In the morning, off duty, Sharon changed to shorts and halter for her picnic date with Tom Thornton.
Last night when Lita left, she had tucked a small envelope into Sharon's bra. It had contained five one-hundred-dollar bills, a down payment on the little white car. Two days ago Sharon would have shrieked with joy. Now the car seemed unimportant.
Lita had said to come at three this afternoon. There would be something special. Somehow, Sharon felt that she was losing control of her own destiny.
Another thing bothered her. Just before dawn, she had noticed strange looks passing between Nancy and Harve. It was almost like the two had a thing going between them.
But that was impossible: Buddy was supposed to come to the motel in the wee hours. She had not seen him. She guessed he had slept through the night.
She went out to the restaurant kitchen and picked up the picnic lunch she had ordered, then left for the street. She walked in blinding sunshine toward Harris Motor Sales.
She did not have to go inside. Tom Thornton stood at the curb beside the battered blue demonstrator, grinning at her.
She smiled back.
When she was close she took Lita's envelope from her purse and gave it to him.
"Down payment on the white car," she said.
Examining the money, he frowned. He studied her. "You don't seem very excited about it."
"I'm tired, I guess."
"I know: a long, hard night. Like the night before." He shrugged. "Climb into the car. I'll put your money in the safe."
Sharon shoehorned herself into the little bomb. Shortly Tom came and took the wheel.
As he drove out to the seacoast road he said, "Behind the seat is some beer. A can of it should revive you."
She found a couple of six-packs. She popped a can and sat there, holding it between her breasts.
Tom said, "I'd thought of going up the coast to a quiet beach I know of, but rain is predicted. My uncle has a fishing cabin on one of the lakes. We could picnic on the porch, or duck inside if rain comes. Okay?"
Nodding in agreement, she sipped the beer. Rain seemed unlikely in this blazing sunshine. She took the dark glasses from, her purse and hid herself behind them, thinking, Tom is a nice guy, thoughtful, decent. What am I doing with him?
He had swung inland on the highway east when the first spatter of raindrops struck the windshield. He stopped the car and put up the top. Rain drummed on it now. Sharon slumped down in her seat, drinking beer and wondering what Lita had planned for the afternoon.
She had hinted that Sharon might not like it, but simply had to go through with it.
Tom said, "You stay too close to your job. You have to get away once in a while."
She smiled at him. "Maybe you're right."
"Now days there's such pressure to get ahead that people grind away at the job until they've lost track of what they're aiming for."
She had to agree. It described her perfectly. What, indeed, was she aiming for? She had the white bomb within her grasp. But having achieved that, her hands still seemed empty.
Thoughtful now, she finished the beer and popped another.
The rain hung in misty curtains about them. Straggly palm heads hung dripping and forlorn under the weight of water. In the fields hump-backed gray cows stood knee-deep in grass while placidly eyeing the passing car, ignoring the downpour.
Sharon listened to the singing of the tires on wet pavement, and the throaty growl of the motor. She felt good now, floating on beer, shut into the tiny car by the rain, and away, away from everything.
Shortly Tom turned off the highway into an asphalt road; then a gravel one winding through a live oak forest. They ended up on mud tracks at a shanty that hung over the banks of a pond. The shack was unpainted, but new yellow pine shingles indicated that it was decently kept up. They sprinted through the rain to the porch, half of which was sheltered by an overhang. The rest formed a boat dock. A rowboat half-full of water was tied to a piling.
Inside, the place was simply furnished, a bed, stove, a table, some chairs, and a quilted Sharon found the rustic simplicity of the place reassuring. She plopped down on the bed and kicked off her sandals.
Tom sat at the table. He popped a beer can.
"Hungry?" he asked.
"No. Not yet."
He tilted back in his chair and lit a cigarette. He gazed out the open doorway at the rain.
He said, "Later on we could go fishing."
She nodded. Rain pounded on the roof Tom, gazing out at the pond, seemed self-contained, demanding nothing of her.
She dozed, calmed by his lack of urgency. She awoke somewhat later, feeling the bed sag under his weight.
He was sitting on the edge. He asked, "Hungry now?"
Feeling refreshed, she smiled up at him. "No hurry." She stretched. She recalled a flicker of a dream, riding in a car, Tom driving, a comforting dream.
"Tom, I like being with you." He grinned. "Thanks."
"But you're kind of a mystery. What do you do with yourself?"
"I sell cars."
"You said you make good money. How do you spend it?"
"I take flying lessons, which really cost. You have to hire both an instructor and a plane."
This aroused her interest. She raised up on an elbow, studying him.
He said, "I have a lot to learn. Some day I'll buy a light plane for cross-country trips. Take along a sleeping bag, see the world."
"It sounds yummy."
"Want to go along?"
She nodded, smiling broadly.
He rose and went to the table. She heard a beer can pop. He brought it to her and resumed his seat.
She asked, "Tom, do you like me?"
"I like things I see in you. Your determination, for instance."
"Not my body?" She smiled.
"I was watching you sleep. You were turned on your side. I saw that you're not wearing a bra. One breast laid on top of the other. That started my randy thoughts. Sure, you make me horny. And you're awfully pretty. But, like I told you, pretty chicks flock to a guy like me who has a bankroll."
"I'd like to go flying on cross-country hops with you, Tom."
"Just one sleeping bag?"
"Two! I'm not the kind of girl you think."
But her eyes twinkled.
She gulped at her beer, then lay back holding the chill can between her breasts. Tom reached for it. His hand did not arrive. Instead his fingers slid under her halter and lifted it, peeled it up her body, baring her rosy-capped mounds. He pressed a fingertip to a nipple. It struggled to rise against the pressure. His finger roved, slowly circling the stiffening peg, teasing the aureole into a puffy growth.
He said, "I figured you were the kind of girl to work, help, scrimp and save. To buy a plane, for instance. Or whatever we wanted. See, cross country hops would be lonely unless I had the right girl along."
His fingers left her breast, closed on the beer can. He took a swig.
She said, "Don't quit what you were doing. It felt reassuring. Comforting."
"Why do you need reassurance?"
"I'm into something I'm not very proud of."
"Want to tell me about it?"
He cupped his hand on her breast, then bent to it and tenderly kissed the nipple. Sharon fingered the back of his neck, pressing him into the firm mound of tit. His tongue slowly circled the nipple. She smiled, closed her eyes. He licked about it, nibbled, at last sucked his mouth full.
Her breast felt huge as his lips and tongue worked on it. He drew in until her nipple lodged in his throat.
She caressed his curly hair, thinking about soaring in a light plane through blue skies, suddenly swooping earthward, screaming with terror, then winging over and rising like a gull on the wind.
He drew off, stretching the glistening nipple with his lips.
"Good?" he asked.
"Uh-huh. Dreamy. But my halter binds."
He helped her take it off. Her white breasts now mounded like pink-peaked white melons perched on her suntanned flesh.
She watched him suck the other breast. When he drew away, both nipples were sticking up like thumbs.
Sharon guessed she should be coy with a guy who had chicks chasing him, but she moved by instinct now, reaching to the zipper tab of her shorts, wrenching it down, exposing low-slung white panties figured with yellow flowers, down to the crotch, letting him see her fluffy pubic bush lift the loose panty material.
She watched his hand climb her thigh to her mound.
He said, "You don't seem like a girl that would need a separate sleeping bag."
"I was. I've changed my mind."
"I'm flattered."
She reached to the ridge of cock lifting his pants. She caressed the long, bony shank and squeezed the knob.
He said, "At last I've met an honest girl! You want it, don't you?"
She nodded. "Somehow I feel like being honest with you. But I warn you, Tom. I can be awfully shitty. Sometimes I hate myself. Like this situation I'm involved in. I feel ashamed."
He placed a hand over her mouth. "Shut up, woman, while I undress you."
She looked down her body. He tugged at her shorts and panties. Her belly hair fluffed out to a thick auburn bush. He whipped the garments away and then fingered between her thighs. She spread her legs for him. He squeezed her damp cuntlips between his fingers.
He said, "Your snatch is as hairy as I've ever seen."
"Do you want me to shave it bald?"
"No, God no. I like it. But would you?"
"If I loved you."
"You don't."
"A girl never knows that until she's felt the guy inside her."
He burst into laughter. "Okay. I can take a hint." He peeled off his shirt. His chest was thatched with dark, curly hair. She eyed his torso appreciatively – lean, hard, narrowing to small hips. His body was very different from Buddy's.
Buddy.
She cringed. No, don't think of him. Or of Lita. Just this nice, strong, lean, hairy man now wrestling out of his pants and shorts, a foot of cock curving up into view, hard, rigidly bent in an arc shaped to fit her cunt, tipped with a large knob that would need good lubrication to enter comfortably.
He climbed onto the bed between her legs.
Sharon found that she was smiling. How strange! Always, this moment had been one of throbbing excitement, or sometimes fear that had made her teeth chatter. But she felt calm, and, seeing his grin and the twinkle in his dyes, she smiled broadly. She drew her legs back, her feet flat on the quilted spread. She raised her arms and cupped her hands on his shoulders as he came over her.
She glanced down and saw the arrowhead capping his long curve of cock near her crotch. She widened the spread of her thighs. Her mound rose, a fleshy, thickly bushed prominence. She drew her legs back, raising her feet high. She could see the split in her pussy and the dark curved cock shifting downward, the flared head vanishing below her belly hair.
The first touch was gentle but firm, a plush-soft bulk sliding down her gash and nuzzling the portals of her hole.
She fingered the line of Tom's jaw and drew him down to her. Her ankles met above his back. They linked. His body lowered as she heeled his spine.
The big head wedged into her, completely choking the rim of her cunt.
He grinned. "Am I ringing any bells?"
She shook her head. "No, thank God. You're just a nice guy squeezing your cockhead into me, soft and easy and good, like you know I'll love it and you want me to sort of wallow in every sensation."
"Wallow away, honey."
"First, slide it in."
He sank down. The lusty shaft squeezed into her. She wriggled, raised an inch, then let it slowly penetrate, filling her slit, reshaping her snatch to an oval tube that sucked tight on the rigid meat, yet gave with it, opened and stretched, taking more and more length, much more.
At last his pubic hair pressed her open, jellied split and held firm.
She curled her arms about his shoulders and clung. She mouthed his cheek.
She felt content. Her cunt was full and a man's weight was flattening her titties, and her arms and legs were about him, holding fast. She felt lazy, voluptuous, and supremely happy.
Tom whispered, "I never slid it into a girl that way before, with her legs raised and wide apart, her cunt open. It was delicious, honey. And your twat feels like melted butter."
She kissed his ear, then fell slack, smiling in a way she thought must look foolish but which was merely a reflection of the loose gaping of her cunt.
She asked, "Are you really going to buy an airplane and a sleeping bag?"
"You seem to dig the idea. Is that why you're letting me fuck you?"
"You're not fucking me. All I feel is a hard prick loafing in my cunt. No, I'm not here to get an airplane ride. I'm here because I trust you, I think. Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'd be scared of flying. Fly me a little, will you?"
He jogged inside her, short thrusts deep in her cunt. Sharon tightened the grip of her legs and pulled her insides on the stabbing prick. She drew a long, hard suck off it.
"Wow!" Tom said; "That's a grabby hole you've got there."
She giggled. "Quit complaining and fuck it."
He drew back, then delivered a long, sliding thrust that exploded in her belly and made Sharon's feet jerk up at the ceiling. Her toes fanned out, stretching stiffly away from each other.
He delivered another thrust. She moaned, "Ohhh, Tom! You'll hole me to the throat!"
He slid his hands under her ass, lifted her, bowed his back and hammered in, splitting her with that sweet, big cockhead, driving the length of curved iron up into her.
She thought she could see it raise her belly button. But that was not possible. Her cunt began to knot on it. A hundred knots drew tight, burning, swelling, crushing the tool that kept wedging her passage open. She closed wrenchingly each time he drew back. He had to split her anew on each thrust.
She heard her cunt suck at the hot meat.
A ball of fire filled the room. Bracing her heels on his back she arched up, whacking herself at him, meeting each long slam.
"Tom, I'm coming. Ohhh, Tom, honey, shoot it into me, please shoot!"
He panted, "I can hold off. I'll let you squeeze out a bunch of orgasms."
"No, I want this one! I want you to shoot me full of cream! Spew it into me, shoot my cunt full. Please! Fuck me harder!"
"You asked for it," he said, and reared up, bucking, slamming against her so loudly she seemed to hear echoes from the walls.
Her orgasm had peaked and she went screeching downhill, but found another mountain rising, lifting her on the hardening and lengthening of his cock. A tree trunk was ramming into her and she arched up, whacked her hairy twat at his loins. She clung desperately to the brute force jacking up and down in the enclosure of her arms and legs, sliding that monster weapon into her gaping cunt, making it splash when he struck home.
She could smell her cunt now, and that told her how hot it was.
Tom backed until his cockhead escaped her, then entered with a mighty rush. She knew this was it even before he spoke.
"I'm coming!" he cried. "Shooting, baby!" Then, louder, "I'm going to shoot a ball into you!"
His spew blasted her cuntal pocket, which sucked on it, consumed it, soaked it up and waited for the next dollop.
His cum broke her knot. Dissolved it. Vaporized it. Her cunt came apart and went spilling downhill from the peak, a jelly oozing, then becoming the ooze, a rivulet dribbling down her burning ass. And still he churned on.
Her orgasm was ebbing away. She sagged, voluptuously aware of every contour of the stiff cock sliding in and out of her.
At last Tom was still.
Sharon slid out from under and curled down his body to mouth his softening prick. She sucked the last flecks of white cream from it, and licked up the coating of cunt juice. The taste of cunt made her think of Lita. But Lita was distant, far beyond her horizons.