Paul made her vacate the bed, and he flopped down on it himself. He placed his coiled whip just above his head on the pillow.
"Come here and wake up this sleeping beauty, Pal baby," he said.
She studied his lean, bronzed body, and the way it gave the impression of potential anneal vitality, even in repose. Like a tawny lion, lazing in the tall grass, waiting for an already overworked lioness to do his bidding.
Or more like a maverick Indian buck, one of the shiftless ones that inspire the literary prototypes and create the unjust tribal image. Con some maid into taking care of his needs so he can be free and relaxed to pursue his lifelong adolescence.
Disgust filled her mind as she moved slowly toward the bed. Not the disgust she had felt at her initial contact with perverted lust, but a deeper vexation at the stupid waste he represented.
He had to have some intelligence and shrewdness to have acquired what he now had. If it had been used in the right way, such talent could have made him a social asset. The mystery was how he had perverted his talent; what had been the weakness, the rotten spot, that spread to his central intelligence, ruing him for all time as a valuable human being.
She wasn't moving fast enough to suit him, and he found it too much of an inconvenience to reach for the whip. He stretched out an arm and grabbed her by the long, blonde curls of her pubic thatch and pulled her toward him.
It wrested a painful cry from her throat, and she stumbled, trying to keep on her feet and move fast enough to relieve the agonizing pull on the hair which was rooted in such tender flesh.
As her thighs hit the edge of the bed, he let go of the furry handle and pulled at her forearm instead, tipping her off balance and making her fall across his chest and belly.
Then he transferred his grip again, this time to the nape of her neck. He forced her head down on his lower belly until her lips were flattened out against the hairy mat above his pubis.
"You'd better work a little harder and faster to please me, Pal baby," he warned her. "If I wasn't so tired from screwing Betty in the ass, I'd lash a little ambition into you just to guarantee a good performance. Now get busy and make that warrior ready for battle!"
Pal started to work, tonguing the hairy flesh and nibbling at little pinches of it, anxious to get the task over with. The faint masculine odor of him, emanating from the sweaty folds where his thighs joined his torso, stirred her a little, in spite of her determination to thrive on her contempt for him.
He had cupped one of her breasts in his hand, and her nipple had stiffly blossomed out between two of his massaging fingers. She felt the tiny stirrings of passion deep in her loins, and it angered her to be unable to stifle them.
Then her mouth was moving through the lower part of his hairy forest, and she came to the trunk of his solitary tree of flesh. It had been felled expertly, and lay there in the brush, soft and pithy as if attacked by dry rot.
The illusion almost became real as she caught the first whiff of the humus-like smell that came from it. She could begin to visualize mushrooms or toadstools springing up around it, so rich was the odor of decayed compost or manure.
Then she realized that it was manure. Betty's manure! She wouldn't let herself think of any words more commonly used to describe the organic stuff that had made those dark streaks on Paul's limp cock.
It was all she could do to keep from gagging. She stopped short, and raised her head.
"Would you please let me wash you off, first?" she asked.
"That's exactly what I thought you were going to do," he replied.
"I mean with soap and water," she persisted.
"I like it much better with just your tongue. Now get with it, broad, or I'll forget I'm tired!" He emphasized the impatience in his tone by taking his hand from her breast and slapping it flatly against the tender flesh of her nearest buttock.
She shrieked at the smarting blow, and knew that she was going to get no reprieve. Resignedly, she brought her mouth back to the stained shaft, holding her breath so she couldn't smell anything, and tried to think of totally unrelated times and places, hoping it would keep her from sicking up all over him. That would really make him mad, she knew.
As she licked at the pliant flesh, its doughy feel under her tongue reminded her of the cylindrical cinnamon rolls she had helped make while working in the orphanage kitchen.
She could smell the first batch in the oven as she labored over the last ones. Because she had missed breakfast, and because the hot, yeasty, spicy oven-smells churned up her appetite, she had felt starved. Not daring to eat any of the baked rolls, because their neat symmetry on the tray would betray the theft, she started to put one of the raw ones in her mouth. Its limp, flaccid pliability had felt so strange to her lips and tongue, that she had decided not to eat it. She remembered telling Terry about it later.
Terry! Dear, sweet Terry! Such a short, bittersweet love affair that had been, and how persistent was the deeper love that still clung to her!
As she thought of that last meeting in the greenhouse, she could almost smell the rich, peaty odor of the compost and fertilizer, and the warm earthy scents that filled the enclosure. And Terry's young cock had been so sweet in her mouth!
She felt the swelling rigidity as the thoroughly cleansed shaft slipped between her lips and pressed against her tongue. It made her remember that this was not Terry's lovable young penis filling her mouth, but a larger and less innocent weapon, one which had been in many places.
She forced herself again to not think of the last place it had been, and of the fact that she had just cleansed it of its travel stains.
But her reminiscing had stirred her too deeply, and Paul's busy hands – the one returned to her breast, and the other now dipping vulgarly in the spread slit of her crotch – had built up the fire in her loins.
As she sucked at the muscular meat, running her tongue around the smooth ridge and drawing it over the notched tip, she felt her juices start to suckle around her cuntal openings.
Paul, feeling the heavy lubrication on his fingers, speeded up his digital probing of the slippery, hairy canyon. He now had two fingers wedged deeply into her vagina, and his thumb was massaging her hurtfully-hard little nubbin of sensitivity.
"Oh-h-h! I'm coming! Ram it in deeper!" she cried. Her sudden involvement made her suck harder at the rigid flesh in her mouth, and she started to quiver all over.
Paul pulled her meal away from her, saving it for another use. She shuddered to her completion all by herself, as he rammed his fingers brutally into her heated, gushing depths. Then he let her collapse across him for a few moments, until her breathing became more quiet.
"Get your carcass off me!" he commanded suddenly. It startled her, and she jumped and rolled to get clear, ending up on her feet beside the bed.
His lash flicked out unexpectedly and painted a long red weal across, her belly. She screamed with the pun, and her lovely china-blue eyes widened, then filled with tears.
"I didn't tell you to get out of bed!" he said. "Now get back up here and pose yourself for me. On hands and knees."
She scrambled onto the bed, sniffling and gasping, rubbing her painful lash stripe gingerly. When she was in position, Paul got out and stood behind her.
"Jonas tells me he found another cherry and broke it. I don't see any cherry juice on your sheets."
Pal was silent, since she didn't think he expected any comment.
"Who took your cherry, Pal baby? Who unlocked your juicy little cunt so playmates could visit anytime without a key?"
She was sure she had to answer this one, or his starved ego would get mean from hunger, and she would suffer accordingly.
"You did," she said, in a low, sullen voice.
"And whose cock was the first in your mouth?" he continued, feeding his childish ego still more.
"Terry Patrick Monahan's!" she said clearly and proudly. It was a joy to be able to thwart him in this one thing, and she relished the shocked silence that followed her answer.
"Tell me about it!" he demanded. To let her know she had no chance of avoiding the issue, he pinched her right buttock so hard it brought more tears to her eyes.
"Ouch! It was… was a long time ago. I was only twelve." She hoped that he would let her stop there, but when she didn't continue, he gave her another pinch.
"Let's hear it! All of it! Tell Uncle Paul all about it. You were a bright little nymphet, and some nice man offered you candy to take a ride?"
"No! It wasn't like that at all! It was a boy my age. A very sweet boy! We were in love… We still are!" She knew she should not press her luck, but she could not help trying to get back at him for what he had put her through, and for what she knew he intended to put her through. Or, rather, for the things she did not know about, which were yet to come. Somehow, she thought she should be glad she couldn't see ahead!
"Now, isn't that sweet?" he mocked. "Little hotpants Pal baby had Terry baby limp little cockypoo in her mouth. Did her manage to make it get a little bit hard? Or did her have to be satisfied to suck the peepee out of his little soft tube?"
She realized her mistake, now. He might have gotten angry and whipped her violently. But he had chosen to ridicule her maiden sexual experience so he wouldn't have to take it seriously. She would have preferred the physical punishment, now that it was too late.
She bitterly resented his intrusion into her private world of Terry-and-Pal, and she hated herself for having unlocked the door for hint to enter. Now, she could only repress any further information, hoping that he'd give up the spiteful sarcasm and leave Terry alone – Terry the good and sweet, who was worth a dozen Paul Harshmans.
"Well? How about it? Was it fun playing doctor and nurse with little Terry? Did you like sterilizing his little instrument for him?" He gave her another pinch – much sharper and more cruelly selective. It was low on her buttock, almost into her crotch.
"Oh God!" she cried out in pain. "What do you want from me? We were kids! What difference does it make?"
"That's right!" Paul said. "Child's play. Having a real man's cock in your mouth was different, wasn't it? Come on. Admit it. There was a world of difference between having his cock and mine in your mouth, wasn't there?"
"Yes!" she said. And to herself added more: You can bet your life it was! At least he was clean and decent.
She had no more time to back-talk him in the recesses of her mind. He had slipped his hand in her crotch and was smearing her juices upward through the crack of her ass, and punching a brutal finger into her anus with each slippery trip.
She knew what that meant! He was going to fuck her in the ass!
It was one thing to have Stillwell's narrow dog-pecker shoved into that tight passage; quite another to expect it not to tear wide open with such a weapon as Paul carried!
"Oh, no! You can't really intend to stick that thing in me back there?" she asked.
"Of course I do. I have to prove that Jonas didn't get your little brown cherry after all, don't I? I do have pride, you know. You were my discovery, Pal baby. Jonas has to content himself with seconds. No, he can't really have opened you up with that toy of his. So I'm going to show you that you do still have a cherry there, and old Paul baby is going to get that cherry, just like he got the one in your virgin pussy!"
She felt the hard-soft warmth of his warhead against the tight rosebud of her asshole. It made her gulp in air quickly.
Which was another mistake. When he pressed with a hard and sudden fury, it ripped aside the gripping wrinkles of her anus muscles and plunged inside for over an inch, making the lungfuls of air whoosh out of her in an agonized scream.
"Oh-h-h! No-o-o-o! God, that hurts!" she moaned.
"You ain't felt nothin' yet, Pal baby!" he promised.
Then he shoved his murderous prick into her another two inches. She could feel the tortured little pink ring of her asshole being turned inside out as his large thick cock frictioned it inward with the thrust.
"Aa-agh-gh-h-h!" she yelled, then gasped in more air. "You're splitting my ass wide open! It's killing me!"
"Don't you believe it!" he told her. "You thought it was so painful when I took your other cherry, too. But you lived through it, didn't you?"
"A girl's pussy is made for that sort of thing," she said, then sucked in more air in little gasps, blurting out words in between the panting breaths.
"A cunt has to stretch to accommo… date a baby, so it's… naturally flexi… ble, but this is… different. It's… not natural!"
"If you want it to feel more natural, then try to shit me out of here!" he taunted. "Make it easy on yourself."
The idea appealed to her. He was less than shit in her estimation, the way she felt about him now.
She strained to eject his meaty fullness from her rebelling rectum. As the effort opened her bowel muscles, he plunged on in deeper, coming up with a thump as his pubic bone struck her buttocks.
"That's more like it, Pal baby!" he encouraged her. "Now, just keep on trying to fart me out of you, and we'll both have some fun!"
She had to alit to herself that it had been much less painful when she had taken up his challenge to eject him. So, in self-defense, she kept up the muscular efforts to repel the meaty turd from her bowels.
But each time it seemed to be almost out of her, it squeegeed back up inside. Each time it returned, it felt as if it went even deeper. Then his hand was squishing around in the sloppy nest of her crotch, dipping at the slimy flesh with all fingers and shoving as many as three finger at a tune up into her vagina.
At some points she wasn't sure which hurt the most – his multi-fingering of her little-used cunt, or his thick, meaty fucking of her virtually virginal ass.
"That's the girl!" he panted, reveling in the feel of the clasping bowels and sphincter around his rock-hard cock, and licking his lips as he almost tasted the juicy fluids which were pouring out of her vagina over his hand and wrist.
Pal grew excited with the plain physical fullness that invaded her two openings. It stirred up every nerve in her loins and belly.
"Oh-h-h! What a feeling! I'm so full everywhere! Yes-s-s! Fuck it in there. Fuck it deeper! Oh-h-h! I can't stand it I want to come and shit at the same time."
She was growing hysterical with the terrible pressures building up in her lower torso. It was the most agonizingly swollen feeling she had ever had.
Paul could feel the rubbery wet claspings on his cock and his fingers, and knew that she was passionately open to him at both doors. It made him want to pull out and shove his prick into her hot, pulsing cunt, but he couldn't bring himself to leave the tight clutching of her rear passage.
Just as he thought he might be able to make this last for quite a while a bubble of gas escaped from her as his cock was pulled back with the head just inside her tight pink muscular donut.
The wild fart breezed around the sensitive glans just as he started to thrust it back into her. It was just enough of an added sensation to unlock his loins.
Pal felt her swelling tissues burst somewhere in the depths, then it all started to drain out of her with a whoosh. She was deliriously joyful with the sensation. Then Paul burst inside her.
It was a gut-rending explosion of rocket-bursts, and she felt the hot spurts of his come squeezing deeper up inside her, and melting back out around the fleshy shaft of his invading cock.
She screamed her impossibly joyous feelings as the whole world grew purplish red and then disappeared, leaving her alone with no body and no feelings – suspended in space like a cloud.
Paul had pulled his dripping, limp prick out of her completely relaxed anus as she fell away and collapsed on her left side. She lay there as if dead, but her belly was hewing and he heard a little gurgle as involuntary muscles of her vagina squeezed a bit of fluid out past her swollen cuntlips.
He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited until she began to moan with the return of consciousness.
When she was aware of things enough to raise her head, she took a look over her sweaty, nude body at him, then let her cheek fall back on the sheet again.
"Now, Pal baby, you might be able to say that your rear cherry is gone. You have been had by Uncle Paul in both doors. So, who owns you, wench?" He cracked her on the soft, rounded curve of her right buttock with the flat of his hand.
"You do!" she yelled.
"Fine. And if you're ever asked, be sure you remember that."
He got up and left, closing the door behind him. She lay there, uncanny, waiting for the world to end or to eject her from it. Either one would do.