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Subject: "Veronica" CHAPTER SEVEN
Date: Thu, 04 Jan 2007 15:45:12 -0800
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http://www.incesttabooo.com/mar107.html
Veronica
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kids from Rossford Junior High -- who were 12 and 13and 14
years old -- had a lot of friends at St. Cornelius,
because eighth graders in St. Cornelius were 12 and 13
years old. Which meant the older girls from junior high
sometimes hung out with girls a year or two younger from
St. Cornelius, so when juniors from Rossford High wanted
to hit on girls from the junior high, they ending up
meeting eighth graders from St. Cornelius, too.
All of which goes to explain how I met George, who was 16
and a junior, when I was only 12.
George was a "Hunky" -- that's the nickname for Hungarians,
of which there were a lot in Rossford -- and got good
grades. He was big and blonde and kind of handsome, in a
rough-hewn sort of way. He didn't set out to pick me up,
but he ended up with me one early September Saturday when
about two dozen kids piled into six or seven cars and
headed for a concert at Veterans' Arena. George wanted to
be an engineer (like my phantom step-brother), liked to
read science-fiction (like my phantom step-brother), played
the guitar (like my phantom step-brother) and said "please"
and "thank you" (like my phantom step- brother).
He was a lot like my phantom step-brother, if you know what
I mean.
George was a lineman on the varsity football team and had
this really wicked, quiet sense of humor (which was like my
phantom step-brother). He drove one of the cars to the
concert but had about four beers and didn't think he should
drive back. I was impressed. I was even more impressed
when I ended up sitting on his lap in the crowded backseat.
I'd had a couple of beers, too, and wanted to make out and
he kept acting like a gentleman and telling me I was only a
kid... right up to the time I pulled down my top and stuck
a tit in his face while squirming on the unconcealable
hard-on making a hard tent in the crotch of his jeans.
Even then he acted like I was a kid, making me cover myself
and behave.
I made George a target. Within two weeks, I was spending
most of a Friday night under the stands at the Rossford
High field riding him, with his fat cock rammed up my
hungry, wet little snatch and his hands under my blouse,
playing with my nipples. I never met another teenager who
could hold off cumming as long as George could. Despite
the ribbing he took for robbing the cradle, George and I
remained "an item" for most of the first semester and past
the end of the football season. That was when the
photography club became a factor.
George was interested in photography, enough so that he'd
even set up a little darkroom in his basement. He talked
about the club from time to time. To be honest, it didn't
interest me and I didn't pay much attention. Until that
Friday night in late March.
George had an older brother in the Coast Guard and his
family -- which was large -- had gone to Cleveland for the
weekend to visit his brother and some relatives. We had
the house to ourselves. I'd arranged for Dana Connally to
cover for me that I was at her house.
It was about 11 at night. George had already drunk about
five beers and I'd had a couple, myself. We were touring
the house -- with a difference. For one thing, we were
naked. For another, I had my legs around his waist and his
nice fat prick buried in me. George was so big -- he was
about six-foot-two and two hundred pounds and lifted
weights -- he was just carrying me around the house.
"This is the kitchen!" And he'd rest my bare butt on the
countertop and fuck in and out of me till I'd cum once or
twice and then: "And this is the dining room!" And he'd
repeat the procedure on the dining- room table.
Of course, I contributed: "But isn't the dining room where
you're supposed to eat?"
At which point he'd pull out of me, munch on my cunt -- I
had just a hint of hair there -- and then plough my furrow
again, and we'd continue the tour.
"This is the living room!" On the stereo and television
cabinet.
"This is bathroom!" On the vanity.
Et cetera.
He finally came in me in the basement, in the darkroom.
For a guy who could last so long, he didn't shoot very much
stuff. Not that I minded. What was important was the look
on his face after we caught our breath: He was frowning.
"Why are you frowning?"
He shrugged. "I still don't know what I'm going to do for
the show," he said. Ed Sautter had scheduled a
school-year's-end show of the photography club's work.
I stretched my arms over my head -- I was laying on the
countertop where George usually cropped his photographs --
and said, "Well, how about a nude study?"
He laughed with me, but then he stopped and stared at me.
"Y'know, maybe -- "
I held my hands up, palms toward him. "Forget it."
He shook his head. "No face; just nude torso in black and
white. I'll let you proof the negatives."
I sat up on the counter. "Are you serious?"
George nodded. "Ed -- " Ed Sautter was a member of that
new and informal generation of teachers. He'd been hired
to teach English Lit; for his kids in the Lense Club, his
first name was available. " -- Ed says if someone comes up
with a really good nude study, he'll fight to get it in the
show."
Well, to make a long story short, I agreed. What the hell,
huh? None of the negatives had my face in them, so who
would know? We shot them with a flash that night and by
daylight the next morning. The best ones were with me on
the coffee table in the living room. They were tight focus
from just the hint of my pubis to my shoulders, with the
angle of the morning light highlighting the flat plane of
my stomach, the clear definition of my ribcage and below,
just the hint of swelling for my hips. My breasts were
firm and rounded and my nipples were hard -- George said
professionals use ice cubes, but we used something else to
get them hard and keep them that way.
It was a stunning series of relief shots. Some of them
were lovely; I still have them. The best were so good that
they weren't even erotic; they were just beautiful -- a
healthy, firm-bodied young woman blossoming into womanhood
(in black and white) against the rich grain of the oak
coffee table's surface. I still look at them and don't see
myself or sex. They were really quite good.
Sautter was true to his word; he exhibited the best ones
and almost got himself fired.
The problem came when someone noted that the edge of a
National Geographic -- not the date, but part of the logo
-- was visible, on the coffee table, measured it against
the nude torso, did some fast math to get the measurements
of said (my) torso, noted the lack of abundant pubic
hair...
...and figured out who the model was.
The word got around in certain circles very quickly. There
was a lot of Talk. Then Sautter had his confrontation with
the Powers That Be and finally compromised, agreeing to
exhibit the nudes in the faculty lounge, to protect the
young people of Rossford and the Model.
Funny, but I didn't think I needed protecting. Hell, I'd
done the pictures, hadn't I?
Well, the whole thing began to outgrow itself and pretty
soon, George was getting a lot of pressure to reveal the
name of the woman in the pictures. George refused. George
dug in his heels and got stubborn, something at which he
excelled. For a while, it looked like the whole thing was
just going to blow over, because everyone got wrapped up in
the fight about the bond issue for the levees out in Point
Place --
[Please, don't ask.]
-- and everything seemed fine until George called me one
afternoon when I had the house pretty much to myself and
informed me that the negatives had disappeared. All of
them -- including the outtakes, which were not solo shots
of a lovely torso; those were pure smut, taken off a tripod
and timer and giving an excellent view of me, from the
rear, riding George's fat prick. One in particular, taken
while I was cumming, had real good definition of the way my
pussy was stretched round his dick, with all but an inch or
so of his wide dong buried inside me. Some of the others
in that set included my face -- in one shot, with my mouth
full, if you know what I mean.
George figured it had happened that afternoon, while he was
jogging. The night before, he'd developed some shots he'd
taken out at the old Municipal Airport. When he'd gotten
home, the padlock on his darkroom door had been cut --
probably a bolt-cutter, he figured -- and the negatives and
prints from our session, and only from our session, were
missing.
I went over to see him, and we put our heads together and
tried to reason it out. Whoever had done it hadn't been on
the football squad, which aced Marty and the other Three
Stooges; they'd been jogging, too. George pointed out that
examining negatives wasn't easy if you didn't know what you
were doing, so that narrowed it down to people with
darkroom experience who knew George's schedule and what to
look for ...
No matter how we sliced it, we kept coming back to the
Lense Club. Well, we were right -- sort of.
By then, Easter vacation was coming up and I went to see my
cousin Darlene for a couple of days. That's what I told
George. In fact, I was eager to see Roger, but I didn't
share that with George.
I hadn't seen Darlene since around Christmas, when she and
Tod the Asshole and Uncle Van and Aunt Irene came for
Christmas Dinner. Darlene had been losing weight -- or,
should I say, redistributing it. When I saw her during
that Easter break, I told her the truth: She looked real
good. She'd gotten a new hair-do, and her waist was
smaller and her tummy was getting flat, and her legs and
butt were getting tighter, and her tits were growing real
nice. She was almost 14,and you could see what was
happening: She was going to be a bombshell.
The first chance I got, I went over to see Roger. He knew
I was coming over, because I'd called him from Rossford and
told him. He was waiting for me and about, oh, 90 seconds
after the front door was locked, a trail of clothing led
from the living room door, up the stairs and right to the
bedroom. Roger was devouring my pussy like a starving man
with a bowl of rice. And he was making me crazy, because
he'd lick and suck me till I was almost ready to cum, and
then he'd back off and leave me hanging. He did this for
about 15 minutes.
Finally, I grabbed two hands' full of his hair, pulled his
head away and said, "Roger, if you don't stick that cock in
me right this minute, I'm going to scream bloody murder!"
He knelt on the bed between my knees and pointed down.
"You mean this cock?"
His dick was as hard as any teenager's and was all reddish
and throbbing and enormous. My cunt was twitching, and
juices just drenched my pussy and the bed beneath me.
"Roger!" I yelled.
He grinned, got on all fours and began kissing his way up
my body, pausing to give special attention to my breasts,
especially my nipples.
"They're getting big, Marie," he said.
As if I didn't know. According to the Sears big book, my
measurements dictated a B-cup -- if someone manufactured a
27-B. My nipples were small, but hard and swollen and each
time his tongue passed over them, I shivered. With a
19-inch waist and 25-inch hips, I was definitely top-heavy
by any standard.
Finally he crawled over me, pausing to put a pillow under
my little butt. My legs opened more, and I swear I could
hear my own pussy lips, so swollen and wet and tight, part
for him. I reached down with both hands, one to part my
labia and one to guide his huge dick.
[Well, eight inches may not seem huge to you, but remember
how young and small and tight I was. An eight-inch cock in
a girl with 25-inch hips is like an 11-inch cock in a
normal, average-size woman.]
As he slid it into me, I started moaning and rolling my
hips under him, rocking them back and forth to take more
and more of that big dick into my body. He said I seemed
even tighter than usual, and I could believe it -- after
all, he'd just spent a quarter of an hour dangling me on
the brink of cumming.
Then he was about halfway in, and his glans pressed
something inside me, and it felt golden and I came. Wow,
did I cum! It was like being possessed. I came for almost
a minute, and when I sank back, limp, he was all the way in
me -- the first time he'd gotten the whole thing inside me
-- and he began pumping my pussy. After a few minutes of
that, I felt him jerk and throb inside me, and then he was
cumming in me. He held me very close as he came in me,
crushing me against him and somehow probing his prick
farther into me without moving his hips much. On the last
spurt, he also kissed the top of my head -- remember how
short I was -- as we both had or orgasms.
He rolled onto his back, pulling me on top of him and
keeping his shriveling cock inside me. I bore down on the
muscles in my cunt, and he groaned with the additional
tightness.
We lay there, sweaty and stuck together and panting.
"You've been practicing," he said. "Got yourself a
sweetheart. Want to tell me about it?"
I nuzzled his chest hairs, stalling.
"You don't have to," he reassured me. So of course I did.
When I finished, he asked: "Okay, baby -- what's bothering
you?"
"Nothing, really."
His hand raised my face so he could look me in the eye.
"Marie, you're laying here with my dick inside you -- "
"I noticed." I giggled.
He gave my butt a playful swat, more of a caress. "-- and
your mind is a million miles away. Don't lie to me.
You're bothered by something. Spill."
So as I lay there with this man who was 15 years older than
me, with his dick inside me -- along with all of our juices
-- I told him about the pictures and the negatives.
"That was you?" He laughed a little, more like a chortle.
"I should have known. One of the guys at Robby's -- " That
was a barber shop in Genoa. "-- was talking about that
exhibit. He was impressed." He chortled again. "Wish I'd
seen those pictures."
"Roger, I'm afraid everyone is going to see those pictures
-- and the outtakes."
"Baby, I'd do anything if I could, but I wouldn't know
where to start. You got any ideas?"
I admitted that I didn't -- at least where he could help
with that. However, I did have other ideas, and I flexed
those muscles again. He started to get hard inside me,
which was an amazing sensation, because his cock started
out about average and swelled into a monster. Within a few
minutes, he was stiff as a concrete-reinforcement rod, and
I was sitting up straight and bouncing up and down on him.
Coming down was especially fun, since it ground my clit
into the hair-cushioned ring of bone around the base of his
thick prick. I came a lot, over and over, and finally fell
forward onto him. He rubbed a fingertip around my
butt-hole and then slid it in. Much to my astonishment, it
felt good. And I let him know it.
That was the key that set him off. He fucked me wildly for
a few minutes. I really got off on the feeling of his fat
cockhead swelling far, far inside my tight cunt, and we
again came together. He seemed to cum a lot with the
double compression on his cock. Later, when I climbed off
him, I scampered to the bathroom before my leaks stained
the carpet; there was an awful lot of stuff in me.
We did it again the next day, but the next night he had to
go pick up a load of strawberries for delivery in New York,
where he was supposed to pick up a trailer full of books
and bring them to Toledo.
I went home after almost a day of fending off Tod the
Asshole and found nothing new had happened with regard to
the missing negatives. I knew, nonetheless, that it was
just a matter of time before the other shoe was dropped.
George took the College Boards in May, and I prepared for
final exams.
Then, in the last week of May, the high schools in the area
started having open-house days for eighth-graders. I had
no intention of attending Rossford High -- I'd already been
enrolled in the Catholic high school, without being
consulted -- but it meant a day away from St. Cornelius,
so I went. The regular students at the high school had the
day off -- it turned Memorial Day weekend into a four-day
weekend for them -- so the place was occupied only by
eighth graders.
I was on the second floor, looking at the biology lab, when
a man approached me. He was a nice-looking guy with
slightly long hair and an open face. He was about 25 or
26, and he was wearing bell-bottomed pants and a white
shirt and tie. His most striking feature was the bluest
eyes I've ever seen.
"Marie?"
I nodded.
"I'm Ed Sautter." He shook my hand. "I'm trying to get a
creative writing club started for the summer, and I'd like
you to come to one of our meetings."
"To tell the truth, I'm already signed up for another
school."
He shook his head and smiled. "Doesn't matter. I'm just
trying to gather some of the more promising young writers."
"I'm not really a writer -- "
"You've done some fine compositions and essays at St.
Cornelius, from what I hear. I'd like to see them. Will
you give us a chance?"
"Well -- "
"Besides -- " He leaned close, confidential and
just-between-us close, those gorgeous blue eyes boring in
on me. "Besides: Susan -- my girlfriend -- is going to
come over and set up a chicken barbecue for everyone, and
she makes this sauce...mmmmm." He rolled those gorgeous
blue eyes.
Who could resist? "Well...okay. Where and when?"
"This afternoon at three." He produced a piece of paper
and scribbled an address on it.
"Eagle Point Road? That's a pretty ritzy neighborhood," I
said. "I didn't think teachers got paid very much."
"We don't," he said. "I'm renting the place along with two
buddies. If you want a lift, I'm taking four or five
others with me when I leave here at two-thirty. They'll be
meeting me in the teachers' parking lot by the VW Microbus
with the peace signs on it. Be seein' ya!"
And then he was gone, just like that. I stood there in the
nearly deserted hallway, fingering the paper, and decided
it might be fun.
It was that. And more.
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