. If she had, the divorcee would have blamed it on the horrible, totally disgusting sight.
The sight that Terry automatically described to herself as horrible and disgusting involved two people and one passive onlooker. The two people were, apparently, the couple being matched by the Hunsucker Dating Service. The female was fifty years old, at least. However, Terry had to admit that, the woman was still quite attractive with styled, graying hair, shapely figure, and expensive clothes. There couldn't be any doubt that the female client of this peculiar dating service was a person of wealth and class.
On the other hand, the object of her attention was a boy who couldn't have been any older than fifteen years. He was dressed in rather shabby-looking clothes.
"Sure, I'll suck the old lady," he was saying. "She reminds me of my mother and I used to pump her all the time."
The boy had directed his words to the third party who, Terry guessed, was Agnes Hunsucker, middle-aged and big. She had massive breasts and a prominent rump that a floor-length, faded dress did nothing to conceal. Her eyes looked amused as though she always expected the very worst from human behavior and was seldom disappointed.
"Are you sure you want to fuck my cunt, honey?" Mrs. Hunsucker's client asked.
To use filthy language obviously excited the old woman, Terry decided. She had, of course, heard low and vulgar people using the profane expression for intercourse. Often, she'd seen the letters f-u-c-k scrawled on the walls of buildings. The word had always disgusted her and made her think of the couplings animals engage in. To hear an older and obviously refined woman use such a word in the presence of a young boy angered Terry. She had to restrain an impulse to charge into the room and shame them into ceasing from any further abnormal behavior. But something within her, held her silently in place.
Then Terry gasped. The boy's cock was erecting ! Why, her own son was almost fifteen and she would have been outraged to think of him having intercourse with a woman old enough" to be his mother.
A drop of pussy juice worked its way through her twat trench and became ensnared in the coil of thick, black, pubic hair that adorned the area between her legs.
Agnes Hunsucker spoke for the first time. "You two fuckers are perfectly matched. According to the computer, you'll both blow out the biggest load of your entire lives." Turning to the older client she said, "You've been after me for months to find you a young boy who knows how to fuck and eat cunt. You'll find him something of an anal expert, too. Apparently, he's had a lot of experience when it comes to sucking a woman's ass and spearing her ass-hole with his tongue. And the boy has quick recovery. He'll blow out a load of cock-cream and then bone up again in a matter of minutes. For instance, if you suck him off, he'll immediately stiffen up again if you rub your pussy in his face."
The woman nodded happily. "That's exactly what I want. That old fart of a husband I had knew how to make money. But when it came to getting a stiff bone on, he was completely inept. That's why I divorced him. I should have done it long ago."
Hunsucker nodded. "My clients are divorced women of all ages. And they all had to get their divorce for one reason only. The old man couldn't satisfy the cunt. Finally, they found enough nerve to get rid of him and find a dating service like mine that caters to the special tastes of divorced women."
Terry clutched the knob of the door so tightly, her knuckles whitened. She struggled from shouting out a reply to the foul-mouthed Hunsucker woman. All divorced women were not sex-starved. The last thing she wanted was a sexual affair with a boy. Still, she remained standing very still and observed every bit of movement between the computer-matched couple. She had to confirm to herself that human baseness knew no depth.
Meanwhile, Terry's clitoris erected. The pressure between the head of her female prick and the smooth, velvety cloth of her under-panty generated a sensation that made Terry aware of her own genitals. She quickly chalked up this change to her own revulsion and the excitement of secretly watching filthy-minded people in play.
The action began to heat up.
The boy stood up and, with a knowledgeable smirk over his thick lips, unzipped his fly. Instinctively, Terry's eyes widened until they literally bulged. Despite the fact that her husband had been a mature man, his own penis, in a state of excitement, scarcely measured more than four inches. But the cock-bone on this mere boy had to measure at least eight inches, and perhaps more! The diameter of the penile shaft resembled a baseball bat, and the redness of the skin blazed and dazzled the eyeballs. The thin, smooth skin of the cockhead glistened in the soft light of the room. Thick, bluish veins crisscrossed under the shaft and throbbed visibly as more blood kept pumping into the swelling tool. One drop of cream oozed through the eye on the cockhead and crawled slowly down the skin.
The mouth of the older woman watered at sight of the exposed prick and the drop of cream shot her temperature up until she spread both legs apart to reveal her own pulsating pussy.
The hairs of the exposed cunt leaped into view. They were long, curling, silvery-grayish hairs, and they were thick enough to almost cover a man's face. The sight of the gray pussy hairs had a noticeable effect on the boy.
"Gosh," he whispered in an awed voice. "Just like the cunt hairs on my own mom. She made me eat her all the time. And boy, did her hairs feel good in my face!"
The Hunsucker woman chuckled, softly. "Why don't you give Mrs. Doheny a taste of your tongue. I know she'd just love to feel that long, educated tongue of yours suck the soft inner meat of her juicy pussy. Why not give her a sample?"
The thought of performing this perverse act visibly excited the boy. His penis began to throb even more agitatedly and the skin of his nuts kept inflating and deflating like the throat of a croaking frog.
Mrs. Doheny took to the idea, too. "I've never been sucked off in an office before," she laughed, excitedly. "But clothes sort of dull the fun, don't you think, dear?" she addressed her question to the boy.
The boy nodded. "Yeah. I'd like to look up and see your boobs when I'm sucking. And I want to drop my tongue down and stick it up your ass-hole, too. That's what mom always made me do." Agnes Hunsucker clasped her hands as though she could hardly wait for the couple to disrobe. "Ain't no one here but us chickens," she cackled. "You two kids go ahead and take off all of your clothes. Don't mind me. I love to watch fuckers in action. Besides, I have to know if the computer matched you up right. Pay me no mind at all. Just get in the nude and do your thing."
Rubbing the area of her own genitals, she added. "You don't have to stick to just sucking each other off. If you want to fuck ... be my guest!"
She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her lap and waited for the show to commence.
The woman was a voyeur, Terry guessed, and at the moment she was beginning to feel like one herself. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that the sight of the older woman and young boy together in a sexual way appalled and disgusted her. There was even less doubt that the obscene language between the couple upset her even more.
Sex, to her, had always meant a comfortable act between two people who were fond of each other. But this sort of behavior between the boy and fifty-year-old woman was animalistic.
And yet ... as much as she wanted to purge such a notion from her thoughts, there was a certain undefinable fascination to the scene, too. Probably, she decided, because it was all so different, so new, and so unexpected.
The moist stain on Terry's panty grew larger.
Inside the room of lust, the temperature accelerated at a dramatic rate. The old woman and boy stood before each other stark naked. Their eyes literally raped each other as every inch of naked body was explored in depth. Despite her age, the woman had to be considered stacked. Her breasts were full and even the way they sagged lent a certain erotic aura to the tit flesh, and the fully extended nipples had turned dark red.
The sides of the woman's body curved inward to a smallish waist which flared out again into a pair of smooth hips and a couple of ass buns which looked edible. The cleavage between the ass cheeks was pronounced enough almost to reveal the inner valley and long, wiry strands of rectal hairs which curled out from the hole. The skin on her legs was still firm. The pubic hair that swarmed up from between her legs seemed to illuminate the entire body. The cuntal lips were thick and were slightly parted to reveal the soft, oystery inner flesh. Her clitoris was in throbbing erection.
Spreading her legs, she patted the hairy vulva area and fingered the cunt hole.
"Eat me," she implored the boy. "Suck your mother's hot cunt. Don't keep me waiting."
The boy had a hard, muscular body that even Terry had to admire. He seemed more of a man than her own ex-husband! A thick tangle of jet-black cock hairs encircled his masculinity; the dangerous-looking tool was getting redder by the second. The sight of his smooth, firm buttocks sent a shiver up the genitals of the young divorcee. This boy seemed to exude sex. Terry felt guilty for even considering the boy as a suitable sex partner. Yet, she didn't avert her eyes from the action that was beginning to heat up considerably.
When the woman spread her legs as far apart as possible. There wasn't a doubt that oral sex meant a great deal to her, but clearly it had to be oral sex from a very young boy.
What Terry couldn't understand was the boy's obvious preference for an older woman, even though attractive. Was he fascinated by the silvery-gray cuntal hairs? Did her advanced age play a part in his sexual excitement? There was no doubt that the boy was greatly excited by the sight and smell of his computer-matched date.
The boy dropped to his knees and positioned his face between the spread legs. His eyes bulged like a couple of ball bearings threatening to leap out of their sockets.
The sight and the odor of cunt gripped him in a state of pure animal lust. Already the hair-framed trench of cunt split apart to let the welling juices spill through and run crookedly down the bared thighs and over the exposed ass-cheeks.
The buttocks of the woman were fully exposed for she had raised up both legs the instant the boy dropped down between them. Once his face was held against her vulva, she dropped her legs over his shoulders and squeezed the thighs against his face, as though she was afraid he might leave her.
From what Terry could determine, there was little chance the boy would leave his position or even attempt to get away. A wide smile, ecstatic and lewd, pulled his lips back as he opened his mouth.
Running both of his hands under the cheeks of her ass, he lifted her up a bit, then he burrowed his face even deeper into the cuntal hairs. The feel of the sharp-pointed pussy hairs excited him, but he luxuriated in this play for only an instant.
What he was really after was the taste of cunt ... an older woman's cunt. His long red tongue shot out and sliced easily through the moist crevice of cunt and into the meaty, inner valley of love.
The woman's head snapped back and her wide, unblinking eyes stared up at the ceiling. Bits of foam bubbled through the corners of her red lips as she moaned.
"That's it! Deep! Stick your tongue deep inside my cunt and eat. Goddammit! Eat!" she cried in a shaky voice.
When his lips or tongue didn't move fast enough to suit her, she threw her mouth open as wide as possible and yelled at the top of her lungs.
"EAT MY CUNT!"
A sharp pang spiraled through the genitals of the young divorcee until she had to try to soothe herself by rubbing the crotch area. When this didn't alleviate the situation, she yanked up her skirt and wriggled down her skimpy undergarment.
Now she could press the palms of both hands over her own pussy parlor.
The touch of her bare hand over the exposed hole blistered her body with goose pimples. Moisture from the inner depths of her fuck furnace began to trickle through the twat trench.
Her fingers moved as though they had a life and will of their own. Instinctively, her thumb and forefinger grasped hold of her turgid, blood-thickened clitoris and began to strum it back and forth. With her remaining free fingers, she shoved deep into the cuntal crevice and proceeded to bang them back and forth as though they were so many stiffened pricks.
Her hips began to sway back and forth and around. Terry couldn't stop the erotic images that kept growing inside of her head, becoming clearer and sharper. She could see herself performing all sorts of exciting acts with a number of partners.
A young boy was licking her white, curving buttocks, and then he was wiping the tongue up and down the crevice, literally wiping her ass with his tongue.
Other males of varying descriptions took turns tonguing her widely distended cuntal crotch, and every now and then an image of a huge cock pumping back and forth between her lips took shape.
She couldn't stop her fingers from pumping back and forth inside her sizzling sex slot. Her knees sagged until her abdomen assumed a semi-squat. This position enabled her to finger-fuck herself with more ease. But" during all of this self-play, her eyes remained glued on the sights in the adjoining room.
The action between boy and old woman grew hotter.
The flushed face of Mrs. Doheny continued to stare up at the ceiling as she mouthed filthy obscenities.
"Keep your hot tongue wriggling up my cunt hole, you little pussy-lapping mother-fucker!"
These epithets excited the boy and stung him into even a more frenzied mouthing. As though attacking an enormous all-day sucker, the upper surface of his tongue ran hurriedly up the hairy cleft, from the base to the clitoris, and then down again, scraping the underside of his tongue roughly along her slit.
Every now and then, on the downward wipe, he let his tongue purposely drop even lower and spear the well exposed ass-hole.
To Terry's utter surprise, she could see herself getting an ass-hole-reaming job from a teenage boy's tongue. Was this her secret ambition? There was no time for dwelling on answers to such questions. Terry was quickly reaching a climax. And so was the woman in the room.
Great surges of heat washed the face of the boy and stung him into the kind of hurried action that would have tired a. thoroughbred racing horse. Clearly, he was after the taste of pussy juice. His narrow eyes grew round and even slicker looking than the sex saliva that was flowing so freely through the old dame's twat tunnel.
Shoving the cuntal lips aside with his face, he darted his tongue so deep within the gorge, his face almost disappeared from view. His jaws kept moving rapidly back and forth as though he was, in reality, devouring the cunt.
In Terry's reeling mind, her own pussy was being ravished by the tonguing efforts of a virile, young boy. And although she tried with much effort to banish such a sight from her mind, the fantasy persisted. Her own fuck furnace continued to heat up. She began to teeter on the edge of a climax.
Her vaginal walls kept fluttering excitedly and she realized she was about to accomplish the most dynamic orgasm of her entire life. Indeed, during her marriage, she couldn't recall ever having hit a true orgasm. This time, there was no doubt that something explosive was going to occur.
The older woman's cunt hit the Big O.
Screaming at the top of her lungs and throwing both legs straight up into the air, the doors of cunt flung themselves as far apart as possible to accommodate the enormous flow of love liquid which splashed and raged through the opening like a river in flood. The thick secretions soaked the boy's face and hair. He tried to milk out every drop of the precious pussy flow by creating a powerful vacuum with his mouth.
Finally drained of every drop, the body of the older woman sagged. Her glazed eyes stared straight ahead but she saw nothing. Her mind was still absorbed with the tongue job.
Agnes Hunsucker lifted the palms of her pudgy hands and brought them together in a series of approving claps. Her applause was never lightly, but now she felt obliged to remark on the quality of the cunt suck she had just witnessed.
"The best piece of pussy lapping I've ever seen so far," she told her clients. "Bet you never hit a climax like that one. You must have shot out a gallon of twat tricklings."
The woman's lips moved soundlessly. She was trying to make an intelligent response but the weakened state of her mind and body prevented her from uttering any words. Instead, a series of groans and grunts bubbled through her lips, and she kept rubbing the outer lips of her cunt with the palms of her hands.
At that moment, Terry hit the jack pot. With one final jab of her fingers, juices began to spray unabatedly through her sex slit until her knees weakened and she staggered backwards to land on the floor. For moments, she sat on her buttocks, knees flexed upward and spread wide apart to accommodate the gurgling outpouring of juice that didn't seem to want to stop.
Never before in her entire life had she ever experienced such a tremendous orgasm!
And the blow-off had been accomplished with nothing more potent than her fingers! On second thought, however, she had to admit that the fantasies helped, and so did the sight in the next room. But the very instant that she made this admission, feelings of guilt and shame flooded through every organ in her body.
Quickly, she leaped to her feet. But before she could hastily wipe off her snatch and arrange her clothing something even more shameful happened. The door opened.
Speechless, Terry found herself staring back at Agnes Hunsucker, the graying woman and the boy.
"Thought I heard a noise out here," the president of the dating service said with a wide, leering smile. "Aren't you the girl who wants to be my secretary?"
Hastily, Terry arranged her clothing although her face continued to blaze red with embarrassment. Finally, she found her voice.
"Never!" she managed to gasp. "I'd never work for such a dating service. Why..." she almost choked..."you match perverts up to have illicit intercourse! I ... I never saw anything so disgusting in my entire life!" Waving an arm about, she almost shouted. "All of you should be ashamed! Even animals don't behave this way!"
Despite Terry's agitated manner and bold accusations, the others laughed. Agnes Hunsucker belched out a reply. "You're just jealous you aren't getting any nooky." And pointing down towards Terry's crotch made an accusation. "Jacking off while you watched the kid and Mrs. Doheny doesn't make you Miss Purity of the year. Your cunt craves that kind of treatment and don't try to deny it."
Still smiling, the unabashed Mrs. Doheny remarked. "Don't knock it until you've tried it, dear. A hot tongue up the snatch from a hot-blooded teenaged boy will make you shoot out gallons of snatch syrup!"
While the three women were engaged in conversation, the hard-faced boy continued to eye Terry in the most lustful, and obscene way.
"I want to fuck her," he told Agnes Hunsucker. "I like the way her ass slopes out. First, I'll stick my tongue up her ass and then pump it out with my prick."
Without another word, unzipped his fly and let the still turgid tool zoom out.
Terry backed away, blushing furiously. "You ... you're all depraved. I'll have nothing to do with you!"
She turned and fled out the door.
Agnes Hunsucker slid over to the door and called out after her.
"You'll be back. You'll be back begging me to match you up with a fuck. You'll be back!"
Terry drove at a reckless speed all the way to the small apartment that she shared with her son. Flying through the door, she made her way to the bathroom where she began crying. She had never seen or heard such abnormal people behave in such an abnormal way. Even as she continued to sob, she prayed she'd never see any of them again as long as she lived.
But deep down in the very depth of her being, she had a gnawing premonition that her ordeal with such people was only beginning.
CHAPTER 2
The divorce court that granted Terry's decree had clearly stipulated alimony payments and child support from her former husband. However it is not possible to squeeze blood from a turnip. The man simply didn't have the money. After the divorce he even managed to lose his job.
Consequently, Terry simply had to find a job to support herself and her thirteen-year-old son. After her experience at the Hunsucker Dating Service, she carefully avoided answering advertisements for secretaries in lonely heart clubs.
She finally did manage to secure employment with a legitimate company, and in a very few weeks she found herself appointed personal secretary to the boss.
"You've been working very hard," Jeff Randle said to his new secretary. "And all work and no play makes Jill a dull girl."
Terry looked back at her employer with an amused smile. Randle, a short, graying, middle-aged man reminded her of a church deacon. He always wore dark, conservative clothes. He seldom smiled and always walked about with a preoccupied air about him. Whenever he left the office at the end of the day, he always carried with him a brief case jammed with business papers that required his attention.
Terry couldn't associate the word play with him. She felt very comfortable in his presence. He represented a prim and proper father figure with whom she could feel safe and secure.
Still smiling, Terry replied to her boss. "I agree with you Mr. Randle. But ever since my divorce I've found out one very important fact of life."
The round face of her employed stared back at her. Behind the thick glass of his spectacles, the eyes of the man grew wider. With a concerned air, he encouraged her to reveal the facts of life regarding a newly divorced and attractive young lady.
"This world is built for couples," Terry went on in an almost anguished voice, glad to talk with a sympathetic soul. "All of my former friends have dropped me. Guess I'm competition for their husbands, or so they think. And don't tell me to go to a bar to pick up men. I don't drink and I'm not interested in their propositions."
Jeff Randle clucked sympathetically. "I know exactly what you're going through my dear," he informed Terry. "After my first wife passed on, I found myself alone and very, very lonely. Until I managed to meet Cynthia ... my wife ... I died a thousand deaths from sheer boredom."
"The week-ends are the most depressing times," Terry rambled on. This was her first opportunity since the divorce to talk about her situation. "If I was the crying type, I'd cry. But I keep hoping things will get better for me. Maybe," she added wistfully, "I'll meet someone ... A decent guy with something on his mind besides..." and she hesitated.
"Sex." The round-faced man supplied the word for her. "I know exactly what you mean." Clearing his throat, he added, "Not all of your weekends have to be lonely. May I make a suggestion?"
Terry looked back at him with surprise. "Of course," she said with a note of regret. Was he going to try and match her up with some old bachelor friend of the family?
But her boss had something else in mind.
"Cynthia and I have a weekend cottage in the country," he explained. "Something about the fresh, unsmoggy country air that rebuilds the soul. At any rate, you're most welcome to join us. It will help you unwind, get a new outlook, maybe come up with a new solution that will help you cope with your single world. Maybe it's not as boring or terrible as you think."
"I'd love to," Terry replied quickly and enthusiastically. "Getting out of that small apartment for one weekend will be good for me. And Jackie ... my thirteen-year-old son always spends his week-ends with friends his own age. Yes, Mr. Randle I accept and I'm very grateful to you."
Randle threw up his hands. "Don't be grateful, please. I'll be glad to have you with us.
And so will my wife. You'll like her!"
For the first time, the little owl-faced man smiled.
The smile caught Terry by surprise. It looked almost out of place on his overly serious, bookish face.
The divorcee shrugged off any negative feelings. For the first time since her divorce, she was actually looking forward to a week-end.
"I'll go home and pack," she said.
"I'll pick you up around seven," Randle said as he immersed himself in the clutter of papers on his desk.
The momentary feeling of apprehension quickly left Terry and she could hardly wait for the week-end to begin. A week-end in the country with secure, comfortable people was exactly what she needed...
Cynthia Randle turned out to be a surprise. Terry could hardly believe that this young, vibrant, shapely girl could be the wife of plain and dull Jeff Randle. Blonde, vivacious and loaded with good humor, Cynthia was the perfect hostess.
"The secret of successful living is the ability to unwind," she said to Terry.
Terry smilingly agreed and couldn't help but wonder how such a lovely, young girl could have consented to a marriage with The Deacon.
"I agree," the divorcee murmured.
Still, she couldn't picture Cynthia Randle unwinding in a quiet, out-of-the-way cottage in the country. The closest neighbor was more than two miles down the road. The voluptuous Mrs. Randle looked as though she would have been at home as the center of attention at a cocktail party.
Although Terry had promised herself to drive all thoughts of sexual matters from her mind, she couldn't help but wonder about the sexual relationship between The Deacon and his young, dynamic wife.
How on earth did he satisfy her? Terry wondered.
As though the blonde woman had the ability to tune in on Terry's thoughts, she turned the conversation towards sex.
"I'm a bit curious," Cynthia said, and continued to smile in her warm way. They were sitting around in the comfortable living room after dinner.
"About what?" Terry asked, surprised that the very sophisticated Cynthia Randle could be curious about anything.
"Sex," Cynthia said, bluntly.
"Sex?" Terry echoed, incredulously. She hadn't expected to hear the topic openly discussed in the staid household of The Deacon.
Her employer explained. "I was telling Cynthia about the problems a suddenly divorced woman has in meeting eligible men."
"Oh," Terry said, relieved. "You're curious about how a newly single woman goes about meeting eligible members of the opposite sex."
"No," Cynthia replied, firmly and quickly. "I was wondering what you do about sex." And in the most innocent-sounding voice. "About getting fucked."
This common word for intercourse was fired at Terry with such abruptness and unexpectedness that she spilled her drink. In fact, her fingers were trembling so badly she could hardly put down the glass.
Mr. Randle hastened to explain. "My wife attends a psychological encounter group. The psychologist in charge of the class encourages all of his pupils to express themselves freely and naturally."
Cynthia nodded. "No harm meant. But free expression in sexual matters is supposed to help us unwind. And," she added, "I find it works."
Her husband nodded. "Yes, we all have to be prim and proper during our business week. But on weekends, it's time to unwind, relax, and express ourselves freely and naturally." He chuckled. "I suppose I'd shock some of you girls at the office who call me The Deacon behind my back."
Terry couldn't help but laugh. This man was genuinely honest, and now he revealed a quite human touch. He even knew the office staff made fun of him behind his back and apparently didn't care. She suddenly found a new respect for this man and his wife.
Probably, his young and liberal-minded new wife had taught him to be more human. Terry decided she would be an ungrateful guest if she tolerate their belief in free expression.
Her frown disappeared, replaced by an amused smile.
"I don't," she told her hostess. "I mean ... one doesn't have sex without a partner." She grew serious again. "But quite frankly, I'm not interested in that aspect of human relationship. Companionship is what I'm after. Doing things together, sharing. Decent people needn't complicate their relationship with any sordid sex. It's not necessary at all!"
Cynthia Randle poured herself another drink. Her husband remained silent, looking more owlish than ever. After taking a generous swallow of her Scotch, Mrs. Randle said, "If you don't mind my saying so ... that's a crock of shit. Every normal female craves a good fuck ... One way or another."
Reminding herself that vulgar talk was only part of Cynthia's psychological training in the encounter group, she replied quickly. "I assure you that I most definitely do not! Why, even throughout the many years of my marriage, sex was..."
"Distasteful?" the man inquired.
"Boring," Terry admitted, much to her surprise. This was the first time in her life she had ever admitted aloud that sex with her husband had been totally unsatisfactory. She had been a virgin at the time of their marriage, and faithful to her husband. She had never had relations with another man. "Sex is a bore."
"Agreed," her blonde hostess replied with an emphatic gesture of her shapely hand. "If a man and woman fuck each other in the same old way every time, it's going to become a bore. But certain people ... people with imagination ... can make sex fascinating and guarantee each other a tremendous blow up every time they hit the sack."
Jeff Randle put in: "Cynthia learned all this in her psychological encounter group. And to be quite candid, I didn't buy it at first. I didn't buy it at all. But..."
"I convinced The Deacon to at least give it a try," Cynthia laughed at her husband who smiled back.
The man, still smiling, nodded his graying head. "And ... much to my surprise ... I found it worked. For the first time in years I began to enjoy sex with my wife. Now..." and he positively glowed..."we have a genuinely happy marriage and our sex life is never boring or dull."
Cynthia explained with gusto: "When I married Jeff, the poor little fellow couldn't even get up. In fact, he warned me he was impotent. Well, I didn't buy that kind of shit. I knew he needed treatment. And he got it. Now, he gets the stiffest bones on I've ever seen. No teenaged kid can bone up stiffer than my husband ! "
Randle threw back his chest and looked much younger than his years.
"It's true," he told Terry. "I'm a young man again ... thanks to my free-thinking wife. I have so much to thank her for."
Despite her distaste for the subject, Terry was consumed with curiosity. Perhaps there was more to a genuine sexual relationship than a polite encounter between polite, and well-mannered friends who were fond of each other. Perhaps if she did meet another man now she'd be better able to cope.
Terry found herself asking, "What is your secret?"
"No secret," Cynthia gushed back. "Hell, I'm willing to share it with the world. After all, no one can take out a patent on a good luck."
In a more diplomatic way, the blonde woman's husband stated, "Perhaps ... if we were to demonstrate. In good taste, of course," he quickly added to reassure Terry. "In the best of good taste, I assure you," and he looked very serious and very sincere when he made that assurance.
Cynthia threw back her head and laughed. "Since when is cunt-pumping in bad taste?"
Randle stood up.
"Why don't we demonstrate what we are talking about?" he asked his wife. "I'm sure Terry has certain reservations, certain doubts. Let us put them to rest at once."
Terry found herself gripping the arms of her chair. "I ... I am sure that is not necessary," she said but in a tiny, almost inaudible voice.
Cynthia waggled a finger at her guest. "You ought to join our psychological encounter group. You'd get over all those timid, old-maid ideas about sex."
Red-faced, Terry replied. "I'm not exactly an old maid after fifteen years of marriage. But," she conceded, "it won't do any harm to watch. I must admit my sexual education has been limited."
"Want to make a bet?" Cynthia asked as she stood up and calmly began to disrobe.
Terry was too surprised to reply. She had never met a woman that was so completely uninhibited.
She guessed it was all right. After all, the Deacon was with them. Nothing could happen to her as long as he remained sober and reserved.
Without waiting for a reply from her lovely guest, Cynthia answered her own question. "Sure you do. You'll bet me you'll have the biggest cunt-blow of your entire life. And you'll win."
Terry started to stand up. "Wait a minute. I promised to watch. I ... I have no intention of participating in any sordid act." Quickly, she turned to her employer for reassurance.
But she didn't get any. Jeff Randle was also busily engaged in the act of taking off his clothes. He did say, "You won't be disappointed, my dear."
As he spoke, his pants slipped to the floor to reveal his genitals. He had not been wearing shorts.
Grasping his dangling penis with one hand he gave it a few strokes. Quickly, the smallish appendage began to enlarge and slide up towards the angle of fuck.
"It's not the longest," he conceded. "But I manage to make up the difference with quality. I think you'll agree once you feel it inside your cunt which I hope is already hot and juicy by now."
By now Terry was alarmed.
Accusingly, she said, "You're both ... crazy. I don't know what's going on but I'm getting out of here!"
Cynthia Randle laughed. "Go ahead. We're twenty miles from our next-door neighbor. And trudging along a dark, country road in chilly weather isn't half as much fun as the kind of fuck we've got in mind. Now, settle back, dearie," she advised, "and let your hair down. We're not going to do anything that is psychologically unsound."
Her employer piped up. "That's the whole idea for this weekend. Letting our hair down. Dropping the facade we wear in everyday living. We're all alone and able to be ourselves ... our true selves."
"No," Terry protested. "My true self has nothing to do with such things. You're ... sex crazy," she gasped.
Yet, as she spoke, she couldn't help but admire the sight of the two naked bodies that confronted her. Surprisingly, Jeff Randle in the nude managed to look quite appealing. Although short, his body was muscular, broad-shouldered and huge-chested. His penis was not long, but it seemed to radiate a sort of magnetism ... perhaps it was the vivid color of the excited skin or the sheer animalistic lust of the man.
His purplish cockhead continued to vibrate, and the moisture that oozed through the pores of the penile shaft definitely increased its appeal. The man's buttocks were smooth and firm.
Naked, Jeff Randle did not look like a church deacon at all.
There was a velvety sheen to the white, bare body of Randle's wife. The up-thrust breasts required no support from a brassiere and the inch-long nipples, moist and supple, resembled erected pricks. The dimpled navel of the woman resembled the lips of a distended female pussy The pubic hair, long, blonde and curling like beckoning fingers, crowded up from between her legs in the shape of an inverted triangle. The long, shapely legs could only be described as a couple of nutcrackers.
A wall mirror reflected the image of her ass-cheeks. They resembled a couple of nippleless tits, and the cleavage, slightly parted, revealed wiry, rectal hairs.
If Terry was an artist she would have wanted to paint the Randle couple. But she wasn't an artist and the married couple weren't artist models.
"I'm getting out of here," Terry declared and made a move for the door.
She didn't get very far. Cynthia Randle's fingers became claws that began to rip and shred the clothes off the frightened divorcee's back. As Terry attempted to flail out with both arms in an effort to free herself, her naked employer grabbed both of her wrists and pinioned them behind her back. With her hands literally handcuffed, Terry found herself helpless.
With quick, practiced movements, Cynthia pulled off her skirt and very quickly peeled down the pantyhose. There was strength in Jeff Randle's arms, enough to hold her hands while he plucked off Terry's blouse with the other. In a very few minutes, Terry had joined her host and hostess in a state of undress.
"Let go of me," the distraught woman cried out and kicked out with one, long and very shapely leg.
For answer, Cynthia opened one hand and slammed it hard against the cheek of the struggling prisoner. Terry's face snapped to one side and for a few moments, she almost lost consciousness. The pain was fierce enough to make all of the fight drain out of her. She moaned.
"And what about me? Won't she thank me, too ? " the husband aksed his wife, laughing.
Cynthia joined in the laughter but in an amused, cynical sort of way. "Yeah lover, she'll thank you ... or your prick. We'll both thank you."
Terry cried out. "You disgust me, the both of you. You ... you're not normal!"
But the man and wife were paying no attention to her words. They were too anxious for the action to commence.
Jeff started to pull his reluctant partner over to the couch while Cynthia turned and walked over to a desk at the far end of the room. From a desk drawer, she took out a long instrument that resembled a male penis.
Forced to sit on the edge of the couch, Terry looked up at the woman with wide, incredulous eyes.
"It's a prick," Cynthia said, unsmilingly. "A dildo." And in an almost loving tone of voice she added, "It's my lover."
Terry simply shook her head.
As Terry continued to sit on the edge of the couch, Jeff Randle stood alongside her to prevent any further struggles from the girl. He turned to his wife.
"Why don't you tell her what it's all about. Maybe when she knows, she'll be able to get her kicks too." Complainingly, he pointed out. "It's no fun for me when they don't blow out their cunts, too."
His wife nodded. "Yes, it's time she knew why we got her up here for the weekend."
Terry looked up at the woman with the dildo. She held the instrument as though it was a living being, capable of receiving as well as giving love.
What was she going to do with the awful looking thing? Terry kept asking herself. Despite her inner feelings of revulsion, she couldn't help but stare at the instrument that looked so very much like a male penis.
The penile shaft was at least a foot in length, the skin of the outer surface was painted pink and bluish veins running along the underside. The bloated cockhead was the size of a baby's head. The paint was a special formula: the color glowed and exuded an aura of lust.
In the center of the head, the eye seemed to pulsate even though Terry knew the appendage was artificial. At the base of the shaft, two huge and hairy balls hung down and appeared so life-like that only a close inspection could reveal their artificiality. The skin of these sacks was extremely thin, and apparently both nuts were filled with a fluid. One drop oozed through the eye on the cockhead as Cynthia pressed one ball ever so lightly.
"What are you going to do?" Terry asked as tears welled up in her eyes.
"Fuck," the Randles answered in unison.
"Now," Cynthia sang out, and there was an undercurrent of anxiety in her voice, almost a desperation. She needed her own, peculiar type of sex with the same urgency a hop-head needed a fix. And her own peculiar type of sex involved an artificial prick!
"Yeah," Jeff Randle breathed, heavily. "I got to ball her, too."
Without further explanation, the man pushed Terry back on the couch and grasped both her ankles.
"Spread," he ordered. "Spread your goddamn legs so I can pump pussy!"
"Nooo," Terry cried. As long as she kept her legs folded tightly together, her employer would not be able to molest her.
Despite her situation, Terry's mind was clear enough to grasp the essentials of this situation. The couple seemed sexual abnormal. Cynthia Randle could only get excited by watching her husband have sexual relations with another woman! And Jeff Randle couldn't get excited unless his own wife watched him have sexual relations with another woman!
They were both too kinky as far as Terry was concerned and as long as she kept her legs tightly together, the man would not be able to make a proper penetration. If he should be able to force his way in, the feeling would not be. a very pleasant one for him.
Cynthia grew impatient.
"Fuck her!" she rasped to her husband. "What in hell are you waiting for? My lover wants to pump my pussy!"
Breathing rapidly, Jeff Randle grabbed hold of Terry's thighs and tried to pry them apart. He was surprised at the strength and determination exhibited by his prisoner. He didn't want to beat her into submission-he wouldn't be able to get his nuts off if she wasn't a willing participant.
He wanted her to willingly shout certain obscenities while he was pumping and his wife watched. All of these things were vital to his climax. He'd go impotent otherwise. But the more he tried to pull her legs apart, the more the girl resisted him.
Cynthia issued a series of instructions. "Go down on her. Suck her cunt. Tongue her ass-hole. Once she gets a taste of that hot, educated tongue of yours, she'll spread gladly!"
"Yeah," Jeff retorted over his shoulder. "That ought to do it."
His wife commenced to slide the cockhead of the dildo up and down her cuntal cleft in anticipation of making entry. But she would not penetrate the vagina until her husband was actually screwing the girl. It was vital for her that she watch her husband fuck another woman.
Terry, of course, also heard the orders for oral treatment, but there was nothing she could do to prevent the man from lapping her exposed, outer cunt. The thought of anyone putting his mouth against her genitals-the area where she urinated-was so abhorrent to her that she tried to reason with her employer.
"I'm not clean down there," she managed to cry out. "I ... just went to the bathroom."
Randle's-head bobbed down between her legs and he commenced to sniff. "Yeah," he breathed in a happy tone of voice. "You just had a piss. I can smell it. The smell of piss on a female cunt sure turns me on."
Without further hesitation he stuck out his tongue apparently in an effort to snare the few remaining drops of urine that still clung to the thick bush of pubic hair.
Terry arched her back as though she wanted to recoil against the wall. But Jeff had a firm hold of her waist. There was nothing to stop him from sniffing the outer surface of her genital organ.
"Filthy," Terry screeched, her face staring up at the ceiling. "Filth ... eeeee..."
Jeff Randle didn't share her judgment of the act of going down on pussy, the odors associated with the pee-hole, or the taste. To the contrary, he found it all very desirable ... and edible.
"Yummy," he breathed, his eyes shining, saliva beginning to drip from his lips. "Simply and fuckingly yummy."
Assuming a semi-squatting position, Cynthia began to press the cockhead of the dildo back and forth against the outer lips of her shining cunt. She wouldn't make an actual penetration until her husband began to screw his secretary, but even this initial play was highly desirable. Her full, thick lips pulled back into a smile while her eyes grew rounder, glassier.
The cunt-play with the dildo was being accomplished with her left hand. The fingers of her right hand searched out and discovered her lengthening clitoris and began to softly strum the female prick back and forth. Drops of white liquid dribbled through the hairy cleft as her smooth hips swayed back and forth and occasionally made a full circle like an accomplished stripper giving a professional performance.
"Go," she urged her husband. "Eat her cunt. Lick it out. And then ... then bang her box. Got to see you banging her box."
She cried out and her hips moved in a faster, more lascivious way.
Slipping both hands under Terry's firm buttocks, Jeff Randle lifted up her abdomen and jerked it against his mouth. The black cuntal hairs, thick as jungle grass, covered his features, but from the movement of his jaws there couldn't be any doubt about his activities. His tongue was darting in and out and up and down. The ultimate goal was a taste of the soft, red inner valley of love. But as long as Terry kept her legs tightly and firmly together, the penetration could not be made.
"Never," Terry babbled out tearfully. "Never let you do it ... Never..." Her voice trailed off as the male tongue kept up its insistent but gentle lapping.
Despite the fact that she was a prisoner of two perverts, and being forced to submit to an unnatural act, Terry had to concede to her inner and hidden self that the sensation caused by wet tongue flesh was not exactly unpleasant. But then, she quickly told herself as though in reproach, she was utterly confused and could not be held accountable for her true feelings. At least the beast was not hurting her.
Cynthia began to bag away on her stiffened clitoris at a much faster rate. She was beginning to let herself go because as far as she could determine, Terry's pouting pussy lips were beginning to widen. No one could eat cunt better than her husband, she laughed to herself.
Her observation was a true one. Under the determined onslaught of the tongue, the cuntal gates could not remain closed. The moisture from Jeff Randle's slobbering mouth seemed to grease the hinges. The doors of cunt slid slowly open.
"Can smell it," Jeff piped up, triumphantly. "Can smell inside ... the juicy part," and promptly forced his muscle-tightened tongue into the pink fuck funnel.
Terry's head snapped all the way back until she faced the wall behind her.
"Per ... vert..." she managed to get out in a high, nasal screech.
But for reasons beyond her comprehension, she couldn't prevent the high, thick, outer lips of her cunt from sliding apart. They moved of their own free will to accommodate the constantly wriggling tongue of the lapping man. Randle licked more furiously for he sensed he was on the road to victory.
Cynthia Randle sensed this, too. And because she felt that the prisoner's vagina was going to open wide for both writhing tongue and throbbing cock, she increased the tempo of her self-fucking movements. Her fingers grew white, tightly gripping the dildo shaft. She flung the artificial prick deeper into her own dripping cuntal crevice. With each bang of her box, she grunted to permit flecks of foam to bubble through her lips. Her face grew more flushed and she began to utter lewd expletives.
"Suck her cunt," Cynthia spat out. "Pry it open with your tongue! Then fuck the hell out of the same pussy you've just been eating!"
This thought of her husband having sexual intercourse with a vagina he had mouthed turned the woman into a raging, shouting masturbator!
"Eat her ass, too," she barked. "You've got it all under your face. Turn the bitch into a fuck fiend like we are!"
"Nooooo," Terry kept repeating but in a voice that grew smaller.
But this humid, constantly moving tongue against her cunt wasn't the horrible thing she had first anticipated. And the sight of the man's face, awash with her cuntal outpourings, really didn't appear degenerate, at all. There was a certain charm about the man's gusto and persistence. Of course that didn't excuse his actions. Acts of sex were reserved for the function of making children ... the idea that pleasure should be involved were always abhorrent to her.
With one final and determined thrust downward, Jeff Randle managed to pry open the vaginal well to its fullest extent. Juices geysered up into the face of the eating man. He opened his mouth as wide as possible to drink the liquid.
Smacking his lips, Randle laughed crazily. "Sweet as honey. Her cunt juices taste sweet like honey."
"Yeah," his wife replied, enthusiastically. "Swallow every drop of her sweet pussy juice. Then, get on top and drill it out with that prick of yours."
Remaining in the semi-squat and rotating her hips in alternating clock and counterclockwise positions, the hands of the masturbating woman increased to such a rapid tempo, it was almost impossible to follow their movements with the naked eye.
There were times when the artificial cock almost disappeared from sight within the confines of the cuntal cone. And she kept strumming on her clitoris with the wild abandon of a rock-and-roll musician during a concert.
Realizing that he had attained the goal of opening Terry's cunt with his tongue, Randle pulled his face back, and still smacking his lips happily assumed a position on his knees and elbows. His prick, vibrating and having attained its thickest possible measurement, streaked into the pussy parlor with the accuracy of a guided missile.
"Ohhhh Noooo," Terry cried as her legs jack-knifed straight up into the air and spread apart to make a pronounced figure V. In between that V, Randle commenced to pump out his fuck.
The sight of her small husband having direct cock-cunt contact with the dark-haired woman almost drove Cynthia Randle happily insane. As the dildo whistled in and out of her slobbering sex slot and her hips gyrated wildly around, the woman barked out a series of instructions to her fornicating husband.
"Goose her anus while you fuck," she called out. "Finger-fuck her ass-hole. Suck her tit. Use long, hard strokes. But fuck. Keep it up.
Drain her dry. Make her shoot out every drop of juice. And make her cry out for more prick. More," she continued to screech like a tormented harpy. "Faster. Harder. Go, husband, go. Fuck that cunt...! "
like an automaton, Jeff Randle obeyed every order issued by his domineering wife. Running both hands under Terry's round buttocks, he jammed one finger deep into the shit hole and wriggled it around. To his wife's delight, he fastened his full lips over one of the brown distended nipples of his victim.
At the moment however, the woman under his heaving and pumping body wasn't acting like a victim. To her own consternation, Terry's body began to move as though it had a will of its own. For example, her knees flexed and dropped over the shoulders of her rapist. But instead of trying to push him off her body, they exerted pressure to force Randle's face down harder over her tit.
Her hands reached back and began to caress the hairy cheeks of her employer's ass. Indeed, on several occasions, one of her more bolder fingers, burrowed into the buttocks of the man and dug itself deep into his ass-hole. Although she tried to yank the offending finger out of the male rectum, it continued to finger-fuck the tight opening. Even the animal odors that wafted up and towards her now smelled in-toxicatingly fragrant.
These co-operative movements of Terry's legs and hands stung the fucking man into a frenzy. A smile of triumph opened his mouth.
The masturbating Cynthia Randle voiced her new demands.
"Make her say fuck me. Make her cry for more hot prick! Make her admit she's one of us. Co, husband mine, go! Do your goddamndest. Making the cunt-happy bitch admit she worships hot cock!"
The pumping married man nodded. To hear the words of abject surrender to lust was a must for him, too.
"Say it!" he yelled down into the face of his secretary. "Admit you love, worship and adore my pumping prick! Tell me you love the feel of my finger inside your ass-hole! Come on, bitch. Say it! Let's hear you say it." His voice sounded fierce, determined.
But Terry had enough presence of mind to resist. Despite the co-operative movements of her fingers, body and genitals her mind and tongue would not obey the rapist's perverse request.
After working her tongue back and forth, she finally was able to reply. "Never." And the reply was delivered in a strong and emphatic way. "Never!" she repeated gathering up courage.
While she was delivering her reply, the cheeks of her ass began to behave in a most alarming way, now. The flaring buttocks began to rotate around and every now and then thrust upward, as though to encourage the thumping of the man's rigid penis.
This movement of Terry's gyrating buttocks brought her alarmingly close to a climax. In fact, thin streams of hot vaginal fluids were already spurting through the crevice. Randle felt the thick fluid wash his prick and winced. He, too, was approaching the blow-off point. But he knew that under the watchful eyes of his demanding wife, he could not, as yet, permit the ejaculation to occur.
Cynthia Randle had ways of telling that her husband was near a orgasm, and she called out in warning.
"Don't you blow that prick of yours until she admits she loves this kind of wild fucking. Don't you dare let your cock spill out now. We're too near to success." she continued to remind her husband.
Under the circumstances there was only one thing for Randle to do. He stopped moving entirely. When he made the decision to cease his fucking movement, he wasn't more than three strokes away from an orgasm. But as the friction ceased between his cock-bone and the vaginal wall, the juices flowing from his testicles abated. Only a few drops of gism splashed through the eye of his pounding cockhead.
This sudden cessation of all movement hit Terry like the sudden withdrawal of dope from a hop-head's body. For the very first time in her entire sexual life she had been very near a climax, a genuine orgasm. For a few moments, she had been teetering on the brink of the blow-off. But now, the vaginal walls stopped fluttering, and in a very few seconds, without the further application of cock-friction, she'd lose her ability to cunt-kum.
To her complete surprise, she heard herself ask, "Why ... why are you stopping?" Her voice sounded shaky, even alarmed.
"Whyyyy?" she whined as tears welled up in her eyes.
Cynthia Randle answered her question.
"Say it!" she demanded in her harsh and lewd voice. "Say you love, worship and adore my husband's brand of fucking. Tell us how much you'd love to keep that hot prick nestled in your nooky nest for the rest of your life. Come on you hot-blooded bitch, admit it. Admit you love to have your cunt ravished. Admit you love to have me watch and jack off at the same time you're getting reamed by my husband. Come on, you snotty snatch. Confess. Confess!" she screamed and continued to scream in a voice that grew more harsh and strident with each new burst from her lungs.
Randle took up the cry.
"That's right honey-cunt. No more fucks from me until you tell us how much you love to feel my prick up your cunt."
Terry clamped her lips tight as though she was frightened they would begin to move against her control. But in spite of this effort, certain words formed inside her mind, took shape in her mouth and finally her tongue moved and the words flew out.
"Fuck me," she said. At first her voice was low, tremulous, doubtful.
Glowing happily with triumph, Randle shouted, "Louder! Let's hear it again but louder."
"Fuck me!" Terry cried out again, and there couldn't be any doubt that she desperately needed the application of cock inside of her cunt.
The sudden cessation of the pump created an agony of desire that was even stronger than anything she had experienced. Terry realized, with a sense of desperation and despair, that she needed orgasm more than anything else in the world. And so, her head snapped back, her lips ripped apart, her eyes squeezed tight as she sprayed out: "FUCK ME!"
And when the male rider didn't respond instantly to her command, she let loose a string of obscene oaths that even surprised herself. "Goddammit, you little chicken-shit bastard, pump that prick deep inside my cunt and keep on banging until I tell you to stop. Go, damn you, go!"
Cynthia Randle shouted with glee.
"That's it. You've won her over, husband mine. Now fuck her. Let me watch that beautiful pumping of cunt." And as she thus exhorted her husband her own hand action increased in tempo. The dildo literally flew back and forth inside her pussy hole as though the instrument was fueled with a high energy liquid.
Her thumb and forefinger flipped the swollen clitoris until there was some danger she'd rip the female prick off her body. The sweaty cheeks of her ass jiggled as the lower portion of her abdomen swayed back and forth. Her eyes, glazed and fixed, grew larger.
The effect of Terry's demand for cock had an even more devastating effect on Jeff Randle. For one breathtaking second, he thought he was going to ejaculate prematurely. That was the reason he didn't immediately respond to Terry's cries for action.
The shaft of his penis throbbed violently and the cream leaped from his testicles into the sex stick and resumed their onward rush towards the exit. The realization he was going to lose his load stung the man into a wild, almost frenzied fuck.
Sensing the thickening of prick prior to the explosion, Terry threw up both legs and wrapped them around her rapist's rib cage. Using the scissor-grip, she was able to exert pressure on his body, and to make certain he got the message Terry reached back and dug one, long and shapely finger into Randle's rectum. And while her finger goosed the ass-hole, her round, firm buttocks began to rotate and pump back in unison with the rider's motions.
Terry warbled at the top of her lungs. "Going to..."
Now the walls of her vagina were fluttering more violently than the canvas sails of a boat caught up in a sudden hurricane.
"Going to..." she managed to screech again. The two fucking bodies thudded together with such impacts, they grunted each time contact was made. But that didn't deter them. And Terry continued to cry out:
"Fuck me, lover. I love that big, solid prick inside of me. On fire. Cunt's on fire. Burning up. Whole body is flaming ... flaming..."
"Me too," Randle coughed as Terry dug a finger up his ass-hole to such a depth he thought it was going clear through him.
"Too," he managed to repeat himself but only barely. The raging river of gism-juice had already approached the hole on the head of his cock.
"Toooooooo," he babbled crazily as the first and freshest load of cock-kum splashed out and into the gaping hole of cunt.
"Aiiiiiii," Terry kept on screaming like a mad woman. "My cunt's burning up. All the way up. Uppppp...! "
The sudden realization that her husband was climaxing into the yearning pussy of another woman provided the trigger mechanism for Cynthia Randle's climax. With one last and vicious thrust of the artificial prick, and one last tug on her clitoris, juices spiraled up from the very depths of her genitals and sprayed through her cuntal lips like an oil gusher. Her legs bucked and she teetered backwards against the wall. Slowly, she slid onto the floor where she sat with legs spread apart to let the flowing liquid of cunt spurt out and puddle under her thighs and over the floor.
Every muscle and organ in her body relaxed and at long last she was able to heave a sigh of contentment.
"Best fuck I ever had," Cynthia said to no one in particular. To watch her husband make another woman was the very special kind of stimuli she craved and continually lusted for.
Rubbering to the point of ineffectiveness, Jeff Randle's penis sloshed out of the still pulsating pussy and accordioned against the sofa cushion. But Terry no longer cared or even was aware. The after-effects of her very first orgasm at age thirty-six, were still tingling her body from toes to head.
With her eyes closed she was reliving the very last moments when she felt certain her genitals were going to spasm loose from her body and fly across the room. And the warmth of the trickling of cunt still bathed her in a happy glow.
Then, she opened her eyes.
"You're okay, kid," Cynthia told her as she wiped off her dildo. "That's just the first of many and happy fucks the three of us can have together." She added, with feeling, "You've got more talent for the fuck than any broad I've ever met. You're just a natural born fucker."
Her husband seconded that point. "Without a doubt, she's the very best piece of ass I've ever had in my entire life. Without a single, goddamned doubt, the greatest cunt I've ever eaten or dick-drilled."
The sweat on Terry's face turned suddenly cold. A numbness gripped her body within and out.
"No," she said in a very small voice. And then, louder, and with more emphasis. "NO."
Her legs slid over the side of the couch and she reached for her clothes.
Randle and his wife watched her with surprise and concern. The man spoke.
"But you just got through begging me to fuck you."
"And you loved it," Cynthia piped up. "Loved every pumping inch of prick." She said accusingly. "You can't deny you blew the biggest load of your life. And from where I'm standing, I'd say it was the first time you ever blew your cunt in your entire life."
That was true but beside the point as far as the reawakened Terry was concerned.
"For one moment, I lost control," she said in a thoroughly depressed tone of voice. As her senses came back to her, she felt a deep shame and revulsion for her acts. Dressing quickly, she promised the Randles as well as herself: "It will never happen again. Never!"
Cynthia Randle sneeringly retorted. "Bullshit, sister! You'll be back for more. And you'll be telling us how to stage the fuck. You got talent for it, dearie, and make no mistake about it. You're cock crazy."
"Never," Terry retorted over her shoulder. "I'm getting out of here and I never want to see either of you again. I'll catch a bus home."
"You'll be back for more hot fucks," the Randles jeered after her.
Terry ran through the dark night until she reached the bus stop. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought about her humiliation and degradation. It would never happen again, she vowed to herself.
But as hard as she tried, she couldn't forget the sensation of the Big Orgasm, the feeling of total release, the ecstasy she had never known before.
"I will overcome these dirty thoughts," she kept telling herself over and over again. As many times as she repeated these terse commands to herself, however, she couldn't erase from her memory, the sneering faces of the Randles when they told her, "You've got a talent for fucking."
"No," Terry cried aloud. Several passengers, startled, turned to stare at her. They decided the young lady had just awakened from a troubled sleep.
Terry knew, though, that her troubles just beginning.
CHAPTER 3
Arriving home around midnight, Terry was surprised to discover the apartment empty. Her thirteen-year-old son Tad was still out. Disturbed about his absence, and with her own problems momentarily forgotten, she walked into his bedroom. Perhaps, he left a note.
But she found nothing. The boy was simply tomcatting around with the gang of older boys he chose to run with. The lack of a strong father figure was having its effect on the boy's conduct and was another reason Terry wanted to find a man and get married. She was fast losing all control over him.
At thirteen, the boy had reached a stage where he needed a strong man to teach him right from wrong. Lately, even his language began to reflect the gutter oaths of his older companions. Several times, she had to' scold him for using the most terrible and degrading of all epithets, the slang for sexual intercourse.
The word fuck almost made Terry physically
And as she stood alone in Tad's bedroom, she began to have all sorts of suspicions about her son's activities.
Was he running around with loose women? she asked herself.
And although she never approved of snooping or invading the privacy of another, not even a thirteen-year-old son, she felt, as a concerned mother, that she had the right and privilege to search her son's room for evidence of any sexual misconduct. The boy's entire future could depend on how she handled him at this stage in his life.
Searching through the drawers and under the bed and even under the mattress yielded nothing. Slowly, her suspicions began to recede. The boy was just wild, going through a stage of rebelliousness, she decided. But basically, he was a good boy.
As she was about to leave the bedroom, Terry instinctively opened the clothes closet door and riffled through the clothes hanging down. A bright, metallic object caught her eye. Quickly, she brushed aside all of the clothes and reached down for the hidden object.
Removing it from the closet and setting it down on the bed, Terry realized that she was looking down at a motion picture projector. Her heart leaped into her mouth. She thought he had perhaps stolen the projector. Returning to the closet, she located several reels of film and a screen for home showing. Something within her compelled her to fit the reel of film into the projector and set the screen up. She simply had to see the kind of film that her son tried to keep hidden from her eyes. Perhaps, it was all very innocent, and perhaps not.
After fumbling about with the levers, Terry finally managed to lock the film in place and start the mechanism. In the darkened room, images leaped onto the screen.
Naked images. Lewd images.
Terry gasped in shock and dismay as the theme of the film revealed itself almost immediately. There were only two actors: an old man and a girl who couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. Two, pair-shaped tits were just beginning to swell out of her chest and the cheeks of her ass were ripe as peaches. A few silky strands of hair adorned the thick lips of cunt. The cleft of cunt was distended; there was little doubt that the girl was already an adept fornicator.
The man was old, gray, balding, but not unpleasant to see. His chest was still well-developed and his paunch slight. His ass did not yet sag. His skin was tight over the corded muscles of his body. His penis was long and thin, it hung limply. Indeed, the limp state of the man's dick provided the fragile plot on which the story revolved.
"Fuck me, daddy," the girl said with wide, blue eyes that looked adoringly up at the aging atlas.
"Can't," the old man replied. "I'm ... impotent. Can't get it up. Haven't had a bone on for years!"
The girl laughed a carefree, girlish laugh. "Bet I can raise a bone for you, daddy. Bet I know how to make you stiff again!"
"Try," the girl's father replied. "Oh, please try and restore my manhood."
The oddly-matched couple were in a living room. The old man sat down on a couch and spread his brown, hairy legs. The girl positioned herself on her hands and knees. Gazing lovingly up at the long, grayish-skinned penile shaft, she took hold of the soft appendage and, without a moment's hesitation, popped the cockhead into her mouth. Slowly at first, she started to suck on the cock-knob as though she was happily tasting an all-day sucker. With one hand, the girl reached up and proceeded to massage the wrinkled sac.
"Ahhhhh," the gray-faced man sighed. Terry guessed that he must have been in his fifties, perhaps close to sixty. The contrast in age between the man and the girl was so startling that Terry found herself fascinated in spite of her aversion to such acts.
Saliva dribbled out of the girl's small mouth as she continued to suck, nibble, tongue and pull on the pink cockhead. After five minutes of frenzied sucking, the penile shaft began to stretch out but the tissues didn't become rigid.
Finally, the girl looked up. "You need more treatment, daddy," she told the old man.
"Hopeless," he whined. "I'll never be able to feel a cunt again."
Leaping to her feet, the girl flared. "Don't give up the ship, yet. We have only just begun! Now take a good look at my naked body, my tits, cunt, ass, my legs. ... Is there any special part that turns you on?" she asked with the self-confidence of a forty-year-old woman. "Anything you'd like to do, or have me do to you? Think, dad, think," she urged. "Would you like to smell my cunt? How about licking it as though you were wiping it? Does that turn you on?"
The old man thought as he eyed the girl's nude body from head to toe, front and back. Finally, he said, "I ... I'd like to suck your cunny box. That might do it. The thought of my tongue up the twat ... the hairless twat," he corrected, "turns me on. Maybe, I'd be able to bone up then."
"You stick your tongue up my pussy and eat all you want. But first," she said turning, "I have to take a pee. I'll be right back."
The old man struggled to his feet. "No ... wait. I'll go with you. That's what I want. I feel it. I know it. I've got to go with you. Then, I'll be able to bone up again."
The girl looked puzzled but amused. "You want to watch me take a pee? That's a new one, dad. But okay. If that will make you get hot nuts, I'm for it."
The old man shook his head. "Not exactly, my dear. Merely watching isn't what I had in mind. There's something else that makes my limp prick quiver with excitement."
The little girl looked back at him with a searching face. "Name it," she said at last. "I'm game for anything. If I can make you get a bone on, I know I'll be able to make any old fart stiffen up."
The impotent man took hold of the little girl's hand and walked her towards the bathroom. "I'll explain," he told her.
The film then cut to the bathroom. The old man was lying down in the tub which was partially filled with water. The girl, under his instructions, had straddled his face. In fact, her pee-hole was aimed directly at him.
Terry couldn't believe her eyes. There couldn't be any doubt that the girl was going to urinate over the man's face. This was the sort of excitement he craved before he could erect. And this sort of thing was the kind of material her son was watching!
Despite her misgivings, Terry decided to watch the film to its conclusion. She'd arm herself with all the facts before she confronted young Tad and demanded an explanation. She wondered if her own son had become a pervert?
The action in the film began to heat up. The old geezer slid both of his bony hands under the nicely formed cheeks of the girl's soft ass. His watery, pale blue eyes looked up adoringly at the girl's pee-hole.
"Go on," he urged. "Piss on me. All over me. Then, I'll give you the hottest eating job of your life. I ... I just love to suck hot cunt after it has just taken a piss."
"Oh no," Terry whispered in revulsion to herself.
The man's voice assumed a pleading nature. "Go," he begged. "Piss on me. Please. The hot, sexy feel of that stuff will bone me up."
"Coming right down," the girl laughed in a sexually excited way.
One drop of bright yellow slid through the pee-hole and bounced over the prone man's lips. Immediately, like a frog snaring an insect, his tongue darted out to swallow the precious fluid.
"Tastes so good," he murmured, hungrily. "More," he cried out. "Give me more of the magic stuff. I know I'll get a bone on. Quickly. Give me every drop you've got. And I hope you're going to let loose with a gusher."
She did.
After the first few drops broke loose of the bladder, the force of gravity took over and the flow roared through the opening to splatter all over the man's face. Keeping his eyes tightly closed, he waggled his head from side to side to make certain the liquid bathed every inch of his facial tissues. A long, wide smile curved his thin, pale lips.
"Ahhhh," he managed to murmur through clenched teeth.
Terry leaned forward, her eyes about to pop through their sockets. The camera took another look at the formerly supine dick. The tissues were no longer wrinkled or inert. The skin was in the act of elongating, and the cockhead was enlarging. The balls kept puffing in and out like the throat of an adder snake.
For a moment, the girl stopped her act of urination to look down and examine her subject. "How goes it, old man?" she called down under her. "My piss doing you any good?"
"Yes," came the very emphatic reply. "It feels so hot, so silky, so sensuous, so goddamned good. More," he begged. "Give me more. Please. Got to have your young, hot, rejuvenating piss..." And because he was so very impatient, the old man reached down and took hold of his lengthening cock and commenced to jack on the staff until an erection, in full bloom, made itself visible.
The girl squealed. "Here it comes. I've got another pint full of piss left. And you can have all of it. Every fucking drop," and having made that assertion, she relaxed the muscles of her bladder and let the fluid flow again.
The instant the flow resumed, the man's already lengthened penis grew even longer, harder, thicker and redder. Much redder. In fact, the skin that stretched so tautly over the cockhead grew dark as raspberries over-ripened in the sun.
The girl began to wiggle her lower abdomen in a sort of copulatory motion, back and forth as though having intercourse with an invisible lover while the liquid was still shooting out the pee-hole.
As the flow of pee finally trickled to a finale, the camera hovered over the old man's penis. No longer was the cock in a dormant and shriveled state. The up-thrust shaft boldly leaned back in the angle of fuck and the tissues stretched tautly over the cock-bone. The bulging cockhead could have belonged to a quite youthful man. The color of the skin was a vivid red and the eye kept pulsating as though the sex syrup wanted to spring out" prematurely. There was also a youthful rigidity to the penile shaft which could have sliced easily through the narrowest and most stubborn of cunts.
Now, the camera explored the girl and her body. Certain changes had taken place in her, too. She was no longer passive, waiting for the partner to take charge of the action. Pissing over his face had given her a certain confidence which was reflected in her eyes, face and bearing. She raised slightly up on her haunches and shouted down to her pissed-upon lover.
"Eat me, you old prick!" she gurgled, gleefully. "My cunt is still wet. Lick it all up. Ram your tongue deep in my hot cunt. Come on, old daddy, what are you waiting for? Get on with it! I did my part. Now, you treat my cunt with tongue, and let me see that jaw of yours work back and forth. Eat me." Her voice rose to a thin, nasal whine. "Eat my love-soaked cunt!" Before her supine lover could reply, she thrust her lower abdomen forward and caught the man's mouth hard and straight with her hairless box.
The man in the bathtub didn't protest at all. Instead, he grabbed both cheeks of the girl's ass, and pulled her closer to him. Or rather, he yanked her hairless pussy tighter against his already wet face. Once the sex slot was lined up directly with his lips, he darted his tongue out and drove it forcefully through the cuntal lips and down into the youthful valley.
"That's it," the thirteen-year-old babbled excitedly. "That's the way! Lick my clit, and then tongue-fuck my cunt. I'll make a young boy out of you yet!"
Once the long, penis-like sliver of flesh was neatly lodged between her genital lips, the girl actually commenced to pump her body back and forth in copulatory-like movements. The man was using his tongue as a penis.
The girl thrust her body forward. The old man drove his tongue deeper inside the hole. The girl pulled back. The bathtub lover pulled his tongue back. Then, they repeated the process of thrusting and pulling back and each time increased the tempo of the "tongue-fuck"
During all this oral, bathtub action, the camera hovered all over the various parts of the girl's body and the sucking man. In one shot, an enormous close-up revealed every detail of the tongue sliding forcefully into the drooling pussy hole. The viewer was then treated to more close-ups of the girl's jiggling white buttocks, the wild look in her blue eyes. She kept fondling her own bouncing tits as she heaved her young body back and forth.
As the old man ate pussy, the camera zoomed in for an enormous close shot of his action. He looked frantic-eyed as his thick slobbering tongue ravished the hairless pink cunt. Several times, the camera moved up and down the aging yet erect fuck-stick which had assumed a youthful glow and zest.
The action was fast reaching a climax. The girl's lower abdomen moved back and forth with much greater speed and her head twisted backwards. There couldn't be any doubt that she was going to hit an orgasm that had been brought on solely by the friction of the old man's tongue in her unfledged pussy. Then, it happened!
Terry leaned forward. Incredulous, she watched as the lips of the girl's cunt widened to let the fluids of love gush out like water from an opened fire' hydrant. The flow splashed into the old man's face, and he opened his mouth as wide as possible. His lips, tongue, throat muscles worked in unison as he swallowed every possible drop.
"Sweet," he gurgled, happily. "Your cunt dew tastes sweet as honey." And with an almost desperate note in his voice. "More. Don't give up, now. Give me more. Got to have more." He begged for the tricklings of twat as though the gism imparted youth and vitality. His cock had thrust itself backward toward the angle of cuntal penetration.
"Don't move," the girl told the man who was still lying on his back. "I'm going to give you the fuck of your life."
"Yeah," the old guy breathed, glassy-eyed. "Give it to me, baby. Take charge and pump my prick with that dynamite nutcracker of yours."
A lewd smile played over the girl's lips as she inched back and raised herself up in a position of semi-squat. Her wide-open pussy hovered tantalizingly over the skin-taut cockhead. The old man heaved upward in a desperate effort to pump the head into the hole. But playfully, the girl raised up to keep the opening a few inches away from the penile instrument.
Still smiling down at him, she said, "Not so fast you old fucker. I'm the one in charge. You just remain still, and I'll call all the shots."
"Yes, yes," the old fellow replied, breathlessly. "Please forgive me. I ... I'm so hungry for the fuck. Haven't had a discharge in over twenty years."
"A few minutes more won't make any difference," the girl replied.
The gray-haired man looked up. "What ... do you have in mind?"
What the girl had in mind quickly became very clear. Dissatisfied with the state of his erection, she intended to tantalize the bone into an even more severe state of rigidity. She teased the cockhead with both her slobbering pussy and her dampish ass-hole. Squatting over the tip of the penis, she rotated her cunt around the head in alternating clockwise and counterclockwise directions. Every now and then, she'd lean forward and let the skin of prick slide momentarily into the hole of her ass.
"Feels so good," he moaned as the cuntal slit rotated around the skin of prick. "Feels so fuckingly good!"
But he was no less enthusiastic when the girl dropped her ass-hole over his bursting cockhead.
"Ahhhhh," he sighed with his eyes closed tightly. "Screwing a young girl's ass-hole has been my lifetime ambition."
In spite of her inner and true feelings, the sight of the blazing-skinned prick against the wet cuntal cleft began to effect Terry. The muscles and skin around her own cunt began to twitch excitedly and her clitoris erected. The clit-tip pushed against the cloth of her panty. Her legs slid apart.
"Must be the heat in this closed room," she told herself. She refused to admit that the salacious film was having its effect on her. In order to relieve the itch, Terry slid her skirt up and pushed her flimsy panty down past her knees. Then she dropped the palm of one hand over the hairy crotch.
"Hmmmmm," she purred to herself in the darkness. "That feels better. The minute this dirty movie finishes, I'll take a bath. That's all that's wrong with me. I need a bath."
On screen, the girl completed her teasing and, with a thud, dropped her opened cunt down over the straining cock-pole. The bone disappeared from sight, sheathed in the tight cuntal scabbard.
"F-Fuck me," the old man begged. "Give it to me. Go, girl, go. I can do it this time. I can ... blow!"
The girl began to heave up and down over the aged but very stiff prick. Flexing her knees, she raised herself up until the cock almost left the cavity of her clasping cunt. She would pause, then drop her entire body down with all her weight. The cheeks of her ass bounced off the man's chest as his prick was buried in soft, wet cunt. Then she would raise up again and prick would slurp deliciously in cunt. The old man's head waggled from side to side, his breathing grew harsh and difficult, his fingers clawed the air, and his thin, pale lips twisted ecstatically. Spittle foamed through his mouth, and his tongue snaked back and forth.
He very desperately wanted to utter an intelligible word, to tell the girl of his happiness. But he couldn't. Every organ and muscle in his body was occupied with the task of fucking the girl's cunt and the sensations that flowed from that source of love.
The eyes of the girl grew wild, demoniac.
"Oh boy," she cried with a hoarse laugh. "Your prick feels good in my cunt. Your old, father-cock has got my whole cunt stuffed like a sausage."
The itch within the pit of Terry's genitals grew more pronounced. She couldn't tear her eyes from the spectacle of the moving picture screen and she unconsciously began to rub the palm of her hand over her hairy cunt. The head of her clitoris rolled back and forth in her hand. Moisture soon welled through the motherly crevice.
The prickly sensation that required rubbing grew so severe that Terry found it necessary to drop both hands over her cuntal country and rotate her hips around and back and forth.
She very definitely wasn't masturbating, she quickly told herself. But it was vital to soothe the strange itching sensation that refused to go away. The smooth cheeks of her ass sank deeper into the textured cushion of the chair. She heaved her abdomen up at a higher and more satisfactory angle. Her fingers and hands moved at an increasingly accelerated rate.
On the screen, the girl's cunt slid up and down the penile pole at such a rate that it was almost impossible to keep track of her movements with the naked eye. The shouting grew more vulgar, the arms flailed away through the air, and as the climax became inevitable the camera moved in to dwell lovingly on a close-up between cock and cunt.
With the entire screen filled with the erected, wet and glowing, hot penis that was being engorged by an equally inflamed pussy, Terry's itch grew so troublesome that she had to dig several fingers up her snatch.
The little girl climaxed.
The old man blew his nuts.
Terry creamed her cunt.
Terry sank back into the cushioned chair as the film clacked to an end and the images disappeared from the screen. The woman was too weak to stand up and shut off the projector. She remained seated on the chair, her skirt up, her panty down, her hand still caressing the hairy spot.
And that's when her thirteen-year-old son entered the room.
CHAPTER 4
"Mother!" Tad cried out. "What are you doing in my room?"
Terry whirled around. She had enough presence of mind to quickly yank up her panty and straighten her skirt. The chair faced the opposite direction, so all Tad could see was the back of her head. By the time he confronted her, she had removed her fingers from her cunt and looked prim and proper. And shocked. The woman stood up and looked at her son with accusing eyes.
Physically, at least outwardly, the boy had turned out well. Blonde, handsome, athletic, a surfer, he radiated good health. But inwardly, what dark and sordid thoughts crowded his mind? Terry wondered.
Finally, she spoke.
"I have every right to enter my own son's bedroom," she said. "I ... I discovered the projector quite by accident."
"And were snoopy enough to run off my film!"
Terry's hand flashed out and caught her son's face with the palm. His cheek grew red.
"Don't you ever talk to your mother in that tone of voice," she snapped. "What you need is a father to give you a good tanning. But until you get one, I'll take charge."
The dominant tone of voice and the woman's bold actions cowed the boy.
"Yes, mother," he whimpered. "I ... I'm sorry. It's-I'm old enough to have some privacy ! "
"Old enough," Terry agreed. "But not mature enough." Tight-lipped, she asked, "Where did you buy that filthy film?"
The boy hesitated. "I didn't buy it," he replied in a hushed tone of voice. "I ... I found it."
Terry waited for him to explain.
"After dad left, I went through the things he gave me. One of them was a film. I rented the projector."
Terry felt her face grow hot. "Your father was a no-good pervert. And I suppose he tried to make you into one."
The boy tried to defend his father. "No, mom. You don't understand. Dad wanted me to have a normal interest in sex. He was afraid, you'd turn me into a queer."
"A queer?" Terry echoed, amazed that her former husband had even been remotely interested in sex. "Why ... he never..." and she hesitated.
"Displayed any interest in sex?" Tad asked. "He told me all about that."
The boy entered the room and sat down on the edge of his bed. Terry turned on the lights. For the first time, she realized her son had matured. Ever since the divorce, she had been too immersed in her own problems to give him much of her time. Meanwhile, he had grown up. Still, a thirteen-year-old boy had no business watching erotic movies.
She said, "You'll give the film back to your father. After that, I don't want you to have any more to do with him. He was a totally inadequate husband, and now I find out he's trying to make a pervert out of my son."
Tad shook his head, violently. "No, mom, he's not. Dad is concerned. And I agree with him. Sex is something that has to be learned early in life. I don't want to grow up with a bunch of hang-ups."
Terry stood up, arms akimbo, eyes flashing. "Nonsense! You're much too young to be involved in a sexual affair!" Looking at her son with narrowed, questioning eyes, she asked, "Have you? I mean, did you...? "
"Have sex, yet?" Tad completed the question for her, unperturbed.
Terry nodded.
"Yes," he said, slowly. "And, mom, I-I loved it. Balling is something that everyone ought to do. It's made a man of me."
Terry sank back onto the chair, her hopes to raise her son to become a clean, decent man dashed. Finally, she gathered up her strength. "I've got a right to know..."
Tad hesitated. Then, he made a decision. "Okay mom, I agree with you up to a point. I'm still living with you, and I don't want to be sneaky or act underhanded as though I was ashamed. I'll be perfectly frank with you.
But," he added, "please ... no scenes. Just accept my love for sex as a perfectly normal and healthy thing."
"Never!" Terry assured him. "But please go on. I must know the name of the person who is corrupting you."
Tad shook his head. "You've got to promise you won't make a scene. Or try to make trouble. I ... I really love the gal. T mean, I respect her and I won't stand for you making her feel like a whore."
Terry bit her lip to keep back her true feelings. As the boy's mother she simply had to know the truth.
"All right," she promised in a small voice. If she knew the extent of her son's involvement, she reasoned, she could prevent similar involvements later on.
"Mrs. Barker," Tad said in a barely audible voice.
"Mrs. Barker?" Terry echoed, incredulously. "The...? "
Her son nodded. "Yes, my history teacher."
Terry groped for words. "But she's..."
"Old enough to be my mother?" Tad asked the question for her. And he quickly answered. "Yes, she is. But she understands me and loves me."
Stunned, Terry finally said, "She isn't old enough to be your mother. She's old enough to be your grandmother. She's got gray hair, and the skin of her face is so wrinkled! What on earth do you see in her?"
"She makes me feel like a man," Tad replied.
"I don't approve," Terry cried out with tears welling up in her eyes. "If you must act like an animal, why not do it with a girl your own age?"
Her son shook his head. "Young cunt doesn't interest me. They're too shallow and immature. Besides, they don't know how to fuck, or make me feel like I was a real man. They're too self-centered."
Terry heard herself ask, "What does she do? How does she make you feel like such a man ? What is there about her that makes you want her so much?"
Without a bit of hesitation or self-consciousness the boy replied. "She reminds me of you. Her figure, the way she walks, the way she talks. Even her eyes. And the way you both fix your hair. Sure, she's older than you. But it's that similarity that makes me get such a hard-on for her."
The woman shook her head. "I don't understand you at all, son. Are you suggesting...? " She couldn't complete the sentence. A sudden realization hit her and made her tremble. Did her one and only son have an incest hang-up?
"Yes," Tad replied. "I guess I've always been a kind of momma's boy. You don't remember, but when I slept with you when I was much younger I used to get a hard-on and jack off after you left the bed. To tell the truth, I've jacked off many times while I was thinking of you in my fantasy."
Terry exploded. "But that's unnatural! Incest is a terrible thing, a loathsome thing, normal people simply don't behave in a way animals do."
Tad sighed. "Animals act in a natural, instinctive way. We humans are the phonies. We have to hide our true feelings behind a bunch of chicken-shit rules. Maybe that's why you and dad didn't make the scene. You were both too damned polite with each other."
For a moment, Terry felt like the juvenile. The boy sounded too mature for his years. This addiction for older women repelled her. She wanted him to grow up and marry a girl his own age. She had to get through to him.
"It's all wrong, son. An older woman's body should repel and not attract you. And this mother-hang-up is sinful. How can I break you of this-this thing?" she asked.
Tad moistened his lips. "One way. It'll either cure me or make me want older cunt. Are you willing to give me the chance to find out?"
Terry stared back at her son. "Are you suggesting...?
"Yes," her son said, simply. "I am. Let me ball you mom. Just once. Maybe I'll find it so terrible and be so guilt-stricken, I'll never do it again. And I promise I'll never look at an older woman again, either."
The woman hesitated.
"What's the matter, mom?" the boy asked. "Afraid? Afraid I'll really like mommy nooky? Afraid I'm right? Afraid I'll find out that there isn't a goddamned thing wrong with a bit of incest if both people are in agreement and love each other?"
Terry shook her head. "No," she replied. "I'm not afraid. Incest is wrong."
"Prove it to me," Tad urged. "Cure me. Have the courage of your convictions."
For reasons she couldn't comprehend, the beating of Terry's heart accelerated. She found difficulty in catching her breath. A drop of moisture worked its way through the cuntal crack and stained the crotch of her panty. Suddenly, she made her decision.
"All right! This once. I'll prove how terrible and disgusting the act of incest really is. And when it's over you must make one promise."
"Anything," Tad replied, unable to contain the growing excitement in his voice. "Anything at all. I'll make any promise for a chance to ball you, mom."
"When we get through and you learn how disgustingly you acted, don't ever bring up the subject again. I want you to forget about sex entirely. When you mature and are ready for marriage, you'll assume your normal duties as a husband and try to make children. The idea of using sex as a pleasure thing is only used by low, vulgar people."
Without a moment's hesitation, Tad replied, "Yes, I agree! Now, let's fuck."
"And please don't use gutter terminology," Terry admonished her son. "Try to be refined and polite about it. If you must refer to the business of two bodies coming in contact, the correct expression is sexual intercourse."
"Sure mom," Tad replied without looking up. As long as she agreed to ball him, nothing else mattered.
Terry watched her son disrobe with more than mere idle curiosity. It had been years since she had seen him in the nude. His shoulders were muscular and his tanned chest tapered into a narrow waist. The firm cheeks of his ass sloped nicely and brightly stood out from his darkly tanned, muscular legs. He had the legs and arms of a surfer.
Despite the fact that he was her own son,-she couldn't help but feel proud at the sight of Tad's erected penis. Pointing upward, the cockhead was almost as large as a man's clenched fist. Stretched tight, the skin glowed in the soft light of the room. The balls looked so soft and touchable, she struggled to restrain an impulse to reach out and squeeze them. And she couldn't help but feel flattered that the boy had already boned up. During the infrequent times she and her husband had engaged in coital relations, she had to work on his penis for hours before anything happened. She had always believed that slow erection was typical of all males. This boy had erected and she hadn't even touched him yet.
"Come on, mom," Tad begged. "Take off your clothes. I've dreamed about your naked body for years. Ever since I started to get hairs around my cock anyway. I can't tell you how many times I've jacked off while I saw your pussy in front of my eyes. In my mind, of course," he quickly added.
Struggling with a welter of confused emotions, Terry slowly started to take off her clothes. She knew it was wrong. Any kind of sex outside of marriage was wrong as far as she was concerned, and to have sexual relations with one's own son was outright sinful! Still, she reminded herself that this was going to be a once-in-a-lifetime act, only. Since she was both father and mother to the boy, she had to teach him right from wrong. If this drastic act would do the trick, she'd have to go along with it. The boy's future was at stake.
The thing to do, she decided, was to get the affair over with as quickly as possible.
"Come on, mom," Tad cried out. "Let's get on with it. You promised. Are you going to back out on me, now?"
"No," Terry said, firmly. "It is wrong to make a promise and then not keep it. But remember your promise."
"Sure, sure," Tad said, quickly. "But hurry on. Jeez, I'll cream my nuts before it's all over."
Again, to her surprise, Terry felt a pleasurable sensation flow through her body. The fact that her son could experience an orgasm by merely looking at her appealed to her feminine vanity. She had never regarded herself as an attractive woman. Her former husband, in fact, had repeatedly told her that she was not attractive at all. His negative attitude had given her complex about her appearance. Appreciation of her looks, even when expressed by her own son, was heavenly. And Tad's praise and admiration made her feel a little less guilty.
"All right," she said, pleasantly. "Here goes," and she proceeded to take off her clothes. Blushing, she dropped her skirt and undid her bra. As she was about to peel down her pantyhose, Tad dropped to his knees and gazed up at his mother with worshipful eyes.
"Please mom," he begged. "Let me. Let me pull down the hose. I-I've always wanted to wait on you hand and foot."
"Sweet," Terry murmured despite the situation of which she thoroughly disapproved. "Go on if that is what pleases you. I think we should get it over with."
Reaching up, Tad slid the palms of both hands under the waist band and peeled the nylon down over the flesh of his mother's hips and legs. Cuntal hairs swam out towards his yes, and he caught his breath. He had always associated womanhood with pubic hair ... the more hair, the greater the woman. Even in his wildest masturbatory fantasies, he didn't visualize such a crop of black cunt hair. The long hairs were thicker than swamp grass. Under them the boy could make out the line of the pussy-trench. The lips were thicker than he had imagined. At the top of the slit the strangest bit of flesh poked out towards him.
Strange, he thought, the thing resembles a miniature male prick.
The flesh was red, and there was a bulge at the tip like a cockhead. This female dick hung down in a semi-state of erection. The pores glistened with moisture. Instinctively, the boy's mouth began to water. An inner voice told him to suck the mother-cock into his mouth.
Tad clamped his lips over his mother's female prick.
The woman's back arched as tautly as a strung bow. "Yeeeowwww," Terry heard herself scream, and the voice sounded as though it came from another woman. But the scream didn't spiral from her throat because she was in pain. To the contrary, the loud, warbling notes sang forth from the throat of a woman enraptured with life.
She started to say, "Don't do that, son."
She didn't. The words stuck in her mouth and nothing but a few sounds managed to gurgle past her lips. The gurgling sounds gave Tad the impression she was encouraging a bolder oral approach to her cunt.
On his knees, Tad looked up, "Okay mom, I'll suck your cunt. Don't worry, I know how to do it."
Without hesitation or timidity, the precocious youngster permitted his tongue to trail wetly all the way down the wide-open box of pussy. Hairs bit into his facial tissues, his eyes and nostrils. But the sharp edges of the pubic endowment only stung him into more and faster brazen tongue activity.
Terry's knees weakened and for a moment she thought they'd collapse under her. In all her years of marriage, her husband had never displayed such ardor, such know-how. For a moment, her curved fingers hesitated, and then they grasped her son's head and shoved it closer to the sweating box.
"Suck me," she rasped. "Drill that tongue up your mom's cunt and eat." Squeezing her eyes as tight as possible, she murmured. "Jeezis but that feels good. Never had my cunt feel so good before."
Tad was too busy to pay any attention to his mother's words of encouragement. Sliding the palms of both hands over her curved ass he drilled one finger roughly up his mom's ass-hole and proceeded to finger-fuck the brown, wrinkled ass-hole. This series of forceful movements smashed the moistening pussy harder against his face. The cuntal lips flew wider apart and the clitoris grew harder. Tad concentrated his oral attentions on both the momma-dick and the valley with all its soft, oystery meat. His tongue darted out to tantalize the clit and then drop into the trench to suck with noisy, smacking sounds. Moisture welled through the crevice and splashed over his face.
"Hmmmnnnn," he said, looking up at his mother. "Your cunt tastes sweet mom. Just like eating dessert."
"Don't stop," she managed to say. "Keep it up. More, harder, faster. Eat me. Goddammit, stop talking and eat my cunt!"
Terry had lost an impending orgasm by the abrupt withdrawal of tongue from cunt. To make certain there would be no more such interruptions, she seized the nape of her son's neck and shoved his active face forward. Clamping the center of her box in his mouth, she issued her order. "Suck me off. And don't stop until I've exploded my cunt good and proper!"
"Yes momma," Tad said, obediently. With his finger still immersed up his mother's anus, the boy stuck out his tongue as far as possible. Tightening the tongue muscles to make it a narrow spear, he took cool and deliberate aim and thrust it forward.
"Ohmygawd!" Terry screeched as she felt her son's tongue penetrate into the deep recesses of her cunt.
Her knees did buckle and she squatted heavily over Tad's face. The soft but firm cheeks of his mother's ass didn't bother the boy at all or impede his oral manipulations. They simulated him into a greater flurry of mouth action. like an electric eel during the mating season, the tongue wriggled frantically in and out of the hot pussy, up and down and even under to seek out the soft, faintly aromatic taste of ass-hole.
Something inside of Terry burst like a dam. Fluids began to spring forward from every organ on her body. And all of the inner streams made their way towards the exit through the cleft of her cunt. like rivers in flood, the streams raged forward. All the while Terry kept banging her box against her son's mouth in a series of wild, copulatory movements. Suddenly, the various, streams within her body converged at the exit hole and geysered through in one powerful flow.
Looking down, the mazed and bulge-eyed woman saw a stream of cum spray through her sex hole as though she was taking a piss.
The ejaculation was all too brief.
Her tensions and frustrations flowed out of her body along with the sex spray. When it was all over, the woman stepped back and looked down at her kneeling son with shining, enraptured eyes. There was no point in trying to fool herself any longer.
"I've never felt happier," she said simply.
Tad stood up, his eyes still filled with adoration for his mother. Wiping the back of one hand over his drenched lips, he asked, "Can I fuck you now, mom?"
"Of course," Terry said. "How do you want your mother-fuck, darling?"
Still licking off his lips, Tad replied, "You on top of me, mom. I..."
"Want to be dominated by a stronger, older woman," she supplied the words for him. "Of course, sweetheart. That's only natural for a boy your age."
The mouth job had somehow removed a mental block. Terry saw things so clearly now. For the first time in a very long while, she felt she understood herself, her desires, her goals, and most important ... sex. She no longer dreaded sex or thought it a filthy, vulgar act. It all seemed so natural, regardless where that sex came from. The fact that her own son had sucked her cunt made no difference at all. All that mattered was the chemistry between the partners.
"You understand," Tad said, simply.
Terry nodded at his bed. "Get on your back, son," she ordered. "You've still got a hard-on. Keep it that way until your mother shoves it up her pussy hole."
"Yes momma," Tad replied, obediently. To be thoroughly dominated by a strong female was precisely what he craved and needed.
Stretching out on the bed, Tad eyed his cockhead and it stared straight back at him. During his affair with the school teacher, he had always managed to get a very decent-sized bone on. The way his cock was reacting at the moment surprised even himself.
The eye in the center of the head kept blinking like the mouth of a beached fish. The tissues beneath the fist-sized head vibrated unceasingly. His balls felt heavy as though containing a couple gallons of cream. His mother was exciting his prick to a far greater extent than any other woman, even the females in his masturbatory fantasies.
Terry looked down at her supine son with a certain amount of satisfaction. There wasn't any doubt that he'd grow up to become a real man. She could almost laugh at her former husband's fears that Tad would go queer. Very few grown men loved cunt better than her very virile son. The fact that he wanted to be dominated by a female meant nothing as far as his manhood was concerned. It was simply an adorable trait, and one she could take advantage of at the moment for her own enjoyment.
Mounting the bed, Terry straddled the naked body of her son and poised her opened cunt-hole over the cockhead. She sank slowly downward. To make certain she didn't waste anytime, the woman took hold of the missile-like jock and guided it between the wet lips. Once the head barged past the outer doors, she let her body sink heavily down until the cheeks of her ass bounced against his thighs.
"Oh mommmm," the boy squealed. '"Your pussy feels so good. So soft, so warm, so, so...
"Shut up," Terry commanded. "Relax and enjoy the fuck. I'm going to ride you. You don't have to do a thing but blow. I want to feel all that hot, creamy stuff as deep into my box as possible. So when you feel you're about to let loose, go, boy, go. Don't hold back a drop." Feeling deliciously sinful at the moment, she added. "Don't hold back one, single, fucking drop."
"Noooo," Tad promised. He was about to make a few more promises about his intentions but his words were caught and held in his mouth as the woman started the ride.
At first, she raised her haunches only a fraction of an inch and then let her body fall. Each upward movement of her ass raised the cunt higher on the pole. Finally, the lips nibbled the cockhead, and the entire fleshy shaft was almost clear. It remained clear for only a moment, though. The next thing Tad knew, his mother's cunt was hurtling down again with such force that he grunted audibly when her buttocks came crashing down on top of his body again. Mother and son grunted in unison.
"Hold on," Terry yelled as her ass sprang up and down the pole. "Mother is going to give you the ride of your life!"
"Yeah," Tad managed to say with each shuddering impact of female flesh against his body.
He couldn't remain still, though. Watching his mother's tits jiggle up and down and feeling the rubbery flesh of her ass jelly back and forth against his thighs created enough heat to make him feverish. Grabbing hold of her moving buttocks, he thrust his body upward as mother's body came crashing downward. And when she pulled up, he sank down, grinding the cheeks of his ass into the bed sheets.
Tad's eyes grew rounder and rounder until he felt certain his entire face consisted of nothing else but huge, staring eyeballs. Flushed and excited he tried to warn his mother of the approaching orgasm. The youthful juices within his testicles quickly reached the temperature of the blow-out.
Terry felt the heat of his cock and knew the temperature of her vaginal well was rising at a dramatic rate. Relaxing as much as possible under the circumstances, Terry let the pores of her cunt open to their fullest extent. With her knees still flexing in her position of semi-squat, she knew the gates of her own cunt were going to fling wide open and issue forth a torrential gusher.
Clutching both of her tits while she pumped, the woman felt she had entered an orbit that carried her around the roof of the world. She tried to make sounds; not even a whisper of a sound could come out. Every ounce of her energy was concentrated on the business at hand ... the act of fucking her own son.
Tad found his voice. "I'm going to..."
"Me too," his mother replied.
She squatted in a frozen position while the juices of love issued out of their respective bodies. Sonly cock cream and motherly cunt juice intermingled and flowed back down the rubbering pole of cock and over the agitated balls. The last bit of starchy cream left the dick and flowed over the limp instrument.
Terry toppled off the body of her son and crumpled up on the bed alongside of him. Her mind was far from numb, though. For many years during her marriage, she was thinking, her prick of a husband had robbed her of true sexual expression. The man had been completely inadequate and had made her believe that sex was a boring, dull bit of business that a woman had to endure instead of appreciate and take pleasure in. She'd waste no more of her life avoiding sex, she firmly resolved.
Tad grew a bit alarmed at his mother's silence.
"Did I do all right, mom?" he finally asked.
Terry swept her son into her arms. "Of course, darling," she assured him. "You're all man. More of a man than your father. You did just fine. And the more you fuck your mother, the better you'll become."
"Oh thank you, mom," Tad replied, happily. "I want you to be happy."
"I intend to be," the woman quickly replied as she thought of the new life that awaited her as a sexually aroused woman.
CHAPTER 5
Sexually liberated but without friends or contacts, Terry had no alternative but to return to the Hunsucker Dating Service. Agnes Hunsucker looked up at her new client with considerable amusement.
"Told you so," she said in a teasing way. "You'd be back, and I knew it."
"How did you know it?" Terry asked, smiling. There was no longer any need for shame or embarrassment when it came to sexual activity or the need of it.
The heavy-breasted woman leaned back in her chair behind the desk. "You had fuck written all over your face from the moment you stepped into my office. I knew you were coming that first time. That's why I arranged a little show for your benefit. Sort of break you in to our services the visual way."
Terry laughed. "Well, you succeeded. That little show between the young boy and the old bitch set me to thinking about nooky. Sure, I told myself it was distasteful and dirty. But I guess I really didn't believe that kind of bullshit myself. At any rate," she said, waving her arms about, "here I sit. A client. To say I'm looking for action would be putting it mildly. I'm newly liberated and anxious to try my wings."
Agnes nodded, approvingly. "Good for you. Let's go through our files and get you matched up, immediately."
"That's why I'm here," Terry said and tapped the area of her crotch, meaningfully.
From her files, Agnes Hunsucker removed a handful of glossy photographs. "I'll go through them one by one," she told her client. "When you react sexually, you'll know it. Then, we'll make our match."
"I can hardly wait," Terry replied, and there was no longer any doubt about her need for prompt, sexual attention.
First, Agnes showed Terry a photo of a young boy, about twelve, or thirteen. She shook her head, "No thanks. I've got a thirteen-year-old son who will give me all the young nuts I want. I crave something a little different."
Agnes nodded. "What about this eighty-year-old man? He can still get it up, and all of my clients testify about his educated tongue."
Again, Terry shook her head. "Not interested in old farts, today. Show me more," she urged.
The woman hesitated. "Did you say you were from the South?" she asked.
"Originally," Terry replied. "Why?"
The president of the dating firm hesitated. "I've got several blacks who are crazy about white women."
"Let's see them." Terry replied too quickly to conceal her interest and excitement.
"Ah," Agnes said, pleased. Her original estimate of Terry's sexual potential had been highly accurate. "I'll match you up with Joe Brown. He's the biggest, blackest, horniest, fucking-iest buck I've got on file. And he craves white pussy. He won't disappoint you."
Terry was curious enough to ask, "Why? I mean why does white pussy turn this guy on so much? A lot of black bucks hate white people, including white females."
Agnes agreed. "But this black buck doesn't hate white females," she assured Terry. "It's a social thing with him. He's gained a bit of affluence as a black businessman. Now he wants to spread out socially. He feels it gives him status to fuck pretty white females and to be seen with them."
"Sounds interesting," Terry said. If she played her cards right and made enough promises, she'd be able to get the black man to do anything to her.
She made up her mind. "Okay. I'll meet him. But I'm not promising anything. Some blacks I could go for. Some not. It all depends on him, and his talents." She added. "I hope he's not one of those black rabbit men ... on and off again types."
Hunsucker shrugged. "You'll have to find that out for yourself," she said, indifferently. "All I do is make the match."
As Terry was about to leave, she had another afterthought. "Even though he is a would-be social climber into white society," she said, "he could have a latent hatred for whites.
Wouldn't that make him dangerous?"
Hunsucker nodded. "Of course. But hatred is a form of energy. If you're smart, you'll channel that energy into his cock. Maybe that's why he's rated as such a terrific fucker."
"Interesting thought," Terry agreed. "Okay, you phone up and tell the big, black buck I'm on my way. No point in wasting any time."
"Agreed," Agnes Hunsucker replied lifting the phone from off the cradle. "You go on your way. Brown will be ready for you."
As Terry opened the door, the woman called after her. "Good luck." Then, as an afterthought. "Be careful."
All the way over to her appointment in the southern area of the city-the black part-Terry kept pondering Hunsucker's warning. Why did she have to be careful about a black social climber?
The reason for Hunsucker's warning became almost immediately apparent from the moment, Terry walked into the black man's apartment.
"You that white cunt who wants to fuck me?" he asked as Terry sat down and looked around her. The walls of the bachelor apartment were filled with African artifacts.
Angered, Terry retorted. "Don't be so sassy. I'm not promising anything. So far, you don't look like anything special."
"Bullshit," Brown retorted. "All you white chicks are hot for my black cock. They come in all ages, too. Old society dames with white hair and silver fox furs who live in the high tone area of the city to poor, white pussy who works for a living. They all want to fuck Brown, the greatest of them all."
Terry said, evenly, "Men-white or black-who boast about their sexual ability usually can't perform. They're impotent."
"Impotent?" The angry black man asked as though he couldn't believe his ears. "Didn't old Hunsucker tell you about me? About me being the greatest screw in the whole city, the whole country for that matter? Didn't she?"
"She said you were good," Terry admitted. "But this gal is from Missouri. When someone makes a boast, I say in return, show me!"
Brown rummaged through a desk drawer and turned to the white girl with a handful of photographs. "Look for yourself, white cunt. Now, you tell me if I'm good, or not. This is evidence. Proof positive. I'm the greatest fuck ever."
Terry found herself leafing through a number of photographs that showed Brown in company with a number of white females. Some of them were old, some young, some pretty, others homely. But they were all looking up at Brown with a mixture of admiration and awe in their eyes.
Terry said, "It doesn't prove a thing."
Brown came up with more photographs. This time they were more explicit. They revealed the tall, muscular negro in a state of undress with his white, female conquests. They too were naked. Most of the photos showed them in various positions either prior to or immediately after sexual intercourse. Terry had to admit that there was a certain electric excitement generated by the contrast of the naked, white female body and the naked, jet-black male body. However, in every photo Brown kept a shred of clothing over his own penis. His body was strong and muscular, but not one of the pictures revealed the size of the man's prick.
"Why are you hiding your prick?" Terry asked.
Specks of blood dotted the white eyeballs of the black man. A strange, sour odor exuded from his skin. His thick lips twisted with rage.
"Hiding my prick? You're crazy, white cunt. You ought to be ashamed of yourself making a damaging statement like that." He pointed to the door. "Get outa here," he raged. "You're one of those prejudiced, white bigots. I ain't got no time for you, at all."
Terry remained seated. "I paid good money for this date," she said, stubbornly. "And I'm not leaving until I get my money's worth. A black cock intrigues me, to be quite frank about it."
"Then, admit that I'm the greatest," the black man demanded. "Admit I'm the most exciting fuck you ever came up against."
Terry shook her head. "No way. Not until you give me a demonstration in bed." The more the man talked and made his demand, the more Terry became convinced that something was wrong.
This time, Brown took out a tape machine. "Listen," he said and flicked on the switch.
A female voice was speaking, a white female voice and an educated one. The voice was in a state of ecstasy.
"Oh lover," it was saying. "Your prick is the biggest ever. The hardest cock that even found its way inside my cunt. It's all true what they say about black men, lover. Once a white woman has been fucked by a black man, she doesn't-want a white one anymore. It's true!" The voice went on hysterically. "I've never come so much in my entire life!"
Brown's voice asked, "Then I gets to escort you to the Society Ball?"
"Yes, yes, anything," the woman replied. "But promise you'll give me all the black nooky
I crave. No other black man has got the kind of tool you use, lover. Promise me it's mine and mine alone."
"I promise," Brown's voice replied.
The next voices apparently came from the bedroom. The couple were making love and the accompanying sounds were quite appropriate for that sort of activity. The white woman kept shrieking and bellowing out her responses to Brown's sexual attentions.
But the more Terry listened, the more she became convinced that the black man was treating the woman in an oral way only. Cries like, "Your tongue up my cunt is burning me up!" or ". . . more tongue honey. Stick it in, all the way, deep and suck. Suck hard..."
When the tape came to an end, Terry applauded. "There isn't a doubt that you know how to use a tongue, Brown. And that's great. Every woman craves tongue. For many years, I denied that fact but now I'm being honest with myself. I do, I do," she said, happily. But she continued. "There's more to making a woman happy than mere tongue. Sure it's wonderful, but every woman must finish the fucking session with the feeling of solid cock-bone in her love hole. It's the only way, Brown. And from the tapes I've listened to, I got the very strong feeling that all you give out around here is a lot of tongue. Tongue without cock," she added, meaningfully.
Confronted with the truth, the black man didn't even try to deny the accusation that he performed only with his tongue. Finally, he said in a resigned tone of voice: "You're the only white chick who ever caught on I ain't the greatest."
"I deserve an explanation," Terry said. "I paid out a helluva lot of money for this match. If you're a sexual phony, I'm asking for my money back!"
Brown began. "I needed money in the worst way. I was stony broke, and if I didn't get some bread soon, I was gonna go hungry. I thought I could deliver. I always did when it came to fucking black chicks. But when they started sending those white cunts around, I
"Went soft," Terry guessed. "You couldn't get a hard-on. And so you pulled the old tongue trick."
The black man nodded. "Yeah, that's about it. White pussy, for the most part, believes this shit about black men being sexual athletes. That's why I could get away with the tongue only. They thought that was the way a black man worked. And because I gave them such a good eating, they didn't complain back to the Hunsucker Agency. They gave me all kind of glowing testimonials about my workmanship. But..."
"You have never really fucked a white woman," Terry said. Her voice was no longer was accusing or filled with complaints. The man looked healthy enough. What was his problem?"
"I know why I can't bone up with a white chick," Brown admitted. "But there ain't nothing I can do about it."
"Maybe there is," Terry replied in a soft, encouraging tone of voice.
The black man shook his head. "No," he said. "Because I ... I'm afraid of white cunt. Deep down, I'm afraid to touch them with my black prick. I got them all on a pedestal. I know it's a lot of shit to think that way," he added, quickly. "But I can't help it. That's the way I am."
"Okay," Terry agreed. "What are some of the things you did with your black girl friends?"
"You mean fucking kind of things?" Brown asked in a puzzled tone of voice.
"Fucking kind of things," Terry nodded.
Brown thought. "Black cunt-likes a lot of different things in bed ... and in the bathroom."
Terry seized upon the latter remark. "Bathroom! Yes, that's it. What did you do in the bathroom?" There was an urgency in her voice.
"Show them I'm boss!" came the immediate reply. For the first time, the big black man seemed to be more confident.
"What did you do?" Terry demanded to know.
"Piss on 'em," Brown replied with a slight smile. "It helped."
"In what way?"
Brown shrugged. "In a lot of ways. A black chick-likes a black man to be boss. Getting pissed on from him turns them on. And if I hit the clit, it-"
"Really turns them on," Terry said with a delicious, shiver running through her body. Looking directly into the man's face, she said, "I'd love that kind of treatment. I ... I've never been pissed on by a black man, or a white one for that matter. But I bet when all that hot, sensuous piss hits the more sensitive parts of my cunt, I'll burn up with ecstasy. And..."
"Could get a hard on," Brown said in a slow, thoughtful voice.
"Yes!" Terry said, springing to her feet. And seizing the hand of the black man urged, "Let's go. You piss on my cunt. I'll get a glow-on. You'll get a bone-on."
Standing up, Brown nodded. "It just might work," he conceded. "It's worth a try anyhow..."
In the bathroom, the black man and white woman took off their clothes and for a few minutes stood very still as they eyed each other in a full length mirror.
This guy was really hung, Terry had to admit. Broad-shouldered with a streamline, muscular body and flat tummy, he could have posed for a black Atlas statue. His penis was thick as the body of a full-grown cobra, and the tip of the cockhead reached his knees. If he could ever get it up for her, Terry was thinking, she'd get the hosing of her life.
Brown eyed Terry's nude body like a small boy looking at sweets through a plate-glass window. He looked almost reverential, awed by the smooth and sharply white skin. Feeling inferior, his penis remained in a soft state of dormancy.
Impatiently, Terry climbed into the bathtub and ran a bit of warm water. Then, she stretched out on her back, and spread her legs. Fingering her crotch, she pulled apart the lips of cunt and yanked the clitoris out with her thumb and forefinger.
"Hit this thing with your piss flow," Terry ordered. "This little prick of mine is where I live. I could play with it all day, or get it sucked. But to feel all that hot, yummy, black pee on it..." She shuddered. "Go, black man, go. Piss. And aim straight!"
Brown hesitated. "You sure you want to go through with this kind of thing?" he asked, hesitantly.
Terry nodded. "It's what you do to your black girl friends isn't it?"
"Yeah, but they're different," Brown replied almost automatically.
"Not different at all!" Terry almost roared back. "We're all the same. Cunt is all the same, black or white. Now, get that through your black skull!" Flicking her finger impatiently, she ordered, "Piss on me, goddammit. What are you waiting for?"
Gingerly, Brown took hold of his penis. "Then what?" he asked. "I mean ... After I finishes the pee? What happens then?"
"Let nature take its course," Terry said. "You'll get your hard-on, and you'll fuck me good and proper."
"What if...? "
"No negative thoughts!" Terry cut in. "Everything will be okay. Stop worrying, and let that hot stuff run through the eye of your prick!"
Closing his eyes, Brown grasped his long penis and tried to relax. The greatest humiliation would be in an inability to relieve his bladder!
Terry cried out. "Open your eyes, goddammit! Watch what you're doing. I don't want piss all over me. Just hit my clitoris. That's what needs attention. Take aim."
Opening his eyes as directed, Brown aimed the dark-purple penile head at the female cock that Terry grasped between her fingers. Slowly, he began to relax, and eventually the first drop left the hose and hit the tip of the girl's clit.
"Hmmmmmm," Terry sighed. "Yeah. Oh yes. That's it. That's the sensation I've been craving all of my life. Hot, almost burning, and it eats into the very pores of cunt. More," she demanded. "Give me more. A lot more!"
Even if Brown wanted to stop, he couldn't. . The flow had picked up momentum, and an arch of liquid spanned the distance between Terry's cunt and the eye on Brown's cock.
"Ahhhh," Terry groaned in a loud, ecstasy-filled voice. "That's it. That is it. Keep it up. Faster, stronger ... and more, more," she continued to cry.
As Brown continued to urinate over the white girl's erected clitoris a change took hold of him. She was right. White cunt is no different than black stuff. From the way the girl looked, there couldn't be any doubt that she was tremendously thrilled by the hot, golden flow that was running out of his black penis. He moistened his thick lips. Whenever he gave a black chick a piss-on, he reviled her with base and obscene language. Invariably, the girl demanded this sort of treatment. A feeling of degradation excited them. Would it work with the white cunt? He had to find out.
His thick lips moved. "Dirty, white, pissy-ass piss lover," he rasped. "You ain't fit for my black prick. Your cunt stinks from my piss. I wouldn't fuck you for a million dollars. You ain't worth one drop of my cock juice."
Terry quickly picked up the game. "Oh, please, piss on me. And when you're through drill your big, black stud cock into my big, white pussy. Please," she cried up. "Please..."
All the while, as the urine dropped heavily over her female penis, she flicked the sliver of flesh back and forth at an increasingly violent rate. In fact, if she continued this sort of clitoral play, she would hit the climactic point in a very short while. Pimples of excitement blistered every inch of her skin as her blushing, flushed face looked up at her black lover.
"That's enough for now," she whimpered. "Fuck me. The time has come to fuck me. I've just got to come. Hurry, please, stiffen up for me, and put it in. Right here, in the tub. Give it to me, hard and fast!"
His breathing came with difficulty. Grasping the huge tool with his left hand, he waggled the meat back and forth in a sort of masturbatory movement in an effort to get the hard on moving.
"Hurry," Terry screeched, and she began to masturbate. "If you can't fuck me, I'll jack off. Hot. Burning up. Got to have it..."
The pressure didn't do Brown much good. But it was all very sure that this white bitch wasn't acting any different than the black poon tang he screwed on a regular basis. Sometimes he was a bit tardy about making the insertion and the black pussy would carry on in much the same manner.
With this thought in mind, the color of Terry's skin assumed, in his eyes, a distinctly darkish hue. She wasn't any different than the black cunts. There couldn't be any doubt about that now.
Brown's cock erected.
"Now," Terry cried out, gleefully. "Give it to me now while it's so hard and big. And so black," she hastened to add. There was something about a long, black pole of cock that fascinated her. How would it feel stuffed all the way in her white snatch?
"Yeah," Brown breathed as though he could scarcely believe his own eyes. "Oh yeah," he continued to mumble as he dropped to his knees and slipped both of his large, ham-like hands under the curved cheeks of Terry's white ass.
Impatiently, the white girl reached up, grasped the black tool with her right hand and guided the bulging cockhead into the slobbering hole of Terry's cunt.
"Makin' contact," Brown cried out as the penile head surged past the outer lips to burrow deep into the moist, humid cavity.
"All the way," Terry cried out and shoved her hips forward to better accomodate the welcome visitor in her pussy. Flexing her knees, she managed to throw them around the black man's rib cage and lock them together in a scissor grip. Pressuring his body with her shapely legs, the girl urged her lover.
"Fuck me. Now. Immediately. Don't waste another second, or I'll come without feeling the pump. Now, go, man, go. And don't stop until you've blown out that load of black nooky cream..."
Once he had succeeded in making the penetration, Brown commenced to pump. The moment the heat of cunt burned into the penile pores, the male tissues expanded and grew much thicker. The bone inside grew harder. The water in the tub began to boil as the black, tough body pumped up and down at a furious rate.
Gripping both of her buttocks with his hands, he spread the cheeks as far apart as possible. During intercourse, Brown had always been excited and fascinated by the natural sounds bursting through a heated woman's ass-hole.
"Ahhhh," Brown murmured to himself as he increased the tempo of the fuck. There was no doubt about the matter, now. White cunt and black cunt were very much the same in the way they reacted to prick. With that matter out of the way, he could devote all of his attention to the business at hand. And that business concerned the orgasmic blow.
Under his body, the writhing, wrenching, screaming girl let him know that she was fast approaching a climax. From the way his own prick was expanding and pulsating, Brown knew that he, too, was going to climax.
"Now, baby," he coughed. "Now. Do it now..." Instinctively, a finger burrowed itself deep inside the white ass-hole as he heaved his football-player kind of body down with all of his strength.
"Now," Terry screamed in response. "It's coming now . ". . Come...ing. Nowwwww," she wailed as the waters churned into a milky foam.
Gobs of cream shot through the black cannon, filled up the white cuntal box, and floated to the surface of the water in the tub. Falling off her body, Brown remained on his back, speechless and wide-eyed as he watched, as though hypnotized, his huge organ slowly lose its stiffness.
Soaping off her genitals, Terry had to admit, "You really are the greatest Brown. Whenever I need black cock, I'll give you a call. All you have to do is take a leak over my cunt and then put it all together. You'll be okay from now on."
"Yeah," Brown replied, happily. "You're the first white chick I ever really screwed. I mean really fucked with. That tongue stuff is just a preliminary that don't really count."
As Terry dressed, she wondered aloud, "How many people in that dating service require special attention and service?"
"A lot," Brown assured her. "Old lady Hunsucker could use a real, sharp chick like you to run the place for her. You got savvy and know what people wants in the way of a good fuck."
Terry agreed. "You're right, Brown. I've been looking for a job, and now I know what I can do the best."
The black man picked up the phone. "I got a bit of weight with the old lady. I'll tell her the dating service needs a real social director."
Terry repeated the words. "Social director." Nodding, she said, "Yes, I'd like to be the social director very much. The matchmaker."
"Right on," Brown said. "You got talent when it comes to getting the right people fucking the right people."
"Yes," Terry replied. "I've got talent ... in a sinful, delicious sort of way..."
CHAPTER 6
The newly installed social Director of the Hunsucker Dating Service studied her first client with considerable interest. The man who sat across from Director Terry North's desk exuded an aura of extreme nervousness and hesitation, usual characteristics, she had discovered, of newly sexually liberated people with tastes that could not be described as average. Strangely, the man's wife, who sat beside him and held his hand, was not nervous at all. But after fifteen minutes neither Richard Vancleef nor his wife Laura had revealed the sort of dating service they were looking for.
Finally, Terry brushed aside the small talk. "Without any more horse-shitting around," she said with a polite smile, "what is the nature of your problem ? Normally, single people use this dating service. However," she added, "I won't turn down a married couple. We don't allow one married partner to cheat on another."
"Oh no," Vancleef retorted. "Nothing like that at all, my dear. My wife, Laura, and I are very much in love despite the fact we've been married for over twenty-five years."
Terry couldn't help but look surprised. Although the distinguished couple were gray-haired and definitely middle-aged, she had guessed them to be much younger than their true ages.
They were both members of the upper class, well-heeled, and lived in a money-insulated world, Terry decided, and had managed to preserve their looks. Although Laura Vancleef had to be in her early fifties, her figure was still very much in evidence with full tits, flared hips and a cushiony pair of ass-cheeks.
Long, shapely legs testified to her earlier years as a professional dancer and her styled gray hair imparted a certain dignity, a decorum that Terry knew could grow quite obscene provided she received the right kind of sexual treatment.
But what kind of treatment did she crave?
And what was her husband after? He, too, looked distinguished ... a retired military officer, she guessed. Perhaps, she thought, he was even related to British royalty. They both had a regal air about them.
"Let's get to the point," Terry urged. "Why did you seek out the services of the Hunsucker Dating Service? Surely you both know we specialize in matching up partners who want to ... well, to put it bluntly, they want to fuck."
Neither Richard nor Laura Vancleef raised an eyebrow. Terry's bluntness didn't phase them at all. The man spoke in a rather grave tone of voice, "My wife and I are acquainted with the nature of your services. That's why we made the appointment. We ... have a certain problem of a rather delicate nature."
"Everyone who comes here has a problem of a rather delicate nature," Terry retorted. "Around this place, the delicate and unusual is normal. Now, out with it. What can we do for you?"
Vancleef coughed politely. Finally, he managed to say with considerable difficulty, "It seems that in my fifty-fifth year, I've become quite..."'
"Impotent," Terry cut him short. Ninety percent of her services revolved around impotent clients. "You need a certain something exciting to get it up for you. And you've come here to find out what that certain something is."
The stately-looking Mrs. Vancleef raised one hand. "Oh no, Mrs. North. We know the problem, and we know what has to be done. We require your assistance in helping us do ... our thing."
"And what exactly is your thing?" Terry asked, interested. Most of her clients wanted something different but they didn't know what they were after. This pair was different. They knew what they had to have.
"We're voyeurs," they replied in unison.
Terry nodded. So far, she had already processed a dozen cases of voyeurism since taking over as Social Director. "A rather common thing these days," Terry murmured. "What makes you think your case is so ... delicate?"
Vancleef explained. "Watching someone make love to my wife seem to give me a certain excitement. A tingle that arouses my otherwise impotent penis."
Terry was beginning to understand. The wife of her former employer had a similar taste for watching while her husband made love to another woman. During the activity, the woman took care of herself with a dildo. Did the Vancleefs have the same sort of problem?
Vancleef explained. "The sight of my wife making love to another male does things to my ... gonads. To be precise, I erect. And then..."
"You jack off?" Terry inquired.
Vancleef coughed politely. "No madam, I do not masturbate. That wouldn't do a thing for me. I need more direct action than that."
Laura Vancleef interceded. "As long as we're being blunt you may as well know the truth. My husband and I love each other dearly. But we cease to excite one another. Richard loves to watch me make love to a ... boy. No older than fourteen," she specified. "Indeed, it is almost necessary that I ... ah ... fuck a virgin. Seduce him. Richard loves to watch the way I seduce young boys. And as he watches, he must get his nuts off with a..."
By now, Terry fully understood. "A young girl. No older than fourteen."
"Precisely," the couple answered in unison.
"The younger the better," Terry said. Most of her clients usually specified a date with a younger partner. But this need for young cock or young cunt was definitely more extreme in this couple. That was her job as Social Director, however.
"I can help you," Terry said making her decision to accept the Vancleefs as her clients. "I'll arrange everything. When I have all the arrangements made, I'll phone you and fill you in. Meanwhile, go home and indulge in fantasies about young cock and young cunt. Mental preparation helps considerably. And when I send my young clients to you, you'll be prepared to take the initiative."
The stately-looking couple stood up.
"Don't know how to thank you," Vancleef murmured.
"Just doing my job," replied the Social Director who really felt happy in her new line of work. The moment the Vancleefs left her office, Terry started making telephone calls. The Vancleefs were the biggest challenge she had, as yet, accepted. If she failed them, she could lose all confidence in her ability.
Agnes Hunsucker had her doubts about the new job. "You've bitten off more than you can chew," she told Terry. "Where in hell are we going to find a thirteen or fourteen-year-old kid who will let that old fart of a Mrs. Vancleef seduce him? And we could get into a lot of trouble giving a fourteen-year-old girl to old Vancleef." She grew angry. "Goddammit, woman, you're going to ruin my agency, everything I've worked for. Sure, we get strange sort of requests, but we ain't running no goddamned joint that matches up old people with youngsters. I could lose my licenser'
Terry assured her employer that she had the situation under control. "My son Tad is thirteen years old and he gets a hard-on every time he looks at a gray-haired woman with a shapely figure."
This statement pacified Hunsucker to a certain extent, but not completely. "What about the fourteen-year-old girl for the old man?"
Terry laughed. "That'll be me. All the old fart wants is the illusion. And as long as he can watch the seduction scene, he'll bone up. Don't worry," she said firmly, "I know what I'm doing. I can handle the whole affair."
Hunsucker warned. "Okay. But if anything goes wrong, you're out as Director."
"Nothing will go wrong," Terry replied.
But she no longer sounded quite so confident. By now, she knew that when it came to matching people up for sexual contact, anything could go wrong.
"Nothing will go wrong," Terry repeated, feeling more unsure of herself all the time. Getting her son Tad to meet Mrs. Vancleef on a seemingly accidental basis was not difficult. After school, he delivered groceries for a small grocery store. According to the plan, Mrs. Vancleef was to put in an order for groceries and ask that they be delivered, immediately. After that, it was up to her ability to reduce Tad.
In the next room, Terry and Mr. Vancleef would be discreetly watching. Terry dressed in a mini, and tied a ribbon in a blonde wig. When she spoke, she even simulated the speech of a fourteen-year-old girl. That part of the deal was satisfactory to Vancleef. Everything depended on how well the old woman seduced Tad.
"Come right in," Laura Vancleef said to the boy as he showed up with his basket of groceries.
Unaware of the plot, the boy entered the kitchen with his basket and set it down. Although he was naturally attracted to gray-haired, older woman, Tad had never mixed business with pleasure. He didn't believe in jeopardizing his job by trying to fuck any of the older women on his grocery route.
He was a bit startled to discover that Mrs. Vancleef was dressed only in a bath robe. The robe, tied tightly around the waist, hugged her figure and revealed a shapely one. Cut low, the robe revealed the V-shape of the full tits. And as she walked, the bare cheeks of her ass beneath the robe joggled about in an entrancing manner.
"I'd better go now," Tad announced as he set down his basket of groceries.
The matronly but attractive woman sang out. "Of course, darling. But before you go, help me put them away. I have a strained leg muscle and can't stand on them for very long."
"Of course," Tad replied. Many of his customers asked for assistance in putting away the groceries. But as he put them away as directed, Tad had the uncomfortable notion that the woman's eyes, sharp and appraising, were boring through his clothes, attempting to look at and size up his naked, young body. It was an uncomfortable feeling and he hurried to complete his task.
"Let me help," the woman said, sensing his haste.
"I'll be okay," Tad replied. "I really don't need any help. Won't take me a minute."
Still, Mrs. Vancleef insisted on helping her young delivery boy. As she tried to lift up a rather large sack of flour, however, the bag slipped to the floor and burst open.
Tad quickly offered to clean up the mess.
"No, no," the old woman replied to his offer of assistance. "You run along. I'll clean it up later. I'll just sit a while. I ... I think I pulled a leg muscle when the bag fell."
"Can I help in any way Mrs. Vancleef?" Tad didn't want to lose a new customer.
The woman sat down on a chair and spread her legs. "Would you be kind enough to ... massage my leg muscles. I can't reach them," she explained. "It would make me feel so much better."
"Oh sure," the youngster replied and quickly dropped to his knees to help the stricken woman.
In the adjoining room, Richard Vancleef watched his wife's tactics with approval. "No one knows how to seduce a kid better than my wife," he said, proudly.
"She's keen, daddy," Terry said. In the soft light of the room and in her mini, she did resemble a much younger female. She asked, "Shouldn't you take off your clothes ... in case something hot happens out there with your wife and the boy?"
He nodded. "Yes, by all means. I have the greatest confidence in my wife's ability. And that kid looks like he'll make a terrific fuck. I'm getting hot already."
Terry smiled. "I'll take off my clothes, too, daddy. And when things heat up and you get your bone on, you can give me what I need, too."
"Yes, yes," the old man said and even though he quickly disrobed, his eyes never left the scene between his wife and the thirteen-year-old boy.
In the kitchen, Tad was kneeling between the stretched legs of the gray-haired lady. As he started to massage her calves, she casually permitted her robe to slide farther apart. Looking discreetly up, Tad was able to see her bared thighs and bits and pieces of the genital region ... a few grayish cuntal hairs and the base of the pussy crack. A fragrant odor wafted up from the crevice. He pretended he neither observed the crotch area nor smelled it.
"Am I doing this right?" he asked as his hands slid up the lower portion of her bared legs.
"Higher," she urged. "The pain is higher up my legs. Don't be timid, dear," she urged. "I'm old enough to be your grandmother."
Blushing, Tad agreed to massage higher. "If it will make you feel better," he said, "I'll do it."
Sliding down a bit in her chair, the woman spread her legs as far as possible to make a very wide V-shape. Then, quite casually, she let the robe slide completely apart to boldly reveal the hairy cuntal area as well as the frontal aspect of her nude body, the breasts, abdomen, navel and the lower portion of her curved buttocks.
"Now, I feel better," she confided. "You needn't be embarrassed, dear," she smiled down at her young massager and patted his head. "You go on and make Mrs. Vancleef feel better. Your hands have an almost professional touch."
In the adjoining bedroom, old Vancleef began to get excited. The bold move by his wife to open up her robe and reveal her nude body to the bulging eyes of the boy was an excitement that really gripped his graying genitals. His wrinkled penis began to stretch out and smooth a bit.
Standing beside him, Terry hastened the process by gently rubbing the lengthening cock and playfully fingering his balls.
"Your wife is a sexy old cunt," Terry said in a low voice.
Vancleef was breathing quickly. "Nothing gets to me so much. Watching my beloved wife seduce and fuck a boy is the greatest thing ever. I could even get my cookies off by just watching her."
"You're going to fuck me," Terry said, firmly. "While you're watching," she added, quickly. Without the visual stimulus, she knew that
Vancleef would not be able to keep his erection in a stiff enough state to experience a proper ejaculation.
"Of course, of course," Vancleef replied, quickly. His eyes remained fixed on the sight in the next room. "Don't you think my wife is terrific?" he asked.
"She seems to know how to make a boy," Terry admitted. "In fact, I'm positive she's going to make the scene with Tad."
In the kitchen, Tad continued to massage the bared legs of the old woman and tried to ignore the fact she was calmly sitting before him with her robe wide open.
"Higher, dear," the woman said. "Massage a bit higher. That's where the pain seems to be."
"Yes ma'am," Tad replied. As he spoke, he kept his head down to avoid looking directly at the gray hairs that swarmed so busily around the cuntal crack.
Mrs. Vancleef tapped him on the head again. "You may look up at me when you speak, dear." She pointed out .once again. "I am old enough to be your grandmother. And it would be all right to see your grandmother without clothes on if she were ill. Now, be a good boy and look up when you speak. I ... I feel you don't like me."
"Oh no, ma'am," Tad replied, politely and looked up when he spoke.
This time his widening eyes were confronted directly by the nude, frontal portion of the woman's body. The titties, he noticed were large but drooped a bit. Still, the nipples were long as fingers and dark purple-very edible! The full body tapered to a small waist despite her age and then sloped out again, firmly and smoothly, into hips that were both meaty and enticing.
The belly-button seemed deep enough to engulf a cock. The indentation even reminded him of a cunt-hole. Best of all were her pubic hairs. There were so many of them, and they were tinged a beautiful shade of gray. Drops of moisture hung around a few strands of hair closest to the cleft. There wasn't an ounce of fat on her shapely legs, and they were spread put so deliciously!
Tad's cock boned.
Flustered, his fingers, by accident, slid even higher up her thighs. The tip of one finger, in fact, touched one of the curling hairs of cunt.
"Hmmmnnn," the old woman leaned back, a wide smile curving her shapely, red lips. "Higher, dear. Massage higher," she continued to urge.
In the next room, Vancleefs penis slowly reached a full, red erection, too. "She's the greatest," he kept saying to Terry in a low voice. "No one ... but no one except my wife can get me so hot and bothered. If it wasn't for her, I'd be an old man. Now," he gloated, grasping his thickening penile shaft, "I'm still young and vigorous."
Tapping his balls. Terry asked, "Vigorous enough to fuck a little girl, daddy?"
"Yes, yes," Vancleef assured her. "But I've got to watch the delicious scene between my wife and the boy. After she gets her nuts off, I'll do my thing."
Taking in the scene in the next room, Terry smiled. "Looks like she's well on the road to getting her nuts off, as you put it. She's a horny one. How often does she seduce boys?"
"As often as possible," came the reply. "Pay attention," he admonished the girl alongside him. "My wife is going to swing into action."
"Something is going to happen," Terry agreed.
By design or accident, the woman had managed to work her crotch area a few inches from Tad's face. Indeed, the tips of the longer cuntal hairs were already touching his chin. The perfumed essence of hot cunt floated through the palpitating trench and slid languidly up to the boy's distended nostrils. At the top of the slit, the strangest-looking sliver of flesh poked out.
The thing resembled a miniature prick. And the flesh looked almost edible. Did women have cocks, too? he wondered.
"Higher," Mrs. Vancleef was breathing audibly now.
She longed to shove her cunt hard against the boy's thick, sensuous lips. But she didn't dare to make such an overt move. At this particular stage everything depended on the boy. Either he lusted after cunt or he didn't. She had gone as far as it was decently possible. And she knew her husband would want the boy to make the last move. That was the part that excited him so much.
As the woman ordered, Tad moved his face a bit closer to the V-shape between the woman's legs. Silver hair swarmed into his line of vision and the moist trench of cunt looked deep enough to sink his entire tongue. And the perfume of pussy was almost overwhelming. His own genitals were beginning to give him trouble. The skin of the cock began to pulsate, and inside his testicles the cream threatened to leap into the shaft and rush towards the exit.
Mrs. Vancleef made a suggestion. "I'll drape my legs over your shoulders, dear. Then, you'll be able to get your hands underneath where it hurts me the most." She admonished. "Now, don't be timid. You're helping a very sick, old lady."
"Yes ma'am," Tad managed to whisper with the greatest of difficulty. He was trying desperately to prevent a premature ejaculation.
Leaning back in the chair, the woman raised up both legs and draped them around the kneeling boy's shoulders. This maneuver trapped his face between her thighs. And when she shoved her cunt forward against his lips, it seemed like an accident.
The thick lips of her pussy pressed tightly against the boy's lips. Would he get the message?
Mrs. Vancleef made another suggestion. "Slip your hands under my ... ah ... buttocks. The underpart of my body. In that way, you'll be able to rub my posterior. That's where I seem to be in the greatest pain."
Tad didn't bother to reply, because he couldn't. If he opened his mouth, the hairs of cunt would surge inside. Despite his innocence, however, he was beginning to get the message.
The old woman really wanted him to suck her off. All of this business about a pulled leg muscle was so much bullshit. She had conned him into a mouth job while her husband was away. The turgid state of his prick told him he had to go through with the cunt suck despite his aversion for sexual affairs with his customers.
In the next room, Richard Vancleef s prick blossomed as he watched his wife's expertise in seducing the boy. The sight of the boy performing a tongue job on his wife excited him almost to the point of ejaculation. Terry decided it was time to take things in hand.
"Get on, lover," she ordered. "While you fuck me, you can watch through the door." Squeezing the penile shaft, she said, "Now is the time to use this love stick, while it is so long and hard, and hot," she added. The palm of her hand burned as she pulled the tool toward her cunt hole.
Vancleef mounted her, still facing his wife and Tad. He would ride the woman and receive the necessary visual stimuli.
"She's so wonderful," he kept babbling without taking his eyes off his wife for a single second. "She's the hottest cunt in town under the right circumstances."
The circumstances were clearly right in the next room. Throwing away all discretion, Tad opened his mouth, stuck out his tongue and forced it through the sweet-smelling, hair-ringed box of the old, gray-haired woman.
"Yessss," Mrs. Vancleef cried out, excitedly. "That's right, son. Right inside my pussy. Eat it. But fast. Faster, faster!"
But the boy was addicted to the strong odors of the female body. The smells that wafted through the hole of the old lady's pussy could only be described as aromatic. The fragrance consisted of a pungent blend of natural and artificial odors. The result was a musky smell that stuffed Tad's nostrils with ecstasy.
Sniffing the hairs and the actual cuntal slit pulled the boy's own cock to full erection. His tongue trailed lazily up the moist, outer lips of the salty cunt, tickled the turgid clitoris, and then slid downward again.
Every now and then, he raised up the firm buttocks with both hands and let his tongue drop low enough to run inside the crack of her ass. But most of the time, he concentrated on the pussy hole. More orders roared down at him in a lust-choked voice.
"Inside," Mrs. Vancleef spat. "Inside my cunt. Drill your tongue deep inside and eat the pussy meat. Come on, you little cunt-lapper. Give momma what she needs!"
As Vancleef watched and heard his wife, he increased his fucking strokes into Terry's body. But he didn't increase the tempo of the ride to the point where there would be any danger in a premature ejaculation. The moment his wife climaxed, he intended to throw open the door in order to let her watch his final pumping efforts between Terry's widely stretched legs.
As far as Mrs. Vancleef was concerned, the preliminaries were over. The boy had already shown her he was a willing partner to the seduction. Grasping his head in order to guide him, she forced his face against the upper portion of the cuntal cleft.
Then she leaned back, raised both legs slightly and pressed her clitoris hard against the boy's sucking lips. Without waiting for him to give her his tongue, she began to roll her ass up and down, slowly at first and then gradually increasing the momentum of the rub.
"Ahhhhh," she moaned, and her face tilted backwards until her glazed eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. "Feels good, lover. Feels so fuckingly good!"
She threw both legs over the boy's shoulders and wrapped them around his neck in a tight scissor grip. Now her hands were left free to caress her own fleshy tits and flat abdomen. Every now and then she lifted up one buttock and ran a long, bony finger deep into her own ass-hole.
"Ahhhh," she continued to exclaim as bits of foam appeared at the corners of her lips.
Liquid welled up through the cuntal opening and splashed into the lapping boy's face. He sucked with an even greater enthusiasm. The sharp odors as well as the salty-sweet taste of cunt were driving him quickly to the ejaculatory point.
The moaning, old woman was teetering on the brink of the orgasmic experience too. Continuing to stare blindly up at the ceiling with an ecstatic smile smeared over her face, she cried out her obscenities.
"Fuck my cunt with your tongue, goddammit," she cried. Or, "Cunt-lapping little shit, tongue-fuck me! Hurry, I'm ready, ready, ready. . . ! "
"She's ready," Vancleef breathed down to Terry. "Get ready. The instant she blows her load, I'm going to throw the door open and let her watch me, too."
Terry didn't pay attention to him. She was too immersed in her own stimulation. She didn't expect to receive much of a thrill from his ancient prick, but once he erected and barged into her pussy, she goose-pimpled up, immediately.
The cock-pole was long enough to make the extremely deep penetration which was especially pleasing to her. He manipulated his bone with finesse that few younger men possessed. He knew when to lightly caress the boobies and when to run a stiff finger in her ass-hole. He knew when to increase the tempo of the fuck and when to decrease the speed. And there was a certain charm to his old visage.
As the prick reamed in and out of her hole of love, she started calling him, "Daddy." Then, she realized that her lust for old men was just as pronounced as her son's desire for old women. "Fuck me, daddeeee," she kept repeating.
Mrs. Vancleef's legs shot straight up in the air, and spread widely apart to form an exaggerated V. She started to climax. The temperature of her inner tube accelerated rapidly and the heat that surged through the crevice almost seared the lapping boy's delicate tongue. Wave after wave of female gism shot out as his mouth and throat worked valiantly to suck up every precious drop of the love liquid.
Realizing that his wife was experiencing her much-needed orgasm, Vancleef's hand reached out and pushed open the door. Calling out to his wife, he begged her to watch him as he rode Terry to the desired conclusion.
"Darling," he screamed at her at the top of his lungs. "Watch me. Watch me fuck this young girl. Hurry," he pleaded. "I want to go too! Watch! Watch!"
Dropping both of her legs, Mrs. Vancleef waved at her husband to let him know he had her complete attention.
"You're doing fine, dear. I'm watching. Go ahead. I'm watching every move you make. Go, dear, go."
With his wife's eyes on him, Vancleef started to ride Terry as a bucking bronco. His buttocks raised up high in the air and then fell again. His glistening tool pumped up and down. He varied the angle of the penetration with each thrust.
All the while, Terry kept crying out, "Fuck me, daddeee. Throw that prick all the way up. Throw it up so far, I can taste it."
The man's rear end kept banging up and down, throwing the male organ so deeply into the female cavity that Terry was almost able to feel the head pressing against her throat muscles. The old exhibitionist performed until the juices leaped out of his testicles to reach a successful and hurried trip towards the exit on the eye of his cock.
"Wow!" he yammered. This was going to be an unusually explosive climax!
"Yeah!" Terry piped up. She felt his prick thicken inside of her cunt-tube and the walls of her vagina began to spasm violently.
"Go daddy!" Mrs. Vancleef cried out.
This time he didn't hear her, and in the last seconds he wasn't even aware of her eyes on his body. All that mattered was the surge of juice within his genitals. For one terrifying moment, he thought the sides of his penile shaft were going to shatter under the impact of the hot raging flow and the high temperature of his meat.
When Vancleefs cannon began to explode, Terry had similar thoughts. The force of the discharge felt strong enough to rupture her inner walls. But the creamy ammunition dissolved quickly and puddled warmly within the inner valley of her cunt. This hot cream intermingled with the warm tricklings that spouted out of the pores of her pussy.
When the twin orgasms of man and woman were completed, the old man crumpled off the young woman's body. But his face remained fixed in the direction of his approving wife.
"Did you watch me come, mamma?" he called over to his wife. "It ... it was the biggest one I ever had!"
"Me too," Mrs. Vancleef assured him. Patting the head of the still kneeling boy, she said, "This is the best cunt-lapper I've ever had."
Terry informed Mrs. Vancleef. "Your husband sure knows how to shoot out a load!"
At this point, Tad pulled back from the old woman's still slobbering box.
Angrily, he said, "I'm glad everyone is so goddamned pleased and happy. Have all of you self-centered bastards considered that I haven't got off my cookies? Have any of you given me the slightest consideration? All you were interested in was getting your own nuts off!"
He realized by now that his seduction had been a put-up job, and he wasn't particularly surprised to see his mother in the next room under the aged Vancleef. After she received the job as Social Director of the dating service, he knew he'd be getting involved in her business.
Guiltily, Mrs. Vancleef said, "I'm sorry, darling. Would it help if you fucked me? The others can watch."
But her husband had another idea. "I ... I think I can bone up again and quickly. It all depends on our social director."
Terry thought she understood. "You want to see Tad screw his own mother. A bit of incest interests you, eh?" she asked with a smile.
The old woman clapped her hands. "What an exciting spectacle to watch. I think I could even get hot with my own husband if I could watch a sight like that."
Vancleef nodded. "I think I could perform with my own wife if I could watch, too."
The idea of screwing his own mother in full view of an admiring, older couple turned on Tad, too. His face brightened.
"Okay. If it's okay with mom."
"Of course, it's okay with mom," the young divorcee replied. "This bag about having people watch while you perform excites the shit out of me. I guess we're all exhibitionists."
Mrs. Vancleef nodded. "Fucking is so beautiful, one should share it with others."
Tad walked into the bedroom and climbed onto the bed.
"Doggy style," he told his mother. "I just found out that smells exciting me. And you can reach back and play with my balls while I bang your box."
This sort of erotic talk between a mother and her son began to have an obvious effect on the old man's penis. Slowly, the soft tissues swelled and the organ telescoped upward.
"There's room on the bed for all four of us," Mrs. Vancleef exclaimed. For the first time in many years, she was going to receive direct sexual contact from her own husband. And all thanks to the Social Director and her sexually precocious son.
"We owe so much to the Hunsucker Dating Service," she told her husband as he mounted her and made a successful penetration.
Alongside them, Terry North received the boned-up cock of her own son in a dog-style position. As far as she was concerned, she had discharged the duties of her office. Now, it was time for her to enjoy a bit of personal fun with her own son.
As Terry tightened the grip on her son's nuts, Tad began to heave back and forth to the ribald shouts of his mother as well as those of the old couple busily engaged in intercourse alongside him.
After the foursome climaxed within seconds of each other, the couple exchanged partners again. Tad began to make love to Mrs. Vancleef while Mr. Vancleef paid oral attentions to Terry.
"My wife has never looked happier," Vancleef observed as he watched Tad drill her ass. "She's always wanted to feel stiff prick inside her ass-hole but I never could get it stiff enough to do the job."
Tad had easily penetrated the tight, wrinkled hole to make a full insertion inside her rectum.
"Solving sex problems is my job," Terry reminded him.
But she knew there would be even greater problems when she returned to the office. Her first days on the job had gone too smoothly. Even at that moment, she was beginning to have a feeling of apprehension.
Sooner or later she'd get an assignment she couldn't handle.
CHAPTER 7
To Terry's complete surprise, the client who gave her the seemingly impossible problem to solve was black Joe Brown.
"I thought we got you all squared away," she told the man whose skin was blacker than the side of a shark.
"I went soft again," he said, mournfully.
"For a while, everything went along okay. I pissed on the white cunts just like I did with you, and it did make me feel grand. That kind of piss-on was always good for a bone up. Then. . . ? " and he shrugged his shoulders.
Terry said, softly, "It stopped working. Now, you need stronger medicine. But what?" she asked.
Brown shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I kept gettin' this fantasy. A kind of impossible dream." He shook his head. "None of the chicks I know will go along with it. They say it's too far out."
"What is it?" Terry snapped, impatiently. "So far you've been talking in circles. Make your point. What kind of action are you after? I can't guarantee we can supply it. There is such a thing as good taste."
Brown hesitated, and then plunged on. "Okay, I'll spill out this fantasy I keep getting. Maybe you can help, maybe not. If not, I just stops fucking is all."
"Without the melodramatics," Terry said, wearily. "What is your fantasy?"
Brown said. "I got this oral hang-up. A special kind of mouth job. When I fantasize about, I'll get a bone-on. But just momentarily. I know if I could get the real thing, I'd be okay, once and for all."
"Shoot," Terry ordered, and took up a note book and pencil. Sometimes, she felt more like a psychologist than a social director. But she was rapidly finding out that she had to fully understand people to be a director of a dating service. Merely matching up-likely partners was not enough.
The black man described his fantasy. During his more successful masturbatory sessions, he visualized himself watching a scene of sexual intercourse between a white woman and a white man. After the man had ejaculated into the lady's pussy, Brown could see himself immediately clamping his mouth to her genitals to suck out the juices and bring the woman to a climax.
Terry frowned. "You're asking a lot this time," she said. "You want to watch a couple with white skin perform in a straight sexual way. Then, after the man has climaxed, you want to suck his partner off, juices and all."
"Yeah, that's it," Brown said. "There's one more thing, though," he added. "One more small detail."
"Go on," Terry said.
"While I'm sucking off this guy's wife or girl friend, he gets such a bone-on by watching me, he jacks off."
Terry stopped writing. "And when he is about to blow, he sticks the cockhead in his wife's mouth. While you're eating her, she's eating him."
"That's it," Brown admitted. "And I'd prefer the woman to be not only white but blonde. I got a thing for blondes."
"Of course," Terry replied, easily. By now she was really beginning to understand her black client. The man wanted desperately to be accepted in the upper class white world. This act of cunnilingus in a three-way show symbolized acceptance to him. But not many white people would go along with that sort of thing!
She was inclined to turn down his request but knew she didn't dare take the risk. Brown was a special favorite of Hunsucker. By turning him away, she'd only be risking a job which meant a great deal to her.
"Give me time to line up a couple for you," Terry said.
Brown stood up. "Don't take all year about it. I haven't had any sexual relief in a week! Ever since I started going soft again!"
"Don't threaten me," Terry replied, angrily.
"I ain't threatening anyone," Brown said, evenly. "But old lady Hunsucker don't think you'll last as Social Director. Maybe if I told her you can't deliver..."
"Get out," Terry yelled slamming both hands down hard on the desk. "I'll call you when I've got someone lined up. It won't be easy."
It wasn't easy. Not one white couple signed up with the agency would go for such a far out act. Many of them were prejudiced against black men, too. As a last resort, she called in Mr. and Mrs. Vancleef who did owe her a debt of thanks.
"We'll do anything to help you," the silver-haired man told Terry. "What is the problem?"
When Terry related the black man's fantasy, however, both Vancleef and his wife shook their heads.
"Nothing doing!" Vancleef retorted. "I won't have a nigger-man touching my wife."
The woman pointed out. "My husband can rarely get a hard-on without his voyeuristic activities. Watching someone screw me is his bag." She, too, shook her head. "No, we're not the couple for you."
Desperately, Terry asked, "But what if Tad lays you. What harm would there be in letting the black man suck you off after my son drops his load inside of you?"
"No, no, no," Vancleef interjected. "I won't have a black man touching my wife. I don't go for that interracial sort of thing that's all the rage now. We're rather old-fashioned," he added.
Terry refused to give up. She couldn't. The Vancleefs were her last resort. If they turned her down, she would have to admit defeat. Agnes Hunsucker was waiting for her to fail on a job and black-man Brown was one of their biggest accounts.
Terry continued talking. "You could be passing up a terrifically exciting voyeur type of spectacle," she pointed out. "I've got a few movies to illustrate my point. At least watch them. If they don't charge you up, turn me down. All I'm asking is that you at least give me the courtesy of looking at a hot film. If I'm wrong, turn me down. If you're honestly heated up by this white-black stuff, be decent enough to admit it and help me out with Brown."
Mrs. Vancleef murmured. "Oh well, there can't be any harm in merely watching a film."
Vancleef shrugged. "All right, I'll watch. But dammit, don't expect me to change my mind. I've got a thing about blacks. They're all right in their place but..."
"Won't take me a minute to set up the screen and reel off the film," Terry cut in, happily. "Watch it with an open mind. You could be passing up a very exciting scene. And black men do have bigger cocks.
Mrs. Vancleef looked interested despite the misgivings of her spouse. "Big cocks have always turned me on," she said.
Working swiftly, Terry set up the screen in her office, and placed the projector on a stand. "This film will please," she promised and flicked off the lights.
The first film was an old one and popular around the early days of the century. A dowager duchess who apparently belonged to the British nobility and her black footman entered the lady's large living room. They were bent on a bit of fucking before the husband of the lady returned.
It soon developed that the husband was in on the plot. No sooner had the buxom duchess disrobed along with her big, black buck than the door swung open and the husband entered. He didn't become angry or upset. To the contrary, the crotch area of his trousers began to bulge. Calling out encouragements to his wife and black lover, he, too, removed his clothes. But he didn't join the duo. He stood alongside the couch and began to stroke his cock while he gave instructions to the black man.
"Eat her cunt," he cried out, excitedly. All the while he kept stroking his own turgid prick.
Seated on the couch, the duchess leaned back and spread her legs. The camera hovered lovingly over her hairy cuntal area. The clitoris, aroused and erected to full bloom, was the size of a small boy's solid cock.
The size of the female prick met the full approval of the black man who knelt between her smooth legs and looked adoringly up at the beckoning crack. When the woman's husband told him to "eat," he obeyed.
Opening his mouth as though to partake of a succulent meal, he clamped his thick, negroid lips over the clitoris and pulled back on it as though it was a worm reluctant to be devoured by a bird's beak.
As the black man sucked white cunt, the duchess began to play with herself. With both hands, she cupped her ample boobies and every now and then, slid one finger in back of her and ran a finger up her tight ass-hole.
"Shove that black face against my white cunt, you cunt-lapping nigger-man," she bawled down to the slobbering footman. As she exhorted him to the supreme effort, she kept thrusting her lower abdomen back and forth and rotating her hips around in the most lascivious and lewd manner possible.
The woman's husband kept shouting instructions and stroking his cock bone with increasingly hot masturbatory movement.
"Lower," he'd shout every now and then. "Suck down lower! In her ass-hole! Shove that black tongue up my wife's ass, black man!"
Digging his long, strong, black fingers into the smooth, creamy-colored ass flesh, the footman lifted up the woman's buttocks and shoved his tongue deep into the shit-hole as ordered.
"Yes, yes, yes," the duke coughed happily and the camera closed in on his throbbing prick to reveal its fiery growth as the duke watched the scene of oral-anal action inside his wife's ass-hole.
Leaping back and forth from the wife's slobbering cunt to the duke's jerking prick, the camera told the viewer that both members of the British nobility were about to achieve an orgasm simultaneously.
The duke's body arched and his shining eyes gave testimony to the fact of his impending blow off. But he had no intention of losing the gism over the floor. That wasn't the object of the three-way act at all.
When he felt the cream about to leap through the trembling eye in the center of his bulging cockhead, he ran quickly over to the couch, leaned forward and thrust the long prick into the wide-open mouth of his wife. The camera zoomed in for a close-up of the shooting sex stick.
The gobby stuff flew past her shining lips and pearly teeth. Her mouth muscles worked as rapidly as possible in an effort to swallow every loving drop.
The moment the stuff hit the woman's mouth, she began to ejaculate too. Gripping the kneeling black man by the head to make certain he didn't move away prematurely, she let the hot cuntal effluent flow through her slit into his mouth as though she was taking a piss.
When, at long last, he removed his penis from the woman's mouth, the meat was already rubbering. Every drop had spurted out to deplete the hose for a while.
In the next scene, the black buck mounted the duchess, and the viewer was treated to the sight of his riding black buttocks pumping up and down. The woman screamed out her usual flow of obscene but encouraging remarks.
The husband stared and played with his depleted tool. Slowly, the shaft began to thicken and stretch out again.
The reel ended as expected.
The duke, fully erected again, stroked the stiff cock until he was prepared to ejaculate. Then he shoved it into the wide, waiting mouth of his wife and spent himself.
At about the same time, the black buck began to climax, too.
The picture came to an end with the camera examining the limp, spent genitals of all three participants in the three-way fuck. The long black cock, the shorter white one, and the screwed-out pussy were all drenched with the sticky juices of sex.
Terry snapped the lights back on.
Before either Vancleef or his wife could voice their reaction to the film, Terry launched her attack.
"A three-way fuck with a negro can be the most exciting event of your entire lives. I personally guarantee that you'll never again suffer from impotency. Just think back to the action and you'll bone up again."
Mrs. Vancleefs defenses crumpled. "It did look exciting. I mean that scene where the duchess sat on the couch with her legs spread apart with that big, black buck kneeling between them. The way he sucked!" she shivered. "Simply delicious! Of course, I've always heard that black men are excellent cunt suckers. Especially if the cunt is white. Drives them wild, or so I've heard. And that can only make for a wild bit of tongue action inside the pussy. That's where I love to feel the tongue action. Inside. I know a lot of women prefer to have the clit sucked. I don't. Deep inside. That's where I crave tongue, and a lot of it."
Terry drove home her point. "Black men love to drive the tongue deep inside the cunt. And you're right Mrs. Vancleef. If the woman is white, they literally tear the pussy apart with that ever moving tongue. You'll love it," she promised. "Simply love it. And you'll want more of it."
Vancleef wasn't convinced. "The thought of that black buck screwing my wife doesn't sit too good."
Terry quickly explained. "No, no, no. He doesn't want to fuck your wife, sir. You'll do that. Our client wants to suck pussy after you've dropped your load in." She pointed out. "A lot of guys who are going impotent think they need something special to bone them up again."
For the first time, Vancleef looked sympathetic. "Going impotent. He has my fullest sympathy in spite of his color. Of course, I'm not prejudiced. It's just a matter of form. After all, I don't go around sucking black women!"
"Try the three-way scene once," Terry pleaded. "You'll save the poor guy's life. And you could save my job. Old lady Hunsucker is just waiting for me to fail."
The couple looked horrified. "Why didn't you tell us your job was in jeopardy?" they chorused.
Vancleef spoke up. "Of course, we'll do it Damn it all, we've been helped by your services to us. It's only decent that we reciprocate!"
His gray-haired wife said, dreamily, "Of course, we must reciprocate."
But it was clear that reciprocating wasn't all she had in mind. A big, black, young man running his long, thick tongue over her box was what she had in mind. And the thought of the contrasting colors excited her. The white thighs and crotch against the jet-black face....
"Yes," she continued to murmur. "We must reciprocate. The quicker the better," she added with a release of breath.
In the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Vancleef, Joe Brown looked humble and intimidated. The silver-haired couple who easily belonged to the upper middle-class were expensively dressed, sleek, and radiated an aura of superiority. They spoke with articulation and their manners were perfect. Joe Brown, ghetto raised and educated, felt small in their presence. His penis grew even limper. All sorts of doubts filled him with a sense of uneasiness.
Sensing the black man's problem, Terry tried to put him at ease. "Joe is an ex-football player and is really built. And is he ever hung!" she exclaimed. "No wonder all the white women are crying out for his services. He's one of our agency's busiest clients."
Mrs. Vancleef eyed the ex-football player with a calm, and critical eye. What she saw pleased her, tremendously. His shoulders were broad, his chest expansion magnificent, his waist narrow, and the bulge in the crotch of his tight-fitting trousers gave testimony to the fact that he was exceedingly well hung. His legs were long, shapely and muscular.
Mrs. Vancleef noted that his tongue was especially long and velvety-skinned. Inwardly she shivered at the prospect of getting that tongue up her pussy. And the fact that his skin was so black didn't repel her at all. She had been raised in an almost total white society. Being close to a black man rather excited her. Very delicately, she sniffed in the aroma of hot, negroid smell. Her cuntal lips moved in anticipation.
Vancleef wasn't as prejudiced as he thought he'd be, either. In fact, the thought of this black man sucking his wife pleased him. Having an audience always helped and he sensed he wouldn't have any trouble in achieving an erection. Usually it took the sight of his wife seducing a young boy to make him erect. This experience was teaching him something new about himself.
Perhaps he had as many hang-ups as the black man, he was thinking. And impotent-prone men must help each other. With this thought of mutual assistance in mind, Vancleef warmed to the black man.
"We'll help you in any way possible," he told Brown. "Exactly what is your hang-up? It would help for us to know, old boy. In that way, we'll be better prepared to help you."
Brown nodded. "Acceptance. That's been my hang-up ever since I was a kid. I always wanted to be accepted by whitey. Not the poor, white trash-but the upper class folks! I wanted to be a part of that society. Other blacks looked down on me for wanting to be accepted by whitey. But it was important to me. Now, I've gone soft. It ain't no fun being rejected by anyone."
"Poor dear," Mrs. Vancleef clucked sympathetically. "What exactly have you got in mind, Mr. Brown?" she asked. She reached over to squeeze his hand and-give him a bit of self-assurance. The touch of his black skin thrilled the white woman and she felt moisture gathering into a pool deep within the confines of her cunt. Almost immediately, she regretted that the black man was only going to suck her off. She began to wonder whether or not it would be appropriate to get him to screw her with his black piece of meat.
Brown explained the set-up. "I'd love to watch your husband fuck you, ma'am," he said. "Then, after he's dropped his load inside your cunt, I'd love to go down on you and eat. That way," he added, "I'd be accepted by both of you."
"Touching," the silver-haired lady of the upper class sighed. "But wouldn't it be more appropriate if you ... screwed me?"
Her husband frowned. "No, that won't do at all. I'll go along with the cunt-suck proposition. But I'll be damned if I let him fuck you."
Terry quickly interceded to prevent any problems. "Let's just go along with the script as Joe Brown wants it. Afterwards, if you are all in agreement, you may want to vary the action. But it's no good unless all are in agreement. For the time being, let Joe have what he wants."
"Of course," the elderly woman replied. "I was only thinking of Mr. Brown and his problem of acceptance. Mounting a willing white woman would be acceptance, I should think."
Brown started to undress. "All I can think of is sucking white pussy after the husband has fucked it. That's all I want, now. An oral job."
"How will you ejaculate?" Mrs. Vancleef persisted in her questioning.
A slight smile played over the black man's 'hick lips. "Don't worry about that. I will. And when you watch me, you'll get hot all over again."
Mrs. Vancleef grew excited and curious. "How?" she asked again.
Brown stepped out of the last of his garments. "You'll find out," he said, cryptically. "Just let me eat you after your husband has drilled out the hole with his cock."
The sight of the black man in the nude filled the widening eyes of the white woman. The man was very young and muscular. That pleased her. But the blackness of his skin added an excitement she had never experienced before.
While his cock remained soft, the tissues looked positively edible. She wouldn't mind slipping that kind of black meat into her mouth at all. She even could visualize it pumping in and out of her white cunt while she waggled her own jiggling ass back and forth and around to properly take care of the black bone. Casually, she reached over and fondled his balls.
"They feel heavy," she said. "Are you certain you can't get it up in the normal way?"
Brown nodded. "I tried everything. Everything," he quickly added, "except this kind of action. If this don't work, I'm through."
"It's going to work!" Mrs. Vancleef said, emphatically. "Keep a positive frame of mind."
Terry nudged the couple along. "I think Mr. Brown is waiting for you good folks to undress." She winked at the woman. "Perhaps the mere sight of your white pussy will do the trick."
"I hope so," the elderly woman replied and dropped her skirt. The undergarments came off quickly, too.
Vancleef took more time in disrobing as he still wasn't entirely sold. "I'm not sure I want to go through with it," he said. Just the same, he took off his pants and underclothes, too. "Never have believed in intermingling the races. Not that I'm prejudiced, but whites should fuck whites and blacks give it to blacks. What's the point in intermingling?" he asked no one in particular.
He didn't receive a reply because no one was paying any attention to him. His wife was too busy showing off her naked body to the black man. And Terry discovered that she couldn't remain a passive onlooker. She, too, began to shed her clothing although at the moment, she didn't really know how or where or when she'd fit into the action. At least she could jack off and relieve the mounting pressure within her own genitals. Since her liberation, the divorcee had learned to give vent to her sexual needs the moment they made themselves known. Masturbating in front of others had a certain excitement, too. She no longer considered self-play sinful or degrading. Under the proper circumstances, it could be a lot of fun.
These were the proper circumstances, she decided.
Another problem arose. Vancleef couldn't get a hard-on as easily as he had expected. Embarrassed, he turned to Terry. "I'm in as bad shape as Brown. I guess I'll never be able to erect unless I watch my wife with a young boy. I've been that way for years," he said. "I don't know why I thought I was cured. I'm not."
"Nonsense," Terry replied quickly. "Of course you can. You two softies can help each other in that department."
"How?" the two men asked in unison.
Terry quickly explained. "Brown can roll his tongue over Mrs. Vancleef's naked body. You watch," she instructed Vancleef. "After you get a hard-on, mount your wife and fuck."
"And after he comes, I go down on her," Brown said, happily. "Sure, that way we'll be both helping each other out. I'm for it," he added.
"Me too," Mrs. Vancleef piped up. "But what will we do?" she asked turning to the Social Director. "Mr. Brown can't erect."
"Sixty-Nine," Terry said with a wide smile. "A white, naked female and a black, naked male in the position of sixty-nine. That could make anyone bone up."
"Sixty-Nine," Brown murmured the words reverently to himself. Many pleasurable memories flooded back at the sound of those figures. "Yeah, sounds great." His nostrils quivered in anticipation of smelling the old white woman's ass. Odor had always played a big role in the kind of stimuli that excited him.
Even Vancleef took to the idea. Formerly, the visual of a young boy with his wife had always turned him on enough to cause an erection. But the sight of his wife in the position of Sixty-Nine with a black man might do the trick, too.
"Yes," he said nodding. "That could possibly do it. I've always enjoyed watching that particular position between my wife and a boy. Perhaps it will work with a black man."
"Sure it will," Terry said, enthusiastically. Since her sexual liberation, the Sixty-Nine had provided her with more enjoyment than any other position.
Despite his great experience as a lover of white women, Brown required instructions.
None of his partners had ever requested the twin-sucking position and black women were more inclined to a quick penetration.
It was up to Terry. "Get on your back," she instructed the black man.
Brown did as ordered. Reclining on the couch, he spread his legs and looked at the supine state of his penis. "It doesn't feel like it will ever get hard again," he said, mournfully.
Terry didn't pay any attention to him. Turning to Mrs. Vancleef, she guided her into the female part of the position.
"Straddle Brown," she told the old woman. "And face the direction of his cock. This is supposed to be a mutual sucking type of action."
"I'm getting the better part of it," Mrs. Vancleef observed as she mounted the reclining black man. "Mr. Brown is in a position to tongue my ass as well as cunt. And to be quite honest, I'm easily aroused in either hole."
Her husband said, "I'd like to see some tongue action in my wife's ass-hole. That could turn me on, too."
"Here I come," the old woman piped up as she climbed aboard the couch and straddled the black man's fuzzy head. Then she lowered her body down as she supported herself on her knees and elbows. Her wrinkled but attractive face was aimed in the direction of the man's genitals. As she dropped her body down, the cheeks of her still firm ass hovered no more than a fraction of an inch away from the black man's face. Her own face hovered over the still soft penis.
At first, Brown hesitated. In his masturbatory fantasies, he had always been able to see himself sniffing a white, female ass and getting excited. But this was reality. The buttocks were threatening to engulf his face. Momentarily he was confused.
He slipped both hands around each cheek and gazed into the crack of ass. The cleavage between the globes of flesh was pronounced and he could glimpse into the inner valley of ass. Wiry rectal hairs peeked through the cleavage and tickled his broad nostrils. Excitement, like an electric shock, leaped through his body. Suddenly, all of his fears and doubts vanished.
Gripping each cheek and prying them as far apart as possible, he stuck out his tongue and shoved it between the cheeks and as deep inside the hole as possible. Odors assailed his nostrils, but they were exciting smells. He shoved his tongue in even deeper.
"OhhhhAhh," Mrs. Vancleef moaned as she felt the black man's hot, wriggly tongue working its way boldly into the crack of her ass.
Taking hold of the limp dick, she held it straight up and went down on the meat. The warmth of the tissues flooded through her mouth and she gathered up enough courage to start nibbling on the long, black sausage of soft penile meat. With her free hand, she kept fondling the black nuts and every now and then, she'd reach under and goose his ass-hole.
Watching his wife Sixty-Nine with the black man heated up Vancleef. With all of his prejudices momentarily forgotten, he found excitement in the contrast of his wife's white face up against a long, black shaft of prick.
There was even more excitement in watching his wife's white cheeks of ass hovering less than inches away from the black man's face. And the way Brown's purple tongue kept darting out at the woman's ass-hole created heat waves which spread into Vancleefs genitals. Slowly, his penis began to rise. "Good for you," exclaimed Terry. To facilitate the erection of the old man's peter, the Social Director dropped to her knees and hungrily engulfed Vancleefs cock. "Tastes yummy," she told him. As she sucked, she pulled on the appendage to hasten its elongation.
"Yes," Vancleef moaned with a barely audible voice. "Oh yes. That's it. Suck me. Eat my prick. Make sure my wife is watching you."
On the couch, Brown pulled his face out of Mrs. Vancleef's buttocks and immediately attacked her vaginal valley. The pink lips were widely distended and the soft, juicy meat spread over his lips as he stuck his tongue deep into the pit that was normally reserved for prick. The woman spread wide and pushed back to make certain the black man's oral instrument made the fullest penetration possible.
On the floor in front of the couch, Terry began to achieve a partial success. For the first time in many years, Vancleef's dick began to erect by direct female manipulation.
"Ready," he managed to whisper to Terry in a hoarse, lust-choked voice. "Ready to fuck. Better do it ... now. Hurry," he pleaded. "Hurry!" There was an urgency in his voice, an almost desperation. Having achieved a certain rigidity, he didn't want to wait too long and loose the bone. All he required now was the co-operation of his wife's cunt.
At the moment, however, his wife's cunt was fully occupied by the black man's tongue. Brown had no intention of vacating the area until he managed to get a full erection on. Realizing that Vancleef wanted to screw his wife, Brown burrowed his tongue even deeper into the vaginal tunnel and sucked with every ounce of his strength.
Naturally the distraught man turned to the Social Director for guidance. "Help me," he cried out. "If I don't fuck my wife now, I'll lose it."
Leaping to her feet, the divorcee, said, "You're going to screw now and make no mistake about it. Come with me!" she ordered in a firm tone of voice.
Taking Vancleef by the hand, she led him over to the pair of sixty-niners.
"Wait a minute," she said and turned her attention to the cunt-sucking Brown.
"This is for your own good," she told him, and pulled his face out of Mrs. Vancleef's juiced-up box. "Suck her ass, goddammit," she ordered. "You weren't supposed to blow the woman. That's Vancleef's job. You have to eat her after he has his orgasm and not before," she reminded him. Seizing his face with an iron grip, she directed the tongue towards the lady's spread-wide ass-hole.
"Suck it," she shouted. "Deep inside with the tongue."
The black man did as ordered. Turning to Vancleef, Terry pointed to the vacated cunt of his wife.
"Put it in," she directed. "There's plenty of room if you go about it right."
To make certain that her client did as directed, she took hold of the still-stiff pole and guided the cockhead into the sucked-out cunt country.
To Vancleef, she said, "Fuck it. Fuck your wife's box, and don't stop until you've shot yourself."
Standing in back of his wife, Vancleef shoved his cock into her pussy and started to pump. The visual stimulus provided by the black man's tongue up his wife's ass-hole helped him keep his bone. Indeed, the thin penile shaft grew stronger with each pump of his body.
At the front end, the old woman suddenly realized that the black tool getting longer and stiffer. One moment the meat felt soft inside of her mouth, the next instant the tissues grew firmer, stronger, and more threatening.
Drops of gism spit through the eye, and the woman was given notice that the black man beneath her was capable of achieving an orgasm in her mouth. This bit of knowledge didn't deter her at all. To the contrary, she increased the tempo of the suck as she massaged and pulled at the pair of black nuts.
Mrs. Vancleef triggered off the three-way-blow. First, her vaginal muscles fluttered wildly and then flung out the cuntal effluent. Although she wanted to scream out in ecstasy, she didn't. She was determined to blow the black man, to feel a load of black juice in her mouth. This goal was achieved only moment's after her own climax.
Brown pulled his tongue out of her spasming, saliva-coated ass-hole and yelled, "I'm blowing up!"
He literally did blow out a loadful into the white woman's mouth. At that moment, her screams ceased since she was too busy swallowing the seminal discharge.
The sight of his wife swallowing the black man's cock goo was all that Vancleef required in the way of stimuli. Immediately, his own nuts reacted and his cock was spitting out a load even more copious than the much younger black man.
"All's well that ends well," Terry said as she started to dress.
She had achieved her goal. The negro had discovered his own potency without the need of eating a white cunt after it had been fucked. Vancleef had discovered a keener awareness of his own sexuality. And Mrs. Vancleef had achieved the ambition of a lifetime. She had blown a black man's cock.
When the three lovers disengaged and turned to thank Terry, the Social Director had already left the room.
"She's the greatest," Brown declared with feeling.
"We'd all be lost without her," the elderly couple agree.
But back in her apartment, Terry told her son, "I'm quitting that goddamned job. I feel too ... too sinful ... "
CHAPTER 8
"You can't quit now," Tad cried in alarm. "You're really doing a terrific job for the dating service. Everyone says so. Even old lady Hunsucker accepts you, now. Why quit?"
"Guilty conscience," Terry retorted. "Matching up all kinds of kinky little people." She shivered. "Am I doing right?"
"Yes," Tad replied, firmly. "You're making a lot of people happy. And if that's being sinful, I'd rather have you that way then before..."
Terry looked surprised. "Before? Before what?"
Her son said, "Before you got yourself liberated. You used to be a big pain in the ass. Now you're on the right track. A real swinger! A mom a son can be proud of." He pleaded. "Please forget about the conscience, and enjoy yourself. And keep on helping other people. They need you ... I need you," he added a bit haltingly.
"That's another thing that bothers me," Terry said in a softer tone of voice. "Sleeping with my own son doesn't quite sit right. Perhaps, I'm just a plain, old-fashioned Jane after all."
Tad stood up. "Enough of that negative kind of shit! How long has it been since you had a piece of ass?"
Terry had to think. She had been so deeply immersed in the problems of other people, she had completely forgotten about her own needs. "Too long," she had to admit.
"No wonder," Tad exclaimed and took his mother by the hand. "To the bedroom for you, young lady," he said.
In bed, the naked boy sunk his cock-bone into the motherly cunt on the very first thrust. "Still feel sinful?" he asked as he reached under and grasped both of her ass-cheeks in preparation for a series of hard-driving fucks.
"Yes," Terry admitted and threw both of her legs around her son's rib cage. "But I love it. I love feeling sinful. . . ! "
She was about to make a few more observations about her feelings when her son began to pump. Her voice spiraled into an unintelligible howl...
