Bill Altman was a clever man with a talent for making money and a taste for the fleshly pleasures of life. He had been gifted with a hard body and a terrific desire to gratify its needs.
Fortunately, he met Marge, the red-headed beauty who, in a female way, had the same frantic desire for sex games.
It brought them together In an erotic clash to produce eventually two splendid kids, Caroline and Bernard.
The kids grew strong and lusty, sort of chips off the old block. At seventeen, Bernard was husky and bright, and bedeviled by brutal hard-ons every night, which he was forced to discipline with his fist Caroline, at fifteen, was blonde, with fast-budding tits and intense curiosity about bedroom games.
One reason could be the way that Bill and Marge did their sex thing, during times when they were drunk and disorderly.
The kids, awakened at night by the rumpus, would sneak out to observe the orgies in the parental bedroom, even the living room-wherever the games started.
The scene was one to sear the sight of the kids. Especially the size of Bill's huge cock, and the amazing things Marge did with it. She would gorge on it, put it into her pussy, crouch and take it into her tail, and so forth. Little did the kids suspect the far-out fabulous games that went on sometimes behind locked doors. However, the groans and yelps convinced them that bedroom games had to be the best fun.
They could hardly wait, therefore, to utilize their own sex apparatus.
At seventeen, Bernard already had a cock of horrendous dimensions, and when it awoke him at night, a super-hard hunk of meat, it just drove him up the wail.
Caroline, one of the most sophisticated little cunts you could imagine, was pissed off because Bill would not play with her pussy.
She'd come into Bernard's room, often at night when he might be disciplining his dick, and it would infuriate her to see him wasting himself in the solitary vice.
"Beating your meat again," she would say with a sneer. "Such a pity to waste yourself like that."
Bernard shrugged, for he knew his kid sister thought they should sample each other's pleasures, just as the parents did.
"Why can't we have fun, too?" she would demand, "After all, don't we have the same equipment they do?"
Bernard at such times would look at his sister astonished, just because her logic was unexpected. Also, he had a lust for someone more heavily endowed with tits and ass, notably Marge, whose image he had finally discovered haunted his dream life.
"Listen, Caroline, you're just a little kid with probably a tight pussy. Look at the size of this meat. If I pushed it into you, it would paralyze you."
"How do you know it won't fit until you try?"
He just shrugged and caressed his silky, throbbing cock.
She looked at it lecherously. Caroline knew, from her secret spying, that Marge, her mother, got super pleasure from this sex thing. Caroline was therefore firmly set to experiment with the male cock and discover such pleasures for herself. A highly sexed kid, she was keen on kicking up as much pleasure in life as she could. She was obviously fifteen going on thirty as a sex job.
She understood that Bernard had a fierce letch for his mummy. He told her straight on, for he was forthright too. She felt jealous that she could not successfully compete with beautiful, sexy Marge.
"Well, if you won't play with my pussy, why don't you put that thing in my mouth?" she demanded. "Dad does it to Marge."
Bernard shook his head pityingly. "Look, I've got this giant cock and you have a delicate little mouth. How you gonna do it?"
She stared at his bristling, huge cock and had to admit it was more than a mouthful. Still, it did make tingles in her pussy. Just looking even made her throat ache.
Caroline vividly remembered how Marge had guzzled Bill's cock, and how she devoured it with her pussy and her ass. They did this sometimes in the living room, under the delusion that the kids were locked tight in their bedrooms and asleep.
It was nothing that the kids could forget easily, having seen it.
And just now, in his bedroom, Bernard had been trying to replay the scene in his head, while he toyed with his tumescent cock. He loved to picture his dad pummeling Marge's white ass with his huge horrendous dick.
But it was hard to focus on the picture because of Caroline who had come to his bedroom in her thin babydoll gown that clearly showed her pointed tits and round ass and shapely thighs. If you looked closely, in fact, you could see her delicate pussy peeping at times from under the gown.
If only she'd go away, Bernard thought, so that he could concentrate on that sexy picture of his mother while he stroked his cock. That was his real turn-on, he thought.
But Caroline persisted.
"I'll bet I can suck you just as good as she can," Caroline said, competitively feminine. She just lusted to get close to his huge, throbbing meat, and felt frustrated as hell that he would not get into a game with her.
If only she was older, Caroline thought spitefully, she might show him a thing or two, like he was not the only pebble on the beach!
Bernard stared at her mouth. Actually, just now he had such hots that he wouldn't really mind if she did try to engulf his cock in her mouth, small as it was.
But he didn't want her getting too big for her panties because, from his experience, she was a cocky kid; give her an inch, she'd want all seven inches.
So, casually, he said, 'Well, we might give it a try, though I don't have much hope."
The idea that she might finally get his huge meat in her mouth sent a charge through Caroline's pussy. Boyoboy, she thought, now I'm on the road to sin.
So, she got in front of him, down on her knees, opened her mouth and waited.
He stared with a superior air at her, then shook his head.
"Don't just stand there like a fish gasping for air. Use your mouth."
So she came close to the huge, throbbing meat, put her lips round the knobhead. A lot of jingle-jangles went shooting through her pussy. Mmmm, this is exciting, she thought.
It was hot, silky, hard, and she loved its flavor.
She took her mouth off it. "This is fun, Bernard."
"Imbecile. You have to lick it. Like it's a lollipop."
She apologized, took firm hold, put it back in her mouth. Then she licked, as if it were a juicy lollipop, but her mouth could only go over the head.
Bernard was pissed off, thinking he could get a better charge from his fist. "Hey kid, you've got a tongue. Use it too," he commanded.
She felt very clumsy, apologized, and did as he directed. She held his balls in one hand, his cock in the other and whipped her tongue around the shaft.
It made her feel great, eating his cock. She figured that she was doing what Marge did, which made her feel grown-up. She sneaked a look up at Bernard. He was watching her critically, and she wanted to make good.
It was her first cocksucking.
Caroline knew that her brother was a specialist in putting her down, and she hated to be in a position to be humiliated.
So she concentrated on her cocksucking, putting into it everything she had, trying to get the meat deep into her throat, lashing It with her tongue, pulling her lips over the head -- like it was the juiciest lollipop ever.
Bernard stared at her, hypnotized; amazed at the tingles in his cock.
"Do my balls," he commanded.
She held his balls, tight with juice, finding them fascinating objects. She put each in her mouth, licking tenderly, finding a delicious new experience. And she enjoyed the feel and flavor of it.
Poor Bernard suddenly felt shaky, although he kept a superior smirk, not daring to let her know he was turned on. The kid had a lot of talent as a cocksucker, but he wouldn't clap his hands, for that would spoil her. He didn't want her to get snotty, and thought it his male job to keep the woman in her place.
Her place? On her knees, doing a job on his cock!
He smiled to himself, feeling male superiority, then he concentrated on watching her charming little mouth work his cock.
She seemed to pick up a lot of proficiency as she went along, devouring his cock like a demon, so that he tilted into the highs, and grabbed her head and held it steady while he tried to pummel her mouth with his prick.
For a short time, she let him do that, then pulled her head away, "Now wait. I think it only fair that you do something for me."
He was furious. "What do you mean?"
"Well, what about my cunt? Are you going to let me just boil over? Stew in my own juice? How about it -- you do something to me!"
He had to grin. The kid sister couldn't be pushed around. She had guts -- or was it brass? -- as well as ass. He wanted a blast-off for his cock, so he queried politely what she had in mind.
"What does milady desire? Shall I lick between your toes perhaps?"
"No, Bernard, just lick my pussy!"
He had to grin, for the kid had a lot of sauce. She'd seen the parents, so she was all sophisticated.
"Okay, honey." Anything to get his cock back in her hot little mouth!
He went down to her little pink passion slit, kissed it. She was clean, fresh and very interesting. He parted the lips, got his tongue in the soft tender flesh, gave it a workout, put his finger partly into her virginal cunt. She was plenty tight, as virgins go.
He enjoyed the cunt-licking, got his finger in her tail, played about a bit, sending her into a wild spin.
"Oh, that's so good, Bernard!"
He had given her, he figured, as much joy as she deserved, considering her age, so he brought his ferocious dick up for more fiery mouthwork.
She wailed a bit, not yet having hit the peak excitement. So he decided they might as well enjoy each other with a touch of sixty-nine, something the parents had done.
They then went topsy-turvy with each other, fiercely licking cock and cunt, and young Bernard discovered with delight the pleasures of mutual eating.
Yes, Bernard decided, games of sex had to be the most fascinating in the world. He would, at times, stop to watch his adorable blonde sister whip her tongue around his cock, holding it firmly, balancing the balls, charmingly doing a beautiful job in cock-sucking.
So good, in fact, that his cock swelled and with one mighty heave, his juice jettisoned into her mouth.
To say that Caroline was astonished is to put It mildly. She was entirely unprepared, and when he urged her frantically to hold her mouth there and swallow, she just gagged like any amateur, astonished at the gushets of cream that spurted into her mouth.
She did, however, try to swallow some of it, but mostly she turned to the sheets and let some of the cream get away.
He watched her, a bit disenchanted with her lack of style but, aware that it was her virgin effort, felt it would be unreasonable to expect a more expert performance. Bernard knew that in the world of depravity, practice makes perfect.
When Caroline went off to clean up in the bathroom he lay there feeling a nice lightness, very much like a man of the world. The urbane cocksman.
"Listen, kid," he said, when she returned, "You did a fair job, but you got sloppy at the end. Hereafter, just keep your mouth firmly around my cock when I fire the ammunition and get ready to swallow. Then you won't come through like a slob."
"I'm sorry, Bernard," she said. She did feel apologetic about her clumsiness. "I'll do better next time."
"Right," he said generously. "After all, you do have to practice, even at cocksucking, if you hope to get really good."
"I hope you'll let me get some practice, Bernard," she said earnestly. Caroline felt that she had not scored high in this, her first sex challenge, and imagined she would do better given another chance.
"After all," she argued, "you can't suppose that Bill and Marge were experts from the beginning. Right, Bernard?"
"Practice makes perfect! That is very true in the world of sex," he said sagely.
You would think from Bernard's superior style that he was a past master in the art of sex, but he was actually only seventeen, and something of a neophyte in the ways of clobbering the cunt. But it was his high responsibility in dealing with his sister Caroline never to lose face, always to be top dog, even if he had no idea of what he was talking about.
If once he let the little bitch get the upper hand, he figured, she would stampede him. So he had to protect himself.
Bernard, actually, was a clever young man who, at seventeen, had done super things at school, scoring straight A's in math and literature to the absolute delight of his teachers. Bernard had an encyclopedic mind, it has to be said, and his intake of lore was phenomenal.
However, his concentration seemed to be mainly on his cock and the world of sex. Nothing appealed to him more, and he did all his readings in that area. He read all about the exotic types of sex behavior, he read of remote tribes and their sex practices, how primitive peoples did their sex thing. He made the discovery that the most savage and brutal games were actually played among civilized men -- because of the boredom of their lives, civilized men invented the most barbaric systems of human pleasure.
He read of bondage, of the Middle Ages when imaginative religious sadists used whips, chains, and pincers, and of the Iron Maiden, whose charming embrace could persuade any hard-headed dissenter.
Bernard would then discuss these readings with his school buddy, a super-stud named Barry.
Barry lived with his gorgeous, big-titted mother, Anita, at the other end of town in one of the big Tudor houses. The father, a wealthy manufacturer, was a man dedicated to making millions and driving himself all day long. At night, Anita drove him all night long with her thirsty cunt and mouth.
Unfortunately, the workaholic father catapulted himself out of the world at forty-two, leaving behind a luscious widow -- rich, frustrated and oversexed.
Chapter Two
Barry at sixteen also had problems with his pecker, for it had a horrendous habit of erecting night and day in the most unlikely places, forcing him often to chastise it so he would not be embarrassed in class.
Together Barry and Bernard made quite a team of terrifying sexologists. They had found each other one day in the library, consulting books on the sex habits of the aborigines, and from that day on they were friends, often comparing notes on the strange phenomena of sex.
On this particular day they had played a hot game of tennis and were now flopped on the sidelines watching Mavis Baker, Barry's cousin, hit the ball with all the power of a Davis Cup contender.
Barry could not take his eyes off Mavis, thinking her delicious with her big boobs, beautiful thighs, white skin and blonde hair. Barry was batty about blondes-as long as they had splendid tits.
He told Bernard that he had quite fallen in love with Mavis and made up his mind to seduce her. Whereupon Bernard told him loftily that it wasn't love, and not to use the word loosely.
"You have to remember," he said, "it's the delusion of Nature that makes us think we are in love."
Barry grinned. He rather enjoyed Bernard's efforts to lift commonplace ideas to a philosophic level. "You're saying, I think, that I've got a hot cock for Mavis and I'm mistakenly calling It love."
"No. I'm saying more than that, Barry. I think we are mostly victims of Nature. What is Nature? It's the cosmic force that wants us to propagate. You find this blind force everywhere, even in the cockroach. Ever see a roach, all in a panic racing for cover? Why? So it can reproduce. That's all. The male roach wants to knock off the female so that the species can survive."
Barry studied his friend. Bernard was a well-fed kid, for he enjoyed eating, which gave his boyish body a sort of rotundity. He had dark, bright eyes, gleaming with intelligence, a quick mind, a sense of the comic. Barry enjoyed Bernard, especially his devotion to the life of depravity.
Barry himself was a very dedicated guy when it came to the delicacies of sex. He was gifted with a hefty chest and the sex drive of a hyena in heat, and though only seventeen, already he had marked out for himself the confines of his life, which would be the universe of cunt. Anything outside that would be, he felt, luxuries to be dabbled in.
So, cocksure, Barry pointed to sexy Mavis hitting a smash over the net, looking very tempting with her tits jumping. "You think my feeling for Mavis is not love, but just blind force to fuck and make an infant? That's an ugly thing to say, Bernard."
"But it's true. We are all victims of Nature. We're playing Nature's game and don't know it."
Barry shrugged. "Okay. But if we get a hell of a good time doing Nature's thing, why complain?"
"Just don't tell me about love," Bernard said. "Now your real problem is how to get Mavis to give you a blow-job. Right?"
Barry's cock tingled at the idea. "Right!" He visualized Mavis's beautiful lips encasing his lusty cock and the picture turned him on. His eyes just grabbed on to her body as she moved over the court, gracefully stroking the ball. Mavis was twenty-three and a bit out of Barry's league, age-wise. Only be-cause she was his cousin could he entertain the wildest ideas, and had nightly fantasies of her eating his cock, offering her cunt for his steely hard dick, slavishly enduring his amusing game of spanking her for the devilish pleasure of it.
"How can you connect with Mavis," Bernard was asking, "since she is much older than you? She won't take you seriously. Probably thinks you're a snot-nose -- a brat whose cock is too big for his britches. I mean, Barry, let's be honest: why should Mavis, who is beautiful and sexy, and a famous tennis player, who can have any guy, even look at a kid like you, especially her cousin?"
Barry was pissed at Bernard for telling him such a rotten truth, even though it was logical. In point of fact, Barry had very powerful feelings that Mavis could be had if he played the game right.
The reason was a memory of a scene between them that happened a year ago.
She had been sort of sitting in for his folks, who had gone off to a late party. She went around sampling some of the leftover booze that the grown-ups had drunk before leaving, and she had a high. It made her restless so Mavis came to his bedroom where he had been reading comic books, which he always studied before going to sleep.
At the time, Mavis was a horny, little cunt who used to stroke her pussy a lot, but on this night, she thought it would be more amusing to involve her young cousin Barry, an innocent brat.
She felt it might be more of a fun thing to persuade Barry to do something daring to her. So when she came into his bedroom, she said, "Why are you wasting time reading such crap? You could be doing more amusing things."
That pissed him off because he was reading Terry and the Pirates, which he loved with a ferocious passion.
"It's not stupid. It's not a waste of time. I love this comic. Besides, I can't think of anything more amusing to do."
"Well, Barry, maybe you can't. But I can."
"Give me some idea."
"Well, we can play the grown-up game."
Barry looked at her with astonishment for he had no idea what she could be talking about His innocence was stupendous. "What grown-up game?"
"Sometimes your stupidity is overpowering," she said. And she shucked her nightgown, so that she was totally nude, and climbed into bed alongside him. "Take your pajamas off."
He stared at her body with awe, for she was easily the most interesting creature that he had ever seen, with her budding young breasts, and dark nipples, and her lovely long waist, and beautifully shaped thighs and legs. But most of all, it was her pussy that quite fascinated him, the pink crevice, with just a bit of fuzz showing.
Mavis saw him staring at her pussy, so she told him quite coolly that it was her cunt, and if he really wanted to have a good time, all he had to do was to stick his tongue in it and he would very soon experience all the fun that the grown-ups did.
Barry was intrigued. Something primitive in him turned on. He was aware of an overall excitement. He wanted to touch her all right, but there was something shocking about the idea of putting his tongue in her pussy.
And because Mavis was horny as hell, she just got his head and pushed it down over her pussy, so that his lips brushed against it.
"Lick it, lick it. Don't just stare at it," she said, urging him to act.
He did feel a powerful desire to touch it with his lips, and he did. It was strange and interesting. Soft and marvelous, in fact. He then put his tongue experimentally between her lips, and that felt even more exciting.
He was experiencing a wave of strange sensations over his body that was new and thrilling. He realized that it came from his closeness to her cunt. And when she spread her pussy so that he could get his tongue in deeper, the sensations were even more dynamic.
This Is fun, he told himself, and he began to lick at her pussy with even greater concentration.
"That's right, Barry. You're really doing a fine job." Mavis seemed cool but inside she was seething with passion, for he was touching her cut and the magic button just turned her on. She felt wild sensations galloping over her and she urged him to use his tongue even more energetically.
"You're doing a great job, kid. Stay with it. Maybe afterward, I'll do something interesting for you."
That stopped him in his tracks. He looked up. "What will you do for me?"
She almost hit the ceiling with frustration, for she was almost on the pitch of her orgasm. She wanted to strangle the brat for stopping just then. But at the same time, it was important not to stampede him, for he just might stop licking her pussy altogether-a horrible idea!
"I'll do something great for you. You'll see. But I won't do it at all unless you go on with your pussy-licking. It's part of the game never to stop until a certain point is reached. And we are very near it. So back you go."
And she grabbed his head and pushed him down on her cunt, to encourage him to start again.
And because he found licking to be more fun than anything, even comic books, he went back to her lively pussy, and got his tongue back in, and licked away. And because she began to twist and moan, he figured that it must be his tongue doing it, and it gave him a neat sense of power, so he began to do it more violently.
Suddenly she grabbed his head and held him still while she pressed her pussy against his mouth hard, and held him like that for almost a full minute. He knew something great was happening to her, some grown-up thrill, which made him very jealous, for nothing had yet happened to him.
Then she turned him loose and slumped on the bed, moaning into it, as if trying to smother her noises.
Barry felt very powerful to have done all this to his cousin Mavis, who until now had been very faraway and remote treating him like a baby.
Her attitude to him had obviously changed, and it tickled him, because he could now think of himself as more grown up.
When she recovered she told him to go to the bathroom and wash his little pecker, for she might do something amusing with it.
He soaped himself, with a lot of excitement, wondering what on earth she had in mind.
He came out with his meat all fresh and gleaming new, and she stared at it with a smile, saying that he sure was a kid. But nonetheless she did take it in her hands, caress it for awhile and then she bent down and licked his thing for a time, giving him the most delicious sensations.
"You have a baby cock," she said. "You're just not very interesting yet. Funny at your age. Maybe you'll get bigger soon. Maybe when you're older, Barry, you might turn into something more exciting; but just now, you're a kid and I regret to say, a bit boring. So just go back to your comics and forget the whole thing."
Barry's feelings were terribly hurt but he did have a good time licking her pussy, and felt grateful for it.
"Naturally, you don't say anything of this to the grown-ups," she warned. "It would be very stupid, and we'd never be able to play again."
That was enough to seal his lips. But Barry could scarcely wait until his cock grew up, so that he( could pick up the game where they left off.
He always felt that he had been cheated of the excitement, and that she had got the better of the game, because of her howlings into the pillow when she had come. He later pieced it all together in his head, realizing that she had had an orgasm and that his young cock couldn't do anything manly at the time, but that that awakening seemed to stimulate extremely rapid development-months almost.
Unfortunately, there had never been much opportunity for him and Mavis to get together after that, since they moved, and she went off to college.
But now she had come back, and there was no question that in her mind there had been one night between them that she found fascinating. Everytime that Barry looked into her eyes, he could see the hidden amusement there, as if the memory of that one night was instantly recalled.
Barry understood that the memories of one's frustrated childhood were the most vivid, and so she could easily mark that one time when he had done an eating job on her cunt as one of the highpoints of his life.
And who knows, Barry thought, whether she nursed the idea of returning to the episode to finish off an unfinished sex symphony. For surely, she must have found it amusingly frustrating to lick a young boy's dick, and be unable to bring it to a climax.
Now, Barry's cock had caught up with his age, and at sixteen, it was a marvelous mechanism of muscle, flesh and juice. It went hard at the smallest excitement-the passing of a girl's ass, the look of a pair of feminine lips. It didn't need any excuse, in fact, to turn fiercely hard. It seemed in fact to have a mind of Its own, and always sensed the closeness of pussy, erecting instantly, and staying erect until finally, poor Barry had to belabor it sternly to reduce it to limpness for the day.
As for Mavis, already a beautiful creature who had traveled long and far on the road of love, it amused her to see her cousin Barry on the sidelines, his eyes following her every movement. She could see that time had launched him toward manliness, in spite of his young age. He looked like a horny young brute, and she wondered if he remembered the time when she had lured him to lick her pussy!
The experience had been devastating for her, and she had been frightened for awhile, that in his innocence he would spill the dirt to the grown ups.
But he never did and for that she sort of felt beholden to him. You could scarcely predict what a preadolescent might do-especially one concentrated on comics.
But in spite of his dedication to -comics, Barry did develop mentally and, as mentioned, his intelligence focused on the universe of the cunt; especially, at the moment, on Mavis's.
She had become one of the great tennis pros, traveling all over to play the tournaments, winning big purses, getting rich from TV play of the matches.
She met great celebrities too, lovers of tennis, and her sex life, when she would take the time for it, was something to marvel at. The same energy that made her a great tennis competitor went also into her sex life and she needed championship males to appease her sex appetite.
Of course she had noted Barry and his little cocks-man friend Bernard, on the sidelines, obviously discussing her. It was hugely amusing to her, for she could easily perceive both of them as hungry young studs in search of prey.
She could even predict their dialogue, with Barry telling his pal that he was hopelessly enmeshed in lust for her. Mavis understood the mystique of frustration. She understood that if a male didn't quite finish off, he always lusted afterwards to complete it-no matter what the obstacles.
"When I finish playing, Barry will want us to get together sometime," she predicted.
She found the idea not at all unappealing, and wondered what had happened to his cute little body since that night. He might be, she figured, about sixteen, which was not too bad for a healthy stud. Some of the kids, she believed, had much more kick in their cock than older guys. So she did not quite write off cute little Barry and his ballsy ways.
She now served an ace, which wiped out the guy she was playing opposite, and brought the match to a close.
For her it was just practice, not really any kind of fierce competition.
So after the game she drifted toward Barry and his young friend, a cute, plump kid with bright brown eyes that looked like he was haunted by horrendous fantasies of fucking.
She found such kids enormously appealing, for Mavis was always delighted at every sign of sex vitality. Long ago she had decided that the real joys of life revolved around the cock and the cunt. and the trick was to bring this situation to life as much as possible in the short time allotted to the short-lived human animal.
She was, as you can see, a very clever girl.
"It's nice to see you, Barry."
"My friend Bernard," Barry said, staring at his cousin's big tits with pleasure.
"We have been admiring your game style," said Bernard fervently, thinking a woman like her had to be the juiciest sex-job that he had ever seen. And this was largely true because just by playing tennis, Mavis had developed her body into something that looked like the statue of Venus in the Metropolitan.
Mavis smiled secretly, for she could see that both these young studs were lusting for her body. A horny sixteen-year-old, she thought, was unbeatable in bed.
"How's Anita?" asked Mavis, referring to Barry's mother, who she always admired and who, in fact served as a model for her own charming philosophy of l'amour.
"Mom's okay. She always is." Barry thought of his mother with a bit of annoyance. It was hard for a guy like him to have such a fabulous looking mother, super-sexed, who was always fascinated by the nearest stud. And it irritated him that she played around so freely, picking up some big cocksman to bring home so that she could groan and moan with ecstasy half the night, while the guy put the spurs to her.
Okay, he was no bluenose, and figured that his mother should have some sex, since his father had already flipped out of the world. Barry had a very good idea that Anita, with her overpowering sex drives had helped with the flipping, which made him feel a little bitter toward her. She had deprived him, early in life, of his father, and he had reason enough to be sore at her.
But Instead of being just sore, he couldn't help the strangest Freudian feelings toward her, especially the times she stomped around the house with a thin, silky robe that flopped open most of the time, showing her polished skin and most of her gorgeous boobs, sometimes even her gorgeous pussy, too.
She had no right to sport her body like that to a growing son whose total concentration at this stage in his life was cuffing his cock down!
But she just paid no attention to him, and did her thing, which was guzzle about five martinis every night, and find some super stud from the parties that she often went to in the city.
"Yes, Mom is just as usual, Mavis," he said, grimly.
And Mavis smiled secretly, for she knew Anita's lifestyle, a real bitchy one, for in her book, Anita wanted to get all the living out of life before she, too, flipped out.
Anita told Mavis bow she felt. "I suddenly got the idea that life is a short thing, and we aren't here forever. And for God's sake, it is urgent that we count our days as if each was a diamond."
It made a strong impression then on Mavis, to think that each of our days was a diamond, and that we ought not to waste it carelessly. That it was a crime to spend a day as if you had an endless supply of them.
How much more fascinating to do your thing, she decided, with each day, so at its end you felt you had done what you most wanted.
So, when Barry just said that Anita's life was as usual, Mavis understood that the woman was packing a life of pleasure into her days. That fun, for her, was fornication and its variations.
Well, Mavis never blamed anyone for what they did. Mavis was a young woman who avoided the Blame Game; that is, she never put anyone down for their lifestyle, figuring that each of us got what we deserved for the way we lived.
So, anyway, she smiled brilliantly at Barry, and asked if she could give them a lift, since she had her car.
And they jumped at the chance to be with the world famous champ, Mavis Baker, who had the best backhand in the tennis business.
Probably, they thought, she had some damned clever hands in the sex business, too. At least, Barry thought that, for his memory of her was tinged with lust
They drove along in her Mercedes, while Mavis thought quickly about whether she wanted a game with the kids or not. What actually decided her was Barry's cock, because the closeness had escalated his pecker,' and it was thrusting against his pants, obviously in a fury. Perhaps the cock has memories of its own.
Anyway, the sight of his darling dick made Mavis' cunt tingle and she decided to dabble in a little depravity.
"I was thinking of stopping off to make a call at my place. If you have the time, you could relax just a bit there."
They jumped at the idea, naturally, hoping for the best.
Bernard actually had, no expectations, since obviously he did not know about the sexy episode between Barry and Mavis. Bernard just thought of Mavis as the nearest thing he'd ever seen to Venus. He admired her figure with its tits and hips. She made his cock swell. He had only to measure his kid sister, Caroline, against the magnificent Mavis to melt with craving for her cunt.
They finally got to her ranch-type house, with its super tennis court in the back.
In the big, handsome living room, she said, "I've got to make some calls. Meanwhile, I've got some good pot if you boys want it."
So she left them with the stuff and went off to make some calls, then to take a shower. When she came back to the living room, she wore a silky thin robe that pushed against her nipples and followed her great figure.
The two young studs were already high and they grinned at the sight of her body-feast. She smiled, thinking it might prove to be great fun, having two kids with their vitality in a game.
She joined the smoking circle, and went into a high. Pot always intensified her sex feelings. Her cunt was vibrating like a violin, already thirsting for cock.
But she would not tackle them straight on, for it might be crude; not that crudity turned her off; sometimes the heart of a good sex jaunt could be crudity, she thought, especially, if you got a young kid to eat your pussy. She somehow found that activity quite fascinating. Also, she had a hunger for a bit of spanking, too. She always found that for her spanking spiced up a bit of sex. And she liked the idea of spanking the kid Bernard, who looked like he had a really plump ass, meant for getting a couple of fiendish whacks on his tail.
"I like the way you look at me, Bernard." Her voice was sarcastic. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had some dirty ideas in your head."
Bernard was very high by this time, and his cock was bursting with lust. Each time he looked at Mavis, it seemed to him her mouth should really be firmly planted on his cock, and he almost resented the time it was taking to happen. If he had been home by this time, he would have ripped into Caroline and she'd be kneeling between his legs giving him a super blow-job.
"Well, Mavis," he said, "I have to admit that you are the sexiest woman that I have ever seen. And naturally, since I am a growing boy, I have all sorts of wild cravings."
"Give me an example of your cravings, you little beast," she said, thinking of where she had laid her belt. Surely she owed this boy's ass a firm spanking.
"Well, I could scarcely do that, Mavis. You might be annoyed."
"Let me be the judge of that, you dirty little prick," she said and chuckled.
Bernard, by this time, was high as a kite, and the talk was all exciting to him. "Well I sort of see you doing something oral. You know."
"Did you mean, you saw me eating your cock, you dirty little boy?"
"Yes, I have to confess, I did see that in my head."
She turned to Barry. "You really have a depraved little friend here. I think well have to discipline him, to sort of put him in line. Don't you agree, honey?"
Barry had been absolutely livid with fury that his beloved cousin had been talking in that dirty way to Bernard, since he felt that any sex coming from Mavis should be first directed at him, since he had shared the depravity game with her way back when.
However, after he got pulled into the dialogue, as Mavis's accomplice, suddenly it all seemed right.
He instantly Joined her, and agreed that Bernard should be disciplined.
"In that case, you get his pants down while I get the belt and whack him a few hard ones."
The idea of getting spanked by Mavis -- bare-assed spanking-whereby he would be In her lap, made Bernard's cock suddenly quiver with ecstasy. He figured it must be the world's most amusing pastime. Anyway, he did think it would be the preface to very passionate scenes.
So when Mavis came back with a broad, leather belt, he had his pants off, and his broad ass was nude, and his cock was standing out-a super-rigid digit.
Curiously, Barry too had his pants off, and his cock was also standing out.
Both cocks stared with their one eye at the prey, Mavis, who calmly took off her robe, revealing the magnificent body in all its nudity.
They could see her blonde pussy-hair under which her cunt peeped coyly. And the tits stood up hard, expectant of sudden bliss.
Then Mavis, without a word, grabbed Bernard, pulled him over her lap, while she sat on the big couch, and whacked his plump ass a few times. His cock, Just then, was grinding between her thighs, against her pussy, and it gave him a weird sensation of pain and pleasure.
By reaching up he could feel her gorgeous boobs, which made him drool. But still, there was something undignified getting spanked and his hurt pride made him yelp.
"I wish you wouldn't do that, Mavis. It hurts. And even more, it hurts my dignity. I'm too old for it."
"But you have to be punished for your dirty ideas!" she argued. And then, because it gave her pleasure to hit his fat ass, she let him have a couple of more whacks.
"I'm sorry, Mavis," he yelled. "I'll be careful I won't do it again."
Meanwhile, he couldn't help notice his cock was getting even bigger, and that he had the most sadistic cravings for Mavis, for he wanted to punish her too sort of; to try to cram his cock into her ass, too.
Somehow, what she did to him undermined his control, for he felt that he had to whack her ass with his cock. That's really what he craved to do, above all.
"Let me up, you mean slut," he raged. "I'll teach you a thing or two."
"And what will that be, pray tell?"
"I'm gonna fuck your ass till you scream," he raged.
She laughed in his face. "Go ahead, you little worm. Let's see if you can do that."
She let him up. And Bernard, beside himself with fury, grabbed her, flung her onto the rug, on her belly. His strength seemed to be tremendous, for he had her in an iron grip, and he slipped his cock between the cheeks of her ass, and pushed around it, until he found her asshole.
She jerked her ass back at him, when he got to the opening, and he wiggled his thick dick until its head got into the surprisingly open notch. And he was shocked to feel his cock slip in, more and more, especially as he thrust wildly, until he found himself buried to the hilt in her asshole!
He was still in such a rage at his mistreatment that he began to thrust his cock in and out of her with dynamite action, trying to pummel her ass, to teach her a lesson. He did not like to be treated with disrespect, unaware that she had read him as a type who needed to get a couple of whacks to turn on fiercely, and give a girl a good fucking.
If she had not burnt his behind, he would have been a very passive sort of lover, something that Mavis intuitively understood from "reading" his personality.
So, while he jazzed her violently In the ass, which pleased her, she motioned to Barry to bring his towering cock to her face.
He slid down on the rug, in front of her, and she put her mouth where it once had been, but this time on a cock that by its muscle and fierceness instantly filled her throat.
She was delighted at the devastating size and hardness of it, and the way it slid toward her throat. It was hot and fierce, and throbbed in her mouth. She pulled on it with masterful skill, let her tongue flutter under the head to teach it a few excitements. She had a velvet tongue that once turned on (as she was just now with Bernard ferociously fucking her ass) was of fire.
And Barry watched In awe as her mouth did its marvelous job on his cock, and when she went down to his balls, and started to belabor them with her tongue, too, reaching down under the scrotum even to titillate it.
Then she came back to his cock, and almost In time to the fierce thrustings in her ass, gulped on the bulbous head, sucking fiercely, lustfully, exulting in the taste of his meat in her mouth.
For Mavis, the moment was pure anguish and ecstasy, for she managed, at one time, to bring both boys into orgasm, pulling her ass muscles over Bernard's dick, so that It just couldn't help spurting into her ass, and sucking so ferociously on Barry's cock that it, too, exploded.
The spunk poured Into her mouth, and with all the craftswoman ship of a super cocksucker, she totally surrounded the juice and swallowed it -- every drop of it -- even as she felt the hot stream of cream hit her ass.
The two kids, having shot their load, dropped exhausted on the rug, cocks still in her mouth and ass.
Curiously, Mavis had still not hit her peak, and she knew that she would utilize Barry shortly for a wild fucking.
So, she soon got up, went to the bathroom, to soap herself a bit, whistling merrily, for fun to come. It wasn't very usual for her to nail down two young studs who had, she assumed, tireless tools -- almost good enough to satisfy even her limitless lusts.
In her absence the two boys got into a discussion.
"You bastard," said Barry. "You got to fuck Mavis in the ass. I never had that!"
"You bastard," said Bernard. "You got a super blow-job. I never had that, either."
"I thought you got that from Caroline!"
"Yes, but she's just a kid. She hasn't the vaguest idea of how to do a great job. I saw Mavis do that brilliant job on your balls. You lucky bastard!"
"Well, that's the way the ball bounces," said Barry, with sluggish wit. Actually, he was a bit annoyed about Bernard's presence altogether, since he felt he could've had Mavis all to himself-with all the games she seemed capable of playing. Not that he would have welcomed a spanking, for there seemed something ridiculously adolescent in that.
In fact, if there were to be any spankings, he would like to do it to Mavis. He thought of the pleasure of whacking her luscious ass with his palm, and it sent a tingle to his cock. Surely there might be some fun in doing that, he thought.
It was quite an invention of the modern generation to escape the monotony of straight fucking.
Barry now had a fiendish desire to be alone with Mavis, to get more involved with her, and he felt that Bernard's presence, in some way, could spoil things.
He glanced at Bernard's cock and saw it hanging low. He had, in actual fact, shot his load, and it would be a long time before poor Bernard would be able to recover his potency.
"Look, your dick is dead. Why don't you take off now? I've got to get a few things clear with Mavis anyway. I'll tell her you had to get home fast."
Bernard didn't like the idea of such a quick dismissal, but he had to agree that his dick had gone dead, and that fucking Mavis In the ass had just about shot him for the day. He just didn't have Barry's vitality, for after all he was no jock and did not play for the school football team, as Barry did.
He was the gentle, intellectual type, more brain than cock, and he might as well gracefully accept the facts of life.
"Well, tell her that I really had a great time. And that if she ever wants to get her ass beat with cock, Pm ready and willing."
Barry smiled. "I'll quote you verbatim. Meanwhile, I'll thank you to remember that I lent you my cousin for your depraved tastes. I shall expect a favor from you. If you know what I mean."
And Bernard knew that Barry had this nauseating lust for his kid sister Caroline, ever since he had learned about her yearning to suck cock.
Well, the trick in this game was to overcome jealousy, for all that jealousy ever did was spoil the fun. So Bernard just waved his hand, a comradely wave. He couldn't help thinking, in turn, of Barry's old lady, Anita with the fiendish tits and thirst for studs. Maybe they could have a trade off!
Chapter Three
So when Mavis came out of the tub after doing a terrific soap-job on her pussy and tail, she glanced about, frowning, for Bernard.
"He took off," said Barry, aware of her annoyance. "You just wore the poor kid out. That steamy hot ass of yours can do a lot of damage."
"You're just a jealous brat," she said. "And I should penalize you for running him off."
"No, his dick was dead."
"Let me be the judge of that," Mavis said, still annoyed because she had the talent to turn dead clicks into devastating hard-ons. with a couple of flicks of her tongue.
Not that she minded having Barry for herself. Somehow you did concentrate better if you had only one stud. And there was no doubt about Barry's studmanship, for even now his cock looked loaded. The boy was a jock, and she had discovered In her bedroom adventures that jocks made better fucks. Like all the vitality they showed on the ballgames worked in their cocks too.
He looked at her luscious body, all white and shapely, with the cunt-slit just gleaming with the love-juice. His cock ached to get into it until she turned to walk toward the bed. And then he saw her white ass -- so perfect. Born to be bitten and spanked.
Mavis, in spite of the fact that she was older than he, daring to administer punishment to him. He had enough muscles to get her where he wanted, even though she was a super tennis player. Oh, she would be no pushover of course, since tennis did develop a helluva lot of muscles.
Including, he thought grimly, muscles in her crotch, which made her such a super fuck.
So he treated her quite casually, totally unafraid of what she might try to do with that brown belt of hers.
She glanced back at him, looking at his standing up cock, grinning. "I mean I ought to whip your tail for pushing Bernard out of the game. That is, without asking me about it. Don't you think that was rude?"
Barry smiled. He would like to wrestle bare-assed with this bitch just to see who would really do the whipping. Oh, he didn't go for the game of sadism, but the idea of slapping her ass with his palm a couple of times sort of piqued him.
"What if it was rude, sweet bitch?" he said, grinning.
She stared at him, infuriated. The little creep, talking like that to her! She felt a sudden surge of rage that could only be eased by a couple of slashes of her belt on his bottom which would teach him respect.
With the belt in one hand she grabbed for him with the other, confident that her size and power would take care of the kid, but to her astonishment she found that it wasn't easy. In fact she felt an answering pressure from him, with his muscles flexed, as he grabbed her hand, taking the belt away by forcing her fingers open.
They then stood together, wrestling with each other, their bodies sliding against each other, her tits touching his chest, his cock brushing up against her belly, while they vied for domination.
Fortunately, they were close to the bed, for they fell on it together, she below him. But he had luckily turned her as she fell, so that he had her ass-those white, luscious mounds-facing upward.
And, exerting all his power, he kept her there, although she wriggled a lot, and then he whispered in her ear. "It's you who will be penalized, bitch!"
And his hand went up and came down with a whack, so that he felt the flesh of her ass against his palm. It was exciting to feel it, and also to hear her cursing and fight her twisting, for he did it again and again, whacking her tail, seeing the mark of his palm against her white ass.
Suddenly, she stopped twisting and went dead still. A small sob broke from her lips, a heart-rending sob, as if she had been humiliated beyond words. Or was it some throwback to the time when, as a child, she had been punished for some mischief?
At her sob he stopped. He felt a wave of mastery. He had the sense of domination now. This big, beautiful tennis cunt, who made all the guys in the stands lust for her beautiful body, was now totally in his power. She would submit to him, for he was now boss. It was a good thing to let the female know who was boss, to put her in her place. Otherwise the whole sex thing would be ruined.
The moment a woman thought she could push you around, then the sex between you spoiled. Especially if you were not a passive prick, Barry thought. And if he was anything, he was not a passive prick.
I'm a dominant prick, he thought, with amusement, for he could feel his cock thrusting upward, angry that It did not yet have a target.
"Now, suck this, or you'll get some more," he said, as sternly as he could, in view of the fact he had clobbered her female lib thing.
And Mavis, with tear-stained face and true humility, bent over, and took his bawdy tool into her mouth, and licked on it, the tears mixing with the juices of her mouth.
He could still see the marks of his palm on her white ass, and it tickled him, because it established his mastery.
Young as he was, Barry understood the first law of sex relations. In sex, there was a top dog and an underdog, and you had to get it straight fast, otherwise you'd be the victim!
He watched her mouth go up and down on his turgid tool and it made him feel all male. Then he got these tingles in his cock, and he told her to lay down and spread her thighs.
She did it, humbly, like a beaten kid, all the spirit knocked out of her. She sort of enjoyed, he imagined, getting pushed around like this, and the more he did it, probably, the greater her pleasure.
He came down on her tits, with their pink nipples, standing up hard, to prove that she was turned on by whatever he was doing. He kneaded her tits real hard, then took the pear-shaped tit in hip mouth, and sucked hard at it, at the same time thrusting his index finger into her hot cunt!
She was all juiced up already; again proving that her body loved a little gentle battering.
He liked having her nipple in his mouth, and he bit on it, tried to get the whole meat into his mouth, something obviously impossible.
She was heaving and sighing from the sensations that swept through her body, all the time yearning for him to stab her at last with his phallic weapon.
He had to remember that in spite of all the games, they had not actually done any straight fucking. Her cunt, in fact, was a total mystery to him except that he had got his finger into the hot slit and it fired him with the lust to get his huge meat into it.
To get his hot cock into her slender, juicy slit seemed to him the top kick, and he could scarcely wait for it to happen.
So he pointed his weapon at her cunt lips and got it just inside, feeling its heat and wetness encircle the head.
Then, unable to control the surge of lust that came over him, he thrust forward, with all his strength so that his cock went wham bam down into the depths of her scorched cunt.
The thrust so astonished her she let out a yelp of pain that instantly turned into sheer delight! She felt both fury and a fabulous pleasure at the violation of this kid who seemed wise beyond his years, and who obviously had a savage streak in him-a lust for mastery.
She felt a bit in awe of him, thinking that if, at his age of sixteen he could come on with such fierceness, what would he be at twenty or thirty?! He would obviously be a terrific ball-bearing stud, a prize bull, a cock to be reckoned with.
It almost saddened her that she should meet him at this tender age, when obviously he would be more interesting as the Great Cocksman later.
Still, there could be no reason why she should not have some piece of amusement with him.
And she heaved her ass upward, and started to grind his cock.
He smiled maliciously, and just held his thrust position while her body went up and down on his cock. It was a scene wherein she did all the labor and he got all the pleasure.
She knew her job now was to pleasure him, and he had obviously taught her that by establishing male superiority. It was always that way in the human scene.
It was curious that Barry could have learned it at his early age, that people always approached one another with the need to manipulate, and that the key was to prove to the other that it paid for her to kowtow.
So she kept on banging her Venus mound up against his body, hitting him hard, and then squeezing her cunt as she withdrew. And she groaned and moaned at the sensations that swept through her.
So she lay there, in fear and trembling, while young Barry, feeling like a super-heated stallion, started fucking her. He grabbed her ass, and came out with his cock, almost full length, then drove it in all the way, feeling the flesh part in front of his rigid tool.
He drove and drove and felt that he was violating a virgin, from the way she was whimpering, as if she could scarcely stand the punishment that his pecker was dealing out. And yet, although she did experience it as a violation, as if she was getting raped by this beastly brat, she couldn't help feeling ecstasies in her cunt and head.
Whatever Barry was doing to her, just instinctively seemed to be right, for it was triggering the most thrilling sensations through her entire body, and finally, when she felt his cock suddenly enlarge and his thrusts become even more violent, she rocketed off just before she felt his hot juices slam into her cunt!
And the orgasms kept coming over and over, as the spurts of cream went into her. She grabbed Barry around the neck, grateful to a violent young kid who knew how to fuck a woman.
Then they fell away from each other. They slumped on the bed and Barry went into a quick doze, while Mavis felt her eyes wet with tears from the impact of the fuck.
She realized that Barry had developed into a super-stud, that he had a ferocious bed talent and from now on he would be the answer to a maiden's prayers.
It would be nice if she could corner his talent, but she wouldn't be that lucky, she felt, since the female always smelled out the super-studs, and pursued them ruthlessly to the mattress.
She took some pride in the fact, however, that he was her cousin, and that the glory of his prowess, in some obscure way, touched her.
So, while he dozed, she leaned over and gently kissed his lips. He had soft lips that she enjoyed, and her hand went softly over the angles of his body.
She wondered if she could bring him, ultimately into the world of tennis with her, later, so that he could operate on the big stage. She thought it might be fun to sharpen his tennis and get him moving around the tennis circuits where he could indulge his bedroom talents to the utmost.
And meditating thus, she too fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter Four
A week later, Barry came by Bernard's place, and Caroline came to the door.
"Your brother home?"
"No. He went to the museum."
"Museum? What for?"
"To stare at the pictures. What else?" She gave him a slight sneer.
Barry gave her the gimlet eye. She was a snotty kid, only fifteen, but she sent out a lot of signals. He found it hard to believe that she could be that young and have such big tits. She was a blonde with green, eat eyes that looked at you like she had the most amazing secrets in her head.
She had always been interesting, in a weird way, because you never knew her thoughts. He figured that in three years, she'd be dynamite in the bedroom. And yet, Bernard had already intimated that the kid have moved into the world of sex.
It just seemed too hard to believe.
He gaped at her pretty lips and tried to visualize that she had actually done an eating job on her own brother?
Well, they were a liberated family; no hang-ups.
"Are you going to stand there or are you coming In?"
He shrugged and thought of just taking off when she said, 'Tm working out a crossword puzzle and having some trouble. There's nobody home to help me. Wanna help?"
Barry's cock went up just like that.
And he went into the house.
It was a big house, because Bill Altman made a lot of money in publishing. He specialized in erotic books, and just now everybody was turned on to sex. Sex was a multimillion dollar business, and he figured that even if he worked on the edge of it by publishing erotic pictures of all the amusing variations in the world of sex, it would make money.
Well, it worked all right, for his books sold everywhere. He had world markets for the erotic pictures, especially when he went into quality coated stock so that the colored pictures came out beautifully detailed.
He began to print oversize artbooks after a while, and charged fifty bucks for them. You'd think it would be hard to sell. Well, it wasn't. There was a huge market for quality erotic pictures, and the Altmans built up a huge bank account.
So naturally they had a huge, elegant house, with lots of elegant pieces of furniture in it, and some high-priced antiques.
But Bill did not like for the books to circulate around the house, since he had some old fashioned ideas about keeping the kids well brought up.
Naturally, when he got drunk and wanted a fast piece of ass from his wife Marge, he never cared where the kids were for he would grab Marge and push her down on his cock when he walked in the door. And she enjoyed such impromptu sex.
It was small wonder that fifteen-year-old Caroline had a direct line to gentle depravity, having witnessed lots of real live sex in the wee hours of the night.
Now she had Barry in the house, and her sluttish little mind contemplated an amusing hour ahead. She always had a letch for Bernard's dear friend Barry. She saw him at school, playing baseball and football. He was one of the big jocks there and most of the girls had a thing for him.
She had the stereo on and some hot rock was pouring out of the speakers. There actually was a crossword puzzle book open on the rug, and there were signs that she had struggled with it.
"I'm shocked that Bernard is out there looking at pictures. Since when did he get this passion for art?"
"He's got hooked on it just lately. Dad gave him a big book on European art and would you believe it? He hasn't stopped looking at it. He's fallen in love with Art, and now goes to the museum to study the great works."
Barry shook his head. Nothing could be more hopeless than the poor slob who got hooked on art. They would spend their weekends in the museum, wandering around, staring at the pictures, and their heads would get filled with the Renoirs and the Braques and the Monet's and the Rembrandts, and before you knew it, they'd be art freaks.
This art mania had happened to one of his cousins so he knew the deadly peril of it. Well, Bernard had taken the first step to purgatory, Barry decided.
"He'll become an art freak and we'll all lose him. rye seen it happen before." Barry's voice was doleful, but his eyes kept staring at Caroline's tits.
She had young pear-shaped tits, and she was wearing one of those thin body-shirts that let her tits peep through.
Naturally, she couldn't help notice how he focused on her breasts, so she said casually, "You shouldn't stare. It's bad manner."
"I can't help it, honey. I'm a tit man."
She had to smile. "You're plenty naughty, too. Bernard tells me about some of your exploits."
A streak of worry went through Barry, wondering if that blabbermouth had told her about Mavis and their adventures in the sack.
Barry figured that Bernard would brag about it, since he was on very intimate terms with his kid sister. They probably shared the most gruesome sex secrets.
"What special exploits?"
"I don't betray a confidence," she said in her snotty style, but her full lips were creased with a small smile.
"You're a sexy kid," he said. "Someday you'll grow into a charming slut."
"That's the nicest thing you could say," and she pushed her tits out at him, temptingly.
He had to grin at her because she couldn't help but act seductive.
"Now where's the problem you're having with the puzzler
"It's a word," she said, and her green cat-eyes stared at him mysteriously.
"What word?"
Her lips went into a Mona Lisa sort of smile. "I need a four-letter word for copulation."
"Four-letter?" She was such a saucy kid, he could have whipped her ass. He couldn't help notice that she had a round, shapely bottom that fit tightly into her jeans. For a kid her age she really oozed a world of sex. And she kept nibbling at the topic too; wouldn't let up. He began to think it might be a very amusing gimmick to get her panties down and see what her cunt looked like.
"How about 'screw'?"
"How about it?" she flashed back at him.
"You talk real sexy for a little kid."
She got pissed off at that. "If you think I'm a little kid, you can just get your tail out of this house, Barry."
"Well, you're only fifteen! That's young."
"I'm a woman," she said haughtily.
He understood instantly that she meant she had lost her cherry, and therefore, was ready to play the real game.
"You're a woman. I'm a man," he jested.
"That's true. And I don't see any man-action coming from you."
"Why, you little cunt. I've got a good mind to pull your britches down and slap your ass!"
"Nothing would be more interesting, Mister Barry," she said, in challenge.
His mind did a lightning bit of figuring. The parents were out, and usually got back fairly late. Bernard was at the museum, which locked him up for some time.
And she wouldn't come on so strong if she didn't feel they had time for a wild pitch.
So he lunged for her, and his hands got part of her tit and part of her ass. She screeched and tried to run for it, but he wrestled her to the rug, got her shirt open and the bare flesh of her tits was out in the air.
He instantly put his mouth over a nipple and sucked hard. She wilted like a flower in a torrent. She was such a hot little wench that the touch of his tongue on her tits started the juices in her flowing.
She turned up her head to him, for kissing, and he planted a hot mouth on hers, then swiftly unzipped her jeans, and pulled them down.
She breathed fiercely, and her hand went to his zipper. He unzipped for her and brought his hot cock out and put it in her hand, which firmly clasped it.
"Ohhhhh," she breathed.
"Suck it, you wicked little cunt," he said, pushing her head down to his cock.
And without a pause, she went down, kissed his cock, the fierce, red head of it, then opened her mouth and took it in.
He put his hands around her head and pushed it against his cock, so that she took more of his cock into her mouth, pulling on it ferociously.
He watched her suck his cock, amazed at the skill she showed, for her tongue began a butterfly movement under the head of it, and then she took it deep into her throat.
Her movements were swift and violent, and it made him tingle to see her lovely white skin and her firm,, red lips clasped tightly about his cock.
"Get my balls. My balls," he whispered.
And she went down to his balls, putting first one in her mouth, licking on it, then the other. She let her tongue go under his scrotum, then come back to his cock, lovingly caressing it with her tongue and mouth.
He got so turned on, that he held her head hard in his hands, and began to fuck her mouth. His ass arched and he humped her lips, not letting her head move away.
His cock went out and then all the way up against the back of her throat, and suddenly he felt the surge in his cock, the big swell, and then his spunk went cascading into her mouth.
She whimpered like a child as the scalding cream hit the back of her throat, and tried to pull back, but he held her head there firmly.
"Swallow it, swallow it," he commanded.
And she held her head still, and he could see her throat muscles ripple as she swallowed every drop of his gism.
"You did a good job," he said, and pulled his red, ferocious cock from her mouth, fearful suddenly that she might bite it, from rage.
She did swing at him, but he caught her wrist just in time or she would have slammed his jaw.
"You selfish bastard," she raged.
He laughed. "It's okay, kid. I'll help you out."
"With what? That dead thing?!"
He laughed again. "Don't worry. It rises from the dead. Always. It always resurrects. Pour me a drink, and relax."
Mollified a bit, she did fix him a scotch on the rocks, and took a Kahlua for herself.
"I must admit you do have a mean cock," she said. "It almost strangled me."
"It may be a nice way for you to go, when you're ready to go," he said.
So they chatted a bit. mostly about the selfishness of guys who seemed to be mostly interested in their own fulfillment.
"I suppose all you guys are alike. You think only of getting off, and to hell with the girl! Isn't that true?"
For fifteen the brat had a lot of brains, he thought, and it startled him. Of course, Bernard himself was something of a brain, so it ran in the family.
"You don't understand. Guys get very excited, and they just can't wait for a girl to warm up. They gotta have it right off!"
"Well, I think you just haven't read the books if you think that, Barry. The books all tell you that you have to work with your partner, see to it that she gets her pleasures, too!"
Caroline was sipping the drink out a small glass and looking very ladylike, even though she was naked as a jaybird. She had these luscious tits with the pink nipples jutting out, still in a state of excitement.
He looked down, and could see the blonde maidenhair curled coyly about her passion slit. His cock started to swell a bit.
"Don't tell me about sex, kid. I practically invented it," he said boastfully.
"Yeah? Well, what are you going to do about me?"
He glared at her. He knew all the details of depravity -- how to lick a cunt, how to nail a tail, and if necessary, to bring in a few fantasy bits of bondage, to charge up a boring sex game. But this girl, at her tender age, probably didn't have even the pleasures of cunt-licking.
After all, he would do a thing for her, just so she would not think that sex was a form of torture. You had to be careful with kids, he thought. since they could get conditioned easily, like dogs. And if they found sex frustrating, they would be spoiled for it ever after.
So, it was a big responsibility when you got into girl seduction, for you could spoil her whole bed life.
As for Caroline, she had seen his cock show signs of life, and it instantly started the lusts in her. She ached to have it forced into her again just so she could get off, because she did feel all choked up with frustration, as if she had got to the top of a hill and couldn't get down. She was stuck on the peak forever, but somehow, Barry's cock had the power to get her down.
So, figuring that this was no time for shrinking violets, she dropped to her knees in front of his cock, and again took the young monster in her mouth, giving it a fast few licks for encouragement.
She felt the monster grow fat and strong over her tongue, then she took it out, and stared at him. She knew instinctively that she had put him exactly on the same peak where she was suffering the torment of the frustrated.
Guys always did the most interesting things when they were in a state of frustration, she knew from instinct.
And it worked, for Barry suddenly found the sight of her cunt irresistibly sweet and went down to it, kissing the soft lips, then slipping his tongue into its hotness. He then spread the lips and like an archer hitting the bull's-eye his tongue went to the cit. which sent the tingles of pleasure through her, so that she threw her arms around his head, as if to hold him to her cunt, so that he would forever keep his tongue on that magic button. In that way, perhaps she could experience infinitely prolonged pleasure, in the memorable phrase.
His hands circled around her plump buttocks, and he pressed the white flesh firmly to him, even as his tongue worked in dynamite style on her cit.
And it made the passion in her peak fast. so that she could feel the nerves quivering, and all the dammed up tension of excitement found a sudden and tormented release. Her whole body shuddered under the impact of the orgasm, and a spectacular lightness went through her whole body.
She slumped back, sprawled out on the rug, her thighs apart, and as Barry drew back, he could see her pussy, wet from his lickings, and the flatness of her white stomach, the enchanting shape of her thighs.
Her cat green eyes had some strange expression in them, which he found fascinating, and the lust in his cock was so forceful that he brought his swollen meat to the edge of her cunt lips, wiggled into the warm, marvelous wetness and kept pushing and pushing into her tightness until his big cock finally went all the way to the hilt!
It started a whole new charge of dynamite feelings in her, and she put her arms around his waist. hugging him fiercely.
It somehow blocked his movements, so he waited just a couple of moments, enjoying the pool of warmth and snug flesh that surrounded his cock, then gently eased her arms off his body, so that he could begin to fuck.
He got his hands under the cheeks of her ass, pulling them up as he went into his rhythms of withdrawal and plunge. He relished the feel of her tight cunt against the sides of his hard prick, and there was the thrilling engulfing sensation that comes to the cock when it is entirely surrounded by cunt.
He enjoyed it, and to space out the pleasure, he would pause occasionally to suck on her luscious, pink nipples, then go back to the fuck again.
She began to participate, bringing her butt up, grinding her cunt against his cock to give it even more friction.
He was amazed at the craftswoman ship of cunt she had developed so fast, and put it down to either a lot of experience with Bernard, or to the talent of getting a lot out of a sex-book.
And under these super-heated conditions, obviously, the cock swelled mightily and shot its load of cream in a last dynamic thrust into her cunt!
The crash of the cream against her cunt was the button that turned on another quivering flow of orgasms in Caroline, and she groaned and moaned under the impact of her sensations.
Their hot bodies, her white, deliciously shaped one, and his hard, muscled one lay together in an exquisite state of exhaustion and content.
Barry, lying there, felt that he had responsibly handled Caroline's sex conditioning. He had turned her on to good sex. She would not think, from now on, that sex had only frustration to it, but the most zestful pleasures.
I'm a good citizen, he thought with satisfaction. I've taught a kid that fucking is good. She won't ever be frigid in the bed to ruin her marriage later in her life.
And he congratulated himself for being a good guy, ignoring the fact that he had just enjoyed a marvelous young, practically virginal cunt, all sweet meat and fresh flesh.
That's the way the mind of the male seems to work. They find noble reasons for their selfish pleasures.
Chapter Five
They were lying there, their charming bodies still entwined, each in that state of contented bliss, when Bernard walked in.
He had been at the museum all right, staring at the paintings. It was true, as Barry suggested that once seduced by looking at pictures, you became an art freak, and that meant you were hooked.
Bernard just lately bad got into the habit of drifting down to the museum, and wandering from room to room, to study the work of some of the great artists, amazed at how they had got hold of a character, a face, a place. He seemed to see things with a fresh eye, and found almost sensual pleasure in the colors of the paintings. Actually, he figured that his new excitement about paintings would outlast his obsession about sex, as if he realized that his vision would last longer than his talent to erect!
Anyway, he had wandered through the Dutch painters and the French Impressionists, and in one of the rooms, he bumped into a blonde woman with big tits. He apologized like mad, and all she did was smile at him, as if aware of his sudden sex excitement at the touch, however accidental, of her tits.
He was on the point of striking up a conversation, when a guy came over to join her, obviously her companion.
It made him tense up and instantly turn to stare at Courbet's Woman at the Waterfall, a great piece of sensual sex, showing a great ass, painted by a genius.
It left him surprisingly in a lustful state, especially about asses, and he figured that it might be a most instructive experience to try Caroline's ass. He could fantasize that Caroline was this blonde woman whose tits he had bumped. Somehow it made the sex thing with Caroline more fascinating. You put your cock in one girl and thought of another. It was a neat mental trick and it did the most depraved things in your imagination.
So, as he started home, his cock was all titillated at the prospect of sticking sweet little Caroline in her charming behind.
And when he walked in, his shocked eyes registered his sister Caroline all nude, and Barry, also nude, lying close together, as if at the end of a cannibalistic onslaught.
His feelings were all confused. Somehow, the first hit was jealousy -- that Barry had somehow got to his sister's cunt! He felt a curious sense of possession about it, and thought Barry an intruder. Then, the curious feeling of those two sexual bodies had a powerful sensual impact -- it actually excited him in the same way that he had felt excitement when Barry and Mavis had been sexually coupled, and he could see it. Sex, he understood, could be a visual experience, as well as a physical one.
He had to keep his poise, though, and so he coolly said to Barry, who obviously, in any physical combat, would knock him on his ass, "May I ask what is happening here?"
Barry leaned on his elbow and contemplated his friend with some amusement. "If you can't figure it out, I'm afraid your reasoning powers aren't too good."
"You are a sonofabitch," Bernard said coolly. "That's my sister."
"I seem to remember that you were a sonofabitch with my cousin," Barry said gently.
Bernard, who had a sense of humor as well as wit, shot back, "That's different. It's okay for me to screw your cousin but not for you to have my sister."
Then Caroline piped up. "It's more okay for him than for you, Bernard."
"Wait a minute," said Barry, the rational one. "Let's not fall into the trap of the system. It's okay to have sex. Sex is pleasure. Does it really matter if it's a relative? All the taboos are a bit outdated now that we have the pill and the means to block conception. Am I right, Bernard?"
"You're right," Bernard shot back, "but that's no reason why I shouldn't feel jealous that you've been screwing my sister."
"In that case, should I feel jealous that you screwed my cousin? Jealousy is a very primitive hangover, and not one to treat seriously. Especially by someone as bright as you, Bernard."
"Flattery will get you everything," said Bernard, thinking lightning fast that taboos were really the bias of the system, and that there was no earthly reason why they couldn't all enjoy a bit of sex without the ugliness of guilt or the rash of jealousy.
If that were true, Bernard thought, lustfully, then they could have a trio of amusement, and so he said, "I bow to your civilized point of view, Barry. I figure that if pleasure is in the neighborhood, it is stupid to drive it away because of old-fashioned prejudices."
And with that. he stripped out of his clothes so that within moments he was just as nude as the others, except that his cock was instantly upstanding.
"Have you seen Courbet's Woman at the Waterfall" he asked Barry.
"Yes. The supreme ass," Barry said, remembering the work easily, for he was tuned into sensual art.
"I confess it reminded me of Caroline's ass. She has the same contours. Of course on a more slender basis, in view of her more tender years. But I imagine that when she matures, her ass will assume the same classic proportions."
Caroline just smiled gently, gratified that the proportions of her ass were a topic of male admiration. You had to respond to male admiration if you were a female, she thought. It was instinctive.
She was thrilled at the idea of having the two males apply themselves to her gratification. Of getting entangled with two cocks instead of one. The prospect was entirely pleasing, but she had a practical problem.
"Listen, if you two studs are thinking of sex, I think it would be nice if you'd get cleaned up first! I certainly intend to!"
After all, she was all covered with dried juices, as was Barry, and as for Bernard, he had just come from "sweating" in a museum.
Nothing like a clean body for unclean sex, she thought zestfully.
So they streaked for the bathrooms, and the house had three, where they soaped up thoroughly. Every aperture got its cleaning, for you never knew where sex might end up.
And they reassembled in Bernard's big bedroom with some pot, which they smoked, and chatted until the sensualism crept over them all.
And Barry went again to Caroline's tits, which he loved to suck, which tuned her up nicely, the nipples erecting.
And she reached over soon to get hold of Bernard's hard cock, still excited by the memory of the woman in the museum. She found it fierce and hard, and enjoyed sucking on it.
Then, Bernard, after a tine of sucking, lusted for her ass, and he got behind her white mounds, stroking them over and over with pleasure, and pointed his weapon at the rosebud asshole.
He wiggled his cock into the tight aperture, which made her squeal a bit. So he stopped, to let her get used to the feel of his meat.
Then, to divert her attention, Barry brought his cock around to her lovely red lips and gave her something to suck on while Bernard went ahead with his plot to pierce her tail.
The sight of her mouth on Barry's cock was dynamite for Bernard, and he felt impelled to push his meat into her tail a bit further. It still made her squeal, but since her mouth was stuffed with cock, she didn't sound too alarmed.
He kept thrusting his cock in, harder and harder, until he got hail of it through. She had a tight ass, and the grip of it around his cock was fierce and fabulous.
His mind was partly on the Courbet painting, and he felt as if he were actually screwing the Woman, there, as well as that blonde cunt that he bumped into. His balls were tight with their load of ammunition and he had his hands around the meat of her ass as he wiggled his cock in deeper and deeper until finally he had it down to the hilt!
It seemed to excite her so much that she went quite crazy about Barry's cock, for she kept trying to swallow it, to get it as deep into her throat as she could.
But poor Barry's cock had been so mauled by her sucking and fucking that he wanted to give it just a bit of respite. So he pulled it out and lifted himself up, giving her his balls to work on, which she did vigorously.
She enjoyed the sensation of a ball in her mouth liking the contours and the tart taste of it.
She had become quite a connoisseur about the sex paraphernalia of the male, finding that her oral compulsions to lick and suck were immense. There was deep pleasure in it for her.
And the ecstasy of having Bernard's cock deep in her ass was turning her on so enormously that she was ready to do anything.
And Barry, sensing her total commitment to sex, somehow found himself raising his body still further so that her mouth was just over his tail.
And, as if by instinct, she spread his cheeks, and let her tongue go into the aperture of his ass, and she began a dynamite action of her tongue in there, touching his nerves, sending tingles of pleasure through his body.
So that while Bernard crouched behind her with his cock deep in her ass was flicking her ferociously, thrusting his cock in and out, clutching her buttocks to keep a steady target, she was so spectacularly turned on that her tongue just did its dance in the ass-hole, giving little charges of dynamite.
Bernard's cock now began to swell, filling her ass like some salami, making her twist with the pain and ecstasy of it and her groans were so intense that Barry, fearful she would go off, leaving him up there to dry, shoved his cock back into her mouth.
And he started to fuck her mouth, while she sucked violently.
And then it happened. All of them catapulting to the Big Orgasm. Bernard's cock shot its load of cream into her ass; and Caroline felt her orgasm quivering in her cunt, just as she sucked violently to bring Barry's cock off, feeling jets of his cream shoot into her mouth.
She swallowed every drop, keeping her mouth firmly fastened around his cock as it pulsated. And her cunt sent waves of ecstasy through her entire body, along every nerve.
It was the biggest thrill of her life.
She had been fucked by two guys, and it seemed to her that the thrill had been doubly strong.
She had tasted ecstasy early in life, for actually she was fifteen. But when it comes to sex the female is ageless, she thought with satisfaction. She was glad that she had embarked on the life of pleasure early, rather than wait three more years, like most girls of her generation did.
It was, she imagined, a form of stupidity to delay innocent pleasure.
After all, you might get hit by a truck!
Chapter Six
For many month's after Anita's husband died, she did a hellish lot of drinking. She would wander around the house in a thin gown and guzzle martinis, and when Barry would come home, he would see her half-naked and looking miserable.
Her big tits would flop out, and sometimes her cunt with its bobbed hair would show. She bobbed it for Cy, her departed husband, because he liked only a little maidenhair. He was a fiend at cunt-licking, and enjoyed it more when he could get to her silky slit easily.
After a while, Anita started to get out some, and she would bring back studs that she met on tennis courts, for she watched Mavis in competition. There were plenty of tennis bums around the courts and Anita's great tits and body would slay them. She could have the pick of the lot.
Often she would bring these studs home, and it pissed Barry off, even though he was then going on sixteen. He hated to see these hulking athletes come out of the bedroom, looking like they had been to paradise.
Sometimes they would just grin at him before they went, and he felt mad enough to want to throw a punch.
It made him think hard, and he once discussed it with his buddy Bernard.
"You're jealous," said Bernard. "Let's face all the facts straight. It's Freudian. Every kid wants to get his mom! It's just in our nature."
"Do you?"
"Sure," admitted Bernard cheerfully. He thought of his mother Marge, a redheaded, white-skinned sexpot for whom he had lusted since the time of his diapers. She had breast-suckled him, and subconsciously he craved to get back to that scene.
"Do you mean that, given the opportunity, you'd screw your mother, Marge?" Barry was determined to put the problem in clear words, just so Bernard could not skitter away.
"Yeah. If I could get away with it, I'd do it! But you know, I've got an old man around who'd clobber my ass purple. You know. It's the system. We mustn't touch our blood relatives."
Barry smiled, thinking of Marge. Actually, it would be plenty nice to nail her down with his naughty cock. Obviously, the whole sex picture in the world today was all wrong, and needed a bit of changing. Chances were that the relationships of kids with their parents might even improve if there were a bit of fooling around, for in a logical sense, you always felt closer to people who gave you pleasure.
And the whole system of taboo was based on superstitions that would not exist in a scientific society. You didn't have sex with your blood relations, previously, mostly because it presumably polluted the blood stream, and gave you retarded, idiot kids. But the whole control of childbirth had altered that picture. And we were getting to the point of control of genes, and could even eliminate all bad genes.
And after that, Barry thought, it might be an amusing game for him to trip up Marge someday.
"If you want the thrill of mother-fucking vicariously, I'll do it for you with Marge," Barry said, giving Bernard the gimlet eye. He didn't know if the kid had enough humor to take it.
Bernard turned green, and stared at Barry for a full minute, contemplating the idea in all its degenerate ways. He could see Barry easily enough, with his rambunctious cock piercing his beautiful mother Marge, fucking her cunt, her tail, her mouth. The vividness of the pictures shocked him, as if it didn't take much to flash it on the screen of his mind. He trembled through a whole gamut of feelings from rage and jealousy, to lust and pain.
"You bastard," he said, trying to control himself.
"A very primitive reaction," Barry said, cool as ice. He had enormously better control than this poor fish.
"Listen, you bastard, suppose I said that to you?" Bernard said, gritting his teeth. "That I'd be glad to give you the thrill of mother-fucking vicariously. And do it to Anita? Think about that, you lowlife creep!"
Barry grinned. He felt free of such contaminating feelings as jealousy and possessiveness. For Barry, in spite of his youth, was extremely bright, and did his thinking on a more universal level than most kids.
"You're losing your sense of proportion, kid," he said to Bernard. "Think about Life. What are we? Just a couple of short-lived insects with a vocabulary. We're living on a space ship that's doomed to nova, marking us all for extermination. What is our connection to those who spawn us? An accident. We are a chain of genes that go back to the amoeba and go forward to extinction with the death of our sun. What's all the fucking fuss about? To get into rages about our females, whom we fuck, is acting more stupidly than the animals.
By this time, Bernard had got control of himself. He too was bright, and obviously recognized the truth of Barry's ideas.
"Okay," he said. "I bow to your logic. But if you ever get to Marge, don't tell me."
"You're missing the point. What we should probably do, if were were totally free, is plot the seduction of these women who accidentally happened to have spawned us."
Bernard shook his head, a gleam of admiration in his eye a she glanced at Barry. "I'm just not as free as you are! I am still the victim of human feelings. And jealousy shakes me like a dog when I think you might get your lewd cock into my beautiful mother!"
Barry shrugged his head pityingly. Poor Bernard. He was intelligent, but he couldn't master his feelings. It just wasn't enough to see the truth of things, if you couldn't handle the way you felt about them. Good thinking, in his mind, ultimately shaped the way you felt about life.
"Well, if it pains you that much, then let's just forget it," he said, resolving privately not to forget it. In fact, the idea of fucking the beautiful redheaded Marge with her devastating ass tempted him. And even more given that it was practically a forbidden act. Barry was one of those guys who found anything forbidden all the more interesting. The spice of danger always appealed to him, and to do the dangerous deed became an obsession.
So in his mind he had already committed himself to the idea of making it with Marge sometime, somehow.
And Bernard, who knew his friend's talent for pursuing the forbidden, figured that Barry would ultimately gun for Marge, and he himself made the decision to beat him to the punch and pulverize Anita first.
She would be easy enough-just because she had lost her husband and needed cock to slake her appetites.
So the young studs looked at each other with cool eyes, each understanding the other would be involved in some secret hanky-panky.
And it didn't take two days for Bernard to go into action. He knew, for example, that Barry would be nailed down for baseball practice, crucial before an important game. It would tie him up till late.
So, on the pretence of not knowing, he dropped by Barry's place, and Anita came to the door, in her thin blue robe, partly open, showing her giant tits.
"I'm sorry. I thought Barry would be home," the snaky Bernard said, standing there.
Anita smiled at him. She had had by this time three martinis and was floating nicely. She always liked Bernard too -- felt him one of Barry's brighter friends. She also liked the gleam in his eyes when he looked at her. Of course Anita understood that males invariably looked at her like that-with lust. But it amused her that a kid like Bernard, just seventeen, would already be so cocky. Imagine a kid like him lusting for her!
Anita, since the passing of Cy, was more or less in a state of constant sex tension because she had no constant lover. Actually, at this stage of her life, she did not want one man. She was thirty-eight, and one of those women who resist the erosion of time. Her bone structure was great, and her tits were splendid hunks of meat with jutting nipples. Her ass was two bountiful shaped mounds that made men drool.
She had a coy way of wearing her hair, dark and boy-cut, so that it looked like the newest coiffure from Paris. Her eyes were dark and liquid, her mouth full lipped and, in the eyes of sinful men, born to caress a prick.
She had, therefore, no problem in picking up studs, if she wanted. And for a young boy like Bernard, a woman like Anita had to be the ultimate sexpot. It was no trick for Bernard to connect with a tender young chick like Caroline, but the challenge of knocking off a kicky queen of the mattresses like Anita -- ah -- that would be bigtime!
Bernard, at the sight of her, and aware that his plot was hanging in delicate balance, faltered. "Well, if Barry isn't here, then -- uh-perhaps I ought to -- go."
Anita could see the lust written all over the poor kid's face, but also the embarrassment and the lack of spunk. Inwardly, she had to laugh at the idea of a seventeen-year-old kid craving to make contact lecherously with a woman like her. But martinis always left her in a lewd mood, so she said in a kindly tone, "Why not come in for a while, Bernard. He might come home early. Come on. I'll give you a glass of wine, and you can tell me all about your schoolwork."
She turned and walked in, and he followed, and the sight of that thin robe falling against her fabulous ass sent quivers to his young cock.
They went to the living room, a giant space, elegantly decorated with a yellow golden rug, with streamlined pieces of furniture and a big brown sofa.
Bernard followed her, trembling, aware that if he did not flop around, he could well sneak his way into Anita's womanly snatch. The very idea discombobulated him, made him clumsier than usual, and he stumbled on the rug and fell against her body. In fact, he had to grab at her buttocks to stop his fall and it startled Anita, who expected him to be lustful but timid.
She glanced about, jostled, and saw his face, fiercely red and embarrassed at his clumsiness. He apologized wildly, so she told him to sit down and relax.
She then brought him a glass of port and another martini for herself, thinking that the attack did have a nub of excitement. Imagine rape from a kid like Bernard!
As for him, he sat there, his face beet-red, sipping the wine, furious at his stumble, and determined now to play the man of the world to wipe out the childish impression.
"How is school?" she asked, looking at him through gin-fogged eyes.
"It's boring, of course." Bernard actually did find it boring since he was extremely bright and the speed at which the class traveled was far slower than his.
"Barry tells me you have just got fascinated by art." She looked at him carefully, trying to get him into sharper focus. His eyes were staring at her tits, and glancing down, she could see that part of her nipple was peeping. Okay. It would drive him up the wall. Kids like that were jewels, she thought, because of their hard, virginal cocks; tireless things that could fuck forever.
"Yes," Bernard said, trying desperately to keep his eyes from staring at her gorgeous tit with its pink nipple showing. His cock had already done its thing, and the hard-on was pressing against his pants. "I have really got fascinated by the great works of art. I love to look at them. They give me very deep pleasure. So I have been spending a lot of time in the museums lately."
He was concentrating on his subject, to distract himself from her tits, for he felt he could easily tumble into another clumsy spectacle.
"Well, it's delightful to hear that a man of your age has developed such a ferocious interest in Art. Most people come to appreciate it at a later time."
"I'm not as young as I seem, Mrs. Altman," he boasted.
"Oh, yes. It's quite obvious that you are precocious." And she glanced meaningfully down at his pants.
His own eyes gazed there, and to his horror, he could see that he still had this horrendous pack of meat, pushing against his jeans.
He bit his lip in embarrassment, but she just laughed, and then suddenly, everything seemed easier.
The wine, itself, seemed to have eased his tension, for he had more of a sense of confidence. After all, Anita was not unapproachable, especially with a stack of martinis in her. She was plenty high, that at least was clear, from the slight thickness of her speech.
All he had to do was play it cool and in time he would approach paradise -- Anita's pussy.
So he got up, having finished his wine, and sauntered over to the bar. "I hope you don't mind if I have another? In fact, I would like something a little stronger."
"Help yourself." She shrugged, smiling. She felt that the kid would be clobbered if he took anything stronger than wine.
Bernard, seeing the bottle of gin, poured some of it, and put in some ice and tonic. He gulped a good deal of it, for he wanted to get himself into a reckless mood. He hated to be uptight and figured the faster he got drunk, the faster he could get his mouth around that heavenly pack of tit. He was drooling just glimpsing the nipple move in and out behind her robe.
"The trouble is that most women think that just because a guy doesn't shave every day he's not an adult," Bernard complained. "Yet what is it that makes you a grown-up?"
"A hard cock," she said.
Bernard didn't believe his ears. "What?"
She smiled at him encouragingly. "A hard cock makes you a man. Isn't that your point?" She gulped down the rest of her drink. "I know, Bernard, that you're a very horny kid. And that you can't seem to keep your eyes off my tits. I wouldn't be at all surprised if you're feeling like an adult in your pants right now. I mean, it's just a spectacular bulge that you've got there. It sort of fills the room! I find it fascinating that a young kid like you should have such a bulge."
Anita, the beautiful dark-haired honey, was obviously bombed with four martinis, and her mood was horny, for she craved to suck cock even if it hung on the body of a seventeen-year-old stud.
"I've been studying you, Bernard," she said, while he listened in amazement. Her voice was delicately thickened by gin. "I think you are a dirty little boy."
"Why?" He was anxious, suddenly afraid that his friend, Barry, might get complaints.
"It's your evil eye when you look at me," she said. "And your cock is trying to fight its way out of your jeans. Tell me, are you all lust and no action, Bernard?"
He blushed. "Well --"
"Comere," she commanded.
He stood up and his cock stood up too as he walked over to her on the sofa.
She smiled at him gently. "What do you want to do most at this moment? Say it straight out. Don't be afraid."
Bernard's eyes were glued to her tits, so plump, so near, the white flesh pushing at him, the pink nipple peeping out.
He stuttered, "I'd like to kiss your tits, Anita."
"Then do it, boy. Be bold."
And she pulled his head to her breast uncovered one tit so that the whole hunk of meat came within an inch of his mouth, which descended hungrily to devour the nipple. His lips went over the fat nipple and he sucked fiercely on it while his excitement started to peak. He tried to get the whole hunk of her meat down his throat, he felt so turned on.
Then he went to the other tit and grabbed the nipple between his lips, again sucking hard. His cock in his pants felt as if it had become an iron pipe and it strained against his britches. She seemed to sense it for her hand went down to his zipper, pulled out his throbbing monster.
Then Anita, still saturated with martinis, bent down to take a look.
"My, what a super-size cock you have here, Bernard. Wherever did you get it?"
"From mail order," he flashed back, grinning devilishly. Now that sex was rampant, he felt bold as a lion. "Kiss it, kiss it, Anita," he urged.
She smiled, kissed the red, angry head, then put her wet and warm tongue around it as if it were an appetizer.
"Now get your things off," she muttered, as with one fast gesture she flung her robe off, then pulled down the panties that hugged her delicious hips.
He scrambled to get out of his clothes, and within seconds they confronted each other in their stark nudity.
Bernard was totally unprepared for the impact of the female perfection in front of him. Anita at thirty-eight was like a fruit that had blossomed to its summer peak, that had reached its moment of perfect fulfillment. Her breasts were beautiful pineapples and in superb proportion to the slender, long waist and the widening hips. Her thighs were white and molded finely to the well-shaped legs. Her belly had a small curve with a charming mount of Venus. And the curly maidenhair crested over her cunt, a pink mouth now moist with the juices of sex.
Bernard felt impulses too wild to control. He craved to touch her, to bite her, to fling himself on her. But he seemed paralyzed by his very passion.
Anita, however, with her experienced eye could see the findish impulses at work in him, and smilingly pulled him down to the sofa, directing his head to her pussy.
Bernard's impulses then went hog wild. He fell to wildly kissing her pussy, instinctively spreading the lips to get his tongue into the tender meat. Some demon seemed to possess him and he began dynamite thrusts of his tongue.
He grabbed her plump buttocks and pushed her haunches up at him. It was sophisticated and clever and so turned Anita on that her cunt went into a quivering spasm of joy.
She was flabbergasted at the kid's know-how, and to reward him she pushed him down on his back so that his cock waved in the ozone. She took its head Into her hot mouth and began to work on it, going up and down with long, lingering strokes, feeling his hot meat pumping in her mouth. She then went down to his balls and mouthed them tenderly, going from one to the other. She got her finger in his asshole and tickled it while she went back to his cock, wrapping her hot lips firmly around his passion pole and beginning a wild, wanton sucking that made his eyes jump from his head. It took only a few minutes of this masterful sucking to bring his cock to a huge swelling, then a horrendous blast as the cream spurted into her greedy sucking mouth. She let the juice flow to her throat, swallowing each spurt, then liking his cock clear of the joy-cream.
She then wilted against his red, bruised cock as he slumped back in dazed delight.
They took a shower and scrubbed each other, she getting her finger with soap in her ass, and he imitating her.
I'm learning a lot about sex, Bernard thought.
His cock, in just this short time, had already gone raunchy again, and ached to get back into her luscious body.
There is, he thought, still her gorgeous cunt to be cracked. He still had not invaded the vaginal paradise.
His young cock had a lustful hunger for just such contact, but Anita thought she should have a sandwich and another drink.
When she brought the drink to her lips, he mumbled, "Meat and martinis. That's your diet."
"They go well together, you little creep," she said with vitriolic humor. "Now where did you pick up all this sex stuff at your age?"
"Oh, I get around."
"Around who, you little worm? Caroline?"
He flushed to his roots. Dammit, he thought, women guess this stuff in a moment. It's a telepathic thing with them.
"You little worm. You are screwing your sister!"
"So what?" he said defiantly.
She just smiled. "Incest in 'in' this year. Don't get guilty about it."
He stared at her. "And what about you and Barry? Is incest still in? He gritted his teeth before he got this wild thought out.
She kept her poise. "Oh, he hasn't displayed any interest in me," she said smoothly.
"What if he did?" Bernard persisted, feeling shaky, as if it involved his own destiny.
A Mona Lisa smile came over her. "Whatever will happen, will happen."
A spasm of jealousy hit Bernard as he thought that someone had a gorgeous piece of ass like Anita in the front yard, ready to have if he should want it. He bit his lip in anguish, then realized how absolutely lunatic such an emotion had to be.
After all, she didn't belong to him, even if he did shoot his juice in her mouth. It was ridiculous to let his feelings stampede him in such matters. He should instead just be grateful for the fact that he could snuggle up to such a snatch!
And thinking that, he put his hand over her big tit, caressed it, then stuck it in his mouth. He loved to suck tits, and knew instinctively how it turned on the female.
She did in fact turn on, for after he stopped his tit-licking, she bent down, lifted his half limp cock and began to lap it vigorously, doing tricky things with her tongue.
His cock came up like thunder, and he lifted his haunches, hoping she would lick his balls again, something he greatly enjoyed. She understood that, did a delicate job on the two sensual sacs, then, fascinated by another aperture, went to his tail, and began to get her tongue into the pleasure nerves of his asshole.
This blew his mind. Bernard had no expectation of such a game and it did a dynamite pleasure job on him.
His cock swelled like a salami, and went fiercely red.
Now she spread her thighs, pulled his swollen cock to her cunt, and he did the manly thing, thrusting his meat in as deep as he could. The moist warmth and snug fit of her cunt really turned him on, and he started the ins and outs, hitting her slit with a hard thump, feeling delicious stabs of pleasure.
His hands clutched her buttocks as he pussy-whipped her cunt, and she groaned and whimpered, giving him the feeling that the male is the master. Even if he was seventeen!
Then she stopped, and whispered in his ear, "Stick it in my ass, Bernard."
Anal love, he thought, with fierce pleasure. He craved it and now he could have it.
So out came his wet cock, and he aimed it at her rosebud. He figured it would be a terrific tight fit, but to his astonishment, his cock slid in nice and easy. She had an ass perfectly designed for his size cock!
The snugness of the fit made the screwing even more delightful, and he found himself getting violent in his thrusts, which excited her even more.
"Fuck my ass off, darling," she whispered, her voice shaky with excitement.
This whipped poor Bernard to a frenzy, and he pumped his prick into her tail-great gigantic thrusts that seemed to get to the core of her body.
And then his cock exploded and the cream cascaded hotly into her tight ass that went jittery with joy as each spurt of juice went into her.
Her vagina picked up the vibrations, and she too hit a beautiful orgasm.
Then they slumped together, this time totally out of it, exhausted with pleasure.
Chapter Seven
Caroline, the delicious thirteen year old darling with green cat eyes and thrusting tits, never dreamed that one night she would find her young cunt belabored by the blissful tongue of her tennis idol, Mavis. But it happened!
The way it happened was a bit of a jolt because such an idea was not one to come easily to her young mind.
Cunt-licking from a woman like Mavis, the super tennis star, was just not in the world of sex imagined by Caroline.
Mavis, the tennis ace, Barry's cousin, was no commonplace girl. She was in fact a very special one. Not only because she played outstanding tennis, which earned her a quarter of a million a year in prize money, but Mavis, it has to be said, adored tennis, as much as she adored the game of sex. Her healthy body, in fact, had quite an appetite for it and if she hadn't worked hard at tennis, her cravings would be even more horrendous.
She was twenty-three and plenty of guys were charmed at the idea of marriage to the mighty Mavis, not only because her body was magnificent, but because of her super earning power. Still, Mavis did not respond to the marital pitch -- for she loved her freedom. This was easy to understand, obviously, for it gave her the opportunity to live and love as she pleased.
Curiously, her taste in sex, as she discovered early in life, did not have rigid restrictions, and there were times when finding herself in the presence of some pretty young female thing, and the situation quite right, she would respond with all the warmth of her passionate nature.
She remembered a time at camp, when she was just a teenager, discovering her terrific talent at tennis, an older counselor had taken this strong interest in her.
The counselor, whose name was Jerie, was herself quite an athlete, built like an Amazon, and fiercely interested in sports. She inspired little Mavis, taught her everything she knew about tennis, and they spent lots of time together. And one night, camping out together during the hot summer, Jerie got into an intimate talk with Mavis, roused the erotic tendencies of the young girl's body, and with careful seduction, stroked and caressed, until Mavis was totally hypnotized.
And then Jerie did this amazing thing, bending down, to kiss Mavis right on the cunt. It was such a strange, exciting thing that Mavis found herself caught in a spell, like a bird by a snake, unable to move.
In fact the shock of it was softened by the thrill of it, for Jerie was a master seductress who knew how to titillate a pussy with her talented tongue. Mavis was so enchanted by the pleasurable tingles in her cunt that she would never in a million years stop Jerie, who seemed to be engulfed by a great excitement. And she very well should have been, because at that age Mavis was one of the most delectable Lolitas of the world, with honey-brown hair, apple-red cheeks, and a flawlessly shaped young body -- with astonishing tits for her age.
So Jerie, of course, devoured the cunt, then finally got her finger into the tight pussy, stroking the cit until the poor child was ransacked by the most amazing thrills, which ascended to an agonizing orgasm.
It was a memorable experience, and might have put Mavis eternally in the camp of the lesbian, if she was not also hotly pursued by ball-bearing young rapists, who also craved to taste the raptures of her superb body.
Mavis, therefore, discovered that sex ecstasy did not belong only to one sex, but that if one lived cleverly, one could enjoy both guys and girls, which made one, in her opinion, more complete; gave her a wider range for pleasure-since girl love had a specially different excitement from male love.
And because, as has been noted here, Mavis had such a splendid, healthy body with an almost rapacious appetite for love, she scarcely ever repulsed an opportunity.
And so it happened that one day, Caroline had asked for some pointers on tennis, for she too was a tennis freak, and Mavis took out the time to show her the secrets of a strong backhand, using a two-handed swing.
And afterward they got into Mavis' Ferrari, that hot-shot Italian car, and drove out to Mavis' place to shower and clean up.
And when Mavis saw Caroline's exquisite young body under the stinging water, she insisted on rubbing the kid's back. An excuse. But she was tempted beyond all control.
So, making a game of it, she too got into the shower with Caroline, and asked the young girl to soap her body, which Caroline did, astonished at the beautiful breasts and legs that tennis seemed to have developed in Mavis.
Afterward, they toweled each other, and Mavis brought out some pot.
Caroline felt quite close to Mavis in some obscure way, probably because Mavis was Barry's cousin, and she had had sex with Barry. In her mind, it set them up for intimacy. But she did not, in fact could not imagine sexual intimacy with Mavis, since her head didn't work that way.
But the pot naturally aroused sexual excitement in Caroline, in a vague way, without giving her any focus.
Mavis, however, understood the whole psychology of sexual arousal and she made sure they were close during the smoking, and that her hand would, on occasion rub the young girl's thigh, so that Caroline came to expect the touch which she found pleasant.
They were sitting there together in robes, smoking, and talking about tennis.
And while Mavis talked, she stroked.
"The most important secret in the game, it has always seemed to me, Caroline, is concentration. If you lose your concentration, then you are dead. I have lost my games mostly because I let my concentration get away. I would respond to the crowd, or to something my competitor was doing, or let my thoughts run wild. In tennis, if you forget to watch that ball, and the position of your opponent, you just can't win! As for the strokes, they will come, if you practice."
And Mavis went on with the stroking, aware from the flush in her pretty cheeks that Caroline had reached a nice high.
She looked into the green cat eyes, and felt a nice hot flush in her cunt, and knew that she had to have this kid, that she would, very soon, somehow get her mouth against the pussy-lips, and paralyze them with happiness.
"It must be marvelous to be in front of all those people, and know they admire you, Mavis."
"I don't know about them when I'm really playing."
Her hand never stopped the rhythmic stroking of Caroline's lovely white thigh. She knew that the girl had built almost an expectation of being touched and wanted even more of it, even though unconscious of her desires.
"But isn't it thrilling to be a world celebrity? To be recognized wherever you go? To earn so much money?"
"Being a celebrity isn't everything. Caroline. There are more important things than fame."
"Name one."
"Love, Pleasure."
"Pleasure? What do you mean?"
"I mean that sitting here, chatting with you, even touching you, is a pleasure that is just as important to me as winning tennis." And Mavis smiled, leaned forward to kiss lightly Caroline's soft, cherry lips.
And Caroline enjoyed that. She was flattered that a world-famous tennis player like Mavis would respond to her so warmly. She felt curiously stirred, and wanted to be close to Mavis.
So that Mavis, reading these signs in her tender victim, put her arms about the luscious Caroline, and held her close, their breasts touching.
And they stayed like that, while Mavis let her hand enter the robe and touch the silky flesh of the young Caroline, then pressing against the tender nipple, which had stiffened.
Aware that passion had streaked through Caroline's loins, Mavis now acted boldly, caressing the shapely breast, then finally leaning down, to take the nipple in her mouth, to suck on it, producing the thrilling tingles in Caroline's young cunt.
By now, Caroline was truly paralyzed, a helpless victim to anything Mavis would do. She felt an erotic excitement through her entire body, awakened by the pot and the stroking and the nipple-sucking. Her loins were moistened with the elixir of love, and her impulse was to put her own arms around Mavis, to touch her magnificent breasts, too.
And Mavis looked up at the young girl, saw desire gleaming in the green eyes and so she kissed the girl on the lips, while her hand went down to the overheated pussy, finding it moist. Her own lust leaped high, and her tongue went into Caroline's mouth, and her finger into the hot cunt, which she stroked with finesse, massaging the cit so that poor Caroline was suddenly on fire.
And the curious feeling that stabbed Caroline was despair, for she could not in any way see how her desires would be gratified, since Mavis, a female, did not have a cock! She thought that only cock could bring peace to her now, and a devastating feeling of loss swept over her.
It was just then that Mavis, sensing the overpowering craving in Caroline, went down to the pussy with her mouth, kissing the cunt lips, then spreading them to get her tongue in, touching the button with the tip of her tongue, fluttering it like the wings of a butterfly.
And then the excitement went to a fierce pitch in Caroline's pussy, as lust, so that she couldn't get enough of the fluttering, clever tongue, and she arched her body upward, toward Mavis' face, wanting her as close as possible, then finally, unable to stand it any longer, seized the older woman's head, and pressed it down on her pussy, wanting constant tongue action so that she could reach, finally, that peak, and find release from this agonizing tension!
But Mavis, now sure of her victim, just smiled, and pulled her head away, her lips moist with the elixir from Caroline's cunt.
"Shall we love each other, darling?"
And she stripped off her own robe, as well as Caroline's, so that both bodies were now nude, and she swung her gorgeous body so that her cunt was now at the level of Caroline's lips.
"Kiss me there, darling, while I kiss you.' And she smiled the Mona Lisa smile. "In the honeypot. In the honeypot, darling."
And Caroline, the astonished fifteen-year-old kittycat, who never came face to face with a pussy before, found herself with her lips pressed close to Mavis' honeypot. She stared at it, at the light brown, fine pussy-hair and the scarlet slit, wet with the juices of passion.
And Mavis, watching her, put her finger in Caroline's cunt, to warm her up a bit, urged her on. "Go on, darling."
Then Caroline made the plunge, and kissed the famous tennis super-star's cunt and found the pussy-lips tender and charming. She felt very strange but very excited, and felt a powerful yearning to lick the cunt, just so that her own cunt would get final release from the terrible frustration that tormented her.
Her tongue, small yet firm, sneaked into the cunt, and she found it thrilling, and began then to try to imitate the dynamite movements that Mavis had made in her pussy.
And soon, the two of them were violently involved in cunt-licking, each trying to outdo the other in the intensity of the action.
Mavis grabbed the teenager's young buttocks, to press her cunt still closer to her mouth, then she worked her finger into the little rosebud asshole too, to shake up those nerves.
And Caroline, quite an alert child at learning the ways of love, did likewise. She too grabbed Mavis' beautiful butt, finding it marvelously voluptuous, and she pushed the cunt as close to her lips as she could. Then she tried to finger the asshole, just as she felt it.
And together they pussy-whipped each other, feeling the agonizing climb of passion, the tautness of nerve, the coiled tightness that became almost unbearable and then the wild, frantic surge of release, and the great waves of pleasure.
Mavis groaned with the joy of fulfilled lust, and her body went limp. And just for the pleasure of closeness, she came up alongside of Caroline who had almost totally freaked out from the intensity of her orgasm, and she put her arms gently about the young, white body, flawless in its firm youth.
"Better than tennis, isn't it, honey?" she murmured to the teenager.
Caroline smiled weakly. "Beats any game I know."
Mavis smiled gently. "The game of love is the best game of them all!"
Chapter Eight
Barry was one of those kids who seem to get a good deal from nature at birth. He had a powerful physique, a good-looking face and a smart head.
At sixteen, therefore, he already had the athlete's body of a young man of twenty, with a broad chest, strong arms, and one might say, the sex drive of a goat in heat.
At school he played all sports, and was singled out by the pretty little darlings as the boy they would most like to date in an amorous mood. He played catcher on the ball team and had a rifle-throw to second base; he hit in clean-up position because of his power with the bat. He ran the speed distances for the track team and played running back on the football team.
He was, in short, a triple threat in sports. His intellectual life was no less sparkling, for with only the least effort, he made top grades and was warmly admired by his teachers.
In short, he had a lot going for him, yet he found himself mostly in a state of intense frustration, the reason being his potent sex drive. In spite of sports, it did not drain his potency, for he found himself tormented with constant erections.
He usually awoke mornings with a brutal erection, and it would rarely leave him, so that during the day he would find himself embarrassed in class and staring at the cute chicks, picturing all sorts of gentle depravities with the asses and mouths of the darlings.
But he did have a touch of shyness, totally unexpected in someone so obviously desirable to the opposite sex, which made his sexual grappling quite infrequent. His youth and shyness, in short, blocked his desires from finding their full erotic expression. So that the suckings and fuckings in his fantasy did not get much play in real life.
Intellectually, however, he could be very frank and bold in any verbal approach to sex, which was why he could talk to Bernard in daring ways about Anita, his own mother, and about Marge, Bernard's red-headed, beautiful mother, who appealed to his young lust as a mature, enormously desirable woman.
In his visits to Bernard's house, he often had occasion to appreciate Marge's voluptuous beauty, and at times when his young lustful eyes were appreciating her gorgeous tits, she would somehow pick up the vibration, and glance at him, a small smile creasing her rather full sensual lips.
Barry's fantasies were very powerful about her lips, and he could visualize the most obscene acts, glancing at her lips. He had met Bill, her husband, a guy obviously dedicated to slam-barn sex, and Barry's mind could easily see Bill demanding that his red-headed wife put her splendid mouth around his beastly cock! Just to imagine the scene did the most ferocious things to Barry's own tool, and it went tumultuous with desire now even at the sight of Marge.
And he got sight of her when he heard his name called as he was leaving Reback's Drug Store: the voice was obviously Marge's; and she was sitting in a car across the street.
She was smiling at him. "Want a lift, Barry?"
He was astonished, then of course felt the lift in his cock as he started across the street
It was a bit unusual for her to offer a ride to Barry, and he was trying to figure it out as he walked over.
"Why, thank you, Mrs. Altman," he said, and got into the Continental. It was a luxurious background for Marge, really setting off her red-headed beauty. Actually, Marge had seen Barry go into the drug store, and couldn't help notice the powerful masculinity of his body, the athletic stride and his sensual movement Marge had often noticed his naive looks of lust, whenever he sneaked looks at her tits.
And just now, she was feeling terribly horny, and thought it might be an amusing thing to pick the boy up, and put him through some sex torments.
She had not really made up her mind what to do, and just welcomed the adventure of giving him a drive home, since his house was "on the way."
"You're looking good, Barry," she said, glancing over, after they started. "Sports seem to be developing you very fast. You look so much stronger than Bernard."
"Thank you, Mrs. Altman. Sports does a lot for a guy, and it's a pity that Bernard is such an intellectual. He likes the indoor games."
"And don't you?" She gave him a coy look.
Glancing down he could see that his cock had already gone hard! It was an impossible hunk of meat, with a mind of its own, he thought.
"Oh, I like games of all kinds, actually. Mrs. Altman."
"Call me Marge," she said, smiling at him.
He felt a bit unnerved at the idea of calling her Marge, especially around her husband, Bill, who seemed a rambunctious guy, even though he was very clever.
They had got out on the highway now, and she was riving at a moderate speed, not clear in her own mind what she wanted to do.
It was a lovely day, the sun coming down with force and giving everything a happy radiance. She had the radio turned on, and the music was warm and sensuous.
She felt happy and carefree, and liked young Barry's intimacy. His very presence sent out a subtle virility and strength that appealed to her.
She had a dress on, and her legs were close together, and she felt a fine tingling all over her skin, as if responding to the signals of nature everywhere: in the new burst of flowers out in the fields, and the new clothing of leaves on the trees, the warmth of the bright sun.
"If you're not in a hurry, we might drive out to the beach and look at the water for a short while," she said.
"Oh, I'd like that, Mrs. Altman -- I mean Marge."
He knew that just the sound of her throaty voice could turn him on, and when he looked at her, at her redhead, for she had the brilliant type of red hair that fell in soft curls about her face, he felt hopelessly enslaved, and his cock perked, and pushed against his jeans.
She'd have to be blind not to see my excited cock, he thought, and it encouraged him, for he felt that it was his meat that had influenced her to prolong their ride. The cock has powers to persuade far beyond the best eloquence, he thought.
And he looked more boldly at her splendid tits, as she drove, and staring intensely, he could see the nipples pushing against her thin shirt. She really had a bountiful load of flesh, he thought, so much more than the kids at school still in the budding stage.
He wondered if he could ever manage to get that tit in his mouth, and he licked his chops at the very image.
Of course it didn't take much for Marge to pick up with her female antennae the fact that Barry's prick was in a sinister state.
She couldn't help but visualize what it would look like outside his jeans-surely a muscled joint bursting with cock-juice. The image came to her mind so realistically that it made her loins go wet. At that moment she made a firm decision to bring the kid into a sexual uproar, and she thought of the drive along the beach on top of the hill, totally deserted on a midweek day like this.
So she drove to the crest of the hill, and as expected, the place was empty. They looked out across the waves rolling gently to the shore. The place, Marge decided, was ideal -- isolated and lovely.
So then she turned to focus on Barry's phallus, finding to her satisfaction that it still looked like a thumping little monster.
"So here we are, Barry."
"Yes."
"The water looks great"
"Yes."
She glanced at him curiously. He seemed in a state of high excitement, almost a bit trembling, as if on the edge of a tremendous event
Actually, that was exactly what Barry felt Why did she pick him up?' he asked himself. Why park here? A lonely spot like this? Clearly, he reasoned, she had a hot cunt and she had marked him for her target. The idea so excited him that he felt his cock go hard as a steel pipe. He could scarcely wait for the preliminaries to start for the hot stuff ahead!
Yet, there was in him this caution, for he could not really begin anything, just in case he was building a fantasy, a sand castle. The whole idea in his mind could be a wishful dream, built on his lust for Marge's voluptuous body. It could have nothing to do with reality. She might indeed say to him, "Well, it was nice looking at the water -- shall we go?"
And suppose he made a pass, and it was all wrong? Why, she might blast his balls. No, he had to move carefully.
So he leaned back, tried to breathe easily, but all this did not in the least touch his cock, which bulked huge and iron hard in his britches.
The big bulge naturally did its job on Marge, for her eyes devoured it and she seethed with desire.
"What are you thinking?" she asked suddenly.
"Who, me?" He was confused.
"No, William Shakespeare!"
He scowled. "I'm sorry." She was a smart-ass. He hoped he could stuff her saucy mouth with his cock, just to teach her! "I was sort of floating around." His eyes couldn't help stare at her gorgeous tits with the nipples printed marvelously clear against her thin, blue shirt.
"Well, if you really want to know --" he said.
"Of course. I asked, didn't I?"
He was on the verge of saying that he was thinking what joy it would be to eat her cunt! But he lost his nerve. Instead he said, "I don't know. I was thinking how nice to be with you in such a cozy spot."
"Just the two of us? Right, Barry." Her voice had a warm, caressing note.
His eyes were greedy on her tits. "Just us."
Her eyes took on a remote look, as if she were looking into the depths of sin. "I can't help feel that you like me, Barry."
He was astonished. "How do you know that?"
She pointed at his surging prick. "Well, that big, fat thing of yours has been staring at me for the last twenty minutes. I don't have to be clever."
He gulped, then flashed back at her, "Why shouldn't it stare at you, Marge? You're the sexiest woman it has ever seen!"
She laughed. "Aren't you the witty one." And she leaned close to him, her female presence wafting an erotic load of perfume.
"And what do you do with sexy women, little Barry?"
He was pissed off, suddenly "Why call me 'little'? You haven't seen me yet!"
"I should call you young Barry with the big cock," she said, smiling wickedly. And gently, she put her hand on the lump in his pants.
He took a deep breath, trying to play it cool, and she grinned, aware of his excitement, and moved her lovely sensual lips close to his face.
To kiss her was a compulsion and he put his mouth against hers, touching the velvety lips, which opened. Their tongues touched and it sent a shot of lust to his cock. She seemed to feel it, for her other hand went to the zipper, and within moments, she had his meat out, poking the air, prodigious, and throbbing with passion.
Her palm went gently around it.
"What a monster of a cock you have, darling boy," she murmured, a tone of disbelief in her voice.
He glanced down at the red head, purple with frustrated lust. "Kiss it, kiss it," he said, eagerly, almost pushing her head, luxurious with red hair, toward it.
Astonished at the greedy lust of the boy, but fascinated at the sight of that hot meat, Marge, with a gesture of exquisite grace, bent down and took the cock into her mouth. She licked it vigorously for just a few moments, then took it out of her mouth to stare at it. "Such a beautiful cock. It should be sculptured in bronze." And she went down to it again, her mouth firm around the bristling head, her tongue doing a dancing job under the head, where the nerves were sensitive.
Barry watched, goggle eyed, staring at her delicately lovely face with half his cock sticking out of it, at her flaming red tresses, at the sensual lips tight around the meat of his cock. And a super thrill went through him. She's one freaked-out pussy, he thought, to be doing this to me!
His eyes stayed hypnotized on the charming face, white and finely molded, with the mouth entirely surrounding his sinister-looking cock, all flushed red and purple with desire.
It was a spectacular sight to see, and sent all sorts of quivering tingles through his tumid prick.
"I want your balls, too," she said. "Drop your jeans!"
And in a moment he had his jeans and shorts off, whipped them over the seat. And boldly, almost brutally, he pushed her head back down. "Suck me, suck me," Barry's voice was both a command and a plea.
"What if I don't?" she said teasingly.
He felt a flash of violence in him, and shook his head. The cunt was teasing him, But he was shocked at his desire to grab her head and hold it down there. And to flick her mouth violently. That was his impulse. He thought of the pictures of bondage that he had seen in magazines, and then felt that she was one of those women who deliberately frustrate a guy, just so they could play a couple of gentle bondage games. He would do that with her, he felt, at some future time, but just now his cock wanted sucking.
"If you don't, I'll spank you!"
"I dare you," she said instantly, and stared at him challengingly.
He could see in her eyes that she actually wanted to see if he would accept her dare, and he knew intuitively that his gratification depended on what he did at this point
He was sixteen, but a powerful athlete, much stronger than her, a three letter man, in fact So, he grabbed her by the waist, turned her around, raised her dress, and pulled down her panties to look at those splendid buttocks. He could see the red hair of her pussy, as well as the marvelously molded ass. Curious sensations came to him: first, to kiss her heavenly haunches; second, to bite them gently, while she twisted in his grasp. Then he opened his palm and brought it down briskly on her butt. Twice, three times -- big resounding smacks that left the imprint of his fingers on her ass!
She gasped. The insolence of the kid! But she felt his masculine power in the way he had grabbed her easily and turned her to his whim.
And the smacks on her bottom really got her, pleased a need in her to submit to the male, even one as young as him!
He so enjoyed smacking her bottom that he did it another time or two, aware that he was not hurting her so much as doing something symbolic, for instinctively he knew she craved to be forced to submit.
"Will you suck my cock now?"
"Yes, yes," she said. And her voice had this curious subdued tone, as if she would do anything he wanted now, for he had established his superiority, his right to demand her total submission.
He pulled her panties down all the way, then turned her around, to look at her redhaired pussy, and knew that before long, he would be kissing it and tonguing it, just because it looked so delicious.
But just now, there was unfinished business for his cock, which stuck out
like a savage boa constrictor.
"Take it. Take it in your mouth," he hissed.
And Marge, adoring this rambunctious little stud who knew how to be a total male, went down to that cock, and began to give it a blissful mouth-job. She sucked on it, let her tongue tingle along the head, went down to his balls, toyed with them, then licked hotly, then licked the length of his cock, titillating it from stern to tip.
She got hold of his buttocks, and push his cock into her throat, and he thrust against her, going in and out of her with hard rhythm, banging against the back of her throat.
His movements became more frenzied as he felt the juices pile up, and the quivers in his cock built up to the peak moment Then he swelled up and fired his cock, the juices flooding into her mouth. But she kept her lips firmly about his cockhead, swallowing every drop of his cream, then afterward licking the leftover juices from his cock.
She looked like a totally submissive female, whose only joy seemed to be to gulp his cock and give him pleasure, finding perhaps her own in his!
Yet he hadn't yet touched her beautiful body, and his lust, though satisfied for the moment, still surged in his body, wanting to touch her breasts and her plump cunt.
He leaned back for a moment, happy in the joy of her mouth still nestling about his subsiding cock.
Then, when she took her mouth away, she looked at him with a strange expression, one he could not interpret. He wondered what she felt toward him, but realized it was not all that important, for he had gratified in her a need to be submissive to a forceful male.
Barry was no ordinary kid, for his interest in sexual matters had long ago made him travel through the literature of sex, to discover the strange whims and needs of a woman, to learn about the urgent desires of some women who could not even approach any sexual gratification for themselves until they had undergone domination by a male! Perhaps that was why he fell swiftly into Marge's needs for the pleasures of submission.
He got out of the car, to walk on the beach, and she stayed in the car, watching him. He liked the warm sun on his face, and the way it glanced off the surging waves. It was Spring and the waters looked cool, but mysterious and beautiful, especially with the dancing lights of the sun.
The sand crunched under his feet as he walked and all along the beach he could see a few daring souls.
He knew that she was watching him from the car, and it pleased him. He felt very potent after this experience with Marge. It seemed to teach him something about women: that there was some deep need in them to yield to the dominant male, and that if you acted too soft with them, they would interpret it as unmasculine, and they would despise you.
Barry figured out then that the trick between human beings, as with chickens, was a pecking order. And that if you let someone else have dominance it would, in the end, make you the submissive one. We all manipulate each other, he decided, from his observations of people. He could see it everywhere -- in the classroom and in his relations with his own jock friends. The dominance was very subtle, a small trick, in which you arranged between you the signals that told you who was on top.
Marge now knew who was "on top," in fact she pushed the situation to make him top dog because she enjoyed her sex when the male was vigorous and virile and bossy. She was turned on, for example, by a swinging, bossy male who put her in her place, and who whacked her ass for her a couple of times. She felt fired up when her ass went on fire from a couple of sharp whacks. Beat my ass and my cunt goes off, she often thought. And she always tried, in her coupling with guys, to manipulate the male into a dominant spot, just so she could enjoy her need to submit.
When Barry got back into the car, he looked at her. She had unbuttoned her shirt so that her tits were showing, and the nipples were erect already.
He grabbed the tit in his hand, gripping the meat firmly, then tried to put most of it into his mouth, sucking ferociously on the nipple, feeling joyous surges as he gently bit and nibbled on the tips. She had such jubilant jugs that he went from one to the other, sucking hard, trying to cram all tile white meat into his mouth. "Oh, you beautiful cunt," he muttered.
"Ah, the cunt," she whispered. And she pulled off her panties, and pulled up her dress.
He could see the charming maidenhair, so delicately red, and the crimson slit of passion. He put his fingers over the mound of Venus, then slid his big finger into the wet slit, stroking her cunt, touching the cit and massaging it gently.
Her breath came sharp and fierce, and she stared almost disbelievingly at the young kid who seemed able to do such devastating things to her poise. A rush of excitement came over her, like a tidal wave all started by this incredible fifteen year old brat, who had more manhood in him than she had met in a mob of men.
Manhood, she thought, is not a matter of age but of personality.
The thick look of his cock, for example, was ageless. It belonged to the male of the species. Though his face was that of a kid, his body was that of a stud. And he had all the qualities that went into the total male. A willingness to be tough and hard when it was called for.
"What will you do now?" she asked, almost humbly, for he had established his dominance, having slapped her ass when she challenged him. He had manhandled her. The lines of power between them were clear-he was top dog. She would follow his whim and find in it her own pleasures. It was easy now for her since she had been designed psychologically from way back to gratify the male if he asserted himself as a male.
It had its roots actually in the strange relationship between Marge and her uncle, Tom Carroll. ...
Chapter Nine
As a child, poor Marge had the misfortune to lose her father and this brought her to the home of her father's brother, Tom Carroll, a splendid hunk of man, really tuned into the sporting life, but with a fiendish taste for liquor.
He was dedicated to handball, basketball and lacrosse in college, and after graduation stayed with sports. It kept him in marvelous condition so that even in his forties he was a fornicating master, as well as a devotee of good drinking.
When Marge came to live in his house she was fifteen, red-headed, sexy, even then developed quite far beyond her years with thrusting tits and an exquisite white-skinned, shapely body some redheads seem to have.
It was Tom's constant habit to discipline his own kids with an old-fashioned spanking when they did not toe the mark, and naturally he applied this technique to sweet young Marge, his niece.
He was more apt to get into the discipline game, however, when he had been out drinking with the boys. And any little step out of line brought his heavy hand down on his kids. He had two, one seventeen-year-old named Scotty, and a girl named Sondra, sixteen.
Poor Tom had just recently lost his wife in a car accident: they both had been on a drinking spree. She had argued with him, taken the Buick and drove about eighty miles an hour on the highway which totaled her and the car so thoroughly that she just had a flash of a second to realize what hit her and then she was gone.
Poor Tom felt himself to blame partly, and he wasn't fit to live with after that for at least a year. The kids, naturally, took the brunt of his nasty moods.
And when Marge came in to join the bereaved family, she too found herself in a setting where affection alternated with harsh discipline.
Tom would come back drunk, and find some reason to slap his kids around, making no distinction between Marge and the others. He particularly liked, during these drunken fests, to whack Marge's tight, lovely butt, unaware that it was giving him some sex kicks. Well, he was not totally unaware, but felt it more appropriate to whack her ass than his daughter, Sondra. Mostly because he would find himself getting a hard-on while doing the whipping, and he felt a bit frightened about his massive cock rising while whacking Sondra. He didn't mind it happening, however, with Marge, who was not all that blood-close to him!
Young Marge, therefore, found herself quite the focus of a fearful drubbing on her butt, if she would leave her room untidy, even. Tom would make a point, especially when soused, to saunter into her room, see the sloppiness there and then take Marge, plant her over his lap, raise her dress, pull down her panties and start to whack her white-skinned ass, while his massive cock would gorge itself with blood and come up like a huge salami, for he was a big man.
The weird thing about this experience was the understanding between uncle and niece -- that it was not so much a punishment as a disguised sex trade. For naturally Marge could not help feel that huge meat massively rising to press against her mound of Venus, and her cunt would drool with delight. She actually would make a point of leaving her room somewhat untidy, to instigate a punishing pleasure session -- for that was how she viewed them.
When his hand descended on her bare ass, she would yelp, but her whole attention was focused on his gigantic cock and its pressure against her cunt And if she sustained the beating a bit, sometimes she would get an orgasm from it.
And afterward, she would look up at Tom with tearful eyes in which, at the bottom, gleamed a joyous gratitude for the profound pleasure that he had given her.
And Tom, stinking of scotch, was not stupid, but very aware that the kid was getting kicks from the contact and that it was doing wild things to him.
He just wondered how long he would have to wait until his self control would snap, and if he would just toss the fifteen-year-old kid on the bed and sink his swollen shaft into her!
It was hard now that his wife was gone and he had no regular outlet for his stiff cock. He played more handball than ever, determined to discharge his passion that way; it could scarcely do the job.
And one night he came home horny as an owl and feeling mean too -- after some drinks with his colleagues, lawyers at the office -- and some wicked drive pushed him to go to Marge's room, even though it was one The other kids were tight asleep. He came up to her room and she woke up, feeling both agony and ecstasy at the sight of her beloved tormenter.
And he looked around the room, saw that she had deliberately left it in a mess to provoke him. It blasted his control and he pulled her out of the bed.
"I've told you, Marge, that I wanted this room kept clean as a whistle. And you have deliberately spited me. You'll just have to take your punishment. I won't have you raised with the habits of a slob, Marge. Now, just take your punishment like a lady."
And he had her over his knees, sitting on the bed, and raised her short thin silky nightgown to expose her lovely molded, white ass.
Naturally his cock went up like a great salami at the sight of it, and she nestled her pussy against it, pretending to be frightened of his descending hand on her ass, yet actually craving it, for her cunt was already wet with joy-juice. She had become so conditioned to experiencing the pain of the slap with the grinding of his cock against her pussy, giving her pleasure, that now, just the slap itself sent quivers of joy through her body.
And each slap of his hand on her white meat was turning him on something awful. The alcohol in his brain by this time had totally dulled his moral sense, and all he was aware of at that crucial moment was that he hadn't had a piece of poontang m a month, and was ready to climb the walls.
So, after he slapped her ass the last time, he kept his palm on the meat, and began instead to caress it gently; then, as if to comfort her for her silent tears, he bent down and kissed the smarting flesh. She felt his lips on her ass, and it bewildered her and enchanted her, for she had been dreaming that somehow her beloved tormenter, Uncle Tom, would surrender to his sensual impulses. She knew instinctively that behind all the punishment was desire, lust unsatisfied, and that eventually he would do the awful and thrilling things that lurked in the back of his mind.
She craved him to do it to her -- whatever he wanted. She felt it would be nothing short of bliss because already her cunt vibrated with joy at the grinding of his cock against it. She had no idea of what he would do, except that she wasn't stupid, and knew about fucking and sucking. The kids of her generation did pick up a few ideas here and there: in fat they did somehow in every generation.
So when he kissed her butt she knew the moment of ecstasy had come, and that he would do strange and sinister and super things with her. Her heart beat like a hammer, her pulse raced, and her pussy drooled. And she knew that whatever he wanted, she would have to do, for she was his slave. His hugeness, his punishment, his discipline had established who was master and who slave.
So when he turned her over and lifted the silky gown off her body, his eyes were weird and full of strange fire.
His hand went down automatically to his zipper and he brought out his meat, a huge throbbing redheaded monster, throbbing with frustration.
He got hold of her head and pushed it toward his cock. "Suck it," he said, his voice hoarse, his control all shot.
And sweet little fifteen-year-old Marge moved as a hypnotized little bird toward the huge cock, staring at its red fury, at the bristling engorged head, at the long shaft, at the curling brown pubic hair at the root, and the two big balls hanging down, obviously loaded with juice.
She opened her mouth and put it around the hot meat, and almost fainted at the sensation, because of the overpowering flow of tingles in her cunt.
He went almost wild with the excitement just seeing that charming little mouth around the head of his cock. His impulse at first was to hump her mouth violently, but he fought for control, aware that it was her first experience.
"Suck it like it's a lollipop, Marge," he ordered her, aware that she didn't know what to do: she thought that she just had to hold it in her mouth and amazing things would happen.
But now she understood and her mouth began to suck on the giant hunk of meat. He put her hand around the shaft, to control it better, then put her other hand under his balls, for he like the feel of that too.
"Use your tongue under the head," he commanded her.
And everything he told her to do, she did, her eyes wide with terror and pleasure at the same time. She felt absolutely right to be doing this depraved and delicious thing. Her whole body seemed to respond, for great flutters of rapture beat against her skin, even as she sucked.
The sensualism of sucking on the meat, the awareness that she was at the core of sek, somehow gave her thrills that she could never before visualize.
Her whole body seemed tuned up for some overpowering experience and each time her mouth went over the giant, hard cock, which seemed to have a life of its own with its pulsing blood, its swollen meat, its marvelously silky smoothness, she expected some amazing thing to happen just because her cunt was throbbing so wildly. There seemed to be some deep connection between this marvelous hunk of meat and the throbbing excitement in her cunt, so she gripped the cock hard, and sucked on it, and her tongue danced about on the tip with intuitive cleverness.
And old Tom Carroll watched her, bewitched by her bawdy cleverness, his drunken mind somehow registering the fact that the female of the species just had cock-wisdom-at least some of them did, because of the swift skill this kid seemed to naturally have. He watched her pretty little mouth going up and down on his vein-engorged cock, which was obviously larger than her whole pretty little red head.
He lay back on the bed, pulled her over him, so that she could work easily, and get more of his cock into her throat. He pushed her head down more on his cock, so that she learned that her throat could take more of the meat.
He watched her do that a few times, then told her to lick his balls too. She was hesitant about that, for the balls looked so strange and different, but the hesitation was for just a moment, since as the slave, she knew there was no disobedience without pain from her master.
If he told her to lick his ass, she would do that too, for she was geared to accept any directive from him the punishing master, from whom all joys in her cunt flowed!
So she licked his balls, and kept doing it until she was told to go back to the cock again. And it gave her a wild thrill of excitement to get the big monster of a meat club back into her mouth.
It was like the nerves of her cunt were tied to the cock in her mouth!
She took firm hold of the club now, feeling more confidence in her ability to please him, for she knew from his little sounds that he was turned on by her mouth; and that gave her a thrill beyond all description, as if finally, although she was a tiny young thing, she could still swing a lot of power over him surely, to give him release from his pain. She understood that without his wife there he was a terribly frustrated male, and that his cock built up pressures that he couldn't handle. She was glad to be there, in a way, to help ease the torment of her beloved uncle. He was her scourge but at the same time her joy, because somehow the pain that he gave her seemed to precede the most exquisite pleasure -- the orgasm.
And now her sucking seemed to be getting an even sharper response from him, because his ass began to arch upward and he seemed to be thrusting his cock into her mouth. She sensed that he was approaching some sort of "climax," although what it would be sort of mystified her. She thought it would be like her own orgasm, a lot of pulsations that were the moat wonderful experience that a human creature could have; she did not yet know of the spurt of cream that characterized the male orgasm.
So that when his cock started to swell mightily in her mouth and she knew something was about to happen, when he said to her, "swallow it, swallow it," in an urgent way, she didn't quite understand what he meant.
And then there was that one suspended moment of bliss just before his cock blasted its load, and she hung in there while he grabbed her head to prevent it from backing away; and then the cream spurted into her mouth, hitting her like a love-flood.
Her instruction had been clear: "swallow it!" And she tried to swallow it, especially as she could not pull back, since his huge hands bound her head to his cock.
So she swallowed and swallowed the great gobs of cream that seemed to spurt out endlessly from his great balls of fire. But once she got the hang of it, it seemed natural enough. When he released her head, however, she back away, and there was still cream on his cock, which now seemed to be slowly losing its gigantic erection.
"Lick it clean!" he ordered her. And she just went back to his cock and started to lick the cream off, so that his red cock was all clear of creamy juice. She had begun to enjoy the tart taste of his love-juice.
The curious bit was that now she was frustrated, for the novelty of the experience -- of his orgasm -- made her lose only temporarily the concentration on her own sex pleasures.
I've got to get off myself, she thought desperately, aware now that his great cock had got its satisfaction and was now folding up, as if for the night to rest.
She felt desperate and confused, and wondered what she had to do to get his interest back, for the last thing in the world that seemed to interest him at this moment was her body. He just seemed to be a huge lazy brute, satisfied and drunk, and willing just to lie there, his huge bulk sprawled on her bed, and snore.
She stared at his thick cock, now chastened by her lips, looking like it had gone through the meat-grinder, without that stiffness that so thrilled her.
Her poor cunt was in a stew of yearning and desire and she felt that if worst came to worst she would have to stroke her pussy, to ease the torture.
She wondered now if Sondra or Scott had heard any of the sounds of their sex. Somehow it did not bother her if they did. Scotty, at seventeen, was a young version of Tom -- all stud-and he had been looking at Marge lately as if she would make a nice piece of quail.
Except that Scotty had a deadly fear of his dad, and the last thing he would do was poach on Tom's preserves. He sensed that Tom's involvement with Marge had a lot to do with the fact that Tom was frustrated and had no target for his super cock. So Scotty kept hands off the little missy Marge, a redheaded cunt who might make a tasty piece of pussy-pie in his own backyard if he could ever nail it down.
But the big thing was Tom's wrath, which could be fearsome if directed against his son. It was tough enough when it worked on the girls, for Tom loved to batter their bottoms. Scotty figured there must be some kicks to it, or the old man wouldn't stick with it so long, especially with Sondra, who even at sixteen was disciplined, getting her bottom beat when she stepped out of line.
It made them all sexually very turned on to the chastisement, because even Sondra felt the old man's stiff and swollen cock when he tapped her ass.
Sondra was a golden-haired sweetie pie, who had the strangest lusts in the dark of the night. She displaced her lust for the old man (feeling that it was too much in the taboo) by transferring them to her own brother; she was determined someday to seduce him when the cock-hunger was strong in him.
And Sondra also was keenly interested in Marge, the luscious little redhead, whose innocence was tremendous. She thought they could play a couple of games at times, when things quieted down around the house.
And just now, Sondra had been listening to the sound that emanated from Marge's bedroom, convinced of course that her goatish old man had finally paralyzed poor Marge with his giant cock. Sondra felt a few stabs of jealousy, but determined to make the little girl pay for her pleasures this night.
She listened hard now, aware that the old man had given Marge orders, Some of the words had drifted out. She heard "suck," and her imagination could see the little redhead bending over her father's splendid dick and working her tongue on it. She felt so furious that she determined on the very next day to administer a bit of punishment to Marge too! She would penalize her for sucking her father's cock, especially when Sondra had an unconscious desire to do just that herself.
She would get Marge to suck her cunt! Teach that little naughty bitch what kind of family she had come into! Oh, she had nothing personal against Marge, who in a way was a sweet girl, and too luscious looking for her own good. It was just that Marge had displaced her in the depraved affections of her dad! He liked to whip Marge's ass now and completely ignored Sondra, who had a perverse joy in getting her bottom battered by the old man, for she had long ago learned to get her big orgasms from the beatings.
So, she determined that she would make Marge pay and she went back to sleep.
Meanwhile, in Marge's bedroom, the poor little red-head, no longer able to stand the frustration in her cunt (while the big lusty brute still snored a half hour after she had sucked him off), put her finger in her hot little snatch and began to toy with her cit.
The pleasures made her whimper softly, and somehow the sex sounds drifted through Tomes snoring sleep, for sex always did, and his eyes opened curiously.
He saw Marge's luscious little white body with the tender tits and cherry nipples and the light red maiden-hair over her cunt in which she had a finger, and was stroking.
"What are you doing, kid?" he demanded, lifting himself on one elbow.
She faltered, aware that he was in the punishment groove again.
"I'm feeling bad. I need to relax," she said softly.
"I'll teach you to play with yourself," he said, the firm disciplinarian who knew what to do with a misbehaving kid.
And he spread her thighs, got between them, and stroked his cock a few times to bring it up, then pierced the edge of her slit.
She was a tight little thing, and was staggered by the weight of him, and the fact that he was going to fuck her. Her whole body turned on at the very idea of this great man putting his sensual, thick cock into her body.
She had no idea that he could even penetrate her smallness with that size cock, but she knew that just the stimulation of his giant member would do remarkable things to her pussy, so she waited in dread -- and delight -- for his actions.
Tom was still partly drunk, and he knew the kid was a virgin, with a tight pussy, and that his cock was a huge slab of meat, and that for him to get in would take a real bit of doing. He decided that he would just go in partway, and maybe open her up a bit, and save the rest for later.
So he really spread her thighs, feeling the soft silk of her ass in his palms, and got the point of his joint into her slit, enjoying the tender little body under him that seemed so willing to cooperate in copulation.
He bent down to her tender tits, and got one in his mouth and began to lick its nipple. It was so tender and young it scarcely seemed to be there, but the very virgin quality of it excited him.
He stroked her sweet young body with its charming shape, its flat tummy, then held his cock in his hand as he tried to squeeze more of it into her cunt.
She was tight but she could be opened, and he pierced her a bit more, looking down to see only the head of his cock inside her. He glanced at her eyes, and the fire in them danced joyously. He was amused that what he interpreted as punishment should come into her head as pleasure. Well, it might be pleasure, but just for a short time, since his thick dick would soon devastate the little darling's snatch.
So he pushed his meat in a little further, and she whimpered a bit.
"Cut your squealing," he ordered. "Did you think this was going to be a joy ride for you? Just take it and keep your mouth shut. I'll tell you when to open it -- just in case I want my cock sucked."
And so poor little red-headed Marge, just a spit of a girl, although totally luscious, had to lie there while this huge man shoveled a bit more of his meat into her tight cunt. She felt it stretch almost to bursting as he kept pushing it in farther, enjoying the super-tight fit of her cunt-flesh about his fabulous tool.
Then, not able to stand it any longer, she whimpered again. "You're hurting too much. Too much, Uncle Tom, darling!"
And the old sex fiend, aware that he might split the little chick in two with his great cock, looked down to see that it was still fifty percent out of her, but even that amount of cock in her had to cover practically every inch of her cunt. Had he split her cherry yet? He didn't know, because she hadn't yelped-not yet!
So just to make sure, he pushed a mite more, and bang, the skin broke, he felt it, as well as the wetness that gushed over his cock. She was bloodied now, and he had copped her cherry. Nice little job, he thought with satisfaction, for cherry busting was a neat trick for a guy.
There was a time actually, after his wife's death, when he was climbing the walls for a sex outlet that he thought of putting his steel to Sondra's young cunt, but he knew he would have to bust her cherry too. The idea, when he was drunk, had a sort of depraved fascination, but he just didn't get around to it. "Ole" Tom, in his forties, was beginning to discover that he had a lustful taste for cherry busting, and toyed with the idea of making a trip with young girls, a sort of playback to the time of his stud hood, when cherry busting was the big sport of real men.
Naturally, at the break, poor little Marge set up a strangled yelp, but smothered it, for fear of the master, and how he would punish her. She knew what had happened, that he had launched her now into womanhood, at fifteen. From now on, her cunt was wide open, and therefore ready for the lustful cock. She would never be a tight cunt again, and she felt a thrill that from now on Big Tom, in his drunken moods, would think of her pussy, knowing that it would be easy to fuck!
It was, in a perverse way, a moment of triumph, even though she experienced the pain. It was a moment of pain and ecstasy, for he gently pulled his cock back and went in; he did the ins and outs for a while, not plunging his total cock, for fear of destroying her with his dick. She was, after all, a little thing, and he didn't go for the idea of butchering his poor little niece with his cock.
His cock got some neat tingles as he went in and out of her, for naturally she was still tight, even though he had opened her wide. So he grabbed hold of her ass, held it firmly, and fucked her gently but vigorously, just so she wouldn't go screaming and bring the house down.
And Marge, now aware of the combination of pleasure with the pain, could scarcely wait for him to fill her slit with his meat, when he had withdrawn. She could feel a terrific build up of tension in her cunt nerves, as his meat fit into each inch of her crevice.
Finally, she felt his cock expand even more, stretching her blissfully as it again poised to shoot the load, and it was just then, as he flung the contents of his cock into her pussy that she went off, finally! She almost screeched with the glory of it, for her cunt nerves were quivering like jelly in the orgy of her orgasm!
She felt it, wave after wave of it, spreading out through her whole body, and all the tension that had tortured her seemed to be melting away, leaving her with a delicious lightness.
Her urge now was to throw her arms around Big Tom and embrace him, for the overpowering pleasure that he had given her. For launching her into womanhood.
Timidly she put her arms around his waist, and Big Tom couldn't help smile at her. The cute little slut had an affectionate nature. It was going to be nice to have her around the house, especially when he got hard up. She would learn to give him great blow-jobs, and be around for pussy-whipping too.
Chapter Ten
It was such an introduction to sex, via the vicious slap on the ass, that actually launched Marge into matters of the mattress. From then on, a whack on the ass meant lustful love to her.
And the variety of experiences that hit her there in her uncle's home ran the gamut of games with cousins Scotty and Sondra, both of whom were determined to exploit her luscious little body.
For just one week after her experience with Big Tom, Sondra got hold of Marge at what she thought was a strategically good time, when the house was empty.
Sondra had been all burned up with bawdy jealousy about the tie-up of Marge with Big Tom. She felt totally displaced, and all the fault was put to Marge, who had barged into her home and captured the attentions of Big Tom and Scotty.
Even her snotty brother Scotty was focused on Marge, which made her more bitter than ever!
So obviously, when she got hold of Marge, she felt like a vengeful hussy. But she would approach her victim in snaky style.
Sondra had a pretty face and golden hair, with blue eyes that glinted with malice as she contemplated her cousin.
"I've meant to ask you, Marge, do you really like living here? With us?"
Marge was astonished at the question, since the answer was obvious. She had nowhere, to go, and with Big Tom giving her such goodies, she really felt like she had been shipped to Seventh Avenue.
"Why, you know that, Sondra. I love it. I feel so grateful to you all for being so kind to me."
"I'm glad to hear that, honey," Sondra said% but her eyes looked small and mean, for she was terribly jealous. "How do you get along with dad? He's such a tough nut, isn't he?"
"Well, he likes to have things the way he wants them," Marge said, determined not to' put down her benefactor. She wondered what game Sondra was playing, sensing the spite in the older girl. "And he's the boss around here."
"Yeah, he never stops letting you know that," Sondra said, rubbing her ass.
Marge laughed, and rubbed her ass too.
Sondra picked up some grass that she had and began rolling a joint.
"You know, honey, the other night I had a strange dream about you?"
"Me?" Marge's eyes opened wide.
"Yes," Sondra got the joint rolled, and spoke casually as she got a light to it. "I dreamed that you were running through the house, from room to room. You seemed to be very frightened by someone who was chasing you. And you were naked as a jay."
She inhaled the joint and passed it to Marge, who had smoked before with her.
"Naked!" Marge had to grin. "And who was chasing me?"
"I couldn't quite make it out. Someone very big and powerful. And threatening. You were running and you looked scared."
Marge got fascinated, listening, and handed the joint back to Sondra. "What happened, for heaven's sake?"
"Well, this man -- it was a man -- sort of threw a flying tackle and caught you, and then you both fell down. And it turned out that he was naked too!"
"Wow! That was one hot dream. What happened then?"
"You said, in a frightened way, 'No, don't hit me. I'll do it. I'll do it!'"
"Do what?"
Sondra gave her a sinister smile, and handing the joint back to her, said, "You ought to suck harder if you expect anything to happen."
Marge looked confused.
Sondra smiled again, mysteriously. "Suck harder on the joint, you understand?"
Marge stared into the evil, malicious eyes and saw the jealousy and instantly knew that somehow Sondra had heard things that night! She knew!
"You're something of a bitch," Sondra said to her, a little sneer about her lips.
Poor Marge felt like a helpless victim, for she was here in the house by invitation, and she had been exploited by her father's brother. She never grabbed his cock out of his pants. He did. And ordered her to suck it. She was just a kid. Still, part of her did want it to happen and played the game. She was a willing victim, and maybe that was what Sondra was trying to say.
"Well, since you like to play games, I think we ought to play another. You and me." And then Sondra said, "C'mere."
Marge felt rebellious, being ordered about by a girl. She could take it from a guy, but not a girl, and she just shrugged her shoulders. "Don't lose your cool, Sondra. You're just a year older than me, and you have no right to order me around."
Sondra inhaled smoke and looked dangerously at the kid in front of her. "Look, we're going to play a game, we two. A nice game. So c'mere!"
Marge felt stubborn. She thought Sondra was a sexy spoiled brat, totally ruined by all the wicked thrashing she had taken most of her life from Big Tom. And that she interpreted all life as a game in which the stronger took from the weaker. That it was a war game of all against all. And right now, she wanted to practice that philosophy of push-around against her, Marge. But there was no reason for Marge to take it. Especially if Sondra wanted to use such malicious means, and was all eaten up with jealousy, just because Big Tom was putting his steed into little Marge's cunt.
She was just a jealous slut! And Marge decided to ignore her. So she got up, and started to saunter away, when Sondra, furious that her dominance didn't work, made a flying tackle, and brought Marge down.
And before long they were wrestling on the rug, for power, with the older, bigger girl finally getting the younger Marge pinned down and totally exhausted.
And then Sondra turned Marge over, pulled down her jeans and panties to expose her bare bottom and started to whack it with her hands, one after another, making the white flesh start to go pink.
And Marge whimpered with misery, aware now that she was in the hands of a new tormentor. And the strange bit was the sinister passion that rushed over her, just getting the whacks on her ass.
She felt as if someone had just turned on a magic button that released the flow of sex excitement in her, and she expected suddenly to be confronted by Tom's ferocious, big cock. But only a sexy girl of sixteen was in touch with her, and this was one bitch of a girl at that.
For the whipping did something absolutely depraved to Sondra's impulses. She felt an overpowering need to have this kid kissing her breasts and her cunt, doing all sorts of sexy things to her.
"Now, you want me to hit you again?" she hissed threateningly to her little victim. "Or will you do what I tell you?"
"Okay, okay," whimpered poor little Marge, again dominated by someone stronger and more wicked.
Then Sondra peeled the kid's shirt off, so her young tits were out. The cherry nipples perked up. She went swiftly to the tits, and started to do some heavy sucking!
She felt thrilled at having the younger girl's tit in her mouth. Having done a hard sucking job on the nipples, she note their hardening and felt she would have young Marge's pussy in the palm of her hand.
"Everything that I do to you, you are to do to me. Understand?" And she raised her hand threateningly!
But by this time Marge had become very interested in what was happening to her. The licking of her tits had awakened lust that always lurked in the pit of her pussy. And she found it interesting that the tension in her cunt didn't particularly care who the target of sex release would be. Right now her cunt began to quiver with excitement, just because she was getting the rough treatment and tit-licking.
Then Sondra, the lustful little bitch, wanted to have her jugs joyously titillated by her charming, redheaded victim. "Okay, bitch, give my boobs a workout!" she ordered.
And Sondra whipped her shirt off to present her tits to Marge who, saucer-eyed, stared at them. She did not have any idea that Sondra would show such heavy and shapely tits. They were actually pear-shaped with sweet pink tips.
"C'mon. C'mon, stop staring and start sucking, bitch!"
So Marge did her depraved bit then, getting her mouth around the white meat of the breast and the tongue on the pink tip. She then began to suck and found it to be a frantic bit of excitement. Especially when Sondra's long, delicate fingers went down to Marge's pussy, snaking into the slit to toy with the clit.
It was moist and Sondra smiled, well aware that Marge, little vixen, was turned on and helpless in the depth of passion.
This sort of checked out Sondra's belief about people -- that you got what you wanted by just pushing them around. You slammed the weaker and you submitted to the stronger. That unfortunately was the way the world turned. Oh, it wasn't justice, she thought, but did you really find justice in the world? In her family there was a pecking order. Big Tom, Scotty her brother, Sondra, and on the bottom of the pile, little Margie!
Therefore Marge, being at the bottom, would have to take the crud. She was the born victim, and Sondra thought, if we face the truth, there is always a victim. It was the law of life. Didn't she see it brilliantly illustrated in films of jungle life? The lion pouncing on the zebra, the jackal on the rabbit, the eagle on the little lamb. No law of life was stated more clearly. There are victors and victims and just now the bitch Marge was her victim.
When Sondra got her finger on Marge's pussy-button, she noticed the kid really licking away, as if on a real lollipop, and then, for some vague reason, Sondra pictured the kid down on her father's big prick and she went venomous with jealousy and spite.
She pulled her lit away, then whipped out of her jeans and panties, watching Marge's eyes go wide.
"Here," Sondra said, "get your tongue in my cunt now."
Marge just stared, her brown eyes glimmering with the shock of discovering Sondra's nude body, the pussy covered with small, golden curls.
"No." Marge said.
"What's that, you little bitch?"
"I'm not going to lick your pussy, Sondra."
"Oh, aren't you? Ungrateful little bitch! We take you into our house, give you bed and board, and you show no gratitude. Now, don't give me any lip. Just your tongue -- or I'll just have to slap your sweet ass again!"
But Marge, although she felt sexually turned on, was just not going to do anything like that
So more out of spite than anything else, she said "No," quite firmly.
Without the quiver of an eyelash, Sondra coolly grabbed the smaller girl, wrestled her, so that soon their bodies were sliding and slipping over each other, the flesh pressing, until Sondra, bigger and stronger, soon had Marge and her sweet ass up for grabs, and she whacked it joyously.
The sound of her palm against the meat was just music to her ears, for Sondra had by this time become a twisted chick who got pleasure from the pain of others, especially in the realm of sex.
And poor little Marge, her bottom stinging, grew well aware now that her destiny lay in the hands of this blonde cunt, so finally she grunted, "Oh, all right, Sondra. I'll do it."
And Sondra, most gratified with the sharp way that she had handled the rebellious little slut, lay back and spread her legs to present a rather charming pussy, with its enchanting young curls of blonde maidenhair plus the glistening slit of a tempting cunt.
Marge, who knew how to yield gracefully to greater power, hoping that someday time might come to bully a weaker creature, came face to cunt, staring at it with intense curiosity.
Her body, at this time, was in a state of excitement from the pot, from the pussy stroking that Sondra had artfully done, and from licking Sondra's sensual tits.
It didn't take much for the young hussy to discover the delicate pleasure of licking pussy, especially given iron directions by her hard mistress, Sondra.
"Get your tongue in deeper! Spread my pussy lips! Hold my buttocks! Use your tongue. That's it. Dynamite!"
And Sondra lay back lazily, like some harem queen, to gaze on her passion slave doing a good pussy-licking job.
The sight of Marge and her movements soon so enchanted Sondra that her cunt began to vibrate like a plucked violin string; and her own oral lusts became so demanding that she turned her own face straight into Marge's pretty little cunt, with its peeping red pussy hair, seething with wild desires.
And within moments Sondra had her tongue between the moist pussy lips, titillating the cit so that Marge, for the first time, could understand the joys of mutual pussy eating: sixty-nine.
Her enthusiasm for eating and being eaten became so intense that she couldn't help whimpering with pleasure. And Sondra, wise in the ways of the orgasm, knew the kid was on the verge of the big blast in the vulva, and did a dynamite trick with her tongue, and Marge then went over the top, her body writhing and twisting with ecstasy, even as she kept licking furiously away at the blonde pussy pushed into her face.
It was a moment of pure thrill and Marge realized with sudden sharpness that all the punishing moves that Sondra made had to be the prelude to this intense pleasure. It astonished her that she had to go through such rough-ups to reach such rapture, but that seemed to be this lesson of love.
It was just at this moment that Sondra's brother opened the door!
Chapter Eleven
So at the moment when the girls felt totally blotted out from their bawdy games, in walked Scotty, the kid with the perennial hard-on.
Scotty had been down to the Village, drifting around its crooked, narrow streets, staring at the kids in their jeans -- and with their wild eyes, which made them look like they had just come fresh from some jungle orgy. He lusted to get into that himself but nothing happened for him.
He got a couple of drinks in one of the purple bars, and still felt lonely and hard-up, especially since most of the girls had some creepy males hanging on. He resented it that they would saddle themselves with such guys when they could obviously have a splendid stud like him.
Then he cursed himself for being stupid, drifting around searching for cunt when, in actual fact, he did have a couple of darling pussycats at his own house. A couple of feverish hot pussies craving cock. And his cock was plenty swollen too, as usual, just crazy about knocking off a sweet hunk of cunt.
He stared at one girl across the room, who was sitting with a longhaired creep in purple pants, and a chalky-white face.
The girl with him had short, cropped hair and a tight bodyshirt that showed her great tits. Instantly, Scotty's fantasy went alive and already in his mind he was piercing her ass with his cock, a picture that left him swollen with a hard-on that wouldn't-go down.
It persisted even as he got to the house. And naturally he searched around looking 'for Sondra, so that she could do her thing and ease his torment.
In such a mood he walked in on the two girls, who were totally naked, their tits and cunts out in the ozone, and obviously just from the groove of love.
His sense of fitness instantly figured that the missing element with two sweet nudies was a noble cock, and he therefore acted on this realization with super speed.
He dropped his jeans to the floor, got his shoes off, and slipped off his briefs so that his fierce, huge cock pointed threateningly at the two female targets.
Naturally Marge looked most seductive to Scotty, for she was the new cunt on the block and obviously she had been raped by the wicked Sondra.
He was no simpleton, ol' Scotty, for he realized that once a kid gets lifted to the level of hot sex, she's about ready for anything.
"I'm just in time to save you, Marge, kid," he said.
"How's that?" she said, staring at him.
"You poor thing. Here you are together, two girls and no cock. I hate to see you suffering like that. Big Dick is here to the rescue."
And he waved his thick dick at her with a lecherous grin. She stared at it with all the fascination and admiration that it rightfully deserved.
Impatient for action, Scotty then told her that she had admired him enough, that it was time to get into the suck-flick festival.
Saying this, he shoveled his thick dick to her lovely lips, still stained with Sondra's juices of love.
Marge, by this time totally immersed in the pleasures of sensuality, saw nothing wrong with taking the rambunctious looking cock into her mouth, and she did all the tricks with the prick that recently she had learned from Scotty's dad.
She was, to some degree, dazzled at his stupendously hard hunk of meat, and couldn't help take the fleshly, blood engorged monster from her warm mouth to gaze at it in wonder.
It was so silky and hard and thrusting; a marvel of magic, capable of sending great thrills up and down the length of her cunt.
Such a beautiful engine of pleasure, she couldn't help thinking, and she lovingly caressed it with her mouth.
Sondra watched her, jealousy again flaring up, wondering how she too could enter the game, and make this delicious little bitch serve her needs as well.
She would have to wait and see what Scotty would leave before she could grab a piece of this succulent pussy for herself.
So she watched the little hussy sucking Scotty's heavy cock, drooling a bit herself at the deliciously depraved spectacle.
Scotty, then craving a new action, tipped the young chick over so that he could bang her from behind. He liked to fuck in this position because he could pound the ass, grab the tits and sink his tool into the depths of her cunt.
Also, he was aware of Sondra's problem, and he generously left her Marge's tongue.
And Sondra, alerted to this maneuver, swiftly slipped in front of Marge, stuck her cunt back into the pretty, young face, and waited for Scotty to sink his tool into the drooling young slit, aware that at a moment like that Marge would in ecstasy do anything to anyone.
And so Scotty aimed his panting cock at the pink pussy and pushed in.
She was tight, of course, for she was small, and his thick dick had to fight slowly through the velvety flesh as it went for the deep, warm, caressing cunt.
Marge was thrilled to the marrow to feel that marvelous meat penetrate to the core. Her cunt instantly began to palpitate, and she moved her ass in smooth rhythm to the thrust of his hips.
He grabbed her young tits and massaged them mightily while he thrust his cock, and she moaned with pleasure.
Then dear Sondra brought her cunt up to Marge's mouth, pushing it against the lips, demanding that she start licking. Marge did this, but with such a lack of concentration that Sondra quickly felt frustrated and wanting a new sensation, and craving a piece of Scotty, went down to where she could see his huge cock sliding in and out of Marge's cunt. It so excited her that she wanted oral activity really badly, but all she could do then was massage Scotty's balls with her tongue, licking at them as they moved back and forth.
And ol' Scotty, getting the best of two worlds, really turned on as the feel of his sister's tongue silkily caressed his tight balls, all loaded with ammunition, as his prong dug into the warm, velvet depths of Marge's sweet tight cunt.
It didn't take long, obviously, in such a tight, terrific pressure pot for Scotty to feel his juices mobilize and his cock swell its its greatest thickness, then jump with a life of its own as it catapulted the ecstasy cream into her hot, greedy cunt.
He grabbed her butt, trying for the deepest penetration. as if he wanted, to snake his balls, too, into her craving cunt.
Marge felt practically sliced in two by his monstrous meat, and yet it exploded a great wave of thrilling excitement through her whole body.
At fifteen, one must admit Marge got a baptism of bawdiness not commonly found.
From then on, her life was one of total exploitation by her cousins and her uncle. If ever her Uncle Tom Carroll came home drunk, he would slip into his brutal bit; a few whacks on her ass just to put her in the submissive state made her eager to do anything for him that would be delightfully depraved.
Her Uncle Tom, somewhat sophisticated in his sexual tastes, went for a bit of variety in the bed, and once, while Marge was doing a fine blow-job on his giant cock, he told her to pause and put her charming tongue into his anus, and "ream him a bit," that she would find a new thrill for herself.
Marge thought this idea an absolute drag and complained thereupon, so he cuffed her bottom soundly. With tears in her eyes, she nonetheless started to pump her tongue into his asshole, finding it after a time to be a strange source of pleasure in spite of her forebodings.
When she did that, he stuck his finger into her cunt, which mobilized its pleasure nerves so sharply that she began to think that licking his ass had to be connected to the most excruciatingly nice tingles in her cunt.
Then, as if to reward her for her charming attentions to his asshole, he pumped his cock into her sweet pussy.
Slowly, therefore, her Uncle Tom trained his fifteen-year-old niece to become his paramour, performing the most delicate sort of far-out games one could devise.
Small wonder that Marge came to the marriage bed of Bill Altman, many years later, tuned to the most sophisticated gamut of sex games. One might even say that she entertained the idea of Bill as a marriage partner because of his willingness to run the gamut of the sex games with her.
Chapter Twelve
Bill Altman met his wife Marge at a cocktail party thrown by the Museum of Art.
By the time Marge got to be twenty, she had developed into a dazzling redhead and a clever artist. She discovered in herself a fine gift for splashing paint in symbolic forms and she would just follow her feelings.
As a rest of this technique, she did some terrific canvases; bright, sun-happy colors and shapes that shot out a load of gaiety at the viewer.
People loved to look at her work and buy. Several of her paintings got into the Modern Museum, and a couple of distinguished small museums in New Haven and Paris.
A famous critic even wrote her up as a fine talent who worked on a gut level and therefore threw out a whole sensual Freudian thing in her work. "Her shapes," he said, "were primitive sensations that spoke to the primitive instincts of the viewers."
All this gave Marge a helluva lot of prestige that she felt undeserved, for all she did was pattern the paints in colors and shapes that pleased her.
So it was no wonder that she got invited to the chichi parties of art, attended by hotshot money people and celebrities.
And there she met Bill Altman, a tall, handsome man, a publisher of quality erotica and a supreme lecher.
Bill not only loved her artwork, but liked the cut of her jib. For Marge had grown into a voluptuous hussy with wide hips, slender waist and pear-shaped, honey tits. Her skin had translucent whiteness and her brown eyes gleamed with a strange fire that only the initiated could understand. A quaint need to be violated, a need to be punished, a need for sex in a context of gentle cruelty.
Bill was a real gamecock, madly in love with pussy. There axe men whose lives are dominated by the delicate pleasure of making love to the body of a woman of appreciating her breasts, her lips, her legs, her mouth, her pussy. Men like these see women not only for sexual coupling, but as a career in pleasure. And Bill Altman, in a way, fit into this group.
As a man who appreciated art, he naturally knew of Marge's work, and thought highly of it. But he was not prepared for the woman who did the paintings to be such a dish-so sexy and so ferociously interesting.
The look in her eyes was something that especially caught him, appealing to some obscure instinct. From the beginning he felt that she would be really a terror on the mattress. And from the moment he saw her, he could not stop thinking of her in some sex context, spread-eagled in the bedroom, at his mercy, willing to submit to anything at the threat of pain.
And for her part, something in Bill reached out to her. Certainly a sense of the erotic, but more than that, his dedication to the flesh and to the games of sex that touched the fringes of human coupling,
At the time, Bill had been compiling a book of photos of erotica, and someone had sent in pictures of a marvelously sensuous girl in a luxurious bondage situation. She had just a silken bra, pulled down, showing her nipples and super tits, and a silky sort of panty that scarcely concealed much. She was bound, too, with lush cords, and her mouth was covered so that she could not put up a yell. She looked like the picture of sensualism, waiting for her tormentor to pleasure himself.
The photo, obviously staged, appealed to some of the darker instincts in Bill Altman, and his mind was loaded with the picture even at the time that he met Marge. Something about Marge triggered the memory in his head, and he felt an overpowering desire to see if he could work out this fantasy with a woman like Marge, so voluptuous and sexy. The look in her eyes too reminded him, in some weird way, of the girl in bondage, so he was determined to explore the experience.
He asked for a date, and somewhat to his surprise, she seemed quite receptive. They were standing together in a corner of the party, talking, both with drinks.
"How'd you learn to paint like this?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "It wasn't because of study. I liked to see these shapes and colors together. And it's that simple."
"But surely you had some guide. Whose work fascinated you? Some abstractionists?"
"I looked at them all -- at Kandinsky, Motherwell, de Kooning, Pollack. It ticked off something in me," Marge said thoughtfully. "But mostly, I am an instinctive artist. I work on a feeling level, never let my head get in the way. I'm mostly controlled by feelings anyway." She smiled at him, liking the look of him, the rugged face, the tall, powerful build, with its suggestions of controlled violence. Perhaps even, there was some hint of her uncle Tom Carroll about the contours of the man.
"I find your stuff very exciting. It seems to talk to your mood, it reaches down to sensations that are very disturbing."
"Why disturbing?"
"Because they are primitive sensations, the kind of feelings that we had before we learned speech. I read Simon's critique of your work, and entirely agree with it. You work on the 'gut level,' and that's why your stuff comes off the canvas and punches us in the stomach! I like it a lot."
She smiled at him, liking him, and couldn't help wonder what a powerful man like him would be like in bed. Her fantasy life already had him doing fierce, punishing things to her. Never sadistic, of course, just gently cruel.
"Can I drive you home?" he asked suddenly, as if some strange telepathic message wafted from her head to his.
She stared at him, aware of a surge of excitement to her pussy, always a sure sign that there was the threat of sex nearby.
"That would be nice."
They made a quick, secret getaway from the party, and when they got outside and into his car, he suggested that he had some fascinating photos in a book he was preparing that should interest her. They were at his place.
"I'd like to see them," she said calmly, lighting up a cigarette.
Bill responded to this with a creeping hard-on. It seemed his cock had grown aware of a luscious target and was ready for combat.
Bill had a nice house in Riverdale, and he got there in about twenty minutes.
Marge liked the looks of the house -- very masculine, with lots of sports trophies: a tiger rug on the floor, African spears crossed on the walls, and the ivory African masks.
Also, several blowups of sexy women, with super bodies, each wearing a mask, but entirely nude otherwise, with light pussy-hair over ripe looking cunts.
He poured her a martini. "Are you surprised at my pictures?"
"I'm enchanted," she said, delighted that he had this powerful response to women's bodies. She felt more titillated than ever being there, and wondered what the evening would bring.
"Why is that?"
She gave him a Mona Lisa smile, lifting the glass of gin to her lips. "The most interesting men, I find, are those with an intense interest in the female. It is a clue."
"A clue to what?"
"To the vitality of a man. Vitality, as you may know, is a highly valued quality in a man. I suspect we women are always subconsciously looking for it."
"And do you find that in me? I'm curious."
She gave him a small smile. "Are you are 'curious,' or is it an ego trip?"
He shrugged. "Guys are always on an ego trip, I suppose. And they like women who appreciate men."
By this time, they were both fairly deep into the martini bit, and Bill got hold of the book of photos that he figured would fascinate this marvelously sexy woman, Marge.
The book, still in its formative stages, had a whole series of photos, many of one woman, exquisitely beautiful, in a rich, luxurious background, something like an Oriental palace, with thick silk-woven ropes tied around her wrists. Her legs were spread apart, so that her pussy was totally visible. Because the photos were in color, the richness and sensuousness of the flesh and the setting came through quite vividly.
The girl seemed to be staring at someone, as if in fear, awaiting the despoiling marauder, yet she also gave the sensation of seething excitement, the kind you sensed was close to the moment of orgasm.
The pictures were varied, some bringing in another girl who did the tying and apparently, would violate. Or some mysterious male, whose head was shown, but never the face.
Marge studied the photos, finding them deeply exciting, for naturally, with her background in making the trip through pain to get pleasure, she found such a sexual approach right on target. And already she could feel the subtle pulsations in her pussy, a craving to be touched, to be punished, to make the agonizing trip from the threat of pain to ecstasy.
So she put down the book and turned to Bill.
He had been fascinated, watching her face with tremendous excitement, aware that Marge was ideal for his venture into gentle violence.
She looked limp, as if anything he did now would be acceptable to her, so he moved close, put his arms around her, and found her, almost as expected, to be totally passive.
He kissed her, and she let him. He put his hands over her breasts, delighted at their size and beauty. She seemed to have become something of an automaton, unable to resist him, just as if she were a victim of some cosmic forces in her body.
He picked her up, carried her to the bedroom, then took off her clothing, her shirt and slacks, and the rosy sensual beauty of her body was a feast to his eyes.
Her red hair that flowed abundantly about her head was recapitulated around her rosy pussy, nestling charmingly between her fine thighs and shapely legs.
Her breasts, the size of pineapples, were crested with pink nipples, and his throat ached to suck at them. But all in good time. There had to be a game between them first, or the whole episode would be a cliché. He wanted something different from Marge, and sensed it could happen.
His hand went over her body -- over the velvet of her breasts and her tummy, caressed the pussy-hair, then down over the thighs and the legs. An exquisite creature.
But her eyes had a faraway look, as if she was not there with him.
He leaned forward and whispered to her. 'Let me tie you," he said.
She looked at him with shock in her eyes at the stupid vulgarity of his approach, and pulling her hand back, she struck his cheek hard!
Then she hit the other cheek, and stared fiercely into his eyes.
Bill was jolted at the sudden attack, and for one moment he hung up there, with a sudden surge of violence in him, when the idea came to him with clarity. He had been stupid to tell her, to put the game into words. The only way you played this game was to pretend it was all real, as if not getting the cooperation of the victim!
You were supposed to be enemies. That was the bondage game. Someone was going to be victimized, but surely you didn't ask the victim to cooperate, you forcibly put them in that position!
He had been a blunderer. But it was not too late. She had pointed the way. In fact she had triggered the scene to follow.
He grabbed her, and she began to fight him, but obviously without any power, for he had absolute control. He felt her lovely plump ass thrusting out at him, and somehow he knew that he had to punish it, to pummel it a bit.
He opened his palm and paddled her ass with hard, short strokes that made a loud clapping noise. Something deep and instinctive seemed to happen to Marge, for she suddenly stopped all the wriggling and writhing. breathed deeply, then whimpered as her arms went caressingly around his neck.
"Please don't hurt me," she whimpered "Please, I'll do anything."
It was some sort of code, he knew. She could get off only by playing master and slave, and it really reached him, a game like this.
"Lie there, bitch!" he ordered, astonished at the language that came so quickly to him.
He went for the ropes that he had put aside for just such an encounter, and soon had her wrists and her legs spread-eagled, just as he had seen it in his fantasy.
He stripped. His cock was up like a great ramrod.
He strutted around the bed, looking at his beautiful victim totally at his mercy.
She looked gorgeous lying there, her cunt visible, her breasts there for him to work his will. It was an extraordinary sensation for Bill, not having ever done this thing before. He had heard of the bondage game, and considered it just a thing for perverts, unaware of the deep psychological roots of it.
In thinking about it, he decided that the instincts that circled about this experience went back to the primitive world, where the male always got his woman through some form of capture, a violent act that kept her struggling against him, until through the use of his cock. he subdued her, made her his mate, mostly because of the great rush of pleasure she felt as his cock did its in-and-out job.
That was why the woman loved to play the game, because it did stimulate those deep primitive roots, and why men too were fascinated with the violent control of the female.
He just loved the experience of looking at her cunt open for penetration, at her breasts ready to be sucked.
And from the hardness of the nipples, she felt herself in a sexual high at the sight of her violator strutting around her with his great red cock and balls jutting from his body, looking ferociously at the slave female.
From her expression he could see that already she was close to orgasm, just from the feel of the ropes on her wrists and ankles.
He went down to her tits, and put his lips on the nipple, then put his mouth over the whole tit. She whimpered at the touch of his lips.
He leaned his head close to her face, then put his mouth on hers. His tongue went out to her lips, and felt them open, and made fiery touch with her tongue. The tongues danced against each other.
She was on fire, he could tell. The very position of enslavement did more to excite her than his touch. But now his touch would consume her with excitement. That was how it went.
His mouth again went down to her tits, and he began to suck on them, enjoying the pear-shape, the plump, pink nipple. He went to the other too, caressing it; he bounced back and forth.
He lifted his head and could see the fires deep in her eyes, from flames burning deep in the pit of her body. He brought his face down to her mound of Venus, with its curling red hair. He smothered his face in the foliage, then put his tongue gently over the velvety pussy-lips.
It was a moment of exquisite ecstasy for him, and for her, as he could tell from the slight moan that slipped from her lips. He spread the pussy lips and got his tongue in, probing for the cit. Then his tongue worked vigorously on the cut, and her body heaved with profound excitement, and she could scarcely control the moans of bliss.
He could scarcely control his own excitement as he dug his tongue deep into her heavenly honey-pot, joying in the taste of the sauce.
The marvelous sensation of contact seemed to be exaggerated a hundred percent, just because, he realized, that she was tied down, could not escape, had to stay and submit to anything he desired of her.
He watched her body writhe as his tongue worked its magic on her cit, and then he disengaged, and took his great engorged cock toward her mouth.
She seemed almost to be waiting and turned her head to the splendid hunk of meat, all muscle and purple rage. She stared at it, hypnotized for a moment, then opened her mouth to the great cock, taking it in as deep as she could. She then began to lick on it, trying to get it into her throat. Her tongue seemed to be in a magic flutter as it worked under the head of the cock. She just knew where all the major thrills were.
Her lips pulled so vigorously on his cock that for one fearful moment he thought she would get his juice before he had pierced her cunt!
So he pulled it away from her greedy mouth, which unwillingly parted with the passion tool, and climbed over her body.
He had her spread-eagled still, ready for immolation, and it was a snap to point his cock at her slit and then jam it in, feeling it part the flesh as it went down, down into the depths of the hot, seething, tight pussy, until finally it buried itself to the hilt.
She acted like a woman speared, someone victimized by a savage rapist, as if it had all happened against her will. And curiously, this very behavior excited him more, for it put him into the violator's role, and he luxuriated in it. He felt now that he had captured a virgin-and bound her, put her at his mercy to exploit and flick as he wished.
It was an extraordinary sensation, so far superior than just a straight hick, he thought. There is, he imagined, beauty In a game of violence like this. Oh, he did not delude himself that he had snared a woman, grabbed her and flung her on a bed for rape!
They both knew that there was no raw violence here -- just play violence, and they probably, just because of it, enjoyed it on a new dimension. For them to be into a real act of sadism, they would have to be two entirely different people.
Yet the game of sadism gave them the thrill without the ugliness!
Now he had seized her tits harshly and rubbed them and kissed them, bit them-little savage nips that hurt her blissfully.
He jammed his cock into her cunt, harshly too, pretending that she was some beautiful slut that he had scooped off the street, brought to his pad and was now violently raping.
She was his victim! That was the strange, exciting idea that seemed to escalate the pleasure of fucking to a fabulous new dimension.
And now, to further increase his pleasure, Bill reached down to untie her ankles, just so that he could raise her haunches, for the target now was to pierce her tail with his tumid cock. That would, somehow, sharpen his sense of violent invasion of her body!
He got her ass up, and mumbled, "Now, I'm going to fuck you in the ass!"
"Please don't," she moaned, the slave unable to stop the cruel master, except through pleading.
He smiled cruelly. "But I want to, I'm going to stuff my meat so far up your ass, you'll feel it in your tonsils!"
"You filthy pig," she slashed at him with her legs, kicking him, so that he was forced to nail her down with his overpowering strength. He held her body firmly in his grip, got his cock aimed at her tail, and wiggled it in!
"No," she yelped. "It hurts!"
"All the better for you, my darling," he grinned.
And he shoved the meat of his cock in a few inches, feeling the terrific tightness of her asshole clutching his pole. He could tell, from the grip of her anal muscles around his cock, that she had to feel some pain, and he shoved deeper into the passion pit.
She inhaled sharply, as if he had punctured her with a dagger.
And now, he craved to dish out a load of pain, as if aware that the more the pain the more the pleasure, as if there was a real physical and mental connection in her head between them.
So he rammed his cock hard into her asshole, feeling the flesh part as he went down into the tight, hot depths. And she yelped and turned, baring her teeth like a tiger in -- fury-but helpless fury.
And he, tickled pink at the sight of her primitive responses, just pushed his cock in deeper, knowing it was knocking the sides of her ass crazy. He grabbed her butt, and arched his body, shoving his cock now to its ultimate depth into her ass, and beginning a rioting flick, bouncing hard against her butt, pulling his huge thunderous meat out, then ramming it in again.
And each time she winced and whimpered, and did that over and over until she went silent, and he knew that in the weird head she had she was turning it all to pleasure, but not the ordinary pleasure: pleasure with a thousand electric lights flashing, like someone would get a charge from a low-charge household electrical outlet.
But the excitement was far more than words could describe. That was how it worked in such people. He had got it from some shrink friend that he knew how they turned the pain into excruciating pleasure.
The curious part was how this experience in some way touched him, too! As if all the intense supercharge that she got flashed against his own nerves, so that the pleasure for him escalated sharply too!
Even now, the intense pleasure of ass-fucking her was blowing his mind. More than anything he had ever experienced.
All sorts of crazy impulses swept through him: of slapping her ass with his hands, of squeezing the mounds fiercely, of jamming his cock in so hard it would penetrate to her bowels.
And then he felt the start of his come -- a sharp, fierce, almost unbearable moment of tension while his cock swelled to its ultimate, then went off in a blaze of glory, firing load after load of cream into her asshole, while she whimpered and moaned and groaned with some unspeakable ecstasy, as she felt the liquid gushing into her body.
They talked about it afterward.
"Why do you like to be mistreated?" he asked her bluntly, during one date.
"I'm made that way," she shrugged. "I think it has to be conditioning. My first sex experiences got all crossed up with pain and pleasure. So mixed up that it seemed from then on to be the only way to get it!"
"You mean it was that first drunken brute who knocked you around? Did that do it?"
"Maybe. Maybe I was just built psychologically to respond to it. There are plenty of girls who never react to the pain angle. But I did! I found it a form of fun."
"Fun to be tied up? To be at the mercy of someone else?"
"As long as he's not a degenerate brute, like someone who wants to light matches under you, or put out his cigarettes on you or hit you with steel buckles! That's a no-no!"
"So it's a form of fun, Is that it?"
"Yes." She stared. "You find it fun too! Why? Is it the sense of power? Do you feel powerful because you have someone you can do anything with? Does that turn you on?"
Bill Altman thought deeply about it. It was true that power over someone gave him a lift. That's how some human animals seemed to be built. It was why slavery or mastery, in either crude or subtle form, seemed to be built into the system. In both the business and social world you found it. But in sex, Bill thought, the mastery impulse came out more clearly. The masculine personality, whether male or-female, had powerful needs to be master.
So at least in the animal kingdom, the male tried to dominate the female-stick his cock in and fire his load: to fulfill nature's law of human survival.
That's why masculine personalities easily slipped into the dominant role. If a person did not dominate, if he or she lived in such a way as to lose power of domination, Bill thought, he became a gelded cat, impotent, to be run around by the submissive persons- an undesirable situation.
No! It seemed to Bill that the "man" had to rule sexually, and felt most masculine when he lived in that situation. Women, too, enjoyed being a "woman" when they lived with a strong masterful "male" who took control in the bedroom. And that meant a supine, willing, docile "woman" ready to play the "victim" role. She could find her own freaked-out pleasures by following her instinct to submit too. The more civilized a "woman" -- the more sophisticated she was -- the more she probably found the submissive role perversely exciting.
That was the way that Bill Altman thought of the whole game.
They dated a lot after that, and each time found it an exciting turn-on. They rarely duplicated the experiences, making little variations here and there, always ready for a new game.
And because Bill Altman had this fierce appreciation for a woman's body, and definitely for the fantasy life that they built up between them, obviously he came to believe that they were ideally suited to each other.
And it didn't take long for them to make the decision to marry.
And so they had marvelous times in bed, working out the unique fantasy of each, and their sex life was rich and varied. They did not wait too long before they had two kids, Caroline and Bernard, real chip-pies off the old blocks, that is, highly sexed kids, who craved to run the gamut of sex early in life.
Chapter Thirteen
Small wonder then that Bernard, growing up in a bawdy sex hothouse like that, just naturally went all out.
He soon arranged to screw his sister Caroline and enjoyed her blow-jobs with not a touch of guilt.
And Bernard, in his dream life, had one obsessive fantasy over and over that really knocked him out:
A nude woman, wearing a half-mask that just hid her upper features, would come to his door while he was in bed, as usual, stroking his swollen cock, feeling frustrated enough to hump a crocodile. She would open the door softly and mysteriously put her finger to her lips so he'd be quiet. Her hair was wrapped in a purple kerchief, but the rest of her body, white and voluptuous was nude, perfect. Beautiful tits with pink nipples, lovely white flesh, flat tummy, superbly hard thighs and shapely legs. A gorgeous woman obviously in a hot sex stew.
She tiptoed to his bed, her full mouth smiling. And when he opened his mouth to speak, she again put her finger to her lips, dropping to her knees, which brought her mouth to the level of his lustful, red cock. With a delicate gesture, she took hold of his palpitating tool, put it into her hot mouth and began to give him one of the bawdiest blow-job imaginable.
Her tongue threshed around the meat of his cock, her lips pulled on it; he felt as if he had stuck his prick into the mouth of a young suckling pig, greedily inhaling the juice. So that finally his cock swelled and exploded its come into her mouth. And she, at that moment, swallowed and swallowed his juice until it all went down her throat.
Then, smiling, her finger again on her lips, telling him to be silent, she backed to the door.
"But who are you?" he asked, bitten fiercely with curiosity.
But the masked woman moved steadily out the door, closing it, leaving him viciously frustrated.
"I'll never know who it was!" he said aloud.
Then the door reopened and the woman stared at him so he could see her brown eyes burning through the mask. Her hand went up and the mask came off.
And even before he saw the white-skinned lovely face, he knew it would be his mother Marge!
The dream came to him over and over, and each time-always-it seemed a jolt to discover at the unmasking it was Marge.
As a modern kid, and very bright, Bernard knew that he was deep into the Oedipus gimmick, but consciously he felt -no guilt that such urges came to him. He figured it par for the course with all teenagers. The literature was loaded with these sex taboos.
Still, he knew that if ever the chance came and he could thrust his seventeen-year-old hard-on up his mother's cunt, he would grab it, because it was deliciously forbidden yet the most fascinating fantasy he could ever picture, especially in the world of sex in which he was raised.
Somehow, he always sensed that the voluptuous Marge had in her some secret need to taste the forbidden areas of sex, as if that made them the most thrilling. She gave Bernard the impression of a woman jaded by the clichés of life, willing, if the time was right, to toy with the strange, the far-out and the most forbidden!
And so it happened on a night that his father had to fly to California for a publisher's convention, and his sister Caroline had stopped overnight at her friend Maureen's, that Bernard found himself in a scene fraught with fearsome possibilities.
He had been lying on the sofa watching TV, the sound off, a barrelful of lovely young girls all trying to be Miss America. He had his jeans off, feeling secure since everyone was out, including his mother who was guzzling martinis at a cocktail party.
His cock, as usual, was a raging hard, and he would stare at the figures of the girls, fantasizing them suddenly lying down, so that he could slip his cock into one after the other. Bernard. you see, was a greedy pussy-lover.
He would casually pull his cock each time that he mentally stuck his tool into the luscious cunt of a contestant.
It was a neat fantasy, harmless, and gave his cock some gentle tingles. And his concentration was so in-tense that he did not hear the door when it opened and his mother came in.
She stood there at the threshold of the living room. transfixed by the sight of her seventeen-year-old son sitting there with a soundless TV, watching a beauty contest and stroking his cock. And it had to be a sensual shock for her to see the size of his tool.
Marge had to be hugely impressed at its size, since her memory of him, as a little boy, was that his pecker was a worm of a thing.
Now it was a man-sized monster, capable of giving fabulous pleasure to some female. And noting her son's concentration was on the pretties of the TV screen, Marge felt a curious shot of jealousy.
At the moment her head was saturated with gin from the party. She had gulped four big martinis, an unwise thing since it always left her horny, and she would have no target for it since her playmate Bill was entertaining himself in California.
His trip, incidentally, left her a bit resentful, for she well knew he would somehow find lewd diversion. Bill, she knew, could turn a public convention into a private orgy.
So here she was, drunk as an owl, with a hot pussy and her own kid just inches away, with a hot cock.
"May I ask what you are doing?"
The sound of her voice hit the kid like a hatchet in the head, for he had been thinking, just then, that all these skinny pretties could never stand up to the voluptuous sex appeal of his mother with her wide hips, her grapefruit-size tits, her slender waist, and that red haired pussy that Bernard had glimpsed during her nights of bliss with his father.
And there she was in the flesh, obviously on the sauce, as he could tell from the voice and unsteadiness of her stance.
And. great balls of fire she was staring at his big, thick, naked cock, and the gleam in her eye was not shock but awe!
It sent a shot of pride to his head. and lust to his cock, making it harder, like a steel pipe.
He would play it cool! His mind. with lightning speed, calculated that if ever a perfect time existed for him to make it with Marge, the most forbidden of all pleasures, it would be now.
"I suppose that I am beating my meat, as you see," he said.
"And why are you doing that?"
"Because I'm frustrated. if you must know, Marge. Every night I find this thing up like iron. It won't let me sleep unless I give it cruel and unusual punishment."
She laughed and came forward. "Well, Bernard. you should give it pleasure, not punishment."
He came on very earnest. "If only I could, mother. I'm seventeen, and girls my age willing to play the in-and-out game are not easily found."
Bernard, that little liar, naturally would not tell his dear mother that he had been battering Caroline's hot fifteen-year-old snatch.
If he told that, he figured he'd get fifty lashes and a psychiatrist.
"Yes," Marge said. "it's a pity that young boys with big hard-ons can't find a way to get satisfaction."
She took a seat next to him, and her closeness to his cock sent it into a spasm of rigidity.
The cock, in fact, seemed to turn with a life of its own, to stare up at Marge, as if sensing that here, at last, was release.
Marge, seeing this, In her mood of drunkenness, was heavily amused. She bent forward to look at this saucy, sinister, bristling cock with awe.
It's such a big one, she thought. Almost as big as Bill's. And younger, therefore, harder. And he's got a lot of shots in his cock, too.
Just naturally her hand reached out for the thumping meat, and the feel of its heat and solid flesh sent a scurry of delicious tingles into the nerves of her cunt.
"Well, I hate to see you waste your juice down the tube. We might amuse each other. What would you think of that, Bernard?"
His voice trembled. He was on the verge of realizing his most precious dream. "I think it would be paradise."
She smiled gently. "I wouldn't expect all that. But we can have an evening of fun. Otherwise it could be a boring night."
And she leaned down, slipped off her slacks and her shirt, and then Bernard. at seventeen, could see the fabulous sexy body of his mother in the flesh, finally!
She looked a hundred times better than his fantasy of her. The silky white flesh, the red pussy-hair, trimmed so that he could see her saucy, pink-tipped cunt. And those big gorgeous tits! He went to them first, naturally, his mouth greedy on the nipple, taking long, lustful pulls of the white meat. His body trembled with the shock of the thrills surging through his flesh. He went to the other, his hand caressing and stroking the soft, heavy, white flesh. She had perfect tits, flawless mouthfuls. His hand now went over her waist and her tummy.
And then she turned, put her hand gently over his purple-rimmed cock, enthralled by its silky hardness. She caressed it gently for a while, then caressed his balls too.
It made him look wild in the eye. So he said. "Mom, I have this dream, all the time."
"I know, I know," she said. smiling, as if she understood the mind of the teenage son, as if they were mostly alike. She pushed him back so that his cock was up and his body down. And she began to suck his cock, gently at first, handling his balls at the same time.
He was overpowered by the excitement of the sensations as his eyes greedily watched her charming face light up with pleasure as she took a quantity of his cock into the depths of her throat, letting her tongue toy around the hot head. Then she went to his balls, and let her tongue dance about them, getting each one into her mouth, saturating them with warmth and moisture, then going back to his cock.
He went wild with lust, feeling a great oral surge. He wanted her in his mouth too, so he leaned up, and crawled around so that he could lick her cunt while she could eat him.
It was pure bliss for Bernard to get his tongue into his mother's honey-cunt. He felt as if he had, at his age, tasted the ultimate turn-on!
He felt her tongue and mouth working on him, and he suited the movements of his own tongue and mouth. His tongue between her pussy-lips lashed at the pliant flesh with instinctive skill. He found the cit and caressed it over and over.
And Marge found the taboo quality of this sex-coupling all the turn-on she could take, so she did not need the usual spanking. This was a real joyride just because this involved Bernard. She grabbed his balls and got his cock as deep into her throat as she could. while her tongue made wild flutterings under the silky knobhead. She could visualize the pleasure it gave the boy, from the stifled groans, the deep sighs, the shudderings of his body.
Then, fearful that his cock would pop, she stopped and pulled him around. over her. "Let's flick. darling," she said.
And she directed his hard. wet turgid tool to her cunt, so that it could just slide in-into the warm, deep, marvelous crevice of joy.
The feel of his hard cock as it sank into the warm pussy was an overwhelming slam of pleasure for Bernard, who until this moment could not grasp the unspeakable excitement of doing this with Marge. It seemed as if it all had to be another dream from which he would awaken, except that all his sensations were so intense and real!
He felt tuned into every sensation dreamed of, as his body lay over hers, over the swelling breasts, the flat tummy, feeling the marvelous curve of her hips, and her splendid thighs under him. He put his hands over her firm buttocks, lifting them into him, as his cock creased into her warm cunt.
Then, feeling great waves of pleasure building up, he began to fuck, with savage strokes, dynamite thrusts, which Marge just naturally picked up, meeting him halfway, her cunt riding firmly on his cock, squeezing it as it went into a spasm of rapture, shooting its love juices into her, one great spurt after an-other.
It was a great turn-on for her, and her cunt went into waves of orgasm, so that she grabbed his twisting body, and held it firmly against hers.
They lay there, slumped against each other, spent with passion, his eyes closed with the bliss of it all. After awhile, she patted his ass, told him it it had been a beautiful time, but it was over now, and she slipped away, leaving him in a state of ecstasy.
He lay there until his mind came back to him. And he thought, If I never get another piece of sex, I've had it all.
He dragged his ass to bed then, and dropped off into the deepest sleep of his life.
Chapter Fourteen
It was eight o'clock downtown, and Bill Altman. back from his trip, had been drinking with some cronies; a bit of carousing and then afterward, a couple of guys thought it might be fun to look a newest porn film, a real classic, the critics said.
So Bill Altman went along for laughs, but found himself fiercely turned on by the sharp, vivid, color pictures of a golden blonde young beauty, taking on the massive cock of a brown-eyed stud hero.
The quality of the film, and the luscious beauty of the girl, put Bill's cock in a frenzy. Going home, he cursed himself for bad luck.
His wife Marge and the kid Bernard were off for a weekend visit to her aunt in Washington. His kid Caroline was scheduled to stay overnight in town with a schoolgirl friend.
It pissed Bill off, because his cock felt heavy and hard, and he needed Marge and her sweet sucking mouth to do a blow-job on him.
Bill, when drunk, liked to stagger into the bedroom where Marge, waked up, would unzip his pants and suck him off while she played with her pussy, since he had the problem of a soft cock saturated in booze.
After a short snooze, however, he would give her a terrific fuck, anyway and anywhere she wanted it.
He had done this drunken bit with her so often that It built terrific tension in his body, because after drinking he was all trained for a blow-job.
So Bill went to his little book to contact a couple of cute cunts who did the blow-job during his hard-up time. But the girls were out, leaving Bill with his cock In a sinister rage.
He banged into the front door and made so much noise that it brought out his sleepy eyed kid Caroline to see the commotion.
He stared at her. "What are you doing home, kid? I thought you were with Susie overnight?"
"She came down with the measles, dad. Such a drag," Caroline yawned. Then she gaped at her dad, who was looking very drunk and very sexy, because his cock, still hard, was bulging in his pants.
As for Bill, still groggy with the lustful pictures in his head of the sexy little nymph in the porno flick, couldn't help seeing Caroline suddenly as a dead ringer. She, as usual, was wearing her baby-doll gown, so short that her cute little pink slit with golden hair sometimes peeped out. Naturally Bill spotted it and it made his cock sweat even more.
He went to the bar, poured a glass of scotch.
"Gimme some," Caroline said, her voice very grown up, in the way Marge talked. It was easy for Caroline to step into the personality of Marge. And the vibrations that Caroline was getting from Bill unleashed a flutter of thrills that made her pussy go suddenly wet. Could she be lucky enough, she wondered, to catch Bill horny as a lion, at a time he couldn't nail Marge for his usual drunk blow-job?
Oh, Caroline had seen them -- both of them -- at just such times. Her old man, loaded with booze, and his cock loaded with love juice, searching for Marge, for her mouth and her tongue to ease his phallic agony.
Bill had no hesitation about giving the kid a drink, for he did not believe in stamping the kids down. The forbidden, he knew, always became too fascinating, and he did not want to build all sorts of Freudian crap in his kids.
So he poured her some booze and they sat together, and sipped drinks. Caroline put her lovely white legs up on the chair, so that Bill could see the flesh. Just lately, Caroline had discovered the impact of female flesh on male desire. Bernard and Barry both turned hot as fire when she showed flesh, and it seemed to be the magic fuse to fire their cocks.
"You've had the measles, Caroline, right?"
"Yes. But she's no fun with it. Just a pill. Miserable."
He smiled. His kid was no common slouch who'd settle for anything. The kid was sophisticated, a clever kid, already ahead of her time -- with no hang-ups.
She'd never go into any psychological trauma because he and Marge had never given the kids any sense of guilt; it was guilt that knocked people crazy, Bill Altman figured.
Why be guilty about anything? he was thinking. As if there was some bearded gentleman peering down from the clouds, telling you that if you pulled your puddin', you would end up in a hot fire. To Bill, sex morality was a social invention that had lost its meaning with the coming of birth control.
So he always played it cool on sex, didn't act as if his wrestling's with Marge had to be the depths of depravity, some sick, secret thing that kids were never to see on pain of death.
His attitude had taken the horror out of sex, which may explain the casual way that Bernard and Caroline acted about sex.
So that Caroline, sipping scotch, her lovely legs up on a chair, her blonde pussy-hair peeping out coyly, was not quite a spectacle of depravity.
And Bill, in his fierce, erotic mood, a hang-over from the porno flick, did a great mental job of bringing together the blonde in the movie with the blonde kid sitting near him.
And his loins streaked with lust.
"Come sit on my lap, kid." He smiled at her.
Caroline looked coolly at him. "I think you're horny, dad."
"So what if I am, you little bitch."
"I think you wanna fool around, dad."
He gulped a lot of booze. "Where the hell is Marge when I need her, kid? I need her real bad."
Caroline glanced at the bulge in his pants. Real bad, she thought.
"I'll help you, dad." And she came over and casually sat on his lap, the warmth of her crotch smothering his bulge.
Though Caroline was playing it very cool, she was seething with excitement. As told, she had seen Bill and his giant cock do a fabulous job on Marge. She had seen Marge eat his thick dick, too. And it had been the sort of scene to torment her many a night, when her own pussy was crawling with desires, forcing her to strokes.
To make it with Bill had to be the freakiest fun game Caroline could ever visualize. So when she sat on his bulge, she instantly felt quivers of joy in her cunt.
He turned her head up to him, looked at the beautiful young face, all tender, fresh, new-minted, a totally unspoiled darling, he thought.
Kissing her, he felt her mouth open and her tongue come out, a hot touch of fire which made his cock expand even more. Somehow her experience did not disturb him. In fact he felt it all natural that a kid her age would have already experimented with sex.
He put his hand over her budding young tit, found the nipple hard and pointed. He bent down to put it into his mouth, sucking it gently, then hard. She sighed heavily, put her hand over his head. Suddenly, Bill felt an excruciating shot of lust for the kid. He wanted instantly to possess her, to take her all the way with no holds barred.
He lifted her, pulled off his pants, and showed her his cock, pushing it toward her mouth.
She didn't pause a moment but went down to the huge, monstrous hunk of meat (at least twice the thickness of Bernard, for he was after all a kid, while Bill was a fully grown male). Her mouth opened as wide as possible to take in the thick, enormous head of cock. She was appalled at its size, thrilled at the heat of it, the silky power, the raunchy scent. She started to suck on the knobhead and let her tongue dart around the lower part of it. She pulled on the cockhead with her lips and tongue. She went along the muscular shaft with her tongue, licking it delicately. She went down to his balls, licked them, put each into her mouth gently, came back to the head of his cock, tried to engulf it in her throat -- or as much as she could of the bristling, hot meat.
Her cunt was vibrating wildly, especially when he reached down to stick his finger into it. His thick finger felt like a hard cock, and he knew where Caroline's magic button was.
The more he tickled her pussy, the more vigorous her sucking became, and she sucked like a connoisseur of cock, for she had sharpened her skills in encounters with Bernard.
Now Bill, going into his highs, pulled his cock away from her, went down to her choice, hot little honey-cunt and got his tongue into it. She was a tasty little dish, with a delectable slit, so that his tongue and lips probed the sensual depths of her pussy until she wanted to yell with the thrill of a fluttering orgasm.
Then Bill tumbled her onto the floor, lifted her haunches, his giant cock pointed at her slender pussy. He pushed it in. She had a tight pussy, especially for a cock his size, and the pressure on his tool was pure pleasure. He kept shoving it in until finally it went to its hilt and then he paused to take a breath.
Poor Caroline never felt so stuffed with cock as now, as if rammed with a giant salami, and her pussy vibrated with agony and ecstasy. Her head was in rapture while her body felt racked with cock.
It's the ultimate flick, she thought, as the nerves In her pussy started going wild with pleasure.
He then began his in-and-outs, gripping her silky butt so that he could get better leverage. Every plunge had the touch of paradise in it for her. She was, Bill felt, terrifically better than the kid in the porno flick, and still more, she was here in the flesh!
He fucked till she began to moan, feeling her cunt quivering with one ecstatic orgasm after another. He was a master fucker, she thought.
Then he pulled his cock out of her cunt, and turned her over, so that her pretty ass was topside.
He rubbed it with his palm, enjoying the sensual curve of it, then put his moist cockhead to her rosebud asshole and wriggled.
She grunted at the pain, and said sharply, "Don't!"
"Shut up, you little bitch," he growled, for he had suddenly slipped into his sadistic groove, and felt the need to screw her butt and dish out a bit of pain with the pleasure.
So he pushed his giant cock in more, and she whimpered, feeling the huge slab of meat expanding her asshole.
"You're hurting," she moaned.
"That's good. You'll enjoy it more," he growled, squeezing his thick cock into her tight ass, feeling the flesh part as it eased in, an inch at a time.
The tightness of her ass gave Bill a super charge and the sense of power he got from dishing out pain, which in his complicated mind added to his sense of dominance, also gave him pleasure.
The poor little Caroline felt herself spitted on a giant cock, and twisted this way and that, feeling such a wild mixture of pain and pleasure that she could scarcely separate them. She understood then what Marge went through when she screeched in anguished ecstasy.
Caroline suddenly felt the pain disappear, leaving in its place peak pleasure, as the cock stimulated the nerves in her tail. She wanted him now to fuck her wildly, to thrust his cock in and out of her, as hard as he could, so she could enjoy it more. And as if to encourage that, she thrust her ass back on his cock, riding it, to communicate that she wanted him flicking hard.
Bill responded to the signal. Grasping her buttocks, he began a violent thrusting of his cock in and out of her ass, finding each thrust an almost intolerable excitement.
Caroline twisted and turned to receive his thrusts, clenching her fists with the fabulous thrill of his fucking. He stabbed her with his cock over and over, sinking it now to its ultimate depth, feeling the tender warmth and tightness encircling his tool. It was the most blissful pleasure that he could remember, and his very drunkenness seemed to prolong the pleasure, as well as intensify it.
His balls banged against her buttocks, his cock rammed into the hot depths of her ass, and it went on and on, each thrust intolerably pleasurable until finally his cock swelled to its mightiest, and then flung its cream into her tight ass, spurt after spurt And as the juice poured into her, Caroline's cunt went into its wildest throbs of orgasm, so intense that the nails of her clenched hands tore the flesh of her palms.
He slumped over her body, his cock still deep in her, and she feeling him with an even sharper focus now that his raging movements had stopped.
They lay there for a time, coming down from a high mountaintop. Then he kissed her neck, patted her ass, and pulled his cock, leaving her with a giant sense of emptiness.
"You were terrific, kid," he murmured in her ear. "But let's keep this between us. Our secret."
And he went off to his bedroom.
So Bill had his secret with Caroline, his darling daughter.
And Marge had a secret with Bernard, her clever son.
And chances are they lived happily ever after, for the family that plays together, stays together.
