WHITE SLAVE Part 1

Margaret Sorenson spilled another quarter-cup of Spic ‘n Span into the plastic wash bucket and swirled it around with her delicate hand, feeling the grit instantly dissolve into sterile suds. She churned the suds to life and dipped her scrub brush into the hot soapy water to continue the humble task of scrubbing years of accumulated wax from the yellowed floor of her landlord’s kitchen. Her modest red and white checkered house dress, still speckled with furniture polish from yesterday’s house cleaning, pulled across her lap to expose her slim thighs. Margaret poked a finger to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her nape-tied scarf and, wiping a purling drop of sweat from her unwrinkled brow with a swipe of her sudsy hand, sat up to admire the rewards of her plebeian task. In an arm’s stretch semi-circle around her, an oasis of white glistened in a desert of sandy yellow. Another two hours of sweating and scrubbing and backache, and she would have worked off one week’s rent here at her Geary Street apartment in downtown San Francisco. But the thirty-eight year old woman refused to complain; at least she had a roof over her head, which was a lot more than many women in her situation could brag of.
The proud Swede had seen many an unfortunate woman in the social security collection lines. Single women, many not over forty, bent and stunted from malnutrition and medical neglect, a hive of buzzing, scraggly children at each side, pulling on her work-wearied body, each claiming a part of a mother who hadn’t the energy left to enjoy her blessing of motherhood. And in the welfare lines too… unkempt, dirty hair, worn-down heels on blistering over-sized shoes bought for a quarter at St. Vincent de Paul’s. The poverty and humility brought tears to Margaret’s eyes. No, she would never resort to such poverty, even now in her widowed years. She would work off her debts with honest physical labor and not complain how many backaching hours it took to satisfy Roger Blasser’s insistent demands.
After all, as landlord’s go, he had been sympathetic enough to appreciate her dour situation since Sandor was killed in the construction accident down south of Market Street. Then, too, her poverty was only a temporary inconvenience; the union lawyers were working overtime trying to get a court date to settle the lawsuit involving Sandor Sorenson’s needless death in the explosion that rocketed him twenty feet in the air to crash on the steel beams still loaded on the flat-bed truck below. When the case was finally settled, the union lawyers anticipated a $500,000 settlement for his death, plus another $100,000 for her trauma and personal loss; that didn’t include either of Sandor’s two life insurance policies that would come due in two months.
When her ship came in, she’d pack up her modest belongings and buy a ticket back to Sweden where her relatives were crying for her. But that was in the future and the thirty-eight year old husbandless blonde realized she must cope with the squalor of her existence until she could free herself. She would put up with the wheezing hydraulic brakes of the city’s busses that roared beneath her bedroom window, and the cockroaches that infested every openly seeping draining in the soon-to-be condemned apartment house where a conglomerate of centurians, widows, taxi drivers, hippies left over from the flower days of Haight Street, and single-parented children hovelled in the ruins of what was once an elegant place to call home. It had its amenities, too. The rent was extraordinarily cheap for San Francisco, and transportation was readily available for people like Margaret who couldn’t afford a car. Then, too, the landlord would accept excuses when the rent was late, like now; or better, still, he would accept what humble labor she could offer in exchange for a place to call home.
In the three years she had occupied her third floor one-bedroom apartment here on Geary Street, she had grown comfortable and had made friends with some of the occupants who shared the ten-story eyesore. After Sandor’s death the widower from upstairs whose television set she had tolerated at three o’clock in the morning for three yeas without protest, ingratiated himself by inviting her up for coffee and to watch the afternoon soap operas. And Lola from across the hall had invited her to Saturday afternoon matinees. So it wasn’t as if nobody appreciated her loss. Roger, too, had invited her to his apartment on several occasions, a truth which brought a blush to her cheeks and she kneed over to the far corner of the kitchen, pushing her sloshing mop bucket along ahead of her.
Roger… she mused, watching the water drip from the natural bristle scrub brush before descending it to the floor. Roger had been more than kind. Sandor wouldn’t approve of her cooking and cleaning for another man, she thought guiltily; but what was she to do? Spend the rest of her life holed-up crocheting and mending house-dresses? Ah, it was silly! There wasn’t anything between she and Roger. Margaret levered herself to her knees and elbows and dug the brush into the yellowed linoleum, watching cakes of dirt and wax lift like magic. But her mind wasn’t on the floor, it was on Roger. Roger would be home soon, and for some unexplainable reason, she didn’t want him to see her on elbows and knees like a common scrub lady. She was only thirty-eight; she had time to live… and love.
Oh, sure, he’d kissed her one time and hugged her, lifting her off the floor with his strong Arabian arms. But that was just kidding around, nothing serious. Roger liked women, Margaret knew with a small pang of jealousy. She’d seen several women, all dressed for the night club and heavily made-up, leaving his apartment at strange hours. Margaret sat up on her haunches, yanking down her dress that had hiked up to her thighs. Yes, she reasoned generously, Roger should have many women, he surely had the looks of a lady’s man with his black thick hair and rich tanned skin. For a man of forty-five, he still carried himself in a dignified manner, straight and tall and strong. Margaret liked that. Sandor had been a strong man.
Tonight she would cook for him. Oh, he wasn’t subtracting anything off of the rent for her kitchen labors, but he’d once said he loved meatballs and gravy, and Swedish meatballs was her dish — and it would be good having a man praise her cooking again. It had been so long… so darned long since she’d had anything to look forward to.

*****

Margaret had cleared the gravy-smeared plates and run warm water from the dripping faucet to rinse them off before the cock-roaches decided it was time for a meal and came lurking out of the woodwork in silent armies. In the living room off the kitchen, she could hear the television set’s scratchy roar; it sounded like a baseball game. Suddenly she remembered the world series season was upon fans everywhere; Sandor had always watched it, too, sitting in his favorite overstuffed chair, nursing a can of cold beer. The remembrance brought a smile to her lipsticked lips. Running a dishpan full of hot water, she set the dirty dishes in to soak and walked into the screen-lit room to sit beside Roger.
Roger smiled down at the blonde woman beside him and slipped his arm around her, never taking his eyes off the television set. Somehow it all seemed comfortable, and Margaret felt no guilt at this man showing a gesture of absent-minded affection toward her. She basked contentedly, sitting back on the aging springs of the sofa, and pulled a hand crocheted afghan over her knees that had been folded and thrown over the back. Her full stomach and after dinner glass of wine suddenly made her feel drowsy and she took the silent liberty of resting her head on Roger’s shoulder.
“You’re a hell of a cook,” whispered Roger when the Gillette commercial interrupted the game. The Arabian landlord gave her shoulder a gentle nudge. His hand felt strong and powerful through the thin fabric of her cotton dress.
“T’ank you. And did you like the way I clean your floors?” she asked in her sing-songy Swedish accent, squeezing a little closer to the man’s side.
And then, without a word between them, Roger allowed his fingers to slide along the upthrust swell of her breast until his opened palm cupped the full swinging mound of her tit delicately. He could feel her body stiffen, her breath suddenly coming faster as with one finger, his middle one, he caressed the inviting softness of her breast, rubbing the swollen tiny peak of her nipple through her flimsy dress as he admired the ample, womanly figure she still possessed. She was a specimen of health, her skin tight and resilient, so typical of blonde Nordics, and her shimmering blonde hair showed only one streak of platinum gray. Roger could hear a little purr coming from her lips, and he smiled to himself savoring the effect he was having on her… he had her wrapped around his finger, that was for sure, right where he wanted to keep her. She needed affection, that he knew and in return she would bring him a gold mine if only half of those law suits and insurance policies came to fruition. A lonely woman in a strange country with no man… hell!
He tweaked the sensitive nipple with his thumb and index finger, and she shivered involuntarily from the tip of her toes along her spine to her shoulders. Pausing for a moment, he moved his exploring hand around the firm curve of her breast until his fingers found what he was looking for: with practiced deftness, he eased the zipper down along the satiny plane of her back until he reached the taut elastic band of her panties. He stopped there an instant slipping his fingers between her warm flesh and the tight band, far enough down the hollow of her naked back to reach the first few inches of her fleshy buttock crevice. Teasingly, he flicked a finger against the tightly puckered ring of her anus and felt her quickly shrink away.
Shit, I’ll bet old Sandor never poked his prick in there, Roger mused to himself.
He massaged her nakedly sensitive flesh in slow concentric circles as his hand eased back along the smoothness of her back until he reached the stretched fabric of her dress, pulled taut now over her shoulders. Pausing first to unsnap the tiny three hooks of her bra, he then eased the shoulders of her dress down along her arms until the dress hung limply over her whitely firm breasts.
He stopped his smooth seductive motions and looked Margaret over again, eyeing hungrily the rich, womanly full swells and hollows of her well-formed body. Yes sir, she was quite a nice looking woman, all right.
Again with his right hand, Roger tumbled the fabric of Margaret’s dress and the sheer tissue of her bra over the bulging mounds of her breasts, exposing the twin half-dollars of her fully erect nipples, all pinkish and excited at being exposed to the air and to his eyes. They swelled even more rigidly as a sudden chill breeze caressed them, sending a burst of rippling electricity through her breasts and down into her man-hungry belly, fanning the embers of a long-dormant fire that once burned there.
Yes, God help her, she had been so long without a man, so long she had nearly forgotten the magic of a real man’s touch, the thrilling ecstasy of being looked at and caressed this way.
His outstretched fingertips brushed lightly over the soft, warmly beckoning bulge of her tits, first one, then the other, before finally clamping tightly over the ripely mature mound, squeezing the delicate ivory-white flesh between his clenched fingers.
Margaret could stand no more; she had kept silent as long as she could. “Oh, you are a sweet man, Roger. Oh, it feel so good.”
Her knees were opening and closing like an accordion and she flung the afghan to the floor; her firmly fleshed buttocks were ground tightly against the sofa. Margaret could feel the warm dampness of love juice spreading between her thighs as the cheeks of her fully rounded ass clenched like starving lips at the fabric, beneath them. Even his touch was driving her almost insane with heated desire; she was going out of her mind with blind passion… a scream was ready to burst from her lungs any second now from the agonizing deliciousness of his knowledgeable fingers were bringing her. She offered no resistance as he shoved her over onto the cushions of the long sofa, stretching himself out beside her and continuing to relentlessly caress the nakedly soft white mounds of her full fleshy breasts. A low moaning cry escaped from her lips as he roughly squeezed the tenderly pulsating nipples between his fingers, toying with them mercilessly as her whole body trembled and quivered from his touch.
His hands left the feverishly jutting nipples and slowly eased along the flat plane of her belly. Margaret’s body arched off the sofa as his fingers slipped once again under the waist-band of her panties, brushing over the fluffy mound of her sparse pubic hair until his hand made a maddening electric contact with the warmly moist lips of her cunt; even in the dim light of the television Roger could see her flesh was covered with a million tiny goose-bumps as she shivered convulsively at his wonderful touch.
“Oooo, it is so nice, so nice…” the love-starved widow murmured mindlessly, floating in space now at the ecstasy of a man’s hands down there on her naked cunt.
Clutching the moist flanges of her pussy with his palm, Roger ventured a finger between the wetly pink ridges, and Margaret gasped as her feverish loins suddenly ground tightly up against his hand. His middle finger now slowly explored the entire hot length of her narrow wet slit, starting with the taut muscular ring of her anus, easing over the hard membrane of flesh that separated the two enticing channels before the probing finger finally reached the moistly clasping sheath of her pussy.
The soft pink walls parted unhesitantly as his outstretched rigid finger slipped into the warmly clasping tunnel, and he could feel the fleshy passage open hungrily as he probed it deeply with his finger.
“That feel good?” he asked, sure of himself now.
Margaret tried to reply, but as her lips parted to speak, Roger sadistically squirmed a second stiffened finger into her constrictive passage, burying it up to the last joint in the warm juicy depths of her cunt. Only a muffled cry of pain and pleasure came hoarsely from her throat.
“Well, like it or not?” he teased again, grinning down at her between pearly white teeth accentuated by his bushy black mustache and flashing chocolate eyes. He wiggled his two fingers deep inside her hot, softly-layered flesh.
“God, oh, yaaaa!”
Roger’s ravishing finger slipped from her pussy wetly clasping grip, and he tantalizingly dragged his fingertip along her warm slit until he found the throbbing little bulb of her clitoris. Using just his thumb and forefinger, he squeezed the incredibly sensitive nerve-ending as the sex-hungry widow moaned and squirmed beside him on the sofa. Back and forth, as if playing with a marble, he rolled the pulsing little nodule, and Margaret gasped and choked for air as rippling waves of undiluted passion and ecstasy swept over her shamelessly aroused body.
As her naked pelvis ground upward tightly against his palm, Roger continued his maddening assault on her loins, twisting and pulling on her hardened pink clitoris until she moaned and cried out loudly from the delightful agonies of his skillful fondling.
“Don’t stop, please… Don’t stop!” she screamed between hissing teeth, her shrill words reverberating above the roar of the baseball fans on television.
Sensing she was near her orgasm, Roger began to roughly rub her moistly throbbing cuntal slit with the tips of his fingers, stroking over the quivering fleshy peak of her clitoris and along the hot furrow between the hungrily pursed lips of her cunt.
“Oh, yaa, ya, ya!”
Suddenly Margaret’s buttocks and back arched high off the sofa, and as if she were possessed by dozen demons, her warmly moist cunt began grinding madly against his open hand as a long pitiful moan slipped from her parched half-open lips.
“Oooohhh… Aaahhh…” The impassioned young widow suddenly quivered from head to foot and jerked convulsively as the shuddering currents of her orgasm raced from her hotly straining loins, bathing his hand in a slippery gush of orgasmic juices that soaked his palm and seeped down the crevice of her buttocks before spreading in lewd trickles over the soft half moon cheeks of her ass. Finally, with a trembling sigh, she slowly sank down on the couch, lying face to face with her landlord.
She gasped hoarsely, still struggling to regain her breath. “Oh, oh that felt so good!”
Roger only smiled wordlessly, pulling his fingers from the warm wet grip of her pussy, wiping the slippery traces of her orgasmic fury from his hand with a handkerchief, keeping one eye on the baseball game. Then he spoke, “We’re not done yet. Take off your clothes.”
Without thinking, Margaret hurriedly removed her crumpled dress and panties, then unhooked her garter belt and, sitting on the edge of the sofa, pulled down her stockings and left them in a heap on the living room carpet. In just a few seconds, she was completely naked, her ripely mature body glistening with tiny beads of perspiration from the excitement and the anguished anticipation of having her first man in almost six months. She glanced down at him reclining on the sofa with his head tilted toward the television screen watching the Oakland A’s hit a home run, and she covetously eyed the thick elongated bulge in his polyester pants that seemed to her passion-glazed eyes to be a foot long. She twitched nervously, unused to a man’s hungry eyes on her naked flesh. “You ‘vant to watch ‘vatch me or de game?” she whined finally, grinding her sleekly firm thighs together to fight the growing agony between her legs.
But Roger had other plans, plans he’d laid out as carefully as those he was watching on television. Only his stakes might be higher… Margaret was coming along nicely, even better than he’d hoped. But if she was going to have any respect for him at all, he was going to have to show her who called the punches. Women liked that, he thought, they liked to be dominated — especially blondes.
Margaret watched nervously and impatiently as he swung his legs off the sofa and without haste pulled off his clothes, tossing them to join the rest on the nearby chair. She had to quickly draw her hand to her lips to stifle a gasp as he tugged down his undershorts and the entire huge length of his massively thick cock swung out into view. God, it was so big! Even bigger than Sandor’s! And so big around, nothing like the only one she had ever seen.
“You ‘vant to fuck now?” asked Margaret with saucered eyes. Just the thought of making love again was enough to make her soar. And with a man as handsome as Roger, she thought. A man… her man. He liked her; he had praised her cooking and cleaning, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what a man looked for in a good woman. A ripple of happiness spread through her tingling body: she wouldn’t be spending the rest of her life alone after all. She had Roger. But it bothered her the way he kept watching television instead of whispering sweet endearments in her ear, as Sandor had done. Her forehead furrowed and her pouty lower lip protruded as she said, “You ‘vant to make love, or not?”
Roger glared at her. “Get down on your hands and knees,” he ordered. “I want a blow job. You Scandinavians are supposed to be good at that.”
Margaret’s mind reeled at the sound of those horrible words. Where was the love? She’d done it with Sandor thousands of times, but he had never demanded it of her. The blonde widow drew a deep breath and forced a smile. It that’s what her man wanted of her, that’s what she would do, but the tingling ache between her legs cried for a need to be fulfilled, too. “But can’t we make love first?”
“You heard what I said. Now get down on your hands and knees and show me what you’re worth.” The landlord was determined that this step in Margaret Sorenson’s total subjugation and humiliation would not be skipped over. “Down on your knees. Now!”
Brushing her blonde hair from her eyes, Margaret obediently crawled from the sofa and settled at Roger’s feet, all the while trying to think of a way to get Roger to make love to her instead of what she must do. She knew he meant it; the flash in his dark eyes promised that. He was the only man in her life now. God had taken her first man, and now it was time for him to give her a second. She needed him, needed a man to cook and clean for and make love to her in return. His dangling cock, sagging from its own immense weight, was scarcely a foot away from her face as she struggled to hold back the hot lump in her throat, terrified and skeptical of having another man’s big white cock in her mouth… that same mouth that had only kissed and sucked her dear Sandor’s. Another man’s cum in her throat… it was almost too hard to swallow.
Roger slid forward on the sofa, gauging carefully the distance from his limply hanging prick and her wetly trembling lips. He adjusted his hips just slightly so that the purplish swollen head brushed her lips ever so little.
“All right, baby… it’s all yours! Do a good job and I’ll make it up to you later. Now hurry up, the A’s will be back at bat in a couple of minutes.” And with that he gave her a rough pinch deep inside her naked thigh as she knelt below him, squeezing her soft tender flesh just an inch from the warmly moist lips of her still-hungry pussy.
Margaret turned her face away from the enormous bulb-shaped head and closed her eyes, hoping somehow that it would go away — or better still, turn into Sandor’s long hard prick that she knew every ridge and vein of.
Roger spun her head back so that she was less than a scant inch from his half-erect, dangling prick.
“Listen, sweetie, I don’t wanna get rough with ‘ya, but I said to hurry up, okay? OKAY?” His tone was calm, but threatening, and Margaret didn’t want to get him angry. She’d heard him yelling at some tenants upstairs about being late with the rent, and had witnessed his rage as he slammed his clenched fist into the door and sent it rocking on its hinges. With his size and strength, she knew she would be helpless against him.
Suddenly he grew tired of waiting and grabbed her ears with his powerful hands and twisted them upward, causing a pain so excruciating that she thought for a moment she would black out. She cried out for him to stop, but he ignored her pleas, keeping one eye on the television screen and one on her. Abruptly, he pulled her face roughly up to his naked loins, shoving his hips forward so that the blunted end of his heavy cock pressed lewdly against her moistly glistening lips. Once more he twisted at her small ears and she again groaned with pain.
“Now, Margaret… open your mouth and suck it! NOW! SUCK IT!” he screamed above the deafening roar of fan’s cheers blasting from the television set.
Her mouth opened slightly with one more twist and her agonized lips slowly parted as Roger gazed at the wetly open orifice in front of his loins, then very carefully forced the massively pulsating head into the warm moist cavern and let it lay there twitching slightly as it grew still harder and more erect. The young widow didn’t move at all, lest the brushing of her quivering tongue on the enormous heated shaft of flesh should cause it to grow even larger.
“It’s your choice, honey, but I will have a blow job…” His voice was suddenly convincingly cruel.
Margaret knew it was hopeless to resist the landlord and, admittedly, there was a part of her that didn’t want to displease the darkly handsome man, this was something she must do or lose him… lose the one spark in her dreary life. And she couldn’t stand the thought, no matter how disgusting this awful degrading act seemed. She fought back the churning ball of nausea growing thicker by the second in her knotted, fear-wrenched belly and closed her wetly walled lips over the throbbing fleshy staff and eased it reluctantly with her tongue, feeling his hands loosen their grip as she obediently complied with his harsh demands. His powerful hands still held her, though not as painfully, but she knew she should please him to avoid a scene. Margaret didn’t like scenes; Sandor had been such a mild-mannered, loving man. But Roger had it in him to be brutal if he wanted to, and that scared her. She closed her eyes and tried to keep her mind on the long pulsing prick that loomed before her.
Roger looked down at the long thick pole of flesh protruding from his hair-covered pelvis and throbbing ever so gently in her warm, half-opened wet mouth, at the pursed lips stretching tightly around the immense purplish head, and he felt a twinge of disappointment that she hadn’t protested more. Hell, it would have done her a world of good to get kicked around a little first, before sucking him off. Every woman worth her salt needed a good kick in the ass once in a while, he thought. At least the women he had out on the streets leaning against lamp posts sure as hell needed it to let them know who the boss was.
But there wasn’t time for such thoughts now, all he wanted was to enjoy this blow job and watch the Oakland A’s slam a homer to win the series. And watching her blonde head begin to reluctantly slide back and forth on the long, saliva-moistened length of his prick was nothing but pure joy. Damn!
He allowed his hands to slip from her head and down over the smooth, velvety skin of her naked shoulders, near-perfect and silky and unblemished, deliciously warm and soft to his caressing touch. She obviously wasn’t putting her heart into sucking his cock, so the big landlord brought his hands back up to the sides of her head, his open palms firmly placed on either side of her face. His grip tightened and he held her neatly positioned there against his heatedly pulsating prick as he began a rhythmic pumping motion with his lower body, his still-growing long prick jutting from his pelvis and rubbing between her moistly ovalled lips as the bulbous, lust-distended head poked against the back of her mouth. He could feel her small white teeth grating against the sensitive bottom side of his prick and the wetly rough surface of her tongue as it brushed along the full length of his thickly erect flesh, now so finely attuned to the tiniest subtle movement of her hotly licking tongue and lips that just the very touch sent shivers of savage animal desire into his loins.
“Yeah, baby… that’s nice, honey, real nice,” he growled softly, beginning to pump his thick, rigid cock deeper into her throat, her warm enveloping lips sliding along its full length with each forward plunge of his hips, and his fleshy stalk grew harder, longer, and thicker by the second, stretching like a rubber band until it reached enormous proportions.
He grinned to himself as the young widow did her best to take his cock full length in her mouth, something he knew she couldn’t possibly do; as it was she swallowed, gagged, and choked each time he gave an extra forward flick of his loins. That part he especially enjoyed; nothing was better for a good broad than a big cock to ream out her tonsils once in a while.
He hoped he’d found a good cock-sucker here, because there wasn’t anything on earth he liked better than a really nice blow job, one where the broad knew her stuff, could relax her throat muscles like she could relax her asshole, and let his cock just slide right down that wetly smooth channel until the sides of her throat passage sucked him dry. Yeah, ol’ Margaret here was doing all right for a Swede.
Margaret slaved over his loins, desperately trying not to choke on the pulsing fleshy cock invading her throat; it was so big! Each time his muscular abdomen slapped against her moistly pursed lips, the terrible punishing thing pushed lewdly against the back of her throat and at first, thinking she would surely be choked to death, she had fought it back, gasping and coughing with each of his vicious skewering thrusts. But gradually she had found a way to relax her throat muscles and now it wasn’t as bad. He would pull it almost all the way out of her wetly clasping mouth, out over her widely ovalled lips until the lust-swollen head of his cock was between her teeth, and then he would begin that dreaded instroke, that journey deep into her tender throat. Somehow that hardened shaft managed to bend just enough when its throbbing head rammed against the back of her gullet to go down, lubricated with her hot saliva and the first slippery traces of his seminal fluid oozing fitfully from the tiny opening on the end of his prick. And every time it went down, she would have to swallow or choke, and soon she realized that the flexing of her own throat muscles was bringing on the inevitable torrent of hot cum even sooner, and she viewed the climax with mixed emotions. She wanted it over, to be rid of his pulsating rod that gagged and choked her so painfully… but the thought of what was coming next, his ejaculated cum emptying down her throat like she was a common whore! Sandor had never made her swallow it; in fact, he’d kept a box of kleenex next to his bed for just that purpose.
Margaret tried not to swallow, but she choked immediately and he pulled it out for a moment, rubbing its still throbbing head over her moistly smeared lips, and she could taste the beginning of the end as small whitish drops of his fluid oozed from the slit end and onto her tongue. He took the blunted head between his clenched fingers and lewdly, obscenely, painted her lips with his warm, slightly saline discharge, leaving them glistening from his impatiently dribbling semen. She was totally beaten now, kneeling at his feet like a servant girl in the old country.
Roger felt the telltale twitch of his loins and could feel the dammed-up seething flood of hot semen restlessly surging behind the restraints of his aching balls as he slowly, rhythmically, pumped in and out of her ovalled lips, savoring every inch of his delicious instroke as it disappeared agonizingly down her velvety throat channel. He wanted to feel every screaming millimeter of his cum’s long fast run from his lust-distended balls of his prick’s throbbing, blood-filled head, and his hands squeezed in on her ears now, holding her absolutely motionless in his strong grip while he rammed his cock down, deeper and deeper down that tight, constrictive little throat.
Ah, here it comes, he thought, it’s cumming… it’s cumming! He could feel the hot sperm rushing out of his testicles and up the bottom of his prick, and he stopped dead still, his madly throbbing cock rammed all the way to his pubic hair down her hungry throat, her head perfectly still, as he waited impatiently for the building explosion in his loins…
“Aaaahhhh!” he gasped anxiously, emptying his lungs as, at that same infinitesimal second, he emptied his sperm-laden balls.
Margaret sucked voraciously, harder and harder, for as strongly as her better reasoning had dictated, now — tasting his pungency for the first time — she wanted it. She wanted every precious drop of his hot seething flood, and she sucked at the long quivering cock, swallowing and gulping its gushing waves of heated thick fluid like a starving animal. Her arms spontaneously wrapped around his hips as she knelt at his feet, pulling his powerful loins in hard against her face and lips until every hot swallow was safely down her eagerly working throat.
He looked down at the kneeling figure of the love-starved widow and smiled as she finally pulled her hungrily sucking mouth away from his pelvis, a thin sticky trail of semen dangling from her lips and chin like a spider’s web. Yes sir, she was right where he wanted her, nothing stood in his way now, those checks might as well be his!
But Roger had other things on his mind… other things that the love-starved widow would not have understood in her silent modest humility. Things a God-fearing woman such as herself didn’t even know happened in a big city where everyone is prey to other lethal talons.

*****
Chris O’Brien took one look at her checkbook balance and swore. Damn! There was no way she could pay the rent and afford bus fare too, not to mention coincidentals like laundry and an occasional glass of wine. Then the worst realization imaginable struck the sandy haired girl between the eyes like 40,000 watts of voltage: there was no more money coming in until she found a job. Thank God they were getting food stamps!
Oh God! What to do? She collapsed on the single bed that squeeked under her slender weight and, covering her face with her hands, she wept, her five-foot four-inch body rocking back and forth on the Indian print bedspread. Why had she insisted on coming to San Francisco without a job? Her uncle Frank had warned her, her aunt Violet, her father, and her very own younger sister. But no, Chris O’Brien was going to prove her independence regardless of the ominous odds. So what if California already suffered from 13% unemployment, not to mention the spate of 18-22 year old jobless, of which she was but a statistic. Chris would prove them all overly cautious and narrow-minded. She would come in cold, get a well-paying, creative job with travel benefits. After all, she had a college diploma in one hand and a portfolio brimming with talent in the other. What more could she have going for her? Her professors at the University had encouraged her, telling her she should try cracking into the fashion design market out here on the West Coast. Sure, they’d said, it you want to start a career, go to New York; but the West Coast has lots more amenities. Now, after two months of scouring the streets, all she could show for her efforts was a bad blister on her left heel and an arm-long list of useless telephone numbers and contacts. And no money.
A roar as loud as her own crying rocketed through the Geary Street apartment, the din’s vibrating rattle making the stereo groan, then skip a cut. Chris pounded an angry fist into her knee. And this hole! It was filthy and noisy, snorted Chris. You couldn’t listen to a record album without a bus interrupting everytime its brakes ground to a halt to repeat its never ending route up and down Geary Street all night. But you could hardly complain to a landlord about cockroaches and broken windows when you still owed last month’s rent and had no prospects for paying the current month’s either. You bit your lip and endured: that was city living.
What could she do? Chris bit into her trembling lower lips and stared blurrily at the yellow cracked wall. She might as well call her parents collect and humiliate herself by asking them to send her a one-way ticket back to Detroit and forget there was any part of America west of the Mississippi River. No. That would be giving in, sniffed Chris, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She’d rather work at the telephone company, God forbid, than do that — if they were hiring.
The twenty-two year old slim-hipped girl braced her foot on the bed board and, out of habit, twisted to reach her cigarettes on the night stand. With a wince and a snap of her fingers she remembered she’d smoked the last one last night — or had her roommate bummed it? She couldn’t remember which. Just yesterday she’d spent her last cash on a pair of stockings she didn’t like, to wear to a job interview for a job she didn’t want. Damn! she hissed, clenching her fists. We’ve got to do something. Anything!
And her roommate Sandy was no help either. God, she couldn’t keep a dollar in her pocket for five minutes without it sending up flames. That, thought Christ pacing in front of the window, is the whole trouble with Sandy. Drugs. Money spent uselessly on drugs, and all it got you was a headache and another day in debt. In school it had been no problem even though they’d roomed together since neophyte freshman. One collect phone call to the folks telling them you needed another easel or art book, and the check was in the mail pronto. Now, being twenty-two and independent, neither of the girls could expect anything in the mail except for a good wish and a stamped, self-addressed envelope to back home. A case of responsibility, pure and simple.
Chris put her finger to her lip and concentrated on the old man across the street, stooping over to pick up cigarette butts from the gutter. Where had last summer’s savings gone? She tapped her foot, mentally counting off the dollars. Rent-$70, clothes-about $10, rock concerts… ummm, that’s where a good share of it had gone. And dope. One pound of top grade marijuana that she and Sandy had bought the first week in San Francisco. “Good stuff… safe connection… you can sell it, keep a couple lids for yourselves and make a killing on the rest.” Right, thought Chris with a sarcastic nod of the head. Safe investment, huh! The dealer, some guy Sandy had picked up in the park and brought home for an afternoon of frolic and post-hippie lovemaking, sold them the goods and ripped them off on the same night. Some scam!
He’d come late at night to break up the kilo and weigh out the pound in front of the two girls. Next thing Chris remembered she was lying on the floor from an overdose of PCP sprinkled in the marijuana — a drug she’d smoked occasionally while in school — with Sandy making passionate love to the dealer on the sofa. Chris, on hands and knees, had crawled to her bedroom, just one doorway beyond, and listened to the grunts and groans and slurping and slapping of flesh on naked flesh only to wake up the next morning to find her roommate passed out on the couch and Chris’ purse laying open and empty… and the pound of dope picked up and carried off by the same hands that had brought it in only four hours earlier. It was a killing all right, mused Chris with the caustic wisdom of a victim of the city. A real lesson.
She’d blamed Sandy for it, calling her irresponsible and a poor judge of character, that she should have been able to pick up on the guy’s vibes and known better than to buy dope from a stranger. But then, honestly speaking, if Sandy had to pass on her judgment of people, she wouldn’t have passed kindergarten, for Sandy was a girl who knew what she wanted on the skimpiest of superficial levels and sacrificed anything to get it — money, honor. It didn’t matter. If it felt good, Sandy indulged. It was her life’s principle. “Some people live by the ten commandments,” Chris remembered her best friend saying, “and I have my fun.” No one could argue the point; in a crazy sort of way it made sense.
Even Chris couldn’t argue with Sandy on that issue. The long haired girl lit the half-burned cigarette she found among the marijuana roaches in the seashell ashtray and lit it, feeling the hot match warm her fingers as she thought on. No, Sandy had never been discriminate about her college dates. If they liked loud music, beer, and dope, they were Sandy’s kind of people. Poor, rich, white, black, yellow, red — Sandy had had them all. And loved it.
That must have been thought Chris pulling on the second-time-around cigarette, why Mom and Dad were opposed to her coming along with me out here to California in the first place. Though she was loathe to concede the issue, her parents were right. Sandy was getting out of hand with bringing home guys from the laundromat, the bus stop, and the pool hall — anywhere she could find a willing mate who wanted to spend an afternoon in bed. And worst of all, they would crash all night with Sandy in her bedroom and play the stereo on full blast so that Chris couldn’t get to sleep until the east turned yellow.
But damn it, you couldn’t help but love Sandy no matter how many times she broke a promise or borrowed money. She was a true friend, a real sister, and Chris would do anything to help her roommate. After all, Sandy had stuck by Chris through all her traumas and hard times, always offering everything she had to give.
Like the time Chris’ parents had decided to make a surprise Sunday afternoon visit to their oldest daughter in college, and Sandy had given up her afternoon to chat and play hostess to Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien while Chris lay in frozen silence behind her bedroom door with her boyfriend after a night of de-flowering love making. Chris had been far too embarrassed and shame-faced guilty to face her parents, especially with Dick haggling her for a second time around. Hadn’t Chris a debt to pay there? Return one good turn for another? Sandy had shrugged it off, saying she enjoyed company. True, the dark haired girl did like people.
That, succinctly, was another one of Sandy’s problems. But nobody could blame her. Everybody said she was lucky not to be scared for life. And to think her step-father was responsible.
Chris felt a wave of nauseating guilt. She drew heavily on the last drag of the tortured cigarette and snuffed out the filter in the carbon-stained seashell. For some unaccountable reason Chris sensed that she shouldn’t even be thinking about Sandy’s problems… that lurid, terrifying story had been related in confidence, and Chris wasn’t even sure she had the facts straight. The antidepressant drugs — stelazine and meloril — the doctors administered to Sandy that night in the hospital after she’d attempted to commit suicide by threatening to jump out of a ten story campus building because of a breaking up with her boy friend, had triggered her memory and blurred her speech.
Chris had spent the night in the psych ward of the University hospital holding Sandy’s cold, clammy hand and listening to the mumbled horror of a childhood nightmare. Had Sandy the courage to relate her story without the mellowing effect of drugs to ease the emotional and physical torture that scorched her body each time she talked about it, Chris was certain the objective truth might run like this:
The day that Sandy was to remember forever had dawned very hot, and she had decided to go for a walk down by the creek to get a bit of sunshine and daydream as twelve-year-olds do. A physically mature girl for her years, the black haired girl had walked with her back curved and her full young breasts jutting out and bouncingly firmly. She’d been happy; her mother, after a year of husbandless loneliness, had married a man at last, and Sandy was happy to have a father.
Sandy strolled along, occasionally raising her hand to shield her eyes against the glare of the sun. Born and raised in the Michigan countryside, she loved the out-of-doors and especially the creek, where as a child she used to build log dams and fish for trout in the cool fresh water. She sauntered down to the creek that ran through their property, down to its shady banks where she drifted under the willow trees, feeling the coolness like caressing fingers all over her body, and finally reached a sheltered place she knew. It was a spot where the creek widened out into a crystal pool that was hidden from all eyes by the bushes and a natural embankment. Here, Sandy kicked off her shoes and waded ankle-deep in the water, playfully kicking up a spray, with her dress showing a flash of nakedly white thigh. Here, in the tiny glen, Sandy felt that she was safe to do as she wanted.
It felt good being out of the house, because things hadn’t been going as smoothly as the twelve year old thought they should. There had been much arguing between her mother and step-father, much of it having to do with Sandy and her newly discovered social life. Already at the approaching teenage year, she had dated once or twice and her step-father thought she was being too loose for a girl her age. He had made accusations which sent her mother into tears, and Sandy had the feeling he’d been following her, something her mother refused to believe of her new husband.
The young brunette hadn’t counted on the prying eyes of her step-father, who made his quiet way up and down the creek embankment, and now stood looking down at Sandy tossing her thick mane of black hair. He crouched down behind a tree on the top of the knoll and watched Sandy sprawl in the grass and turn her face up to the warming sun. Her face was delicate, with a slender nose that ended in a provocative tilt. There was also a tilt to her wide pale green eyes. Her face was delicate and feminine, right down to her wide, fleshy mouth.
But it was her voluptuous young body that excited her step-father and made him chew on his lips. He watched his step-daughter from behind the tree and saw Sandy lean all her weight back on her arms, letting her head even further back so that her face and throat were presented to the warming sun. She raised one leg and bent the knee. The man held his breath as he watched her firmly white thighs. He saw her sprawled with the hem of her dress in her lap and her legs spread as she let the knee wantonly fall over to one side, revealing the tight white band of her panties that so snuggly held and hid her pussy. He stared as though mesmerized at the flimsly white panties covering the treasure he wanted to so badly to see, then blinked and wiped sweat from the palms of his hands by rubbing them on his pants.
Christ, his wife had one hell of a good looking daughter, alright. A lot of style for a young girl, the way she strutted her stuff, flashing her ripe breasts in front of the young guys. And already she’d come home at two o’clock in the morning on two different occasions. Hell if she wasn’t out getting it!
Sandy sank back, her eyes closed, smiling slightly at the kiss of the sun on her face and neck. It felt good! The rays caressed her flesh and made her tingle in a drowsy kind of way. A slight breeze blew and sent ripples of pleasure over her face and neck. Sandy listened for a moment while lazily thinking how nice it would feel if she were to…
Her step father was like an Indian, freezing immediately when he saw the girl sit up and open her eyes and look around. Slowly, he sank back into the shade of the tree and held his breath. With one eye, he watched Sandy glance around and cock her head as if listening for something. Had he made a noise or did she hear someone coming? He was sure she’d run off and was waiting for her boy friend to show up.
No! He held his breath and felt his rapidly awakening cock give a hard jerk in his pants as he saw her unbuttoning the front of her dress and pull it free of her creamy shoulders and gather it around her incredibly slender waist. His mouth went dry as he saw her sitting with her breasts looking so full blown that they were literally stuffed into the bra and were straining to burst free. He watched as Sandy reached behind her with both arms. Her breasts jutted forward and up as she worked with the clasp in the hollow of her back. Her fingers snapped the clasp and her ripely fleshed mounds sprang quivering free.
The step-father, George, almost yelled and his cock jerked again so powerfully in the tight confinement of his jockey shorts that he bent over in pain.
Jesus, Christ! His step-daughter had beautiful tits!
His mouth was as dry as sand as he looked at her two nakedly free breasts with their tightly tensed nipples so dark and round. He watched her breasts quiver and shake in a wantonly provocative way; they were ripe and round with half-moons of shadow under them as she again leaned back all her weight on her arms and let her head loll back with her eyes closed. Her breasts were jutting up, right at him and the older man felt he could leap up, run down, surprise her, and grab those tits in his hands… and massage them… and put his hungry mouth over those tautly teasing nipples and bite and suck on them. He bent over again, forced to adjust his swelling cock in his pants.
“Jesus, I’m in for a show!” He whispered the words in his dry, caked throat as he waited for her boy friend to show up.
His hand swatted at the sweat forming on his upper lip just as Sandy sat up again, and looked around with a dreamy expression. He sank back further, keeping one eye on her and one hand on his painfully tight groin.
Sandy was feeling good, very good… and a little bold and wicked. Supposing someone should come along? She smiled, knowing that no one would. Only her mother was at home, and she was doing the wash. And her step-father… well, he was probably in town getting drunk. After all, it was Saturday afternoon. Just as well, her step-father had been accusing her of all sorts of ridiculous things of late, and she’d just as soon he spent his time on a bar stool, rather than trying to play father which he failed so miserably at.
Satisfied, she felt safe, felt that this was her day, her hour, that she could be safely alone and do exactly as she pleased, that she could be free and enjoy the sun. Free! The word hummed through her head like a song, a wantonly sensuous song. She cupped her budding breasts with either hand, touching them softly and intimately, her fingertips brushing across her already distended nipples as she marveled at the way her body had changed so dramatically in the last six months. Already the boys at school were calling her a cock teaser because of the way she strutted proudly. A thrill of lustful desire swept through her body, mixing, smoking and brooding, in her groin. Her entire young body seemed to, for a minute, throb with the hotly liquid desire of being a ripe woman.
Sandy almost lost her balance as she felt desire ripple through her body in increasing undulations as her fingertips brushed back and forth across her nipples. It felt so good!
God damn! She’s acting like some twenty-two year old whore!
Lust twisted his face as he watched the unsuspecting girl gently teasing and exciting herself. He was right about her. She was putting out for somebody! Somebody definitely was getting her nooky! He clenched his fist and crouched low behind the tree, preparing to charge. He couldn’t stand watching any longer and, damn, her mother never did that for him!
He was just about to go barreling down the hill as if her were pulling off an off-tackle plunge when he froze, catching his breath in an audible way he was afraid she heard. She was sitting up again and using her hands to push the dress down over her creamy-white hips. He held his breath as he watched her rocking from one cheek of her buttocks to the other, wiggling and writhing lazily as she brazenly slipped the bunched up dress down over her thigh and all the way down to her knees. She sat for a moment in her little white bikinis, feeling so drowsy in the sun.
George licked his dry lips and watched her with her naked breasts caught between her arms, pressing her cleavage tightly deep. Her breasts ballooned under her arms, making her nipples more tautly tempting than ever before. His eyes greedily took in her firmly flat stomach with its navel plainly visible as her abdomen tautly rippled when she again leaned back on her arms and tossed her wild black mane of hair.
Sandy basked in the gently, sensuous warmth of the sun. She closed her eyes and felt it warming her all over. On an impulse, she again sat up and hooked her dainty thumbs in her flimsy panties and pulled them off, feeling a rush of cooling air on her heat-moistened cuntal slit and in the deeply tight crevice of her buttocks.
George felt his body quivering like a big cat ready to leap. There she was before him, totally naked, her sensually voluptuous body so young and firm with a rubbery kind of resilience. He watched her breasts twin white orbs quiver elastically as she moved, lying down and stretching out in the hot sun. He saw her young naked loins moving enticingly as she stretched her legs.
His eyes were drawn to her groin where her firmly shaped thighs met her nakedly tempting torso and he saw her softly parted pubic hair that fuzzed out virginally. His eyes fastened on that slit and he caught a glimpse of warmly pink cuntal flesh as she lazily spread her legs. Her pulpy pussy lips were already glistening and swelling even as he watched. His cock throbbed and lunged once like a wild animal seeking freedom, and he gritted his teeth hard in an effort at self control.
Sandy lolled back, closed her eyes, basking in the gently warming rays of the sun and gradually becoming sensually aware of her own naked body. She felt her genitals growing moist with a throbbing itch, and her hands whispered over her ripely swelling breasts once more, her fingers teasingly skimming back and forth. Then she let her hands trail down, down over her contoured stomach and over her navel to the sparse triangle of pubic hair that was beginning to sprout there. She felt wantonly hot and she raised one knee slightly as her fingertips skimmed down the length of her wetly swelling slit. She felt the moist warm heat of her own cunt, and a tiny moan of delight escaped her lips. The sun, her hands, they felt so good!
Her fingers began tenderly probing and exploring her teased clitoris into an erect life of its own. She felt a rippling erotic pleasure tingle through her naked pussy under her gentle ministrations. She felt so devilishly wicked as she allowed her hips to jut obscenely upward while her finger slid up and down the heated lubricated slit in an ever increasing rhythm.
A crash from up on the embankment made the young brunette sit bolt upright, a strangled cry frozen in her throat. She didn’t have any time to move before her step-father crashed on top of her with savagely guttural snarl. Sandy was knocked completely over, her naked loins flashing, her young breasts bouncing. They rolled over and over under the impact of his charge and ended up right next to the pond, with George on top of her.
Sandy was seeing stars, and her lungs felt like they were on fire as she gasped for breath and tried hard not to pass out. She opened her mouth to cry out but George clamped his hand roughly over her mouth. “Shuddup, you little bitch,” he snarled. His wild eyed face was only inches from her. She could smell beer on his breath. He had been drinking again! His lips were twisted in a facsimile of a grin. “You make one sound, one little peep, and I’ll beat the living shit outta you.”
The words were hissed, spat out in her face and her whole body tensed as she tried to shirk away from him. He gradually removed his hand from her mouth, keeping one finger held up as a warning. Slowly, he removed his weight, getting up and allowing her to catch her breath with her breasts ripely heaving up and down to in front of his eyes. She watched him with wide-open eyes as he began taking off his shirt. She couldn’t believe her step-father was doing this to her! My God, he had to be insane! Or did he really hate her that much?
He pulled off his pants and kicked them to the side. She gave a gasp of horror as she saw the hugely obscene bulge in his jockey shorts. His cock was so big he had trouble getting it out of the underwear until finally it sprang free with a life of its own. Her hand flew to her mouth as he stood nakedly menacing over her. His cock! It was so huge! She had no idea men’s cocks could get so big. He held it lightly with one hand, sadistic grin on his brutal face. She stared up at the lust-swollen, blood-red mushroom head. She saw his thick white shaft with the bulging veins and, as she watched, her heart pounding, he pulled back the tautly tight sheath of foreskin and the flanged head ballooned out, red and shining. “No!” she cried, her voice trembling.
“Come on, you’re putting out for those young boys,” he growled. “And now you’re gonna put out for me!”
“N-no! Never, n-never b-b-before!” she stammered.
“Don’t give me that shit! You been staying out almost all night with those studs. Don’t tell me you ain’t fucked before.” He crouched over her, his voice grating, his long massively pulsating cock held firmly in one hand. “I’m going to fuck you to within an inch of your life.”
“No! Help! Mother!” Sandy rose up, crying out as loud as she could. She never even saw the punch. She felt it as the world seemed to explode right in front of her eyes; her head snapped around and she fell backward heavily, feeling the pain sponge deeply into her face.
George kneeled over her naked young torso, sitting on her stomach and slapped her face back and forth with an open hand. Sandy tried to ward off his stinging blows but found she was too weak and stunned to have much effect. His strength was incredible and brutally effective as he seized her wrists and bent her arms back above her head just as his hotly wet mouth clamped over hers and she felt his hot tongue wetly probing into her mouth.
She tried to yell, but his fiery hot tongue slid in her mouth and lewdly lashed at her own tongue. The terrified young girl fought for her breath as his tongue pumped lewdly and wantonly in and out of her mouth. Despite her terror and pain, a certain lasciviousness rippled through her body pleasurefully.
George was grunting like a madman as he pulled his cruel wet mouth away from her bruised lips and hissed. “You make one sound, and I swear I’ll punch you silly!”
Again she tensed. She believed him; she believed he might even kill her. He was wild, his eyes were bloodshot, his breath reeked of stale beer, and his hands were hurting her wrists as he squeezed them tightly to show he meant business.
George shifted his weight and looked hungrily down at her large fleshy breasts in all their firmly erect splendor. With her hands forced up above her head and pinned there by his grip, her breasts were arched with her nipples right below his face. With a savagely cruel chuckle, he lowered his hot wet mouth and clamped his tongue and lips over one pinkly erect little nipple.
“Nnnnoooooo!” Sandy moaned, her head rolling back and forth as she felt him first suck, then bite the nipple so hard she winced. Despite the pain, she felt an unexpected ripple of pleasure mix deep down in her loins… a masochistic thrill at being so helpless while his hungry mouth ravaged her nipple, sucking and nibbling it into a tautly hot shape of its own.
“Oooooh, God, please stop!” she whispered, her voice hoarse, afraid to yell. She shivered with fear as his voracious mouth moved over to clamp on her other breasts, and she felt that second nipple being sucked until it ached with a combination of wanton desire and physical pain. She knew there were red teeth marks in the hotly tender flesh of her breasts.
“N-N-noooo!” she wailed as her hateful step-father shifted his weight on top of her, his thickly muscled chest crushing her ravaged breasts and pushing the breath out of her tortured lungs as he grunted, “Spread ‘em, baby! Spread your legs!”
“No! Please! I’ll give you anything… I-I won’t tell Mom.” Tears welled up in the naked young brunette’s eyes from the pain and fear as she felt his heatedly pulsating cock pressing against her stomach. It felt hard and hot and thick and huge! He was going to tear her apart with that big obscene thing!
“Anything?” he asked between gritted teeth.
“Anything!” Tears snaked down her flushed twelve year old face, and for a wild second she thought she might be getting out of it.
“How about a little nookey?” His laughter was wild and harsh.
Sandy screamed again and received another sharp blow that almost knocked her out. Dimly, her strength ebbing, she realized he was forcing her legs wide. She felt his powerful loins between her legs, and then her eyes opened very wide, and she screamed in pain as she felt the thick head massively pushing on her virginally tight pussy lips.
“Aaaaggghhhh!”
His teeth tightly gritted, his lips twisting open wide, he thrust with all the brute strength he possessed. He was driven wild with the taste and smell of her. He felt the thickly blunt end of his cock spreading her wetly cringing cunt as he bore down hard. She whimpered and the sound caused him to thrust forward with brutal delight.
The flanged head of his cock plopped just inside her tight, hotly quivering little cunt with a wet tearing sound. Sandy felt herself impaled on his heatedly pulsing cock. His massive cock head was buried just inside of her cunt with her cuntal lips drawn tight as rubberbands around the thick shaft. Sandy was positive he was going to shove his massive maledom clear up into her belly and on past, on up into her throat itself. She trembled with abject fear, sending her cunt into an oddly pleasing quiver around the throbbing head. She smelled his sexual heat, and felt his huge cock like a throbbing piece of hot meat lodged in her virginal pussy — the treasure she had saved for the right boy.
Slowly, with a cold-blooded brutality, George began pumping his hips, moving his rigidly thick cock like a huge piston plunging in and out of her tender flesh.
Sandy couldn’t move, and she gasped for breath and tried to keep from screaming as she felt the lust-thickened shaft spreading her cuntal walls until it seemed they surely were being ripped from her clitoris to anus. She lay rigid, her cruelly violated young body trembling in spasms of fear and guilt. Guilt! She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate, tried not to think about the wanton excitement she had begun feeling with each brutal, pain-filled thrust; she couldn’t help herself, and the more she tried not to think of it, the bigger and harder his cock became… and finally she was forced to admit to herself that she was enjoying it!
She loved it — all twelve childish years of her!
A sudden stab of guilt shuddered through her body as she felt her wetly pulsating cuntal lips inched in with each wonderfully heated thrust of her mother’s husband’s heated shaft. On each withdrawal stroke she felt them clinging to his hardened shaft and the obscenely exciting mental picture of what was happening made searing spasms of pleasure streak through her loins and caused her puckered little anus to tremble with delight. She was enjoying making love to her own stepfather!
She knew she shouldn’t be liking it, knew she was being brutally raped, that she was being marked forevermore, she knew it and felt full of fear and pain. Her pain made her sob real tears and babble incoherently for George to stop. Her head thrashed from side to side, and she bit her lips against the increasing pleasure she was feeling with each deeper stroke of his hotly rampaging cock. She fought against the itching urge in her hips to pump them lewdly back and forth. The more she tried not to think of it, the more she enjoyed it. She loved it!
There was something so thrilling about being so helpless while being fucked! She shuddered and her mouth fell wantonly open as she gave out a half-cry, half moan. The cry ended in a deep moan, a moan as rich and deep as a cello; her father grinned triumphantly as he saw her face and began fucking her harder and faster.
He went crazy, fucking her insanely, his thick, wetly glistening cock slamming mercilessly in and out of her hideously stretched cunt, his balls slapping rhythmically against her thrashing, softly fleshed buttocks. He fucked her with all his might, lifting her hips up off the grassy ground and slamming her down again, ramming all the way into her, feeling his mushroom head slam into her young cervix deep in that velvet volcano that was her tight little pussy.
It was as if all restraining bonds had burst inside Sandy for she lewdly threw back her head and thrust her nakedly straining breasts up at his face, all the while wantonly pumping her hips up and down. She was suddenly a lewdly writhing animal, curling her legs and arms around his hard body in an effort to take all the cock he could offer.
Her mouth was open, her eyes closed, and she moaned with an obscene delight as she gripped his hotly plunging shaft hard with her cuntal muscles. She saw his eyes squint with pain and delight. He grinned savagely at her, and then their needy mouths locked together, step-daughter and step-father, while the girl ground her hips up into his groin and bent her knees as much as she could. She wanted all of him in her, every last single inch.
George gripped her with all his strength, his eyes bulging. He was going to give her the fucking of his life, a fucking she would never forget. He gathered his strength, his teeth gritted. Damn, but she’s tight, he thought.
He enjoyed the rubber-glove feeling of tightness he was getting in her moistly hot little pussy. She trembled ecstatically at his slightest movement, and he knew she was enjoying it. He could feel the rubbery tightness in her cuntal lips and the taut exciting way her tiny erect clitoris stood up when his pubic hair rubbed against it. She was loving it! She was a slut and loving every minute of it!
They fucked, their now sweating bodies locked belly-to-belly as they writhed and undulated. He crushed her with his arms as he gasped, “You love it, you little bitch!”
Her only reply was a low moan and her hips moved as if they were on ball bearings as she fucked up against him with a wanton abandonment.
“Tell me you love it!”
Again she moaned as their sweating stomachs slid one against the other.
“Tell me!”
“I… I… like…”
“Tell me!” his voice was a growl as his wetly lubricated cock slammed like a jack hammer in and out of her tightly fitting cunt.
“I… I like it.”
“Louder!”
“I like it. I like it.” Her voice began to waver and rise as she felt the fucking rhythm increase and she worked to match thrust and thrust. She could feel his heavy balls slapping wetly against the tightly clenched cheeks of her buttocks. Her cuntal lubricant had seeped down into her anal crevice as she fucked him with obscene abandon. “I lllloovveee it!!!” Her voice was low and wanton, “I love it, fuck it, hurt me, fuck me, rape me!” She was screaming with lust now, and it seemed his cruel hurting hands were everywhere at once, all over her body; at her hips, her thighs, her nipples, raking across her wildly thrashing buttocks and splitting her ass-cheeks open while a cruel outstretched finger stabbed at her puckered little anus!
“Fuck me, fuck me all night!” she moaned, spitting the word, “fuck” out with delight and feeling and obscene pleasure shudder through her body at the forbidden word. “Fuck me!”
George closed his eyes and thought of nothing but driving it home. They fucked, crushing the wild sweet grass beneath their bodies, slipping and bucking across the slope until they were splashing in the water. I’ll continue to fuck her even if she drowns! Fuck it, I ain’t gonna stop now.
He fucked her as he felt her tensing beneath him and her moaning becoming deeper and more rhythmic; it was only then that he felt his own heated cum building in his balls to the point where they ached.
“Aaaaagghhh!” He felt her body suddenly full of a wanton strength as she arched up beneath him and her body began trembling deeply. Then she was fighting him like a game fish before falling back into helpless spasms of searing ecstasy as her first orgasm convulsed her.
That was too much for the step-father and, with a guttural roar, he came, pumping powerful spurts of his white-hot cum deep into her cunt, filling her up so that it spurted out all around his wildly jerking shaft. Then grinning, he pulled his eagerly ejaculating cock out and let it flop on her stomach where it continued to pump sticky white sperm onto her nakedly rippling stomach.
She lay with her loins and stomach glistening with cum, completely relaxed, feeling like putty, feeling tired, very tired… and a little uncertain about her own emotions.
George rolled off her with a groan and lay catching his breath for awhile before he got up and slowly dressed. His clothes on, he looked down at the still naked Sandy and spat in the water, then turned and climbed up the embankment.
Left by herself, Sandy had rolled over, sobbed, and lay still until it was almost dark. Then she slowly got dressed, a sad and weary young girl and went home. Two months later she realized her afternoon encounter had left her pregnant. She’d let her mother believe it was Curtis’ fault, a young freshman boy she’d been seeing on the sly. It caused an uproar, predictably enough, but the reticent girl refused to tell the truth, reasoning she had been hurt enough, there was no reason to destroy her mother’s life, too.
The baby was adopted out from the hospital — a darling seven pound baby girl with black hair and brown eyes. Sandy had seen her infant through the maternity ward’s glass window, but never once did she hold her baby, never felt it squirm in her arms. For nine months she had been holed up with nothing to do but watch her body grow to a distended grotesque shape, and those months in solitude had taken their toll. The thirteen year old girl made a vow to herself on her first teenage birthday, to never, never allow any one man to claim such a great part of her.
Any psychiatrist would say it was a natural rebellious response to a stressful situation, that she had been far too young to bear the burden alone with no natural father to help her through the rough times and dreary, lonely nights.
Predictably, it had been all down hill from there, though Chris would never have believed it possible for her girlfriend to sink any lower into the depths of confused depravity she was exhibiting now in her twenty-second year of life. From what little Sandy had confessed, she’d spent most of her time hot-rodding around town with the loose crowd in high school — smoking dope, drinking beer, having wild parties. Everything a young girl should not even know about, let alone indulge in.
In college it had been the same way. Chris was the only friend who stuck by her, sometimes out of pity, occasionally out of unsatisfied desire to have a sister, but always out of genuine sincere friendship for Sandy, confused and ravaged though she had become.
Sandy’s carefree, live-for-today, the hell-with-tomorrow attitudes could be a bit disconcerting sometimes, though, particularly when Sandy seemed to bounce from one man to the next, from one affair to another, without a trace of scars from the frequent, and often tempestuous breakups.
And Chris, her one and only real love experience now just a shattered memory, still hated herself for crying softly sometimes in the night as she remembered those wonderful times with Mark. She hated him now, loathed his brutality and cowardice, but she still thought of him on lonely nights when she lay there on the other side of the door listening to her roommate making love in low soft whispers and giggles.
Chris O’Brien stared out of the window, watching Sandy get off the Geary Street bus, a boy right behind her. Chris witnessed all of Sandy’s feminine tricks: the flinging of her long black mane of her hair over her shoulder, the hip-thrust stance that could provoke the Pope himself, and the carefree style in which she handed the stranger her telephone number as casually as if he were asking for a donation for the Salvation Army. Oh, no, thought Chris with a gasp of disbelief. Another night listening to Sandy making it with another stranger… it never ends. She let the curtain fall from her clutching fingertips with a movement that might have been a sigh.