Billy drove much too fast on the icy roads. Sueanne supposed that the frantic driving, skidding and slipping over the glassy shoulders of the road, was to impress her. “Boys do some dumb things to impress young girls,” her daddy had told her, many times. She wished her daddy were here right now, behind the wheel of this old Chevy, driving it cautiously through the blizzard. She always felt safe with Daddy at the wheel.
Sueanne hung onto the edge of the dashboard as Billy took a turn, so quickly that the hind wheels of the car seemed to fly in the opposite direction, off the road entirely.
“Please, Billy,” she begged again, “slow down. I want to get home in one piece.”
Billy grinned across the dark seat at her. “You’ll get home eventually,” he promised. But she knew that she wouldn’t be in one piece if Billy had his way. She knew that Billy’s sole purpose in taking her to a football game fifteen miles from home and spending eleven dollars feeding them both afterward, was to impress her. His reason for the wild and crazy driving was to assure her of his bravery, his maleness. And that his goal for this evening was the thin membrane, her cherry, that had stayed for sixteen years untouched between her thighs.
“Slow down,” she pleaded again. They were on the old country back road and there were no streetlights, only the white glint of the moon through the falling snow and the streamers of light across the ice-packed road. “Slow down, please!”
Billy hit the brake with his scuffed cowboy boot and the car shimmied to a stop, spraying snow up all around them.
“How’s this?” He reached over to the dashboard and turned the heating knob to ‘high’. “This slow enough for you?”
She breathed with relief that the car was stopped but her eyes widened with nervousness as Billy’s grinning face came toward her and his chilly lips covered her mouth, forcing his hot tongue into her mouth. Oh, she’d been tongue-kissed before, a couple of times, but she had never liked it. And it was always followed by the boy’s grimy hands grabbing for her pert, young breasts and rubbing at the V between her thighs.
“Stop, Billy.”
She tried to push away but he held on tight, spearing her clenched teeth with his tongue. She felt his calloused hand pushing under her coat, finding her breast and squeezing it roughly. She continued to push at his shoulders as he rubbed the palm of his hand over her breast as though he were polishing a car.
She was fifteen miles from home in a blizzard, on a country road she had only passed through during daylight hours. She tried to look around for lights, a farm house, anything, but the only light was the silver streamer of the moon.
“Come on, baby,” he was moaning and his rough hand left her breast to push up under the wool, pleated skirt she wore, rubbing along her slender, nearly hairless thighs probing at the plump and padded area between her legs.
“Stop it,” she cried, “Stop it or I’ll get out of this car!”
Billy laughed deep in his throat. “You’re not going to get out of the car, honey. You’d freeze to death in that blizzard. Just relax, baby, let me warm you up. I got a bet riding on your cherry.”
Sueanne prayed that her father would suddenly arrive, like a magical fairy prince, beside the car and sweep her to the safety of her own home. She could feel a warmth growing between her legs in response to Billy’s massaging fingers and she didn’t want to feel that way, not toward Billy. It was the same warmth she felt when her father took her camping and let her sleep inside the fluffy confines of his sleeping bag with him. The same warmth that she felt when her father drank too much one night as the two of them sat by the fireplace and she listened to him talk about her mother, how he loved her, how he missed her, and how much Sueanne, their only child, looked like her. He kissed her that night in a manner unlike any kiss they had exchanged before. Her father’s broad, hot tongue had probed her lips and his huge hand had pressed her slender hips close to the throbbing lump that was his maleness — but then, he had suddenly gotten up and staggered into his own bedroom, locking the door between them. And she knew from the look in his eyes the next morning that he didn’t remember that tender moment of the previous and drunken night.
She knew that Billy could feel the seeping warmth between her legs and that he thought that her excitement was due to his hot, rough hands.
“Yeah, baby,” he was saying in her ear, “that’s it. Open up, open up for me. I’m gonna put my cock inside you. You’ll love it.”
She heard the unzipping of his fly. It sounded like the gunshot that begins a track race, in the silent stillness of the car, she couldn’t help but look and saw the boy’s stiff prick, jutting from his wool pants. It seemed to be jerking and moving like a tiny animal. Sueanne had the urge to touch it. She had never touched a cock — she had only seen them in photographs. But she knew that any movement toward Billy’s cock would be construed as consent for him to stick it inside her and she was frightened of that.
Sueanne had pressed her own fingers inside her tiny cunt-hole, many times, feeling the satin smoothness, the simmering warmth. If she pressed deeply enough, she could touch the pliable membrane that protected her from womanhood. But the thought of something that wasn’t part of her — the jerking, wobbling cock that jutted out of Billy’s pants, for instance — plunging into her cunt, she wasn’t ready for that. It filled her with fear and she closed her eyes, wishing for her daddy’s safe and loving arms.
She had read that in some Indian tribes, it was the custom for the father to deflower his daughter — and for the sons to be taught the art of making love by the gentle but firm hands of their mother. She wouldn’t be so afraid, she thought, if it were her father’s prick jutting out at her. She would trust him not to hurt her, she would believe him when he said that it would give her pleasure.
But she didn’t believe Billy. She didn’t believe him at all as his rough fingers pushed aside the wet crotch of her panties and drove into the slippery, hot tissue of her slit.
“No,” she cried and grabbed his wrist, pushing him away. “Get away from me.”
“No way out, honey,” Billy grinned, regaining his composure and coming at her again, his cock bobbing wildly and his finger glistening with her juices, “You’re gonna get laid. I’m gonna get myself a cherry.”
With a tremendous surge of strength, Sueanne pushed hard against him, knocking him against the window and stunning him. She threw open the car door on her side and stepped out into the calf-deep snow. She tried to run but the wet and slippery snow held her boots tightly and she had to struggle to place one foot in front of the other, the thick snow crunching loudly with her every step.
There were no lights in sight. Not even the flicker of a camper’s kerosene lamp or the rising blue-gray smoke of a chimney. Sueanne headed into the thick woods, not caring where she was going, so long as it was away from the bobbing cock and rough, hot hands of Billy. Her feet seemed to move in slow motion but she was well hidden in the thicket when Billy came to, rubbing the knot on his head. He stepped out of the car and looked around at the woods.
“Hey, Sueanne,” he called, “where are you?”
She stood absolutely still, feeling the sting of the pine needles against her face. She hardly breathed for fear that he would find her and ravage her body with his rough, uncaring hands.
“Listen,” he called, his voice echoing loudly against the night sky, his vision blocked by the streams of wet snowflakes that fell around him, “Listen, Sueanne, you’ll freeze to death out here. Come on, get in the car.”
“Car, car, car, car…” It echoed into faintness and then there was silence.
“I’m going, Sueanne,” Billy called, “I’m leaving. You better come out.”
He got into the old Chevy and the sound of the metal door resounded through the hillside. The motor gunned, again and again. It seemed an eternity to Sueanne before Billy released the emergency brake and stepped on the accelerator, spinning his tires through the snow until he gained traction on the road.
When the motor was out of hearing, Sueanne began to move again, her body stiffened by the cold. She could hear the quiet hooting of an owl and the occasional movement of small animals through the brush. She walked down the hill to the edge of the road, following the shoulder sloped with snow, looking for a sign of human life; the bulky outline of a house against the sky, a chimney smoking, a light, anything. But everywhere was darkness.
Mike Blocker paced the wooden floor of his hunting cabin, hidden in a stand of pines and accessible only by a foot-path that led half a mile from the main road into the woods. He didn’t expect to be trapped like this and he was certain that his wife was worried sick, back in town. He’d come out to the cabin for some late hunting. “It’s going to snow,” his wife warned him, “there’s going to be a blizzard this weekend.” But he was fed up with family, his two young bawling sons, his wailing infant daughter and his wife who’d taken recently to nagging him about “moving up the ladder” — getting promoted, making more money. He needed a weekend, alone, at the cabin.
It was unlucky from the start. He barely made it to the cabin, his car limping along with a boiling radiator. He’d hailed a State Trooper who arranged to have the car towed back to town for repair. Mike figured he would hitch back to town himself at the end of the weekend. But as the snow piled up around the cabin and he huddled by the stone fireplace, he wondered if he’d be able to get out by Sunday night. No snow ploughs were going to come up his footpath. Well, perhaps his wife would get uptight about the storm and send the State Troopers looking for him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get any hunting done. He couldn’t even wedge the cabin door open. It was blocked by snowdrifts four feet high.
Mike could hear something moving in the snow outside. He hoped to hell it wasn’t a black bear, looking for the comfort of a fireplace. He reached over to seize his shotgun in his fist and waited.
Bears would break windows, he had heard, and climb into a little log cabin like this one, looking for warmth, looking for food. And Mike knew that he would make a fine dinner for a hungry bear. He held his breath and listened to the crunching sound. One footstep, then another. It was coming closer.
Sueanne saw the slight indentation of the footpath from the shoulder of the road and began to follow it. There must, she reasoned, be something at the top of the path. Maybe a deserted campsite, a cabin, something. She knew how to build a fire and she thought she could survive the blizzard if she could only find some kind of shelter.
When the outline of the cabin appeared, her heart jumped joyously. She saw the flicker of firelight through the windows and speeded up her difficult steps through the thickening snow, drifting as the night breeze picked up speed.
Maybe someone else who’s stranded, she first thought, but as she neared the cabin, she wondered if she was about to meet a recluse, some kind of weirdo. Maybe the old, fierce man that the kids called the Guru of the Mountain. He was known to pile buckshot into kid’s asses and send them screaming from the mountain. But Sueanne had no choice and she approached the heavy wooden door, pushing her way through the drift of snow, banging with her fist on the wood, her cold, stiff fingers feeling as though they were going to splinter.
“Who is it?”
Mike was relieved but he tucked the shotgun under his arm as he approached the door. No bear was going to knock politely, it had to be a human. Maybe it was the State Police, sent by his worried wife to look for him.
“I’m lost,” a girl’s voice came through the door, “I’m freezing.”
He pushed against the door but it wouldn’t open, frozen solidly into the snow drift.
“The door’s blocked,” he said, “come to the window.”
From inside, Mike looked out at the young girl. Slender, blonde, no more than fifteen or sixteen, a virgin beauty.
Sueanne could see the husky, thirty-five year old man through the glazed window. A square-jawed, moderately handsome fellow, he had a warm smile like her father’s. She felt warmer and safe even before she climbed with frozen knees and hands across the drifted mound of snow and let his strong hands close around her forearms and lift her through the window. She stood, dripping, in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth seep painfully into her frozen limbs as the dark-haired man pulled down the window.
“It’s a real bastard out there,” he said. Sueanne knew that he was looking her over, that he was pleased at what he saw. “Take off your coat and get warmed up,” he said in a firm paternal manner, “there’s hot coffee on the burner.”
She dropped her soaking coat on the floor beside the fire and rubbed her limbs furiously, trying to regain the circulation. She saw his eyes follow her hands as she rubbed her ankles, her calves, her thighs.
“Been out there long?”
“About an hour,” she said, her teeth still shaking.
“Car break down?”
“No,” she said. “I was on a date and the boy I was with…” She hesitated, feeling silly and girlish for not being able to handle a mere teenage boy, for having to get out of the car and take the chance of freezing to death in a blizzard.
“He was giving you a rough time?” The big man grinned. “You picked a hell of night to get out and walk.”
She smiled and agreed. She liked the man’s grin, his easy, rambling way of moving and talking. She wasn’t at all frightened when he ambled over to her and sat down on the floor beside her.
“Here,” he said, “let me see if I can get that circulation going for you. I used to be on the Squaw Valley rescue squad. Many’s the time I’ve saved somebody from freezing in a blizzard.”
He put his big, warm hands on the back of her neck and massaged until her skin tingled, the circulation rushing back into the flesh. She felt his fingers pressing into her shoulders, down the soft flesh of her upper arms, her fingers caught in the big palms of his hands as he squeezed and manipulated her flesh into a normal warmth.
Her back seemed to press toward his massaging fingers as she felt the warmth returning to her backbone, her waist, her buttocks. His hands moved over her body without shame or embarrassment and pounded her slender body back to warmth and life.
As she felt his hands encircling her thighs, the warmth returned to her virgin crotch and she felt the wetness of her panties, cold against her warm flesh. She was hoping that his fingers would follow the natural curve of her thigh and press against her warm crotch, too, but the man stopped short at the fleshy upper part of her thighs and removed his hands.
“How are your feet?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled off her boots and took her socked feet in his hands, rubbing them briskly into warmth.
“What’s your name?” Sueanne watched the man’s broad back flexing its muscles under the thick, wool shirt. She wanted to see his back naked, wanted to see the muscles moving, stretching under the skin.
“Mike Blocker,” he said easily, “I sell insurance over to Morristown.”
“Oh,” Sueanne let his hands move up her ankles, to her calves and knees-again. She was sitting so that she knew he could see the crotch of her panties and she wondered if the dampness showed.
“I’m from Rockberg,” she said, her voice quivering with excitement as his hands moved further up her legs. “My name’s Sueanne Rogers. My daddy’s a real estate broker.”
Mike grimaced slightly. He had read in the newspapers about her daddy, Rogers from Rockberg. He was not only a real estate broker, he was also City Councilman and he had an eye on being Mayor.
Sueanne could see the big man trying to control his physical reactions as he continued to press his fingers into her warming flesh. His thumbs were working on the back sides of her thighs and he was facing her, his eyes glued to her pulsing crotch. She could feel the fleshy, warm lips of her little cunt, moving, opening, as the warm juice seeped into the cotton of her panties.
His hands moved to her groin, causing the pleasant ache to intensify. His thumbs moved along the crease at the edge of her panties and she knew that he must be feeling, as well as seeing, the dampness of her crotch. Sueanne looked at his face, lined, tense, trying to show no emotion. Like her father’s when he was overjoyed about something but he didn’t want to appear boyish and immature by looking jubilant. He always got that same, stern expression on his face — but his eyes, like Mike’s eyes, glistened with, excitement. She tried to see her daddy’s face now, fantasizing that the man’s healing hands were her daddy’s hands, that the tongue that darted out to lick his broad, dry lips, was her daddy’s tongue and that soon it would be pressed against her mouth, slip under her teeth and fill her mouth. It was her daddy’s finger now that slipped under the edge of her panties, rubbing tenderly against the swollen slit, parting the silky pubic hair, finding her stiff clit and moving it gently back and forth.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned and touched the man’s black hair.
She watched him smile and knew it wasn’t her daddy. But she felt just as safe and loved as if it were. The man gently eased her onto her back on the floor beside the fire and continued stroking her hot, wet slit with one finger, under the edge of her panties. Sueanne felt his finger probing gently at her tiny cunt-hole and she spread her legs to give him room to press his finger into her, deep.
His face changed suddenly and he withdrew his finger. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, kid?” She nodded and held onto his dark head. “Sorry, honey,” he sighed and sat upright, pushing her hands away. “I’m no monster. I don’t go around busting little girl’s cherries.”
Sueanne’s clit was throbbing and swollen. She could feel it pressing into the pulsing lips of her cunt. Her cunt-hole dilated wildly at the loss of his probing finger.
“Sixteen’s not so young,” she said, “I’m probably the only virgin left in my class at school.”
But the man just continued to stare into the fire. It had been a long time, he was thinking, since he’d been truly sexually excited. Oh, he fucked his wife a couple of times a month and he jerked off sometimes in the men’s room at the office, thinking of strange young women he’d seen on the street. But he didn’t fuck around. He was a family man in a small town, deacon at the church, member of the volunteer fire department — he didn’t fool around.
Once, he’d had the opportunity to represent his firm at a convention in Richmond and the entertainment chairman had supplied him with a dark-haired young girl, just as if she were dessert, expected to come after any good restaurant meal. He was excited by her youthfulness, her nearly hairless slender young body, but her eyes were tough and her cunt had obviously been ploughed a thousand times by a thousand salesmen’s cocks and it was, for Mike, a wholly unsatisfactory experience.
Sueanne looked at the big man, sitting cross-legged before the fire. His cock was rigid, bulging against the trouser leg, his balls were full and pressing at the crotch-line of his hunting britches.
She’d seen her father’s cock erect inside his pants. Her virtuous father who was home with her almost every night. Sueanne was fascinated by the man’s full balls, a bulging pocket in his pants crotch. She reached between his legs and stroked them as the man stared into the fire. His hunting britches were thick material and it was several seconds before he felt the impact of the girl’s stroking fingers.
She saw the man look at her, surprised. Her own eyes were innocent and loving.
“I want to thank you,” she said, “for helping me.” For a moment, she feared that he was going to push her away. Then he seemed to reconsider and allowed her to continue to stroke his big, hard balls through the thick cloth of his pants.
“I don’t want to fuck you, honey,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with sexual excitement, “I don’t want the responsibility of busting your cherry. Your old man would kill me.”
Sueanne felt even safer when Mike told her that he had no intention of pressing her into the floor and battering her sweet virgin cunt with his rigid prick — and she easily unzipped his fly and took his cock and balls into her hands. She moved her face closer to them, looking at them, inspecting them. She’d never seen real ones, close up. The cock was thick and pulsing and dark in color. Veins seemed to burst from it, pushing up the outer layer of skin and pounding furiously in the palm of her hand. It generated intense heat and she closed her hand around it, letting her eyes wander to his full balls, two hard objects in a hairy, dark sac. It looked to her like the kind of pouch her daddy kept tobacco in. She stroked it with wondering fingers, letting the musky smell that emanated from his cock and balls fill up her nostrils. It was a male smell, the kind of smell she sometimes encountered in her daddy’s bathroom after he had taken a long hot bath and shaved. She sometimes sneaked into his bathroom when he had vacated it just to feel the left-over steam bathing her face and to bask in the distinctly male odor that filled the room.
The top of Mike’s cock was shiny and swollen tightly, shutting the tiny eye that tried to peek out from the end of his prick. She smiled at the little hole and kissed it with her lips. Mike gasped and she felt his balls shift, moving in her hand. She pressed her tongue to the tiny opening and tasted the bitter, thick juice that hung in droplets there. She let the liquid move across her tongue, adjusting herself to the taste of male jism. Mike groaned as Sueanne took his cock-head into her hot, young mouth and sucked on it. Her tongue moved along the tender underside of his shaft as her mouth sucked on his rigid prick. She was no cocksucker, he could tell, but damned talented for an amateur.
“Don’t bite,” he warned her, “cover your teeth with your lips.” How many times he had told his wife that, only to have her teeth scrape painfully along the shaft of his prick. But this girl obeyed immediately and her lips rubbed up and down his throbbing shaft.
Sueanne took his balls into her hand and squeezed them gently, milking them as she sucked and tongued his prick. She didn’t look up at his face, she wanted to believe that this hot, stiff pecker was her daddy’s and she was showing him how much she loved him, trailing her tongue along his cock-shaft, sucking gently at his cock-head, manipulating his testicles with loving fingers.
“Oh, honey,” the big man groaned, tangling his big fingers in her long blonde hair, holding her head on his cock, “You’re good, baby, real good. Suck it for me, suck my prick.”
His words excited Sueanne and she sucked harder, moving her tongue more quickly up and down the thick shaft.
“Suck it, honey,” Mike groaned, “suck my fucking prick until it shoots deep in your belly. I want to shoot my load into your throat, honey, suck me, suck me off!”
She felt his balls move, swell, in her hand and his cock-shaft jerk inside her mouth.
“Oh, baby,” he cried out, clutching her hair tightly in his big fists, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna shoot my wad inside your mouth!”
His prick convulsed inside her mouth, pressing furiously against her tongue, lunging deeper until it was jammed against the barricade of her throat. The heat intensified and as the man groaned deeply, Sueanne felt a hot shower of semen flood her mouth and throat. She let it run down her throat, swallowing the thick hot load, as she continued to press her fingers gently on his balls and let his prick wither in the heat of her mouth. When it was soft and formless, lying on her tongue, she lifted her head and let the wilted cock slip from her lips. She gave his balls a final, fond squeeze.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, still holding her head. “Oh, baby, you give good head.” Sueanne smiled up at him, her head caught in his hands, her own juices seeping through her panties, wetting her thighs. Her cunt was throbbing, wanting something it had never had.
She licked the man’s soft prick, thankfully. She had never sucked a cock before and she loved the thick meat inside her mouth, the pressure of his cock-end hot against her throat, the quivering and spilling of his boiling semen into her belly. She had fantasized that the hot prick in her mouth was her daddy’s and that the steaming load of love that tickled down her throat into her belly, was his satisfied semen. But now, looking up at the square-jawed woodsman, Mike Blocker, she was just as glad that it had been his thick prick she made so happy. He was a nice man, she thought. His eyes, like her daddy’s, were kind and gentle.
Sueanne’s crotch was throbbing and her legs were damp with the dripping desire of her virgin cunt. She wondered how it would feel to have a thick prick pressing into the tiny hole that only fingers had explored. But Mike had said that he wouldn’t fuck her, wouldn’t take her cherry. She thought he was a man of his word — and she felt a wave of disappointment as her hungry cunt twitched between her thighs.
Sueanne toyed with Mike’s limp tool as though it were a new plaything, grazing it with her fingertips, feeling its form and warmth, exploring its wrinkles and its little hole. She could feel the big man’s eyes staring down at her as she traced the outline of his balls with her finger, stroked the patches of straight, black hair on his marble bag.
She felt a growing pain in her groin and she pressed her loins into the wooden floor below her, enjoying their coldness against her hot and swollen cunt. She moved her pelvis sensuously, attempting, in a naive fashion, to eliminate the growing hot and wet discomfort.
Sueanne looked into Mike’s eyes, an innocent pleading look and she smiled as he ran his big fingers through her hair, tracing the line of her neck and slipping under the neckline of her blouse to find the stiff nipple of her tit. He didn’t rub it roughly like Billy and the other teenager boys had. He gently moved it with his fingertip until the pleasure soared through her body and her groin and loins ached with a need that was too large to deny.
She stood up easily, graceful as a cat as she unhooked the waistband of her skirt and dropped it to the floor. She could see Mike’s lusting eyes stare as she pulled the blouse off, exposing her teenage, pert and pink tipped breasts, their nipples jutting out, eager rosebuds. She hooked her thumbs into her bikini panties and pushed them over her thighs, letting them drop to the wooden floor. Easily, without effort, she stepped from them and kicked them into the darkness of the room.
She dropped to her knees before the fire, haloed by the wild and violent flames, her nipples beckoning to Mike’s hot mouth, her glistening, swollen cunt calling to his cock.
“I can’t fuck you,” he said again, slowly, his tongue hardly able to move with excitement, “I can’t. But I can teach you other ways of making love.”
The big man leaned forward and took Sueanne’s stiff, pink nipple in his mouth and sucked it, tonguing the tip with his tongue until it jutted rigidly deep inside his mouth. His hot fingers found the slit between her thighs and rubbed against the slippery heat of her cunt lips, finding her stiff clitoris and moving it in a steady rhythm as he sucked her stiff nipple.
Sueanne stroked his dark head, feeling the incredible sensation of his tongue licking her stiff nipple, his finger moving expertly on her slippery, aching clit, and she pretended it was her daddy, making love to her at last.
Sueanne hung onto the edge of the dashboard as Billy took a turn, so quickly that the hind wheels of the car seemed to fly in the opposite direction, off the road entirely.
“Please, Billy,” she begged again, “slow down. I want to get home in one piece.”
Billy grinned across the dark seat at her. “You’ll get home eventually,” he promised. But she knew that she wouldn’t be in one piece if Billy had his way. She knew that Billy’s sole purpose in taking her to a football game fifteen miles from home and spending eleven dollars feeding them both afterward, was to impress her. His reason for the wild and crazy driving was to assure her of his bravery, his maleness. And that his goal for this evening was the thin membrane, her cherry, that had stayed for sixteen years untouched between her thighs.
“Slow down,” she pleaded again. They were on the old country back road and there were no streetlights, only the white glint of the moon through the falling snow and the streamers of light across the ice-packed road. “Slow down, please!”
Billy hit the brake with his scuffed cowboy boot and the car shimmied to a stop, spraying snow up all around them.
“How’s this?” He reached over to the dashboard and turned the heating knob to ‘high’. “This slow enough for you?”
She breathed with relief that the car was stopped but her eyes widened with nervousness as Billy’s grinning face came toward her and his chilly lips covered her mouth, forcing his hot tongue into her mouth. Oh, she’d been tongue-kissed before, a couple of times, but she had never liked it. And it was always followed by the boy’s grimy hands grabbing for her pert, young breasts and rubbing at the V between her thighs.
“Stop, Billy.”
She tried to push away but he held on tight, spearing her clenched teeth with his tongue. She felt his calloused hand pushing under her coat, finding her breast and squeezing it roughly. She continued to push at his shoulders as he rubbed the palm of his hand over her breast as though he were polishing a car.
She was fifteen miles from home in a blizzard, on a country road she had only passed through during daylight hours. She tried to look around for lights, a farm house, anything, but the only light was the silver streamer of the moon.
“Come on, baby,” he was moaning and his rough hand left her breast to push up under the wool, pleated skirt she wore, rubbing along her slender, nearly hairless thighs probing at the plump and padded area between her legs.
“Stop it,” she cried, “Stop it or I’ll get out of this car!”
Billy laughed deep in his throat. “You’re not going to get out of the car, honey. You’d freeze to death in that blizzard. Just relax, baby, let me warm you up. I got a bet riding on your cherry.”
Sueanne prayed that her father would suddenly arrive, like a magical fairy prince, beside the car and sweep her to the safety of her own home. She could feel a warmth growing between her legs in response to Billy’s massaging fingers and she didn’t want to feel that way, not toward Billy. It was the same warmth she felt when her father took her camping and let her sleep inside the fluffy confines of his sleeping bag with him. The same warmth that she felt when her father drank too much one night as the two of them sat by the fireplace and she listened to him talk about her mother, how he loved her, how he missed her, and how much Sueanne, their only child, looked like her. He kissed her that night in a manner unlike any kiss they had exchanged before. Her father’s broad, hot tongue had probed her lips and his huge hand had pressed her slender hips close to the throbbing lump that was his maleness — but then, he had suddenly gotten up and staggered into his own bedroom, locking the door between them. And she knew from the look in his eyes the next morning that he didn’t remember that tender moment of the previous and drunken night.
She knew that Billy could feel the seeping warmth between her legs and that he thought that her excitement was due to his hot, rough hands.
“Yeah, baby,” he was saying in her ear, “that’s it. Open up, open up for me. I’m gonna put my cock inside you. You’ll love it.”
She heard the unzipping of his fly. It sounded like the gunshot that begins a track race, in the silent stillness of the car, she couldn’t help but look and saw the boy’s stiff prick, jutting from his wool pants. It seemed to be jerking and moving like a tiny animal. Sueanne had the urge to touch it. She had never touched a cock — she had only seen them in photographs. But she knew that any movement toward Billy’s cock would be construed as consent for him to stick it inside her and she was frightened of that.
Sueanne had pressed her own fingers inside her tiny cunt-hole, many times, feeling the satin smoothness, the simmering warmth. If she pressed deeply enough, she could touch the pliable membrane that protected her from womanhood. But the thought of something that wasn’t part of her — the jerking, wobbling cock that jutted out of Billy’s pants, for instance — plunging into her cunt, she wasn’t ready for that. It filled her with fear and she closed her eyes, wishing for her daddy’s safe and loving arms.
She had read that in some Indian tribes, it was the custom for the father to deflower his daughter — and for the sons to be taught the art of making love by the gentle but firm hands of their mother. She wouldn’t be so afraid, she thought, if it were her father’s prick jutting out at her. She would trust him not to hurt her, she would believe him when he said that it would give her pleasure.
But she didn’t believe Billy. She didn’t believe him at all as his rough fingers pushed aside the wet crotch of her panties and drove into the slippery, hot tissue of her slit.
“No,” she cried and grabbed his wrist, pushing him away. “Get away from me.”
“No way out, honey,” Billy grinned, regaining his composure and coming at her again, his cock bobbing wildly and his finger glistening with her juices, “You’re gonna get laid. I’m gonna get myself a cherry.”
With a tremendous surge of strength, Sueanne pushed hard against him, knocking him against the window and stunning him. She threw open the car door on her side and stepped out into the calf-deep snow. She tried to run but the wet and slippery snow held her boots tightly and she had to struggle to place one foot in front of the other, the thick snow crunching loudly with her every step.
There were no lights in sight. Not even the flicker of a camper’s kerosene lamp or the rising blue-gray smoke of a chimney. Sueanne headed into the thick woods, not caring where she was going, so long as it was away from the bobbing cock and rough, hot hands of Billy. Her feet seemed to move in slow motion but she was well hidden in the thicket when Billy came to, rubbing the knot on his head. He stepped out of the car and looked around at the woods.
“Hey, Sueanne,” he called, “where are you?”
She stood absolutely still, feeling the sting of the pine needles against her face. She hardly breathed for fear that he would find her and ravage her body with his rough, uncaring hands.
“Listen,” he called, his voice echoing loudly against the night sky, his vision blocked by the streams of wet snowflakes that fell around him, “Listen, Sueanne, you’ll freeze to death out here. Come on, get in the car.”
“Car, car, car, car…” It echoed into faintness and then there was silence.
“I’m going, Sueanne,” Billy called, “I’m leaving. You better come out.”
He got into the old Chevy and the sound of the metal door resounded through the hillside. The motor gunned, again and again. It seemed an eternity to Sueanne before Billy released the emergency brake and stepped on the accelerator, spinning his tires through the snow until he gained traction on the road.
When the motor was out of hearing, Sueanne began to move again, her body stiffened by the cold. She could hear the quiet hooting of an owl and the occasional movement of small animals through the brush. She walked down the hill to the edge of the road, following the shoulder sloped with snow, looking for a sign of human life; the bulky outline of a house against the sky, a chimney smoking, a light, anything. But everywhere was darkness.
Mike Blocker paced the wooden floor of his hunting cabin, hidden in a stand of pines and accessible only by a foot-path that led half a mile from the main road into the woods. He didn’t expect to be trapped like this and he was certain that his wife was worried sick, back in town. He’d come out to the cabin for some late hunting. “It’s going to snow,” his wife warned him, “there’s going to be a blizzard this weekend.” But he was fed up with family, his two young bawling sons, his wailing infant daughter and his wife who’d taken recently to nagging him about “moving up the ladder” — getting promoted, making more money. He needed a weekend, alone, at the cabin.
It was unlucky from the start. He barely made it to the cabin, his car limping along with a boiling radiator. He’d hailed a State Trooper who arranged to have the car towed back to town for repair. Mike figured he would hitch back to town himself at the end of the weekend. But as the snow piled up around the cabin and he huddled by the stone fireplace, he wondered if he’d be able to get out by Sunday night. No snow ploughs were going to come up his footpath. Well, perhaps his wife would get uptight about the storm and send the State Troopers looking for him. He sure as hell wasn’t going to get any hunting done. He couldn’t even wedge the cabin door open. It was blocked by snowdrifts four feet high.
Mike could hear something moving in the snow outside. He hoped to hell it wasn’t a black bear, looking for the comfort of a fireplace. He reached over to seize his shotgun in his fist and waited.
Bears would break windows, he had heard, and climb into a little log cabin like this one, looking for warmth, looking for food. And Mike knew that he would make a fine dinner for a hungry bear. He held his breath and listened to the crunching sound. One footstep, then another. It was coming closer.
Sueanne saw the slight indentation of the footpath from the shoulder of the road and began to follow it. There must, she reasoned, be something at the top of the path. Maybe a deserted campsite, a cabin, something. She knew how to build a fire and she thought she could survive the blizzard if she could only find some kind of shelter.
When the outline of the cabin appeared, her heart jumped joyously. She saw the flicker of firelight through the windows and speeded up her difficult steps through the thickening snow, drifting as the night breeze picked up speed.
Maybe someone else who’s stranded, she first thought, but as she neared the cabin, she wondered if she was about to meet a recluse, some kind of weirdo. Maybe the old, fierce man that the kids called the Guru of the Mountain. He was known to pile buckshot into kid’s asses and send them screaming from the mountain. But Sueanne had no choice and she approached the heavy wooden door, pushing her way through the drift of snow, banging with her fist on the wood, her cold, stiff fingers feeling as though they were going to splinter.
“Who is it?”
Mike was relieved but he tucked the shotgun under his arm as he approached the door. No bear was going to knock politely, it had to be a human. Maybe it was the State Police, sent by his worried wife to look for him.
“I’m lost,” a girl’s voice came through the door, “I’m freezing.”
He pushed against the door but it wouldn’t open, frozen solidly into the snow drift.
“The door’s blocked,” he said, “come to the window.”
From inside, Mike looked out at the young girl. Slender, blonde, no more than fifteen or sixteen, a virgin beauty.
Sueanne could see the husky, thirty-five year old man through the glazed window. A square-jawed, moderately handsome fellow, he had a warm smile like her father’s. She felt warmer and safe even before she climbed with frozen knees and hands across the drifted mound of snow and let his strong hands close around her forearms and lift her through the window. She stood, dripping, in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth seep painfully into her frozen limbs as the dark-haired man pulled down the window.
“It’s a real bastard out there,” he said. Sueanne knew that he was looking her over, that he was pleased at what he saw. “Take off your coat and get warmed up,” he said in a firm paternal manner, “there’s hot coffee on the burner.”
She dropped her soaking coat on the floor beside the fire and rubbed her limbs furiously, trying to regain the circulation. She saw his eyes follow her hands as she rubbed her ankles, her calves, her thighs.
“Been out there long?”
“About an hour,” she said, her teeth still shaking.
“Car break down?”
“No,” she said. “I was on a date and the boy I was with…” She hesitated, feeling silly and girlish for not being able to handle a mere teenage boy, for having to get out of the car and take the chance of freezing to death in a blizzard.
“He was giving you a rough time?” The big man grinned. “You picked a hell of night to get out and walk.”
She smiled and agreed. She liked the man’s grin, his easy, rambling way of moving and talking. She wasn’t at all frightened when he ambled over to her and sat down on the floor beside her.
“Here,” he said, “let me see if I can get that circulation going for you. I used to be on the Squaw Valley rescue squad. Many’s the time I’ve saved somebody from freezing in a blizzard.”
He put his big, warm hands on the back of her neck and massaged until her skin tingled, the circulation rushing back into the flesh. She felt his fingers pressing into her shoulders, down the soft flesh of her upper arms, her fingers caught in the big palms of his hands as he squeezed and manipulated her flesh into a normal warmth.
Her back seemed to press toward his massaging fingers as she felt the warmth returning to her backbone, her waist, her buttocks. His hands moved over her body without shame or embarrassment and pounded her slender body back to warmth and life.
As she felt his hands encircling her thighs, the warmth returned to her virgin crotch and she felt the wetness of her panties, cold against her warm flesh. She was hoping that his fingers would follow the natural curve of her thigh and press against her warm crotch, too, but the man stopped short at the fleshy upper part of her thighs and removed his hands.
“How are your feet?”
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled off her boots and took her socked feet in his hands, rubbing them briskly into warmth.
“What’s your name?” Sueanne watched the man’s broad back flexing its muscles under the thick, wool shirt. She wanted to see his back naked, wanted to see the muscles moving, stretching under the skin.
“Mike Blocker,” he said easily, “I sell insurance over to Morristown.”
“Oh,” Sueanne let his hands move up her ankles, to her calves and knees-again. She was sitting so that she knew he could see the crotch of her panties and she wondered if the dampness showed.
“I’m from Rockberg,” she said, her voice quivering with excitement as his hands moved further up her legs. “My name’s Sueanne Rogers. My daddy’s a real estate broker.”
Mike grimaced slightly. He had read in the newspapers about her daddy, Rogers from Rockberg. He was not only a real estate broker, he was also City Councilman and he had an eye on being Mayor.
Sueanne could see the big man trying to control his physical reactions as he continued to press his fingers into her warming flesh. His thumbs were working on the back sides of her thighs and he was facing her, his eyes glued to her pulsing crotch. She could feel the fleshy, warm lips of her little cunt, moving, opening, as the warm juice seeped into the cotton of her panties.
His hands moved to her groin, causing the pleasant ache to intensify. His thumbs moved along the crease at the edge of her panties and she knew that he must be feeling, as well as seeing, the dampness of her crotch. Sueanne looked at his face, lined, tense, trying to show no emotion. Like her father’s when he was overjoyed about something but he didn’t want to appear boyish and immature by looking jubilant. He always got that same, stern expression on his face — but his eyes, like Mike’s eyes, glistened with, excitement. She tried to see her daddy’s face now, fantasizing that the man’s healing hands were her daddy’s hands, that the tongue that darted out to lick his broad, dry lips, was her daddy’s tongue and that soon it would be pressed against her mouth, slip under her teeth and fill her mouth. It was her daddy’s finger now that slipped under the edge of her panties, rubbing tenderly against the swollen slit, parting the silky pubic hair, finding her stiff clit and moving it gently back and forth.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned and touched the man’s black hair.
She watched him smile and knew it wasn’t her daddy. But she felt just as safe and loved as if it were. The man gently eased her onto her back on the floor beside the fire and continued stroking her hot, wet slit with one finger, under the edge of her panties. Sueanne felt his finger probing gently at her tiny cunt-hole and she spread her legs to give him room to press his finger into her, deep.
His face changed suddenly and he withdrew his finger. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you, kid?” She nodded and held onto his dark head. “Sorry, honey,” he sighed and sat upright, pushing her hands away. “I’m no monster. I don’t go around busting little girl’s cherries.”
Sueanne’s clit was throbbing and swollen. She could feel it pressing into the pulsing lips of her cunt. Her cunt-hole dilated wildly at the loss of his probing finger.
“Sixteen’s not so young,” she said, “I’m probably the only virgin left in my class at school.”
But the man just continued to stare into the fire. It had been a long time, he was thinking, since he’d been truly sexually excited. Oh, he fucked his wife a couple of times a month and he jerked off sometimes in the men’s room at the office, thinking of strange young women he’d seen on the street. But he didn’t fuck around. He was a family man in a small town, deacon at the church, member of the volunteer fire department — he didn’t fool around.
Once, he’d had the opportunity to represent his firm at a convention in Richmond and the entertainment chairman had supplied him with a dark-haired young girl, just as if she were dessert, expected to come after any good restaurant meal. He was excited by her youthfulness, her nearly hairless slender young body, but her eyes were tough and her cunt had obviously been ploughed a thousand times by a thousand salesmen’s cocks and it was, for Mike, a wholly unsatisfactory experience.
Sueanne looked at the big man, sitting cross-legged before the fire. His cock was rigid, bulging against the trouser leg, his balls were full and pressing at the crotch-line of his hunting britches.
She’d seen her father’s cock erect inside his pants. Her virtuous father who was home with her almost every night. Sueanne was fascinated by the man’s full balls, a bulging pocket in his pants crotch. She reached between his legs and stroked them as the man stared into the fire. His hunting britches were thick material and it was several seconds before he felt the impact of the girl’s stroking fingers.
She saw the man look at her, surprised. Her own eyes were innocent and loving.
“I want to thank you,” she said, “for helping me.” For a moment, she feared that he was going to push her away. Then he seemed to reconsider and allowed her to continue to stroke his big, hard balls through the thick cloth of his pants.
“I don’t want to fuck you, honey,” he said hoarsely, his voice thick with sexual excitement, “I don’t want the responsibility of busting your cherry. Your old man would kill me.”
Sueanne felt even safer when Mike told her that he had no intention of pressing her into the floor and battering her sweet virgin cunt with his rigid prick — and she easily unzipped his fly and took his cock and balls into her hands. She moved her face closer to them, looking at them, inspecting them. She’d never seen real ones, close up. The cock was thick and pulsing and dark in color. Veins seemed to burst from it, pushing up the outer layer of skin and pounding furiously in the palm of her hand. It generated intense heat and she closed her hand around it, letting her eyes wander to his full balls, two hard objects in a hairy, dark sac. It looked to her like the kind of pouch her daddy kept tobacco in. She stroked it with wondering fingers, letting the musky smell that emanated from his cock and balls fill up her nostrils. It was a male smell, the kind of smell she sometimes encountered in her daddy’s bathroom after he had taken a long hot bath and shaved. She sometimes sneaked into his bathroom when he had vacated it just to feel the left-over steam bathing her face and to bask in the distinctly male odor that filled the room.
The top of Mike’s cock was shiny and swollen tightly, shutting the tiny eye that tried to peek out from the end of his prick. She smiled at the little hole and kissed it with her lips. Mike gasped and she felt his balls shift, moving in her hand. She pressed her tongue to the tiny opening and tasted the bitter, thick juice that hung in droplets there. She let the liquid move across her tongue, adjusting herself to the taste of male jism. Mike groaned as Sueanne took his cock-head into her hot, young mouth and sucked on it. Her tongue moved along the tender underside of his shaft as her mouth sucked on his rigid prick. She was no cocksucker, he could tell, but damned talented for an amateur.
“Don’t bite,” he warned her, “cover your teeth with your lips.” How many times he had told his wife that, only to have her teeth scrape painfully along the shaft of his prick. But this girl obeyed immediately and her lips rubbed up and down his throbbing shaft.
Sueanne took his balls into her hand and squeezed them gently, milking them as she sucked and tongued his prick. She didn’t look up at his face, she wanted to believe that this hot, stiff pecker was her daddy’s and she was showing him how much she loved him, trailing her tongue along his cock-shaft, sucking gently at his cock-head, manipulating his testicles with loving fingers.
“Oh, honey,” the big man groaned, tangling his big fingers in her long blonde hair, holding her head on his cock, “You’re good, baby, real good. Suck it for me, suck my prick.”
His words excited Sueanne and she sucked harder, moving her tongue more quickly up and down the thick shaft.
“Suck it, honey,” Mike groaned, “suck my fucking prick until it shoots deep in your belly. I want to shoot my load into your throat, honey, suck me, suck me off!”
She felt his balls move, swell, in her hand and his cock-shaft jerk inside her mouth.
“Oh, baby,” he cried out, clutching her hair tightly in his big fists, “Oh, sweetheart, I’m gonna shoot my wad inside your mouth!”
His prick convulsed inside her mouth, pressing furiously against her tongue, lunging deeper until it was jammed against the barricade of her throat. The heat intensified and as the man groaned deeply, Sueanne felt a hot shower of semen flood her mouth and throat. She let it run down her throat, swallowing the thick hot load, as she continued to press her fingers gently on his balls and let his prick wither in the heat of her mouth. When it was soft and formless, lying on her tongue, she lifted her head and let the wilted cock slip from her lips. She gave his balls a final, fond squeeze.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned, still holding her head. “Oh, baby, you give good head.” Sueanne smiled up at him, her head caught in his hands, her own juices seeping through her panties, wetting her thighs. Her cunt was throbbing, wanting something it had never had.
She licked the man’s soft prick, thankfully. She had never sucked a cock before and she loved the thick meat inside her mouth, the pressure of his cock-end hot against her throat, the quivering and spilling of his boiling semen into her belly. She had fantasized that the hot prick in her mouth was her daddy’s and that the steaming load of love that tickled down her throat into her belly, was his satisfied semen. But now, looking up at the square-jawed woodsman, Mike Blocker, she was just as glad that it had been his thick prick she made so happy. He was a nice man, she thought. His eyes, like her daddy’s, were kind and gentle.
Sueanne’s crotch was throbbing and her legs were damp with the dripping desire of her virgin cunt. She wondered how it would feel to have a thick prick pressing into the tiny hole that only fingers had explored. But Mike had said that he wouldn’t fuck her, wouldn’t take her cherry. She thought he was a man of his word — and she felt a wave of disappointment as her hungry cunt twitched between her thighs.
Sueanne toyed with Mike’s limp tool as though it were a new plaything, grazing it with her fingertips, feeling its form and warmth, exploring its wrinkles and its little hole. She could feel the big man’s eyes staring down at her as she traced the outline of his balls with her finger, stroked the patches of straight, black hair on his marble bag.
She felt a growing pain in her groin and she pressed her loins into the wooden floor below her, enjoying their coldness against her hot and swollen cunt. She moved her pelvis sensuously, attempting, in a naive fashion, to eliminate the growing hot and wet discomfort.
Sueanne looked into Mike’s eyes, an innocent pleading look and she smiled as he ran his big fingers through her hair, tracing the line of her neck and slipping under the neckline of her blouse to find the stiff nipple of her tit. He didn’t rub it roughly like Billy and the other teenager boys had. He gently moved it with his fingertip until the pleasure soared through her body and her groin and loins ached with a need that was too large to deny.
She stood up easily, graceful as a cat as she unhooked the waistband of her skirt and dropped it to the floor. She could see Mike’s lusting eyes stare as she pulled the blouse off, exposing her teenage, pert and pink tipped breasts, their nipples jutting out, eager rosebuds. She hooked her thumbs into her bikini panties and pushed them over her thighs, letting them drop to the wooden floor. Easily, without effort, she stepped from them and kicked them into the darkness of the room.
She dropped to her knees before the fire, haloed by the wild and violent flames, her nipples beckoning to Mike’s hot mouth, her glistening, swollen cunt calling to his cock.
“I can’t fuck you,” he said again, slowly, his tongue hardly able to move with excitement, “I can’t. But I can teach you other ways of making love.”
The big man leaned forward and took Sueanne’s stiff, pink nipple in his mouth and sucked it, tonguing the tip with his tongue until it jutted rigidly deep inside his mouth. His hot fingers found the slit between her thighs and rubbed against the slippery heat of her cunt lips, finding her stiff clitoris and moving it in a steady rhythm as he sucked her stiff nipple.
Sueanne stroked his dark head, feeling the incredible sensation of his tongue licking her stiff nipple, his finger moving expertly on her slippery, aching clit, and she pretended it was her daddy, making love to her at last.
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