The address on the card Sharon's parole officer had given her turned out to be a large two-story clapboard-and-stucco house set well back from the street. There were huge elms behind and at either side of it, and wide, carefully tended lawns separating it from similar houses to the north and south.
Sharon was surprised. For some reason, she had assumed that Joyce Thornton lived in an apartment house.
"You're late," Joyce said as she opened the door. "I said two o'clock, not two-fifteen."
"I'm sorry, Miss Thornton," Sharon said.
"See that you don't let it happen again," Joyce said, frowning at Sharon as she closed the door behind her. She was wearing a mannish suit of a kind Sharon hadn't seen in years, but it was obviously new, and the severe tailoring did nothing to conceal the voluptuousness of her figure. The chill green eyes beneath the unplucked brows had large yellow flecks in them, Sharon noticed, and the full-lipped mouth, while perfectly formed, was somehow hard.
"I really am sorry," Sharon said, glancing about the living room. It was huge, richly furnished, and immaculate.
"I'm glad to see you wearing a longer dress today," Joyce said, inspecting Sharon from head to foot. "And a bra too, I see."
"I remembered what you said about your respectable neighbors."
"Don't be flip, Sharon. I told you yesterday I'd take absolutely no lip from you."
"Imerell…"
"Take off your clothes."
"What!"
"You heard me. Undress."
"Why?"
"Because I told you to." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you really want to go back to prison?"
"Of course not. I…"
"Then why are you defying me?"
"I just…"
"Get your clothes off, Sharon. I won't tell you again."
"Right here?"
"Yes, right here. And right now."
Sharon drew her dress over her head and lay it over the back of an easy chair. Then she unhooked her bra and dropped it on the dress.
"No," Joyce said as Sharon started to roll down her stockings. "You may leave those on. They heighten the effect, I think."
"What?"
"They make you look even more naked somehow. And the more naked you look, the more shamed you'll be."
"I don't understand, Miss Thornton. Why are you making me do this?"
"Because it pleases me," Joyce said, turning toward a doorway at the far side of the room. "Come with me."
Sharon followed her through the door into the dining room. There was no rug, and the parquet floor glistened like fresh-poured oil. The dining table could have seated thirty.
"You'll find a feather duster and dust cloths in that closet there," Joyce said, pointing. "Get them."
When Sharon returned with the duster and cloths, Joyce was taking something from the bottom drawer of a magnificent breakfront. It looked like a jumble of red-brown ribbon.
"First dust the table," Joyce said. "Then the chairs. Then rub down everything with a cloth."
"This is illegal, Miss Thornton," Joyce said. "You have no right to…"
"So is robbing jewelry stores illegal," Joyce said. "Get busy."
Sharon stared at her for a long moment, then turned and began to dust the table. "It doesn't need it," she said. "There's not a particle of dust anywhere on it."
"That's not the point," Joyce said. "The point is that you're degraded by being forced to do it. And you're even further degraded by being forced to do it naked."
"I see," Sharon said. "In other words, you…" She broke off as something flicked against her bare hip. It only stung a little, but, surprised, she whirled to face the other woman. Then she saw what Joyce was holding in her hand, and she gasped.
"Don't be alarmed," Joyce said, snapping the entire length of the long whip back so that the end of it slapped into the palm of her hand. It was about half an inch wide with a handle less than a foot long. "It's only velvet. It couldn't possibly hurt you." The whip snaked out again and flicked against Sharon's leg just above the knee. "You see?"
Sharon dropped the duster. "I won't submit to such sadism," she said. "I won't!"
"But it's not sadism at all," Joyce said, her lips thinning in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "It's just a way of reminding you of what you are."
"And what might that be?"
"A slave," Joyce said. "My slave. Mine to degrade and enjoy and use in any way I choose." She gestured toward the duster. "Now pick that up and get to work."
As Sharon bent to retrieve the duster, she felt the sting of the velvet whip again, this time on her other hip and just a little harder than before. Still, there was no real pain, and the stinging sensation lasted only a few seconds.
By the time she had finished dusting the table and began on the chairs, Sharon had learned to ignore the feel of the whip almost entirely, but the idea of it had made her as angry as she had ever been in her life.
But hers was an impotent rage, she knew. What Joyce had said about her being her slave was true. And there was nothing, absolutely nothing, she could do about it. Not without being sent back to prison after only a single day of freedom.
After she had dusted the last of the chairs, Sharon put down the duster and started to walk over to where she had put the dust cloths.
"Stop," Joyce said.
"What?"
"Don't walk, Sharon. Crawl. Crawl on your hands and knees – like any other good, dutiful little slave."
Sharon didn't hesitate. Why even pretend she had a choice? She crawled to the cloths and back to the table, flinching a little as the whip licked out again and again, truly aimed at her flanks and buttocks.
"I must leave," Joyce said. "When you've finished here, you're to clean up the mess in the guest bedroom. That's the first door to the left at the top of the stairs."
"Yes, mistress," Sharon said.
For the first time, the whip snaked across Sharon's cheek, and for the first time Sharon felt more than a negligible sting. Velvet or not, the whip had hurt.
"What did you say?" Joyce said, readying the whip again.
"Nothing," Sharon said.
"That's better," Joyce said. "I said there was nothing sadistic about this. I didn't say anything at all about not punishing you for insolence."
Sharon took a deep breath and began to polish the table.
"The floor up there is covered with plaster dust," Joyce said. "When I come home, I don't expect to find a single grain of it. Do you hear?"
"Yes."
"There are mops and so on in the same closet. When you're certain I can't find that grain of plaster, you may leave." She pointed. "The stairway's just through that door."
"May I put my dress on again?"
"No, you may not. If I return and find you dressed, I will be very unhappy with you. And believe me, Sharon, making me unhappy is the last thing in the world you want to do."
There was the sound of a phone ringing in the living room.
"Damn," Joyce said, and went out to answer it.
She was still talking – too softly for Sharon to hear – when Sharon finished polishing the table. Sharon returned the duster and cloths to the closet, selected a broom, mop, dustpan and plastic pail, and backed out through the door Joyce had indicated.
All the furniture in the bedroom at the top of the stairs had been pushed to the middle of the floor and covered with drop cloths. There was an open fiber case in one corner, heaped with tools, and beside it were two open bags of plaster. The smell of plaster in the room was very strong. The floor was white with plaster dust, and Sharon's shoes made little grating sounds as she closed the door behind her and put down the pail and mop and dustpan.
Carrying the broom, Sharon walked to the far side of the room and began to sweep the plaster dust in the direction of the door. She worked rapidly, and in less than twenty minutes she had swept and mopped the floor around the island of furniture as well as she could. It still looked a little cloudy; but waxing it, she assumed, would be her chore on another day, when the furniture had been moved back to where it belonged.
At least, she reflected, as she brushed her hair back from her forehead and turned to survey her handiwork, the physical exertion had helped her to work off a little of the repressed rage she had felt toward Joyce Thornton.
She started toward the rear of the room to make one final inspection before she went downstairs to get dressed.
There was the creak of the door opening behind her, and she turned slowly, expecting to see Joyce.
But it wasn't her hated parole officer who stood there in the doorway. It was a very tall and very muscular young man in denim pants and work shirt.
Sharon gasped and covered her pussy and breasts with a palm and forearm, too stunned to move.
"Good God…" the man said in a hushed voice as his eyes roved down from Sharon's face to the tops of her high-rolled stockings and back again. He had a ruggedly handsome face, dark hair, and a strong chin with a small cleft in it. His warm brown eyes beneath winged black brows were round with surprise.
Sharon ran around behind the stacked furniture and looked at him over the top of it.
"Who are you?" she said.
"Carl Martin," he said. His voice was soft and very deep.
"What're you doing here?"
He closed the door behind him. "The same thing you are, probably." He took a step forward.
"Don't come any closer!" Sharon said. There was an enormous bulge in his pants, she saw with dismay. Although, of course, that was no more than might be expected. Most men, she'd noticed, got an erection at their first sight of her, even when she was fully dressed.
He stopped where he was, smiling. "I think I missed your name."
"Sharon."
"You are a parolee, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Same here," he said. "Joyce made you take your clothes off, didn't she?"
Sharon nodded.
"I thought so," Carl said. "And that whip routine? Did she put you through that, too?"
"Yes."
"Welcome to the club."
"You mean she'd use that whip on a man?"
He laughed. "Every time." He waved a hand toward one of the freshly plastered walls. "She's been making me do some work for her."
"I see."
"My parole officer lent me to her, so to speak," Carl said. "She had me filling in a hole in the wall over there. She'd had somebody else knock it out to make a doorway to the next room, she said. But she'd changed her mind. I ended up having to do the whole room."
Sharon felt a little sorry for him. He was trying to appear nonchalant – as if he walked in on naked young girls every hour of the day. But he was actually very ill at ease, she sensed – perhaps because there was nothing he could do to hide the bulging evidence of the effect she had on him. And the bulge was getting bigger, she saw. The front of his pants was sticking out like a tent.
Carl glanced about, as if anxious to find something to say or do to cover his embarrassment. Suddenly he walked to the wall and hit it a sharp blow with the hell of his hand. It gave back a dull thud, followed instantly by a chorus of muffled squeals.
"What was that?" Sharon asked.
"Rats," he said. "Dozens of them. The wall's full of them."
Sharon grimaced. She hated rats – hated even the thought of them. The filthy, unspeakable creatures had inspired fear in her ever since she was a child. She didn't even want to think about them.
"I wasn't supposed to do any more work until tomorrow," Carl said. "But I figured I might as well come today and get it over with."
"We'd better not let her find us in the same room together," Sharon said. "Especially with me nude like this."
"This is her late afternoon at her office," he said. "For the parolees that have to report to her after they get off work."
"How'd you get in?"
"She always leaves the back door unlocked."
"It's funny she'd trust parolees to be here while she's gone."
He turned back, toward her, smiling sourly. "That's just a little more of her sadism. She knows we'll sweat it out, for fear something will turn up missing. Because if it does, you know, we'll go back to a cell." He paused. "She knows none of us would make the first false move. Like taking a shower, for instance. Or helping ourselves to a cold beer. Or even having a glass of iced tea, for God's sake."
"She's a monster."
"And loves every minute of it."
"Are you going to work some more in here? I just finished cleaning up."
"Not in here," he said. "Down the hall. I just came in here to get a couple of tools."
Sharon glanced down at the bulge in his pants again. Normally, she had very little interest in men, and even less interest in what they had in their pants. But there were times – perhaps once very two or three months – when something came over her. There was never any warning. It might happen on a bus or in the street or at a party. It might occur at an ideal time in an ideal place, or it might seize her at an entirely inappropriate, even dangerous moment. She might be with someone or alone or wake to it from a dream.
But whenever and wherever it happened, it overwhelmed her completely. It was a compulsion stronger than any will she had ever been able to muster to resist it. And that compulsion had gripped her now, more strongly than ever before.
It was a form of madness, she knew; it had to be.
It was her sudden, wholly unexpected yearning for a prick. She had to have one, and have it right now. She had to have Carl's – bulging there so magnificently in his tight denim pants.
He was looking at her strangely now, and she knew he had caught the direction of her gaze.
But I can't do anything with him here, she thought to herself. It'd be too dangerous. What if Joyce came back and we didn't hear her… Maybe if we went somewhere else… But it had to be here, she realized. And it had to be now. She simply couldn't wait. The compulsion was too strong; it made everything else seem completely unimportant.
Carl had been watching her nervously. Now he bent down and began to rummage through the tools in the fiber case. "Well," he said hastily, "I guess I'd better get to work."
She came out from behind the protection of the stacked furniture and walked directly up to him.
"Do you really have to?" she said softly. He was holding a hammer. She took it from his hand and dropped it back in the case. "Do you have to right now, Carl?"
He moistened his lips, mild consternation on the handsome face. "Huh?" His eyes jerked from her breasts to her pussy and her legs, and back up again. "Do you think I'm pretty?"
"You kidding?"
"Would you really rather go down the hall and hammer some old nails or something than…" She let her voice trail off, smiling at him, feeling the first tickle of the juice beginning to seep from her cunt. She waited, head tilted a little to one side, smiling up at him.
He moistened his lips again, then held out his arms, and she moved close against him, surprised to find he was actually trembling.
When he kissed her, it wasn't much more than a goodnight kiss. Impatient, she put her hands behind his head, mashed his lips hard against her own, and sucked his tongue into her mouth. When he seemed to want to draw it out, she sucked all the harder. It wasn't that he was inexperienced, she knew; such a handsome man would have had any number of girls. It was just that nothing even remotely like this had ever happened to him.
The bulge in his pants was punching at her belly, just below her navel. She felt an urge to reach down and feel it, but she resisted. Now that she was determined to have it, she took a perverse pleasure in delaying actual contact with it.
Carl's hand came up to fondle a breast.
"Not here," she said.
"What?"
"We can't just stand up all the time," she said, running her fingertips up and down his broad back. "Can we?"
He turned and took her by the hand. "Across the hall," he said. "Joyce's bedroom."
In the other room, Carl started to draw her toward the bed, but she held back.
"No, Carl," she said. "Joyce would know. We'd leave traces." She sank down on the soft deep pile of the rug and pulled him down beside her. "This is perfect."
They lay side by side, Sharon's head cushioned on his shoulder.
"This can't be happening," Carl said, his hand busy on her breast. "You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."
"Am I?"
"Yes – or ever hoped to see. You're unbelievable." He ran the flat of his hand slowly down across her belly, paused briefly to knead the tender flesh of her thigh just above the top of her stocking, and then began to caress her leg from garter to knee, coming a little closer to her pussy with each upward stroke.
Sharon spread her legs, and finally his palm came to rest on the tiny black curls of her cunt. She felt her pussy raising to his hand, and a moment later a long, thick finger slid between the wet lips and found her clitoris. As he toyed with it, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and fluttered it against the warm, wet meat she found there. Then, as his finger left her clitoris and started up the tight, ridged walls of her pussy, she wrapped her tongue around his, drew it into her mouth, and sucked it all the way back to her throat.
Up and up his finger went, until it touched the neck of her womb. She pressed closer to him, raising her hips a little, inviting him to go even deeper.
She knew men liked to hear girls say certain things at a time like this, and she transferred her tongue from his mouth to his ear, twisting a little saliva into it with the tip. "I just love to be finger-fucked, Carl, darling," she whispered. "Do it harder."
But half a minute later, she felt herself on the verge of cuming, and she reached down to pull his hand away.
"What's the matter?" he said. "I thought you liked that."
"I do," she said, "But there's something I like even better."
He kissed the dimple in her chin. "What?"
She reached down, moistened a fingertip with cunt juice, and pressed it against his lips. "Guess," she said.
He smiled. "With a sample like that, you don't have to ask me twice," he said. He got to his knees, leaned over, and began licking the narrow band of flesh between Sharon's pelt and the top of her stocking, running his tongue back and forth along the small ridge of the taut, round garter.
"Now the other leg," Sharon said.
He brushed his lips lightly across her pubic hair to give the top of her other thigh the same treatment.
Sharon couldn't keep her hips still. She put both hands between her legs and spread the lips of her cunt.
"Suck my pussy, Carl," she breathed, raising it up a little. "Suck me as hard as you can."
He stretched out beside her, his chest over her belly, and buried his head between her legs.
Sharon took her hands from her cunt and brought them up to her breasts. As Carl sucked, she squeezed the twin upthrust cones firmly, moving them in little circles, pulling them out as far as she could, then mashing them back against her ribs, until the nipples were as big and hard as small marbles.
Then, for a long moment, she ceased kneading her breasts to concentrate on the aroma of her pussy. The scent drifting up to her nostrils was so maddeningly delightful that she knew an instant's envy of Carl, who was able to bury his face in the very source of it.
And now, at last, she could deny herself the knowledge of Carl's prick no longer. Carl was lying on his stomach; his prick where she couldn't get to it. But that problem was simply solved. She began to turn over on her side, very slowly, keeping Carl's head clamped between her thighs. Carl, of course, was forced to turn with her. And now they both lay on their side, facing each other, the monstrous bulge in Carl's pants only inches from Sharon's face.
When she reached out to pull down the zipper, she was so eager that her hand trembled. Meanwhile, Carl continued to suck steadily and noisily, now and then running his tongue across her dripping perineum to her anus and back again.
Sharon reached into his pants to take out his prick, then jerked her head to one side as it sprang free of its own accord.
She almost cried out in amazement. She'd known Carl's cock must be very big, to bulge out the way it had. But she hadn't been prepared for anything like the shaft that had erupted from his fly.
She stared at it with disbelief. It wasn't that it was so long – a little over six inches, she judged. It was its width. It was at least two and a half inches thick at the base, tapering slightly to a head as big as a small peach.
"Oh, my goodness!" Sharon said to herself, and reached out to touch it. It was hot and pulsing and satiny smooth, like iron beneath pink velvet. She drew her fingers slowly from root to head, thrilling to the silken touch of it. She took it in her hand and tried to squeeze it, but it was too big for her tiny hand, and she could get her fingers only halfway around it.
Remembering what men liked, she rubbed the ball of her thumb along the shallow groove along the underside, and was rewarded by a muffled exclamation of pleasure from Carl, whose tongue began stabbing into her cunt more frenziedly than ever.
Sharon pressed her cheek against the throbbing shaft, inhaling deeply. The musk was almost overpowering. She inhaled again and again, feeling her mouth begin to water, and then drew her head back to examine the cockhead.
The huge knob was dark-pink and glistening wet. As Sharon watched, a pearl formed in the open eye, shimmered for a moment, then slid down across the curve of the glans and dropped to the rug. Almost immediately, another pearl formed – and this time, before it could slide away, Sharon flicked out her tongue and licked it up.
It was delicious. She rolled the tiny droplet around on her tongue, mixing it with saliva, savoring it. It tasted a little like cunt juice, but it was saltier, much more pungent. It whetted her appetite for what was to come.
Grasping the immense shaft with both hands, she sipped still another pearl from the eye, then began to lick the glans, moving the flat of her tongue in short, firm strokes, working her way slowly all the way around it, from seeping eye to ridged corona.
The taste was exquisite, and she pressed her lips to the eye and sucked until she felt a tiny trickle of juice on the tip of her tongue.
As she rolled the juice around in her mouth, mixing it with saliva to heighten the pleasure of swallowing it, she studied the enormous glans with mingled desire and uncertainty. Could she ever get such a monster of a knob in her mouth, she wondered? It would be impossible to get the shaft itself inside; that was certain. The thrill of sucking the full length of Carl's incredible prick was one delight she'd never be able to experience.
But that big, pulsating, glorious head! Was she to be denied the feel of that in her mouth as well?
No, she vowed. Even if it dislocated her jaw, she was going to wedge that lovely pink knob into her mouth until she felt her teeth slide over the ridge of the corona and her lips press against the shaft.
She began to suck – slowly, spreading her lips a little further each time she drew in her breath. The eye was seeping constantly now, and she discovered she could let a considerable quantity of the delectable nectar collect in her throat before she was forced to swallow it.
As she sucked, she also frigged Carl's shaft with both hands, holding them cupped on either side of it, so that they completely surrounded it, pushing them down to the base and then drawing them back to the head, alternately squeezing and relaxing the pressure.
Between her legs, she could feel the tantalizing tickle of Carl's beard stubble brushing against the membrane of her labia as he continued to spear his tongue into her cunt without pause. Her hips felt warm and sticky, and she knew she had never juiced more copiously.
She opened her mouth wider and tried to suck the glans inside. But it simply would not go in. She spread her lips, attempting to part her teeth even more. Another quarter-inch or so, she knew, and her mouth would be full of cock.
She tried again, and failed, and was taking a deep breath preparatory to trying a third time, when she felt a sudden relaxation of the jaw muscles – and an instant later the throbbing knob slid into her mouth as easily as if it had been of only normal size.
And now she began to suck in earnest, moving her head backward and forward rapidly, choking a bit when she forgot to breathe through her nose, trying her best to get at least a little of the shaft into her mouth, drawing the pulsing head further and further down her throat. Then suddenly, to her great surprise and intense satisfaction, she felt her lips and teeth slide beyond the corona and up along the shaft. An inch of the rock-hard meat slid into her mouth. Then a second inch. Then a third.
She was almost beside herself with the wonder of her achievement. She had the head and three full inches of that glorious monster in her mouth when, only a few seconds ago, she had despaired of getting even the head inside! She would always remember it, she knew, as one of the supreme triumphs of her life.
Still continuing to squeeze the prick rhythmically with one hand, she slipped the other inside Carl's fly and began to caress his huge balls, toying with first one, then the other. Beside her, Carl shuddered, then began to suck her anus violently, probing at the opening with the tip of his hard tongue. Sharon relaxed the sphincter muscle, and felt his tongue slide into her rectum.
As his tongue inched upward inside her, an idea came to her, and she contracted the sphincter again, squeezing Carl's tongue with it. Then she relaxed the muscle again, only to squeeze once more, harder than before. She kept it up for almost a minute, wondering why she'd never thought to do it before. She was literally sucking Carl's tongue with her anus, and the sensation was so new and exciting that she could scarcely lie still. Having both her mouth and rectum so completely filled with hot, hard meat was almost too wonderful to be borne.
She was sucking harder than ever now, forcing the head of the prick down her throat, trying to get even more of the shaft into her mouth.
She felt that certain warm feeling begin to well up deep inside her, and she knew that she was going to cum at any second. The knowledge made her suck even more greedily, because she wanted Carl to cum at the same time she did. To help speed his orgasm, she clenched his shaft with both hands again and began to run them back and forth the entire length of it, squeezing as hard as she could, bobbing her head on the knob faster and faster.
Then Carl's prick began to spasm, and she knew his climax was only seconds away. Suddenly he began to thrash about, almost dislodging his prick from her mouth, and she quickly threw an arm around his hips to prevent such an unthinkable thing from happening.
"Son of a bitch!" Carl yelled, and began to cum.
Sharon waited with open throat. She had set herself for what she knew would have to be a fantastic discharge, and she shivered excitedly, anticipating it. But never in her wildest dreams had she imagined anything like the enormous load that now splashed into her mouth and slid, thick and hot, down her throat.
And no sooner had she choked down the first load, than there was a second, even more copious than the first.
She had learned her lesson from the first load, and now she drank the second as it came, swallowing rapidly, enjoying every salty, scalding drop of it, wishing it would keep gushing into her mouth forever.
After the second incredible discharge, there were half a dozen much smaller ones, each a little less copious than the one before and following it at a longer interval.
And during it all, Sharon came and came and came… She came until she reached the point where she could stand no more. She reached down and pushed Carl's head from between her legs, then pressed her knees tightly together to prevent him from trying to suck her again.
But she didn't stop sucking his cock for a second. She sucked until she was certain there wasn't another drop of cum left in his balls. Carl had rolled over on his back now, and was making incoherent sounds of pleasure and satiation. His cock had begun to shrink and grow soft again, and Sharon found she was able to get five or six inches into her mouth with every forward thrust of her head.
"You – you'd better stop," Carl gasped a few moments later. "I just can't take any more."
You're in for a surprise, Sharon thought to herself as she continued to suck. If you think I've had enough of this gorgeous thing, you're very much mistaken.
He put his hand down to push her head away, but she held on stubbornly, sucking harder.
She sucked for another two minutes – three full, hard thrusts a second, meanwhile frigging the shaft rapidly with her hand.
And at last the shaft began to stiffen, and the glans began to swell up inside her mouth again.
And still she sucked – until Carl's cock began to vibrate against her teeth. If anything, she decided, it was even bigger and harder than it had been just before he started cuming.
It was only then that she disengaged the monstrous member from her mouth and lay her cheek against Carl's thigh to rest for a moment. But she continued to frig him with her hand, letting the ball of her thumb drift across the seeping eye of his cock-head now and then, noting with delight that the clear but sticky trickle had become constant and was slowly increasing in quantity. She was tempted to taste it again, but she feared it might compete with, and therefore detract from, the thick, rich taste of the cum that lined the membranes of her mouth and throat.
"I want to be fucked, Carl," she said, getting to her knees but continuing to frig him with her hand.
Carl was lying with his eyes shut, shielding them with his forearm. He groaned.
"Did you hear me?" she said.
"My God, Sharon," he said weakly. "You sucked out my soul and everything else. I couldn't do it. I can't even move, for God's sake."
"You've got to fuck me, Carl. Right now. That's why I sucked you hard again."
"I know, but I…"
"Please, Carl. I've just got to be fucked."
He sighed. "When you can't, you can't. I want to, you understand. I just can't."
"You've got to, I tell you. I've just got to have it."
"Oh, Lord," he said softly. "All right, then. But listen. You'll have to do it. You'll have to get on top."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I don't just want to fuck. I want to be fucked. I want to have it done to me, not do it to you."
"What's the difference?"
"I don't know. It's just the way I am, that's all."
She was still frigging his prick; now she lengthened her stroke and squeezed harder. "Please, Carl. Do it to me the way I like. I want to feel submissive, you see. Otherwise, there's no pleasure in it for me."
"Submissive! You? After the way you…"
"I know. But being fucked is different. I like to feel like I'm – well, like I'm being raped."
"What!"
He looked so shocked that she couldn't repress a smile. "I'm just a very girl-type girl," she said.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that I enjoy being violated a hundred times more than I enjoy being fucked willingly," she said. "Even if I have to pretend I'm being violated."
He stared at her a long moment, then shook his head slowly. "Women," he said. "Who the hell can understand them?"
"Why bother?" she said. She released his prick and rolled over on her back. "Rape me, Carl," she said as she spread her legs. "Hurry. Be rough, baby."
He hesitated for a moment, then rose to his knees and moved over between her legs.
It was going to hurt, she knew as she reached down to guide the head of his cock to the lips of her cunt. A huge prick like that was going to stretch her pussy more than it had ever been stretched before; it might even cause the delicate membrane to tear. But she had to have it – have all of it, or at least as much of it as she could possibly get inside her. And whatever happened to her pussy would be worth it.
"Shove it in me, baby!" she gasped as she felt his cockhead pushing past her inner labia. "Ram it all the way up my cunt and fuck the hell out of me!"
And yet, when the enormous hard knob began to press against the mouth of her tiny cunt, she felt something close to panic. She was built too small for such a monstrous cock; she must have been mad, to plead for it the way she had. It was going to be too much for her. It was going to split her apart.
The head was crushing against the mouth of her cunt bruisingly, insistently. She felt her juice gushing down to meet it, seeping past it, flowing down across her perineum and her anus and dampening the rug beneath her hips.
"I can't get it in," Carl said, relief in his voice. "We'll have to forget it, Sharon."
She should have welcomed the reprieve, she knew. She should have exercised a little common sense, and agreed with him. But her compulsion, her prick-hunger, was so strong that she could not. Instead, she relaxed her vagina as much as she could, took a deep breath, and thrust her cunt against his prick with all her strength.
There was an instant of excruciating pain, then a strange numbness, then a slow return of sensation to her cunt and the realization that Carl's gigantic cock was inside her all the way to her womb. She glanced down between her legs, and a little cry of joy escaped her. She had at least half of it inside her! The taut lips of her cunt were stretched tight around it, no longer pink but bright red, glistening with the juice that welled up to bathe the thick, rigid shaft that distended them to their limit.
God, but it felt good! It felt better than any prick had ever felt before or would ever feel again. It felt so good she thought she was going to cum even be fare Carl began to fuck her.
"Rape me!" she cried. "Hurt me, Carl!"
He began to fuck her, using short, slow strokes at first, then longer, faster ones.
She drew her knees back almost to her breasts and crossed her ankles behind his back. "Oh, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!" she said.
His prick was plunging into her with hard strokes now, and he increased the speed.
"Harder!" she said, rolling her hips beneath him. "Harder, Carl!"
He grunted something, and sent the hard knob slamming against her womb again and again, as if he intended to crush it.
"Harder!"
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Harder, baby, fuck me hard!!"
She felt herself starting to cum, and began to throw her cunt up to meet his prick, thrust for thrust. She came, and came again, and kept cuming, tears scalding her eyes, biting her lower lip so hard she could taste the salty seep of blood, so nearly out of her mind that she was aware of nothing but the ceaseless tides of orgasm that flooded through her being again and again and again.
She felt Carl's body begin to shudder in the tight vise of her thighs. "I'm going to shoot!" he gasped.
"No!" she cried. "Oh, no, Carl! Not yet!"
"Here it comes!"
"Not yet! Please, Carl! Oh, please! Not yet!"
But he could not help himself. Shuddering violently, he arched his back so high he lifted Sharon's hips six inches off the rug, his cock driving into her to the hilt, and an instant later she felt the first hot surge of cum splash into her cunt.
Then, as the second load exploded inside her, he collapsed on top of her, trembling with the force of his orgasm, crushing her with his heavy body, pumping so much cum into her hot pussy that she thought it would surely burst.
She could scarcely breathe under so much weight, but she forced herself to stay beneath him until she was sure he had finished cuming. Then, rolling a little to one side, she managed at last to slide out from beneath him.
The moment his big cock had slipped out of her, she had immediately put her hand on her cunt, holding the lips tightly together with her fingers. There was at least a half-pint of cum in her vagina, she knew, and if any of it escaped and spurted out on the rug, she and Carl would be in serious trouble. It would be almost impossible to remove cum from the deep pile of the rug – as she well knew from experience – and even if she were able to remove it completely, the pile would show that something had been cleaned up. And Joyce Thornton would not have to guess more than once before she hit on what it had been. As for the damp spot where her cunt juice had dripped off her hips – that was clear and thin and would dry without a trace. Not a visible trace, anyhow; the perfume would persist for a long time. But it would be faint, and unless Joyce had an abnormally acute sense of smell, there would be nothing to worry about.
She walked out into the hall, holding the lips of her pussy together, looking for the bathroom.
When she came back, Carl was lying on his back, snoring, his prick soft and shrunken, draped across his thigh.
She looked at the prick regretfully. She was exactly as prick-hungry as she had been before he started to cum, but she knew that fucking Carl again was out of the question. He was clearly and absolutely finished.
She reached between her legs, fingering herself absently for a moment, looking at him. Then she knelt down and shook him by the shoulder. "Wake up," she said.
His eyes opened for a moment. Then he squeezed them shut again and shook his head from side to side. "No," he said, his voice exhausted. "I can't, Sharon. Another fuck like that would kill me."
"I just wanted to wake you," she said. "I didn't want Joyce to come home and find you like this."
"My God, that's right," he said, sitting up. "I really conked off, didn't I?"
"You sure did."
"I never had such a fuck. I never had such a suck, either."
"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I know I did."
"I wish I could have fucked you longer. But it was just too damn good. I'm sorry."
"That's all right," she said, turning toward the door. "I'm leaving now. You'd better get up before you fall asleep again."
"Good idea," he said. He lurched to his feet and stood there, holding to the head of the bed for support, swaying unsteadily. "I'm weak as a kitten."
"You'd better finish that work you were going to do for her," Sharon said. "Good-bye, Carl."
"You're a terrific fuck, Sharon."
"Thank you."
"And, oh my God – can you suck!"
"Thank you again," she said as she stepped through the doorway. "Bye-bye."
In the living room, she quickly put on her bra and dress, made sure her garters were still as high on her thighs as she could get them, and left the house.
She was still so horny that even the whisper of nylon against nylon as she walked to the corner excited her, and by the time a cab came by she could feel the juice seeping between the lips of her cunt again.
"Where to, Miss?" the driver said as he held the door for her. He was about thirty, she judged, with a pleasantly homely face and what looked like a big, powerful body.
"Would you like to fuck me?" she said, smiling.
He stared at her open-mouthed. "W-what?"
She got into the back seat, raised her skirt, and began to run a finger in and out of her cunt. "Oh, of course, if you haven't got the time…" she said.
He wet his lips, looking at her incredulously. "How much?"
She laughed. "All I want is your prick," she said.
"You mean a beautiful girl like you… You mean you just plain want to get laid?"
"Why, yes. Don't you?"
"Hey, stop that. Somebody'll see you!"
"Then close the door."
He slammed the door shut. "Where'll we go?" he said as he started the engine.
"The nearest place you know of," she said, sliding another finger into her cunt. "But wherever it is, let's go there fast."
"There's two places. Out by the lake, and my rooming house."
"Which is closer?"
"The lake."
"The lake it is, then." She slumped down in the seat, spread her legs wide, and began to fingerfuck herself as hard as she could.
But then, only a block further on, a very strange thing happened. Even with her fingers churning in the juice of her pussy, the realization came to her that she was normal again. The overpowering prick-hunger that had seized her an hour-ago had completely disappeared. The mad compulsion that had made her demand that Carl Martin fuck her had left as suddenly as it had come. The uncontrollable desire to have a prick in her mouth and cunt was as if it had never existed.
It had always happened this way, she recalled as she removed her fingers and brushed down her skirt. The urge would suddenly be upon her – full-blown and irresistible – and just as suddenly leave. This time, it had lasted a little longer than usual, that was all. But now it was over, and it might not come again for two months or more.
"Thank God," she said aloud.
"What?" the driver said, grinning at her over his shoulder, his face sweating with anticipation.
Sharon laughed. "Nothing," she said. "Watch the road."
Poor man, she thought to herself. I've got him into a terrible state, and now I don't want to fuck him. In fact, I don't want to have anything to do with a prick at all.
But she would, she knew. It would be unthinkable to make him so horny and then leave him that way. She sighed, wishing the compulsion had left before she asked him to fuck her. If only she'd waited a few more minutes…
I'll suck him off instead, she decided. I can have him cuming in half a minute – and then my conscience will be clear.
She leaned forward. "Driver?"
"Yeah?"
"When I asked if you wanted to fuck me, I forgot to say where." She laughed apologetically. "I should have said I wanted you to fuck me in the mouth."
"Hot damn!" the driver said. "Holy hot damn!"
"Wouldn't you really rather fuck me there?"
"You kidding? God, yes!"
"And fuck it hard and fast? And give me a lot of nice hot cum to swallow?"
"Jesus, lady! You're driving me nuts, just talking about it!"
She smiled and sank back against the cushion. "Drive faster," she said.