Her Uncle Tucked Her In
by Perry Jones

	CHAPTER ONE

	It has been said by many people that sex should only be one part of life, a pleasant interval spaced evenly between the real, authentic concerns which must perforce occupy the majority of our waking time.

	But I don't and have never felt that way about it. To me sex is something which occupies most of my time. I eat, drink and breathe sex.

	Friends and enemies have called me nympho and a pervert, names too numerous to mention and ill suited when applied to me. I am all that and more; much more than they can possibly think.

	I will introduce myself. My name is Jennifer. I was born in 1925, four years before the Depression which laid this country low. My family was extremely old, fashioned, even for that decade. My father was a music, teacher, a quiet, gray, haired man about whom I remember very little. He did not speak much, never raised his voice and always seemed somewhat distant from the rest of us. I realized later that he was a true artist, music was his only love and he found himself somewhat uncomfortable in the presence of his family. He was an absent, minded professor I have a vivid memory of his several times looking at me as though he had forgotten who I was and. where I'd come from. Generally, however, he didn't look at us at all: he merely faded into the wallpaper, a ghostly figure playing a violin.

	Ah, the strains of that violin! That sound was, for me, more real than my father it was the only way his presence made itself known. The sound followed us through all our days: my mother cooked and cleaned to it, I read, dreamed and later performed my fantasies, always to the mellow chords of that instrument. Even now, when I hear a violin I feel an immediate physical response. My clit immediately tenses, hot and stiff with excitement and I can feel the warm fluids welling between my legs. You will ask, why that response and I can only say that it has always been my blessing to feel anything first of all in my pussy. For me, that pulsing juicy hole has always been the chief gateway to the outer world. It is my sixth sensory organ and more powerful than all the others combined.

	I was an only child and I know that my mother had always wanted a son. As soon as I was old enough to think for myself, we quarreled and fought constantly. I remember one particularly brutal encounter, when I displeased her in some trifle and she slapped me across the face. Coming from my mother, who rarely raised her voice, it was an astonishing act. My mind reeled and suddenly I went wild I threw myself at her, pummeling her face with my fists, biting her as hard as I could with my teeth. Her cry of surprise and pain only incensed me further and I kept at the attack until she had fallen to the floor. I looked down at her body. It lay spread, eagled on the carpet, one leg drawn up, her skirt tangled at her waist. I saw the white flesh where her stockings ended, the slightly, red indentation of the garter in her thigh. I also saw the dark hair of her pussy and the portion of her red folds of flesh that was exposed on one side of the crotch of her panties.

	I stared at the sight, all my anger suddenly transforming itself into an incredible and urgent swell of longing that I had never before experienced. I was eight years old and it was my first encounter with sex. I was suddenly aware of my own pussy that organ suddenly felt very itchy and very wet. In my ignorance I wondered if I had to go to the bathroom.

	Then, through the waves of lust, I saw my mother looking at me, her eyes following the direction of my gaze. Blushing, embarrassed, I tore myself away and rushed from the room. I went straight to the bathroom and locked the door. But, I discovered, I didn't want to urinate. The throbbing, the itchiness, was further inside and I began, frantically and urgently, for the first time, to explore my own anatomy. Hitherto, as far as I can remember (in spite of what Freud would say), I had not been much aware of that fleshy gash between my legs. Now, suddenly, my fingers were probing, feeling, examining, caressing the swollen lips of my pussy, digging themselves into the moistness of my hole. One wandering digit found the pulsing knob of my clit and following the dictates of nature, I rubbed it sensuously.

	The result was miraculous that tiny knob was a trigger, a switch that set off the most incredible swarm of pleasureful sensations I had ever felt! I began to tingle all over, my flesh alive with hot sparks of desire. I closed my eyes and let the sweet waves of passion flow freely.

	The waves rolled, increasing all the time, until I wondered if I was going to faint with joy and then, as I saw blinding flashes in front of my eyes, I thought perhaps I had fainted, perhaps, even I was dead and in heaven.

	If this was heaven, it wasn't at all what I'd been led to believe. It was marvelous, sensational, that constantly, rising hot turmoil in my snatch, that deep hunger in my hole. Frantically, my fingers buried themselves in the hot and moist furrows of my pussy finally, I shot my whole hand up the opening, pushing and shoving with all my strength.

	And suddenly, in an overwhelming burst of tingling ecstasy, I had the first orgasm of my life. I shuddered, moaned, writhed, in an incredible orgy of passion and lust. I could feel the flood of liquor from my womb, as it cascaded out onto my hand and wrist.

	I lay back, full of wonderful satisfied lassitude, relishing the warm after, glow, filled with a sense of wonder and amazement at the miracle of my own body.

	I became aware, gradually, of an insistent knocking at the bathroom door.

	"Who is it?" I said weakly.

	"Jennifer," came my mother's voice, a tone of rebuke in it, "You've been in there far too long."

	I wondered if she knew what had just occurred; but I didn't care. I felt no guilt or shame, the marvel of it was so great., 

	Suddenly she spoke again. Her voice wavered, but she gulped out, "You should be ashamed of yourself!"

	I went to the door and flung it open. My mother stood there, in her apron. Her eyes looked down at the floor. Her face was beet, red with embarrassment. . , '

	"Why?" I challenged, looking at her withered form with scorn.

	She, the prude, could not even look at me. She turned away, went into the kitchen.

	From that moment on, I have hated her.

	From that moment of its first awakening, my sex grew more hungry and more insistent in its demands every day. I would suddenly be woken from sleep, my hot pussy flooded wet with the juices of its desire and I would search the house in my lust, craving, until I could find some object to satisfy that gaping, anxious hole. I tried everything: carrots, candles, cucumbers, wine bottles, the kind with the long necks and even once a half, eaten ham bone that I found in the fridge. The bone, of course, was marvelous steel, hard, it penetrated me like an iron piston, as I shoved and ground my body onto it. And the morsels of meat on it added an extra exotic touch: this was at least, more or less, real flesh.

	Unfortunately, that was a unique experience: our family did not often eat ham, joints. Though I once tried a chicken drumstick, I found it far from satisfactory. And then, when my mother became suspicious so much food vanished from the icebox and still I did not get fat I prudently decided to abandon experiments with edible matter altogether.

	I was ten years old by that time and I have a best friend, as young girls will. Her name was Janice Allen. Her mother, a pretentious woman with a nasal voice and no chin, was trying to raise her daughter to become a 'perfect little lady.' This fact she would remind me of, in no uncertain terms, every time I visited Janice's home: it took little intelligence to see that she considered me an undesirable. Perhaps it was my poorer background (Janice's father was a Chartered Accountant), perhaps my habit of using not quite delicate language, or perhaps she too perceived even then the seeds of what I was to become. Who knows the reason for her objections: the important thing was that her dislike only prompted Janice to like me more. I think the daughter had accepted enough of her mother's prejudices to feel pity for me and this emotion I was careful to play upon, until Janice was almost my slave.

	She was a small girl, delicate and finely, formed. There was something about her so frail that it made me feel large and masculine by contrast. I dominated her physically (I was half a head taller) and mentally: as a result, I felt a masculine protectiveness toward her. Thus it was that when we played our games, I always took the male role. I was the doctor, the father, the brother; she the nurse, the mother, the sister.

	These roles continued when I taught her to play at sex.

	"Janice, I don't need a nurse today," I announced. "You are going to be the patient." I tossed aside the large doll that usually served that purpose a doll by now missing one eye, all her hair and having both legs and both arms in bandages, as a result of our games.

	Janice offered no objection. She lay down on my bed.

	Bending over her, I shone the flashlight into her eyes, her ears, her throat. All the while, I was sending messages from my brain to my welling pussy. I was conjuring up images of what I would do to this helpless female. I was the Seducer, I was the irresistible Male, for the moment but I wanted to be thoroughly juiced, up before I began, I certainly didn't want to reveal any hesitations.

	Janice lay still and I began to probe in her throat with a tongue, depressor. Meanwhile the command from my brain had been received. I could feel the pulsing in my erect twat; I could feel the clenching of my pussy muscles.

	"Say ah!" I commanded, my voice quivered.

	She obeyed, as yet unsuspecting. Then I put the toy stethoscope to her chest.

	"I can't hear anything," I said with a frown, "You'll have to take off your blouse."

	Janice hesitated, her eyes avoiding mine.

	"Well, come on!" I said impatiently. "How can I properly diagnose your sickness if I can't hear it!"

	Janice was no doubt ashamed of her own hesitation after all, the doll was always naked. She probably, as I think back on it, reprimanded herself for her own dirty mind such is the irony of people!

	At any rate she complied. Since she wore a dress, not a blouse, she was in a moment lying there clad only in her white cotton panties. I gloated inwardly, all my passion and hunger aroused now, eager to continue this fascinating game.

	I began by putting the stethoscope to the tiny buds that were her nipples, my hand caressing the small bulges of her breasts. Slowly, softly, my fingers fondled her soft white flesh, until both nipples were erect and pointing.

	Janice blushed, her eyes looking up at me.

	"I'm looking for cancer." I explained, my voice gloating. There wasn't much she could reply to that one. "Just relax," I cooed and she obediently lay back and closed her eyes.

	I began bobbling her pert tits with the fingers of both hands; then I bent down and put my ear to her breasts. Gradually, slowly, I turned my head, so that my lips brushed her sweet, smelling flesh.

	"Hey!" Janice twisted, her voice sharp and I quickly slid my head sideways.

	"Just changing ears," I explained hurriedly, "I forgot that I can't hear well out of my left one."

	"Jennifer, you hear perfectly well out of both ears." She ventured to object in a tone that was for her, very firm.

	"Janice," I said, exasperated, "Do you want to play or not? I am the Doctor, remember not Jennifer!"

	"Hummph!" it sounded like. No doubt a term she'd picked up from her mother.

	"If you don't like it, you can go home!"

	She was quiet at that. I don't think she liked her home any more than I did.

	Things weren't going very well and I knew I had to make her want sex, or it would be no fun at all. I decided to risk all, in a last gamble. If it failed, I had other friends.

	"Look, Mrs. Smith," I said, sitting down by the bed, "As your doctor I must inform you that I believe you are going to have a baby."

	"Oh, doctor, really?" Her eyes widened with well, simulated joy, she was playing now. "Isn't that wonderful Jim will be so pleased!" she crowed.

	I nodded and looked benign.

	"You'll have to have a special diet and do exercises," I said stalling, "That is, of course, if my guess is right."

	"What guess?"

	"That you're going to have a baby. It can only be a guess, you must realize, until I have performed a proper examination."

	"Oh." It was hard to tell, from her tone, exactly what she expected. I didn't dare think about it. My own body through all this preliminary, had become more and more urgent in its fuck, craving I had to have some relief from that pulsing hunger in my pussy.

	I pushed her back and firmly took off her panties. Her body stiffened slightly, but she said nothing. Then, without further ado, I put my head to her thatch of pubic hair. My lips parted the hairs and my tongue found its way between the twin lips of her pussy. They parted at my prodding and the pungent hole of her pussy was exposed to my probing mouth. I licked, lapped, sucked, pulled, pushed now fondling her fast, swelling labia with my own lips, now sticking my tongue far up into her snatch and caressing the hot, juicy tissue.

	Janice's body relaxed all over. After a few more seconds of my fondling, she began to wiggle and squirm, thrusting her hips up from the bed towards my mouth. Then she started uttering little cries, little moans and sobs and I knew I had succeeded. She loved it!

	I drew back for a moment, long enough to quickly strip off my own clothing. It fell in a pile to the floor and I lowered my own body to the bed, stretching out prone beside Janice, my own hungry, dripping snatch pressed to her warm thatch of hair. Before she could speak, I had my mouth to hers, I was kissing her frantically, my tongue probing deeply and longingly in the warm recesses pf her mouth. My hands meanwhile had roamed down and were fondling and caressing the delicate globes of her breasts while my anxious body pressed against hers.

	Janice by now had no resistance left. Hungrily, urgently, her body responded to mine. Her tongue probed in my mouth, digging and fondling, while her hands were drawn as if by a magnet down over my breasts and belly to the hot dampness of my pussy. When I felt her fingers push aside my pulsing labia and shove themselves into my throbbing hole, I wiggled and squirmed all over with delight.

	Hot bursts of fire were exploding behind my eyes and the familiar waves of joy were forming deep in my womb. I ground myself down further on her pushing hand, so that several of her fingers shot far up into my pussy.

	I was moaning aloud now, in a steady and rising crescendo and my own hands shot out blindly for the gaping hole of her pussy. I found the wonderful mound of hair and Janice moved her body to guide my fingers into her dripping pussy. She too began to writhe and cry out, as her pussy muscles voraciously sucked on my fingers.

	I probed, prodded, twisted, turned and in a few seconds she was convulsing all over, her body rocking in a series of shuddering spasms, while her hot fluids coated my hand. She was clutching me and moaning, as she climaxed feverishly and the sight of her passion sent me over the edge of my own orgasm. We lay there intertwined, mouth to mouth, breasts on tit, snatch to pussy, in a delicious and delirious mélange of sexual awakening. My plan had succeeded, even beyond my wildest imaginings; and even as I lay there in the soft afterglow of desire, my mind was spinning with visions of future delights.

	Once converted, Janice became a fervent adherent of the cult of sex. She became a slave to my touch and I relished the power I had over her.

	It was fortunate for both of us that my mother was out of the house four afternoons every week; many times I mentally thanked the Bridge Club, the Sewing Circle, the Ladies Aid and the Society for the Betterment of Women, thanked them for allowing us to continue our games unmolested. Janice and I formed the habit of coming to my bedroom after school, there to indulge in glorious and sensational orgies of sexual exploration.

	She would do anything I commanded. She fucked me with the most exotic instruments my brain could conceive and our house provide: a cut, glass bud vase, the handle of a broom (it was interesting, that one, because she stood four feet away, holding it was like being penetrated by proxy),  a cigar she stole from her father and my father's boot, horn. Sometimes I would make her go for hours, sucking and lapping at my snatch, fucking me so that I had climaxed again and again, while her own pussy cried out frantically for the release I cruelly denied. I was, I realize now, playing the Male in a very real sense. I would make her beg for her own climax, I would not diddle or fondle, or even touch her until she had groveled on the floor. Then, with the delicious sensation of triumph, I would almost viciously shove four fingers up her pussy, grinding and swiveling them violently.

	She, female to the core, seemed to crave this kind of rough treatment her snatch would clutch and grip my moving fingers, her cries of joy would increase in proportion to the violence of my movements and soon she would be coming all over my hand, in a shuddering crescendo of convulsions and juices. I would watch her writhing, the sight causing a renewed wave of vigor to form in my own body I could never get enough of sex.

	On other occasions, I would be kinder, more magnanimous and we would fuck each other simultaneously, either pussy, lapping with our mouths, or embedding each of our snatches on the ends of a candle or shoe, horn. Even then, of course, I always got the large end of the shoe, horn ... and not simply, I think, because I was terribly cruel, but also because she was so terribly submissive. Her flesh melted at the touch of sex, but then she merely lay, waiting; whereas, though my flesh melted also, I grabbed what I wanted.

	Sometimes our games would involve elaborate rituals of fore, play: she would put on my pillowcase as a diaper and I would croon to her while I held her in my lap. Then she would suck at my nipples, mewing and gurgling or perhaps I would change her diaper, covering her whole body with talcum powder in the process. Only after such preliminaries would we finally fall to sucking one another's pussy, probing and prodding each other to a climax more intense after its deliberate prolongation. Other times we would perform scenarios from various books or movies we liked my interest in acting was strong even then. I would be Robin Hood and she Maid Marion; so that I would eventually lie on top of her, sticking a candle deep into her dripping box.

	The subject was inexhaustible, we found and our exploration of sex lasted throughout one long fall and winter. Every day Janice grew more submissive, more obedient to my sometimes outrageous demands. She couldn't get enough of sex, but it seemed to take her like a disease, a brain, fever: it weakened her, it ate away at her will.

	Thus it was that when I grew tired of her, when I betrayed her, she could do nothing; she merely slunk off out of my life like an unwanted, castoff animal.

	CHAPTER TWO

	As I sit here at my desk, as I write, my mind harks back to those earliest years and I have a vivid picture of Janice, her body delicate and white, prone on my bed, accepting all I could give and craving more. Her womanhood was fully awake, she clung to me, her pussy dripping with the hot fluids of her desire, the whole room redolent with the odor of her sex. How great the contrast between that woman and the Janice I met again, years later, on a hot sidewalk in Malta! She had crept off into the greyness of a March twilight, a child of ten but with all the passion and desire of a full, grown woman ... and when I saw her again, a lady of forty, two, that womanhood had shriveled into a hard cancer inside her.

	It was quite by accident that we met, literally bumping into one another on the crowded street. I mumbled a vague word of apology to the lanky, overdressed woman and was about to hurry on with my sightseeing. She looked at me curiously.

	"Jennifer?" she said tentatively.

	Something in the expression of the eyes was familiar, but I couldn't quite place it.

	"Do you remember me, Janice?" she asked, with a self, deprecating wave of the arm. She was very thin; her skin looked wrinkled and worn.

	"How nice you look I never would have recognized you," I cooed as politely as I could, but my voice gave me away. She smiled ironically.

	"Don't bother with all that," she replied, again waving her gaunt arm.

	We had lunch together, of course and I learned of her job in a library, where she had met the man who was now her husband.

	"Mark is wonderful you'll have to meet him," she said again and again and I wondered which of us she was trying to convince. However, I agreed to meet Mark and we went over to her hotel afterwards for that purpose.

	I should mention that we had several cocktails each during lunch we were both very gay and great when we left the restaurant. Perhaps that fact had some influence on what occurred later.

	We rode up on the elevator and stepped onto the thick plush carpet of her corridor. It was a very posh hotel, the 'Esplanades,' much ritzier than the one I was staying at in Malta. She opened the door of their suite with her key we were giggling at her efforts to get the thing in the lock properly, I remember.

	She pushed open the door and her giggles stopped suddenly. She suppressed a gasp. I crowded forward and looked over her shoulder.

	There, on the floor in front of us, were a man and a woman totally naked, they were obviously in an advanced state of sexual bliss. Their clothing was scattered around the room, along with several empty glasses and full ashtrays.

	I couldn't take my eyes from the sight. The man, Mark presumably, was large, tanned, muscular. He lay on his back on the carpet, knees raised, so that I could see his huge balls bouncing between his thighs. The pulsing stem of his cock was barely visible amid his thatch of black sexual hair the rest of that huge ram was plunged into the pussy of the woman who was bouncing and shoving, sitting on top of him. Her back was to us, all I could see was long, swinging blonde hair. Both of them were grunting and moaning, as they heaved and pushed, grinding their bodies.

	I was absolutely caught up by the spectacle, so incredibly arousing was it. I couldn't move or speak but I could feel the hot, throbbing warmth rising in my snatch, I could feel my twat firming and tensing in urgent longing. I had to be satisfied!

	Janice was staring at her husband and the girl, motionless and seemingly transfixed. Then she suddenly spun around to face me.

	"I'm sorry we must leave," she gulped out, her face full of simultaneous embarrassment and sorrow. In the spectacle and her reaction to it, I saw a vivid portrayal of the whole of their married life.

	I felt sorry for Janice, of course who wouldn't but at the same time my own desperate craving took precedence over any other emotions I had.

	"No," I said shortly. With a look of fury, she pushed past me and ran out, slamming the door violently behind her.

	At the noise, the woman who sat astride Mark looked up over her shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw me. I smiled back disarmingly, stepping into the room. I came over to them.

	"Who are you?" said Mark, smiling with amusement at my obvious excitement.

	"My name is Jennifer" I told him, "I am an old friend of your wife." He eyed me coolly all over and the meanings in his glance sent the hot blood racing through all my veins and my pussy began to throb with ever, increasing lust. I wanted his huge virile prick inside me more desperately than I had ever wanted anything.

	"Well," he said after his examination. "You and I will have to get acquainted, Jennifer!"

	The woman with the long blonde hair had rolled off him, meanwhile and she moved slowly around the room picking up her scattered clothing.

	"Don't bother getting dressed, Greta," said Mark in a firm tone of command. "I've no doubt our afternoon isn't over."

	He stood up. I could feel my hot clit tense with hungry expectation of the juices beginning to ooze from my gaping pussy, as I looked him up and down. His body was magnificent! He was tanned all over, even his huge cock, now hanging down between his strong legs, was brown. It was one of the biggest, strongest, looking dicks I had ever seen in my life. The twin sacs of his nuts hung down loosely beside his shlong and they jiggled enticingly as he took a step towards me.

	"Well, Jennifer," he said with a wide grin, "Don't stand on formality here! However, if you insist on waiting for an official invitation, I now .cordially ask you to remove your clothes." His grin widened, as he saw that I intended to obey.

	I was naked in no time, proud of displaying my body before such an evident connoisseur. I stripped quickly, but provocatively, as I had learned from a thousand repetitions of the act. A woman undressing can be a marvelously beautiful and sensual sight and I had mastered the art of doing it well.

	I slowly slid the blouse from my creamy shoulders, hunching forward slightly as I did so, so that my bountiful breasts protruded from the cups of my bra. I saw him eyeing my lush tits with appreciation size 40 boobs are quite a rarity and most men are quick to appreciate them.

	I peeled off my blouse and left him to gaze at my breasts, while I undulated my hips and slid my skirt to the floor. I stood before him for a moment, swaying slightly from my thighs, dressed only in my bra and panties and black lacy garter. Slowly but expertly I rolled the stockings off my long legs. Then the bra and panties followed and in a moment I stood naked before his appreciative glance.

	The other woman looked pale and mangy beside me. My body has always been fully curved, my thighs are wide and my ass lush and I am fortunate to have absolutely clear, creamy skin. I saw him eyeing the red nipples of my boobs, as they rose and pointed with healthy erectness. I was really hot for him now, I could hardly wait to get that great lug of a penis inside me. Being naked, with someone to enjoy looking at me, has always set my nerves and juices on fire.

	I turned my glance again to his dick and was thrilled to see that merely the sight of my lush body had renewed his energy his cock was huge now, pulsing and straining as it pointed far out into the air in front of him. The skin of his balls was drawn up underneath that enormous steel, hard shaft, while the surface of Ins cock looked tight and taut, about to burst.

	"C'mon, Jennifer, get over here," he said, still grinning, "and give me a little taste of that juicy, looking snatch."

	I came with alacrity and stood in front of him while he went down on his knees. There was a muffled gasp, of excitement I suppose, from the other woman who was watching. He leaned forward, parting the deep red lips of my dripping pussy with both hands; then his mouth went to me. and he began to probe with his lips and tongue until I could hardly stand. My knees went weak, I was shaking all over with passionate frenzy and still his hot organ pushed, prodded, nibbled, sucked, lapped his tongue ran up and down the hot folds of my pussy flesh, prodding teasingly at my trembling clit and then moving back down to plunge into my pungent, oily hole.

	My hands were gripping his head tightly, holding him to me, pressing his mouth further into my hungry snatch. My blood was on fire, every nerve of my body tingled with crazed desire.

	Suddenly he drew his head away, laughing a little. "Hey!" he said, "quite the hot little piece you are! But, after all, you must want to eat too." Gesturing towards his huge, throbbing cock, he commanded, "Suck!"

	I needed no more urging I could hardly wait to get my hands on that luscious ramrod of flesh. I massaged him skillfully for a moment, rubbing his penis in both hands, stroking the sensitive skin up and down, stem to tip and back, while he leaned back on his heels and closed his eyes. Then I slid one hand down to caress his balls there is nothing I love more than playing with a man's nuts, jiggling and juggling with those adorable little sacs, so bouncy and springy. He began to moan slightly and I fondled his balls rapidly, though gently.

	Then I put my mouth to his gigantic dick, my lips closing warmly on that wonderful, hot, male, smelling flesh. I saw the delicate slit at the tip of the lavender head just as I took him in my mouth it was moist with the droplets of his desire.

	Then I went to work. How I worked! I not only sucked, I pushed, pulled, nibbled, stroked, prodded, diddled ... until his moans were rising in a frantic crescendo and he was writhing and squirming all over. His enormous prick filled up my mouth, stuck half, way down my throat, pulsing and straining and I loved every hot inch of it. My tongue fondled the round, juicy head, probed in the needle's eye at the very end; and then slid down the whole burning length of his shaft, caressing the tingling skin, while my lips gripped him with an ever, tightening grasp. Then I moved my mouth back up again, pulling the sensitive flesh, as if to suck his whole dick into me and he writhed and moaned aloud with desire.

	"Shit!" he cried finally, "I'm going to shoot right into that mouth of yours!" and he was wiggling frantically, little spasms rocking his whole body.

	He thrust his cock deeper into my mouth, but I was in a teasing mood: rapidly, before he could grab my head, I took my lips away. His throbbing cock stood out in mid, air, straining frantically for something to thrust itself inside of.

	"Oh,,  you fucking, teasing bitch!" he screamed, "I'll teach you!" And he lunged out in a blind lust, driven fury. I tried to jump away, but he caught me by one arm.

	"I oughta shove this thing right up your goddamn ass!" he cried, massaging his flaming prick against my belly, as his fingers dug roughly into the skin of my arm. "In fact, I think I will!"

	A hot shiver of exotic excitement passed through me at his words this was going to be pleasureful beyond my wildest dreams! I wanted nothing more than to have this virile man shove his massive prong far into the tiniest and most delicate opening of my body all the sensations would be doubled!

	He meant what he said, apparently, for he flung me violently over onto my stomach, forcing me to lie prone on the floor. I could feel my hot fluids oozing from the depths of my pussy, as he began to ravish me.

	He was fondling the lush globes of my buttocks and then he slid one hand in along the warm ridges of my pussy, to fondle the expectant trigger of my clit. I cried out, as the touch of his finger sent incredible, overwhelming waves of pleasure rolling all through me. I thrust myself backwards against his finger, grinding my body against it, savoring the unbelievable thrills that surged through me.

	Then I felt the throbbing head of his colossal cock, as it began to push its way into the hot depths of my anus. Slowly, inch by tingling inch, his ram sunk in further and deeper, pushing past the tightness of my sphincter, sending exotic crescendos of pleasure through the mysterious tunnel of my ass.

	I was crying out now, caught up in spasms of my own incredible lust, hunger, as I thrust my hips and thighs backwards onto the marvelous axle of his cock. He too was almost coming; his hands came around me, clutching avidly at my hips, then sliding to caress my pussy. Then he groaned and his movements became frenzied, ' he ground his dick into me, thrusting and shoving, impaling me on the huge thing.

	"Holy shit!" he was crying, as he flung himself into me. "I'm coming, you bitch, I'm coming!" and suddenly he was lurching and spurting, filling my hole with his hot sperm.

	His fluids burned and tingled and triggered my own climax. He stayed firm and erect inside me, while I cried out at the marvelous release, as waves of ecstatic pleasure rolled through my pussy and ass, leaving me tingling and fulfilled, as my hot fluids gushed out.

	"Well, Jennifer," he said after a moment, taking his lovely prick out of me. "You're not bad!" He was grinning with appreciation. "What d'you think, Greta?"

	I suddenly remembered that other woman. I looked up and burst out laughing. Greta was stooped on the floor a few feet away, squirming and wiggling, her own hand probing frantically inside her box. She looked at us both, her eyes rolling in overwhelming passion.

	"Hey," said Mark, amused, "Surely we can offer a more exciting alternative, can't we Jennifer? I can be ready again in a minute."

	I was amazed at the incredible energy of the man, as he immediately put both his hands down to his cock and began massaging it to life again. It took only a few strokes and I saw the limp organ begin to stiffen with renewed vigor. How many hours on end could this man perform?

	I discovered the answer. I didn't leave that hotel room until after supper, time and Mark had had three additional orgasms by then. He was incredible! He kept both of us satisfied for hours on end and never lost his energy!

	He crossed the floor to Greta and without further preparation he began prodding her pussy with his dick.

	"You'll have to stiffen me up a little," he said with a grin, as he rubbed his shaft against the flesh of her hole. He was holding his cock with one hand, allowing its tip to caress Greta's hot twat, then sliding his organ down to stick it an inch or so into her pussy. Then he would move it back up to her clit and massage that tingling knob with his own flesh.

	It was one of the most exciting things I had ever seen and my own pussy cried out for his attention. I went over to them and, caught up in the blinding intensity of my hunger, I stood with my legs open above Greta's face.

	She was moaning and writhing and she needed no further instructions. Eagerly, voraciously, she began to eat me, her hot tongue probing far up into my snatch, her lips fondly titillating my hungry twat. My knees went weak, I was almost sitting on their faces and I could feel my own fluids pouring down my legs.

	Suddenly Mark shoved his now, stiff cock into Greta's eager box and I could feel her own excitement through the quickening rhythm of her tongue in my pussy. Faster and faster her tongue moved, deeper and deeper it probed into my hole, while I could hear her greedily lapping at my pungent woman fluids. Suddenly her whole mouth was sucking on my hole, as if to draw out all the pent, up juices of my climax, as she shuddered and lurched in her own orgasm.

	"Fuck!" Mark was shouting, as he shot his load of hot come into Greta's pussy; and she received it with long, shivering spasms.

	It was marvelous, sensational and it wasn't over yet! All through the long afternoon, we kept at our exotic sport. Mark came into my pussy, a half, hour later, his huge tool pulsing and straining against the tingling walls of my pussy, while I clutched him and moaned in delicious lust, fever. His hand, meanwhile, probed in Greta's box, sending her into shuddering convulsions of delight.

	Then, later, Mark rammed his erotic rod far into my mouth, holding my head tightly to him so I couldn't get away, this time and we were back where we had started, in the original wills. He won of course, as he had before what real woman would desire it otherwise? His excitement was triple and by the memory of my teasing and he ploughed and plugged my mouth with his enormous ram, crying out and moaning as he shoved his cock into my throat. In minutes, I felt the delicious flavor of his manly flood of hot sperm and I swallowed all of the wonderful balm.

	It was dusk when I finally emerged from the Esplanades Hotel and only then did I remember Janice. What had she done, where had she gone, to while away those long hours? I felt some pity for her and there was a sensation that I had betrayed her, for the second time.

	And yet, I shrugged angrily, it was her own fault. She asked for cruelty she wanted it. She had slunk off this time, just as she had thirty years before ... and though they hadn't been verbalized, I could imagine her heart crying out the same words she had used then:

	"You and your big filthy man!"

	I had introduced her to sex, so I suppose I could be partly to blame but couldn't she ever do anything for herself? All through that long fall and winter, when we played our mature childish games in my bedroom, she would lie, tingling all over with the onset of her climax but I always had to trigger her. She looked to me for all sensation, waiting for sex to drop on her like money from heaven, doing nothing, or very little, to help herself. It is a fault shared by the majority of woman, I realize now submissive fools! If only they could know the pleasure they have denied themselves!

	Janice knew, or at least she discovered the depths of joy she was missing; but she hadn't the strength of will to change her character. When I got bored with our sport, she couldn't think of any new games to hold my interest. I was only natural that I should forsake her, for a man.

	Ironically, it was a respected member of my own family, my parents' dearest friend, who introduced me to the delights of the male prick. Uncle Robert was my father's younger brother, a gay, amusing fellow in his early thirties when I knew him. He was considered the most brilliant and successful member of the family; he was a University Lecturer in Physics, 'one of the youngest and best minds in the faculty,' his peers judged.

	He was tall and slender, with a shock of very black hair and dark eyes which I considered fiery and romantic. In contrast to my father, Uncle Robert was outgoing and vivacious, always ready with a joke or a witty story.

	I had known him all my life, I used to sit on his lap when I was a very young child and he would tell me fascinating stories that made my flesh crawl deliciously. He was an expert on vampires, mummies with only one arm, witches and all the other trappings of terror. Sometimes he would send me to bed shivering all over with fear.

	But I never minded because the more fearful I became, the more affectionate his response when he came in later to kiss me goodnight. I would huddle in the bedclothes, purposely exaggerating my trembling and he would hug me and begin to kiss me all over.

	When I was twelve, that winter I became fully awakened to sex, I would feel delicious pangs in my pussy whenever he took me on his lap. And was I imagining it, or did his breath quicken slightly when he kissed my body? Was he aware of the colossal waves of desire that shook my newly, awakened womanhood? I wasn't quite sure, but I was determined to find out.

	The opportunity came. My parents sometimes used Uncle Robert as a babysitter, for his own dreary one, room apartment lacked the comforts of our home and he was always glad to do his reading and studying at our house.

	It was a Thursday, I remember, because Janice had been over that afternoon and our lust, fired activities seemed only to have provoked a deeper yearning in my pussy. All through supper, I was aware of the delicious flood of hot sensations in my pussy and my clit stayed erect and hungry, longing for a touch. My parents left; I crossed the living, room and perched myself in Uncle Robert's lap. He held me close, smiling down at me. There was a strange light in his eyes.

	"Well, Jennifer," he said gaily, "What do you want to hear tonight?" His chin was nuzzling my hair. He was smelling my skin. I wondered if his nose could detect the aroma of female sex.

	"Anything," I said as casually as I could, though my voice shook a Little. I nudged closer and buried my face in his neck. I put up a finger and began softly to stroke his whiskers.

	That was how it started Uncle Robert needed little coaxing. Apparently he was as hot for the touch of a pussy, as I was for his manly prick. Almost immediately I could feel a novel sensation under my buttocks there was a large, stiff lump forming in his lap. My breath came more quickly I knew, from what I'd heard, that that must be his penis swelling with excitement. I was almost panting with urgent longing to see, touch, feel his huge organ!

	I squirmed in his lap, relishing the feel of his cock, as it grew even stiffer and larger against the orbs of my ass.

	His eyes rolled up and suddenly his head came down and he kissed me roughly and hard on the mouth. I felt his tongue probing into my mouth and I responded fully and passionately my tongue came out to meet his and we held the kiss for a long while. All the time, I could hear his breath coming faster and faster, until he was almost gasping and all the time that delicious lump of a penis was swelling, turgid against my thighs.

	I was wiggling all over now, feeling the warm oozing of female sex, fluids in my pussy, feeling the tense longing of my clit. And then his lips began to roam all over my body, kissing and fondling my skin with deep hunger, while his hands worked frantically at my clothes.

	I helped him, undoing the buttons of my blouse, leaning forward so that he could slip the garment off my shoulders. I unhooked my bra in the back "Jennifer, I didn't know you were old enough for one of those," he commented, his eyes burning as he watched me.

	"And there are your little titties," he was almost moaning, as he reached out blindly to caress my breasts. They weren't really so little even then, but if that was what he wanted to believe ...  

	Then I couldn't think straight anymore his hands were all over me, his palms on my boobs, his fingers brushing the pert red points of my nipples, sending waves of overwhelming excitement running all through me ... and then his hands slipped down further, struggling with the zipper of my skirt, while his mouth went	to my tits, sucking, pulling, fondling, nibbling. I was almost blinded with passion and lust I couldn't wait to see his massive, flaming prick. It would be my first real sight of a man's cock seeing my father as he pissed in the bathroom hardly counted. Boldly, carried by the urgency of my desire, I unzipped his fly.

	"Aaahhh!" he groaned, as he saw me do it, "You incredible little girl!" With one rough motion, unable to control himself he tore off my skirt without even undoing the zipper. He flung it away, so that it fell in a heap across the room and the manliness of his gesture only incensed me the more; how different this was from playing with Janice! Here was a real man and I felt fully a woman, for the first time in my life. The hunger of my gaping, oozing pussy took on a new dimension no longer would my box be satisfied with just anything. No, it had to be a pulsing, straining ramrod of male flesh that I took inside my pussy. It had to be a real cock, violent and urgent with its own life!

	My fingers were blindly following the dictates of my overwhelming urge I had now undone Uncle Robert's belt and was groping frenziedly in his underwear.

	"Stand up," he hissed urgently and I tumbled off his lap. He rose and quickly peeled off all his clothes.

    CHAPTER THREE

	I gasped with delight ah, the sight of his prick! I shall never forget that moment, it was my first view of the object which I would grow to cherish above all else, my first vision of a male penis, erect, firm, demanding.

	It seemed monstrous to me and I had a vague fear that it would split me in two if he tried to put it into my pussy but I didn't care, my hunger was too great. I watched his swollen cock, mesmerized by the long, thick shaft which rose out of its dark bed of hair. His dick was pointing straight up in the air and its round head looked tight and pulsing. I saw, with a tremor of anticipation, the tiny slit at the very end it seemed amazing that through that small opening came the terrific flood of male sperm of which I'd heard. Then my eyes were drawn back down, down the long straining stem of his cock and I saw the twin sacs of his balls.

	I reached out, maddened by the vision, longing to touch him. I put my hand to his prong, stroking it gently up and down.

	"Aaahhh!" he cried out at my first touch and he began to thrust himself from the hips, moving in rhythm of his own longing. I touched more rapidly, stroking more firmly, pulling a little at his soft flesh; and he responded with an immediate burst of excitement, his movements becoming faster and more urgent. Finally, he grabbed me firmly, his cock rubbing against the mounds of my breasts. I could feel the throbbing of its veins against my soft skin and the sensation sent renewed waves of pleasure shooting through me.

	He was groaning now, in a constantly, rising crescendo, as his huge penis rubbed itself against the pointed ends of my nipples.

	Then, suddenly, he grabbed me more firmly and picked me up on the floor. We fell back into the armchair, I was in his lap again and our flesh came together in a delicious mingling of hardness and yielding, while all around us I could smell the wonderful odors of our desire.

	Suddenly I began to writhe uncontrollably; he had slid his hand under me and three fingers had shot far up my juicy snatch. I ground my body down onto the prong of his hand, feeling the waves of climax welling in my pussy. Frantically I shoved myself against him, grinding my hungry sex, moaning aloud.

	Dimly I heard him. "Sit on it!" He was hissing. "Ah, fuck me, sit on my prick!" He had grabbed my buttocks and was holding me over his lap, one leg on each side of him.

	I lowered myself slowly onto his mammoth cock, wondering if my defloration would be painful, but too caught up with my surging passion to care.

	He was thrusting upward from his thighs and his movements met mine suddenly, his gigantic dick was fully and firmly embedded in my girl, flesh. I cried out once, at the tinge of pain, but then in a second all the pain had dissolved and there was instead an overwhelming, all, engulfing pleasure. I could feel his great swelling ram inside me, the muscles of my pussy gripped and clutched it lovingly and it shot in further and further, until I was completely filled up with delicious cock, meat.

	Once I got used to the feel of that pulsing piling inside me, I couldn't get enough of it I wanted him to push further, to shove roughly and violently, I wanted it never to stop.

	"More, more!" I kept yelling in a frenzy while my body rocked with its pleasure and I ground myself down onto that axle in his lap. He shoved deeper, his hands digging into my flesh as he thrust upwards to meet my lurching motions.

	Suddenly I could feel it. The waves of my climax, overpowering now, were rolling through me and I was tingling from head to foot. All sensation was centered in that pulsing ram of meat in my pussy and I clung to it as if glued, until suddenly I was rocketing with spasms of ecstasy and crying out loud.

	At the same moment, I felt him swell as I felt his whole body stiffen and shudder, while his cock spasmed in a series of violent spurts. The hot flood of come burned and tingled in my pussy, mingling with my own juices of passion.

	I clung to him a long moment afterwards, while he nuzzled my hair and murmured words of endearment. I didn't want to relinquish that spear of his manhood yet, even though it was now almost limp but I had a feeling that if I let him come out of me, I would be overcome by incredible emptiness. So I lay on top of Win. My pussy still held his flesh like a glove.

	Finally he stirred. "Jennifer," he said, "Maybe uh you should go to bed." His voice sounded meek, embarrassed.

	"All right, Uncle Robert," I said coyly, smiling up at him with glee, "But only if you'll come and kiss me goodnight ...  "

	His face flushed slightly. I gave a last playful squeeze with my pussy muscles and I could feel him stiffen again "already! I had had my first taste of cock and already I was hungry for more!

	I set to work to get him hard again. It wasn't difficult! When I did finally go to bed, an hour later, he came with me and pronged me once again, as a final goodnight. I lay there, on my demure white sheets, while he perched on top, shoving his huge prick into my mouth. I fondled and caressed it with my tongue, loving the feel and the smell of it, letting one hand stray down to jiggle with his balls. Then, just before his final spasms, he cried out, "I'm going to shoot off in your mouth, you sweet little girl!" Then he threw himself down on me and ploughed in.

	Later, I fell asleep exhausted but all my dreams were stirred by the memory of his huge ram. I had found a new sport and already I knew I was addicted to it.

	Uncle Robert taught me all the delights that men and women can perform together and so I was eternally grateful. At the same time, I satisfied his longing to possess a virgin, to recapture youth even then he was obsessed with germs, sickness, death and so we were like true lovers, bound by a tie of complex emotions.

	We were faithful to one another for more than a year and in that time he satisfied all the longings of my overpowering lust. The miracle, as I look back on those days, is that my parents poor deluded dupes, suspected nothing. They interpreted our involuntary and unconscious caresses for signs of affection between uncle and niece their own sexuality was so underdeveloped, I suppose, that it never occurred to them that they could be witnesses to such gross travesty of the flesh.

	Uncle Robert and I indulged ourselves everywhere, constantly our hunger only seemed to grow with every contact. He screwed me in my bed, my living, room, on the kitchen, floor; on park benches, behind bushes, on any deserted street we could find; and of course in his car and a series of dilapidated motels and wayside inns.

	Those cheap rented mattresses with then worn and laundered sheets echoed creakily to our frenzied explorations, as he would throw himself on top of me and shove his mammoth, burning dong deep into the wall of my gaping and juicy pussy.

	Sometimes he would go wild with passion. He would assault me almost brutally, flinging me about on the steel, hard axle of his cock as if I were a rag, doll and then he would end up carrying me around the room, pronging me against chairs, bureaus, desks and finally shoving me to the floor while he heaved and spurted his flood of hot come.

	We were dismissed from several hotels because of the noise we made. The thin walls would echo to cries that the manager would inform us with a lascivious leer, didn't sound like they came from an uncle and his niece. And so off we would go, bundling ourselves into Robert's car, laughing at the manager as we drove away and the joke itself would arouse us again, we would be forced to stop the car at the first deserted road we came to.

	Robert would spend hours fondling my tits, putting his mouth to them and sucking on the nipples. Then his face would go down, down, over the soft folds of my belly, leaving a trail of kisses on my warm skin. I loved it when he put his mouth to my box, sticking his tongue as far up into my pussy as it would go, licking, sucking, lapping at my juices, until I would explode in a hot burst of joy, the muscles of my vulva clenching spasmodically, crying out for his huge prick. Then he would shove it in, heaving and lurching as he filled my pussy with the violent flood of his sperm.

	For my thirteenth birthday, I remember, my parents had planned a special supper, after which I was to go with Uncle Robert to a special production of Clifford Odets "Golden Boy." I had been bursting with anticipation for several weeks, because I had never been to a real play before. I addition, to heighten my excitement, Robert had a friend who was one of the actors and we were planning to go backstage afterwards to meet the cast.

	It may sound incongruous that someone as knowledgeable as I was in sex should be so inordinately excited about a local production of what is ultimately a mediocre play; I assure you, however, that it was not incongruous in the least.

	The theatre is a place of magic, though many people are too dull to realize the spell it casts over those of us who love it. Even at thirteen, I loved it. I loved the lights, the make, believe, the dressing, up to play parts; I loved everything connected with the stage.

	I sat through supper hardly able to touch a morsel, even though it was my favorite food chicken and dumplings, with my mother's special cream sauce. Even my birthday cake tasted hard and coarse to the tingling tissues of my mouth I kept praying for the meal to be over, so that we could go to the theatre.

	"Come on, Uncle Robert," I repeated over and over, "We're going to be late, if we don't leave. There might be a lot of traffic on the way there."

	The adults laughed indulgently, sipping their coffee.

	"What if we have to stop and get gas," I persisted, "Your gauge may be wrong, we might run out, "

	Finally, after what seemed interminable hours, we were putting on our coats.

	"Well, Little Girl," said Uncle Robert in the car, putting his hand on my knee, "I'm glad this is such a treat for you. Your excitement is contagious!" He leered at me, grinning. "And thanks to your impatience, we have time to stop for a bit on the way. We're half an hour early," his voice was slightly hoarse. It seemed to arouse him greatly that I should act younger than my years, for the first time since he'd known me.

	"No," I objected firmly, "I don't want to risk being late."

	He gave a deep mock sigh. "Oh well," he said philosophically, "I suppose I can wait."

	I looked at him. I could see the bulge rising in his trousers. As I watched, he took one hand off the wheel and put it down to caress his own penis. Leering at me, he rubbed sensuously up and down in his own crotch, as if he knew what that sight would do to me.

	I couldn't help my body's natural response. The sight of Uncle Robert fingering himself sent a crazy, maddening surge of desire running through me. I became furious with envy, my hot pussy longing to have that wonderful cock embedded in it.

	I could feel the hot fluids welling between my legs and my clit rose stiff and hard, But, for the first time, my urgent longing had competition. I resisted.

	"No, Uncle," I repeated firmly, "Later, maybe, "

	Without another word, he drove to the theatre.

	We were early, of course, but I didn't mind. I find audiences almost as interesting to study as actors. I noted all the finely, dressed people in the boxes high overhead and found myself longing for such wealth and luxury. I examined the more shabby, looking people sitting around us and I longed equally to share in their interesting, arty lives.

	Suddenly, the lights in the huge house were dimming. Then it began.

	I sat entranced, enraptured, absolutely caught up in the spectacle being presented. It was all so real, so life, like! And yet, when Uncle Robert passed me the opera, glasses, I could see the Adams' apple in the neck of the star and the bright dots of makeup at the corners of his eyes. He was a real person, not the person he was only pretending to be. The whole concept fascinated me.

	I floated through intermission, nodding my head enthusiastically when asked if I was enjoying it, but I was too preoccupied to speak. A whole new vista, a whole new view of life and reality, was opening up before my eyes.

	And then, almost before I knew it, came the moment I had really awaited for so long; the audience clapped, the house lights went up, the theatre began to empty and Robert and I were pushing our way backstage.

	We passed through a labyrinth of passages all cluttered with props and discarded costumes, until we came finally to the Green Room.

	"But it's not green," I pointed out.

	"No," said Robert, "But for some reason it's always called that. Same reason, I guess, that the actors always say 'Break a Leg' when they wish you luck."

	The logic of that was beyond me, but it only made the whole thing more exciting, more like some secret esoteric cult.

	"He, Bernie, good job," Uncle Robert was saying, "And I want you to meet my niece, Jennifer, you know, the one I told you about."

	"Oh, yes, I remember!" said the big, burly fellow, smiling broadly as he bent down to shake my hand. "I hear you're simply fascinated by the theatre," he added, in a voice oddly delicate for his size.

	I nodded, breathless.

	"You two are coming to the party, I hope," Bernie was saying, "We need some new blood."

	Robert nodded and I felt a swell of pleasure. A party with the actors it was like being initiated into the deepest of mysteries!

	As I followed my Uncle, smiling at everyone around me, I didn't realize, of course, how true my pleasure would prove to be ...  

	The party, it seemed, was in an adjoining dressing, room. There were people everywhere. I was lost in a sea of talking, laughing, gesturing faces. I lost sight of Uncle Robert, but I was content, for the moment, merely to stand and stare. Then someone handed me a glass I took a large gulp and almost choked. It was my first taste of liquor.

	Resolutely I took another gulp and another. I discovered that I rather liked the taste my glass was empty in a moment and I was standing in a warm, golden glow of happiness.

	I recognized Bernie's large face. I waved at him, giggling gaily. He came over to me.

	"Well," he said, chuckling, "Somebody's been ignoring you. You haven't been properly introduced."

	He took me around the room and I found myself shaking hands with vague, numerous faces, the names of which I forgot immediately. It was all too much to digest at once. I was much more aware of the feel of Bernie's hand on my own his arms were large and hairy, holding me in a compelling grip.

    CHAPTER FOUR

	We came to another room. There were people in here also, though it wasn't crowded. The lights in here were dim and several couples were sitting around embracing. Bernie led me to a seat.

	"Stay here," he commanded and disappeared. He returned in a moment and with more full glasses. The alcohol slipped down easily this time, increasing my warm glow.

	"Robert told me something peculiar," he said, "He claims that you're only thirteen. Is that really true?"

	I nodded.

    He looked at me, his blue eyes burning with interest. Obviously, I concluded, Robert’s hand told him A LOT about me! Curiously, the idea that Robert had bragged of his conquest didn't disturb me at all, rather, there was something very exciting about the thought.

	Certainly Bernie seemed to find it exciting. He looked me up and down.

	"You don't say." He kept repeating to himself.

	"Why," I said coyly, the drink taking away all my shyness. "Do you think thirteen is so terribly young? I'm all fully grown, you know, except for my Wisdom Teeth." I opened my big eyes wide and looked sweetly up at him.

	"I have no doubt that you ARE fully grown, judging from the way you're asking for it," said Bernie ironically, "And you'll get it too, young lady. You'll get everything you're bargaining for." There was a stern note in his voice and I felt both slightly insulted and a little fearful.

	At the same time the liquor was still surrounding me with a golden glow of pleasure and desire. I had to admit to myself that he was right, I WAS asking for it. And there was something immensely exciting about having a man talk to me in that way, always, until this moment, I had held control of the situation, even Uncle Robert, for all his years and his brilliance, bowed to my greater strength of will.

	But here, for the first time, was a man stronger than I, a man who dared insult me and treat me like a child, and yet, with colossal arrogance, still knew that I would give him whatever he asked.

	"Hey, everbody!" Bernie said suddenly to the group at large, "This child's only thirteen, will you believe it? And wait'll you see what she can do." His voice raw in mocking laughter. A few of the people looked up; most, however, were too busy with their own partners to pay any attention. A woman with dyed, red hair and a very haggard face looked in my direction, turning away for an instant from the pudgy man whose knee she sat on.

	"Weeellllll," she drawled, her too, red lips drawn back in a cat, like smile, "Just fawncy thawt, Darrrling, don't kids just say the DARNDEST things! I think, however, Bernie my dear, that you will find robbing the cradle not as stimulating as it's made out to be."

	With a slight shrill cackle, she returned to her pudgy partner.

	Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bernie looking at me: there was a mocking challenge in his eyes.

	That did it.

	"Weeellll, Dawwwwlling," I said, fluttering my hands slightly in imitation of her gesture. Since I have always had an unusual talent for mimicry, the voice came out just perfectly: shrill, high, a little flat.

	Several people looked up, this time. One or two of them giggled. The sense of having an audience spurred me on.

	"I don't know about YOU, Dawwling, but I have always preferred OLDER men, downtchaknoauw?" I gasped and fluttered my hands again; this time the giggles increased. "I mean, there's something so absolutely DIVINE about those first whiskers."

	I had pirouetted over to her fat partner and was running my hand caressingly over his pudgy cheek. The man stirred and flushed slightly, emitting a nervous grunt, and again I was rewarded by audience response. Most of the people in the room were looking at me now and chuckling. There may have only thought me a talented child, there was some smugness still on most of the faces, but at any rate I had their attention and their favor.

	And, most of all, I had faced the challenge in Bernie's eyes, faced it and won.

	I realized this in a moment.

	"Hey, come here!" Bernie was calling me back to my seat. I obediently returned and sat down. I had anticipated what came next and I was looking forward to it eagerly: already my clit was hot and stiff with mounting hunger, there was a deep yearning in my pussy.

	"Yes, Bernie?" I said demurely, looking up at him wide, eyed.

	He said nothing; her merely grabbed my arm, his grip tighter than ever and led me quickly through a side door. Two of the men clapped as we exited. Bernie, however, didn't smile. He seemed too aroused for that.

	We were in a dark corridor. He led me a few steps ahead and then stopped, gesturing unceremoniously at a pile of discarded dust, covers which lay in a heap on the floor.

	"Take off your clothes!" he commanded urgently, his hands already fumbling with his fly.

	I began to undress, but I wasn't speedy enough for him. He was naked in a moment, flinging off his shirt and trousers in one violent motion.

	"Hurry up!" he commanded and my fingers moved a little faster.

	"Look, Little Miss Jennifer, you may be cute, but you've asked for this long enough. Get those clothes off!" He was fingering his huge red prick brutally now, his hand running up and down the shaft of his gigantic cock as though he wanted to pull it out by the roots.

	In the dim light I could only vaguely see his pulsing dick, but I could see enough to know that it was incredibly large in size and incredibly hungry.

	My pussy was hot and flooding now. I wanted him to fling his prick into it and I hurried faster with my clothes.

	"I can't wait. Do you hear?" He was saying and then he reached out suddenly and ripped off my dress. In one step, he was against me, his hands grabbed my buttocks and without further preliminary, he had shoved his bristling ram into my pussy.

	"This is what little girls like you get when you play around… see?" He was rough, violent, brutal and I loved every minute of it" I had never had such a colossal, powerful penis inside me before: he felt as though his cock was going to bust me in two and come out at my mouth.

	He pushed and shoved, roughly plowing into my tender hole again and again, holding me up against the wall with one hand, while the other roamed voraciously over my breasts, hips, thighs, belly.

	Then, as his movements became more frantic, as we both went racing toward climax, he flung me down onto my back on the pile of discarded dust, cloths, but he still didn't cease his frenzied, maddened, heaving and lurching.

	His prick would come down hard and deep, probing up through my pussy muscles to the gate of my womb with terrific and delicious force; then he would withdraw it, allowing almost its whole length to come out of my box, letting the tip nudge tantalizingly against my gaping pussy.

	"Please!" I would cry out, begging for the first time in my life, and then suddenly, with the force of a steel piston, he would ram his cock down into me again.

	How I loved it! My pussy clutched and gripped at his strong cock. My fingernails dug into him. I could dimly hear myself screaming with ecstasy; and all the while my nerves were tingling, my skin burning, the deep waves of release gathering and welling inside of me.

	Suddenly he tensed, shuddered; and at the same instant that he began to spurt in his climax, my own spasms came, rolling over my in a momentous and mind, boggling orgy of pleasure, till my whole body melted into those crashing convulsions of joy that were echoing through my pussy.

	Lights were flashing in my head, rockets going off and there was a lot of noise and shouting, me, I realized dimly. I clung to him, aware only of that mammoth and satisfying piece of prick inside me, conscious only of the overwhelming pleasure coursing through my snatch.

	Then, slowly, I came back to reality. I looked up.

	Bernie was watching me, a mocking gleam in his eyes. He said nothing and I didn't expect him to. But I knew I had performed well and before an expert.

	I stretched out my arms, in contented lassitude. I waited for him to say something.

	Finally, looking down on me, he chuckled. "You're not bad, Little Miss Jennifer, not bad at all!" His voice was heavy with irony. I felt a twinge of disappointment, I hadn't expected him to mock me like this, right to the very end.

	"But now you'd better go home. It's way past you bedtime."

	I looked at him, at his grinning, mocking face. I had an urge to lash out and hit him, slap his across the head. He anticipated me, however and caught my wrist.

	"Uh, uh," he said, "Naughty, naughty. But come to see me in five years and you can do whatever you want!"

	I threw on my clothes and rushed out of the building.

	I got home in a taxi, merely by luck having enough money in my purse to pay the fare.

	"How was it, Dear?" queried my mother, when she met me at the door, "And where's Uncle Robert?"

	"It was okay," I replied noncommittally, "He got sick and put me in a cab."

	Refusing her offer of milk and cookies, I went up to my bedroom. My blood was boiling and it was a long time before I could get to sleep.

	One thought echoed and re, echoed in my head. I WILL see him, I told myself over and over and when I do, I'll teach him a lesson!

	Strangely enough, those angry words echoed fatefully: I DID meet Bernie Larmont five years later. As I look back on it now, it seems almost as though the intervening time served only as preparation, that everything I did during those five years hurtled me toward my destined second meeting with the actor.

	This is not to say, however, that those five years were idle or dull, quite the contrary. That was my adolescence, the period when my sex, craving bloomed and blossomed even more strongly than it ever had before.

	And it was a period of exploration, a time when I tried out every conceivable means of satisfying my crazed lust.

	Though I had never been a particularly good student, I began to take more interest in school, not in the subjects, of course, but in my fellow, students.

	I would sit in the classroom, ostensibly watching the teacher, but secretly I would be examining the male members of my class. I found that merely the sight of those adolescent boys, grown tall but not yet wide, would set the hot fires burning in my pussy.

	"Stop fidgeting, Jennifer!" I would hear as if from very far away and with a start, I would look up into Miss Jamison's stern and yellowish face. My eyes would return demurely to my text, book and the lesson would resume, with nobody, I told myself, aware of the REAL reason for my stirring and fidgeting. What would puckered, up Miss Jamison say if she knew that I shifted in my seat because there was a persistent hot itching in my juicy pussy, an itching that I tried in vain to stifle? The very thought amused me greatly and I had to suppress a laugh many times.

	After one of these occasions, I felt someone nudge me from behind. I leaned back in my seat and turned my head slightly. ' "Armando sent you this," came the hoarse whisper from Georgette, the girl who sat immediately behind me. Furtively, I slipped one hand back and received the crumpled up note in my palm.

	I opened up the torn piece of paper.

	I smiled. "I know why you fidget" was all that the note said. It was scrawled messily, with only a large 'M' as signature. Did he know, I wondered? Naturally, I resolved to find out.

	It wasn't difficult. Armando Trek came up to me after class that same day. He was a tall blonde boy, one of the best athletes in the school and considered very good, looking by all the girls. He usually had only to approach a group of females and they would dissolve in hysterical, nervous giggles.

	None of that silly behavior for me, however; it had simply never occurred to me that the presence of a male was anything to giggle about! When Armando approached me by the lockers I merely looked up at him, wide, eyed and friendly.

	"Uh, ya wanna come out tonight?" was all he said. There was no reference to the note and I decided he was probably too shy to mention it. Consequently, I didn't refer to it either.

	"Why, that would be very nice." I responded in just the correct tone of voice, smiling up at him.

	He arranged to pick me up at 7:30. With that, he uttered, or rather mumbled, a distant "See ya then," and loped away down the hall.

	I was excited. In our school, in those days, the word 'out' had particular connotations. I could foresee what the evening would bring. If a boy asked you to 'the movies,' or to come 'for a malt,' he HAD to take you there. If he merely asked you 'out,' however, the evening was open. And that was just the way I wanted it. I could conceive of nothing more boring than to spend an evening drinking sodas or watching films. There were other things, though, that one could do with boys, that weren't boring at all!

	In a sense, it was my first date, though my long associated with Uncle Robert had given me a sophistication beyond my years and I abhorred even the word 'date.' Nevertheless, I dressed carefully, in my nicest matching sweater, and, skirt outfit and I took special efforts with my hair.

	Armando arrived in a very old car and as soon as I had got in, we headed out toward the country. His shyness had turned now into bravado. I realized why, when he reached down and handed me a can of beer from under the seat. I took it and drank.

	"Some friends of mine and I, we have a cabin out here for hunting." He was explaining "There's a party there tonight."

	Sure enough, we could hear the music before we even saw the house. As we drove up, I saw moving forms in all the windows: people were dancing, yelling, laughing and drinking beer.

	The scene somehow reminded me of that other party, the cast party at the theatre three years before. As the memory of Bernie came back to me, I felt a wave of impatience and frustration: all these kids were so unspeakably childish! Here they were, dancing, kissing, yelling, when all they REALLY wanted to do was screw!

	Certainly, that was all I wanted to do, Armando and I started to dance. Pressing my body very close to his, I murmured after a minute, "What did you mean in that note, that you know why I fidget?"

	He was holding his beer in one hand and he took another sip before he replied.

	"Because I DO know," he answered finally, "I was watching you real close and I saw your hand."

	I was intrigued. "What did you see?"

	"You were rubbing yourself with your hand," he explained and put his own hand on my belly, "like this."

	His hand roamed in swirls over my belly and then down, down, until it was caressing the mound of pleasure under my skirt.

	All my skin leapt to life under his touch. Frantic nerve, shocks followed one another down my body, while my clit rose with anticipation and I could feel the hot fluids welling in my snatch.

	"Really?" I said provocatively, though my voice shook a little with desire, "Now, why on earth would I do something like THAT?" I opened my eyes wider and looked up at him. Then slowly, teasingly, I put my own hand to the rising bulge in his pants.

	It was big, a firm, swelling lump, and I longed to unzip his fly and haul out his adolescent prick.

	At my touch he quivered all over and then, without a word, he led me into a dark corner of the room.

	"Here, Now!" he whispered hoarsely, "Please!"

	He was hurriedly undoing his own fly. "But Armando, I said lazily, "Someone will see us."

	"Let them!" his voice was fierce now, "Do them good, anyway! Come on!"

	He had thrust aside his pants and now he hauled his cock out from his shorts. I could see it gleaming white in the darkness, a long pulsing shaft, oily with its own urgency, sticking proud and hungry far, far up in the air.

	'Ummm," I murmured appreciatively, "Not bad. It's pretty long, isn't it?"

	My casual tone of voice belied the urgency of desire I really felt. The sight of that erect ram had stimulated all my juices, had set off hot sparks in my throbbing pussy.

	"Please!" he was almost moaning, "Hurry!"

	Teasingly, I slid calmly out of my clothes, lingering in my motions, pausing to fold up my garments carefully. Then I was naked and his hands were all over me, hungrily running over the ripe gloves of my tits, sliding down over the curves of my belly and thighs.

	Then he leaned over and began to kiss me, his mouth pressing hungrily to my body. I could feel his dick pushing urgently against my thigh, its vessels straining. Its skin taut and pulled over its tremendous length.

	But I was in the mood for teasing. "Not yet," I whispered, "Do me first."

	I lay back and spread my legs, exposing the whole length of my dripping snatch.

	I saw his eyes widen in the darkness, it was probably his first full view of a woman. Then blindly, frenziedly, his hand came out to me, his fingers ran down the juicy ridges of my pussy lips and found the deep hole of my womb. Frantically he shot two fingers up the opening, pushing and shoving roughly, until I squirmed and wiggled in pleasure.

	"Now," I managed to gasp, "Kiss me! There!" I pointed down to my pussy, which I could see gleaming red and bright in the dimness.

	He hesitated a moment; then without further coaxing, his head came down between my spread knees. I could hear him moaning, as he sucked and kissed on my ripe, throbbing flesh.

	His tongue began to explore all the folds and creases of my pussy avidly. Looking down his body, I could see his huge dong pulsing and clearing the air, twitching and stiffening longingly with every swab of his tongue.

	"Okay, now!" I said suddenly and my hand shot down to grab the prong of his cock. Holding it like a handle, I guided his body upwards, while he squirmed obediently over my body, until his gigantic prick was at the door to my pussy.

	He gasped with delight, as the throbbing tip of his ram met my hot flesh. Then, with a groan, he lurched himself hard onto me; I felt his organ pushing through my pussy lips and plowing far up my opening.

	Armando was groaning aloud, now, as he shoved and lurched further into me, his huge hungry prick pronging me violently. I clutched him with my legs and arms as his colossal piston jerked in and out of my pussy, satisfying all my deepest longings.

	Suddenly I felt his whole body rocking with violent spasms; he stiffened all over and, with a final cry, his cock released its flood of hot come into my pussy.

	"My brains are falling out!" he was yelling with delirious frenzy, as he trembled and shot.

	I felt his burning fluids spurting out and the waves of my own climax overtook me, I was moaning and shuddering as the unspeakable ecstasy rolled over me, gathering all the hot sensations of my pussy together and releasing my flood of warm woman juices.

	"Oooohhhhh," I was moaning, as I clung to him in utter joy, my pussy muscles gripping his organ, my fingernails digging into his muscular back.

	"Well, well! Look what we have here, guys!" I heard the voice across a great distance of time and space. I looked up at the sound.

	Georgette, the girl who sat behind me in school, was looking at our intertwined bodies. She stood with her legs apart, hands on her hips and she had a wide leering grin on her face.

	"Care for some company?" she asked and her grin turned into a chuckle.

	Before we had got our breath to reply, Georgette was gesturing to some of the other kids. They stopped dancing and came over to stand around us, looking down attentively. I saw the boys admiring the lush curves of my body, their eyes on fire with the familiar gleams of desire. I was far from embarrassed, I have never been troubled by such bourgeois phobias, on the contrary, I was stimulated and aroused by such interest and attention.

	And then Georgette began working at the zipper of her skirt. She twirled around to face the others, as she undressed. In another moment, she was entirely naked, twirling in the center of the group, while all eyes were riveted to her body.

	She was short and rather stocky, with a masculine way of moving and she had bobbed hair. I noticed the way her calves tensed as she moved, the, muscles large and bulging like a man's. It had never really occurred to me before, but now I realized that, if Janice had leanings that way, Georgette was unquestionably and irrevocably a dyke. The thought stirred me strangely.

	She had turned toward Armando and me again and now she bent down over us. My theory was immediately borne out. It was me she paid attention to, not Armando.

	"Georgette," I began attentively.

	"Call me George," she purred. That was proof undeniable.

	In another moment, however, I had ceased to concern myself with her general range of interests. My mind was too taken up with her particular activity, at that moment. Her hands had come out to me and were skillfully and lovingly fondling my large breasts, bobbling my erect nipples between two fingers.

	Then her mouth followed, she was kissing me all over, starting with my ears, neck, throat and then on down over my tingling skin. Shivers of delightful anticipation passed through me, my clit was tense and alive, my juices were flowing in a renewed pulse of vigor to my pussy. I had never been used like this before.

	Vaguely to one side of me, I noticed that the other kids were taking off their clothes. They didn't have the courage to do it on their own. But when the example was presented, they followed like sheep.

	A girl had lowered herself to the floor and was kissing and fondling Mike. I looked more carefully and I could see his huge ram of a penis beginning to rise stiff and hard again.

	Then suddenly, I ceased to be aware of anything else around me. George had pushed her way down into my box and three fingers had shot deeply and firmly up into my hot, juicy pussy.

	I cried out with sudden frenzy, as she began to poke and prong, swiveling and twisting her fingers further into my opening. She bent over and began sucking on my breasts, her mouth running in little swirls around the hobbling points of my tits.

	Hungrily, my own hands went out and I was feeling all over her body, diddling with her ample tits, fondling her belly and legs. Then my hands roamed around to caress at the ripe orbs of her buttocks. I clutched and grabbed at her lovely, muscular man/woman type of skin, the soft flesh teasingly, massaging her.

	Then my hands began to move in toward one another, coming ever closer to the tiny hole of her anus. And she moaned with anticipation, wiggling and squirming under my touch.

	She put her other hand to my pussy and the thumb crept up enticingly through the hot, throbbing flesh of my labia, until it found the trembling knob of my twat.

	With infinite skill, she set to caressing my clit, her thumb moving back and forth over the erect trigger until the waves of joy poured over me in a violent flood and I could hardly stand it. I was racing to climax now, all my nerves on fire, my pussy craving its immediate and necessary fulfillment.

	George understood. Quickly, deftly, she shoved her whole hand into my gaping box. I cried out in surprise as I felt it go up to the wrist, never before had I had such a sensation. Once inside, her fingers probed, diddled. fondled and I felt as though there were five cocks in it at once.

	It was sensational, marvelous. My pussy sucked at her hand, the muscles gripping, the nerves on fire. I knew I couldn't stand it another instant, the ecstasy was increasing past endurance and there were blinding flashes of light behind my closed eyes.

	I was screaming with joy, lurching and thrusting my whole body in counter, rhythm to her hand thrusts and then I was climaxing, writhing in rapture, my juices flooding out onto her wrist.

	"So good," I was moaning, in a long, drawn cry of sexual satisfaction. Then my groan of fulfillment was cut off abruptly, as George lowered her now, burning snatch onto my face.

	I could smell the heavenly odor of sex and instinctively, my mouth went to her throbbing pussy, my tongue probing into her box as far as it could, while I sucked and lapped at her juices greedily.

	I was rewarded by her sounds of satisfaction. She moaned in joy and slid her pussy back and forth over my mouth, so that my tongue traveled the whole length of her gorge, fondling her clit and then slicing back down through the lips to her hole. In a moment, she was climaxing, her whole body stiffening in spasms, while I sucked hungrily at her fluids.

	Suddenly, I head a loud cry on my left. I looked over. A girl, I recognized her as Jenny Wallace, was perched astride George, her breasts flying as she swung her whole body back and forth.

	She was clutching her ass, her knees rising convulsively and it was her cry of exultant come, joy that I had heard. While I watched, she heaved herself onto her repeatedly, while she ground herself down more firmly into her pussy with each thrust.

	Suddenly, as my eyes surveyed the rest of the room, I realized that all the kids had followed our example, there were writhing, groaning bodies everywhere. Long years of sexual frustration, of enslavement to false sexual mores, were being wiped out in a single, glorious Walpurgisnacht, a thrilling orgy of the flesh. There were cries of joy and ecstasy coming from all corners of the room, there was the sweet and pervasive aroma of triumphant fulfillment.

	I surveyed the scene with pride and pleasure, for I felt that it had been mostly my doing. None of these people would have had the initiative to seek their happiness, had I not led them on the way.

	Feeling like a queen, I sat and waited calmly for my next petitioner. The sight of many naked bodies, squirming before my eyes in blazing sexual ecstasy, started the renewed sparks of shivering desire in my pussy. One hand crept down toward the wet opening of my box, drawn like a magnet to my crazed, hungry pussy. But just as I was parting the lips from my snatch, a fervent pilgrim approached me.

	"Jennifer," said Clark Renbo, his voice on fire with lust, "Jennifer, please let me, " His cock stuck out in front of him, huge, rigid, cleaving the empty air in search of its home.

	He knelt before me, his ram swaying as he moved, his eyes pleading and urgent.

	I reached out and took hold of his prong, my movements majestic. I didn't have to speak. He understood.

	From that night on, my friends were my converts and we spent the rest of our high school years and wonderful and varied experiments. My prudish mother, gloating with maternal pride over my diploma, little realized the irony of my pure white graduation dress.

	After I finished with high school, I decided finally to pursue my interest in acting and theater. I had taken part in various amateur and local productions in my small town and I somehow felt that these meager credentials would open the door to an immediate and thrilling career. Full of optimism, I packed my bags, took my savings and left for Boston.

	I found a dreary little one, room apartment in a shabby section of the city and I spent four weeks trudging the sidewalks, in unsuccessful search for a job. I had expected a magic "Open Sesame" to the world of the theater. Instead, I met with doors consistently slammed in my face.

	I was hungry. Bread and potatoes had been my basic diet for a week. Discouraged, almost ready to give up and flee back home, I walked into the last casting agency on my list. I had decided that if I had no luck, I would get on the train and return home the next day.

CHAPTER FIVE

	Thus it seemed an incredible piece of fortune that, when I walked into Brakely Agency, they were looking for female extras.

	"You'll have a short interview with the Director's assistant," the woman at the desk told me. "But you'll get the part, I'm fairly sure. It's just a crowd scene," her voice denigrated the whole thing. "But of course, it's something." She added this as if she had just remembered her professional ethics.

	She spoke on the phone for a moment.

	"He'll see you tomorrow morning at nine a.m." she said, looking up at me. "I'll give you his name and the address." She wrote it down on a piece of paper.

	"Here," she said, as she tore it our of the pad and handed it to me. "Good luck." With a professional nod, she went back to her papers, dismissing me.

	I floated out of the office of Brakely, Inc. as if I had sprouted wings. Small part or not, I could play a tree and I wouldn't have cared. It was a job. It was an income.

	I looked down at the piece of paper in my hand.

	"Mr. Martin P. Klenk," it read.

	Well, Mr. Martin P. Klenk, I thought to myself, here I come!

	I could hardly get to sleep that night, my brain was so teeming with visions of stardom.

	I was at Mr. Klenk's office at ten, to, nine the next morning. At half past the hour, I was finally ushered into the inner sanctum.

	Miss P, ,  I presume?" said the gruff voice.

	All I could see was a bald cranium and two hairy wrists.

	"Yes, sir," I responded politely.

	"And you want a part in the crowd scene of

	"The Return of Caligari."

	"Yes, sir," I replied again. His desk was enormous and I had a sense of speaking to him through a tunnel, so much did my words resound in the huge room. I shifted slightly on the thick carpet, waiting for him to look up.

	He did. I saw the same bald head, thick lips, a prominent nose and the gleam of thick eye glasses. His skin was mottled red, it looked like it had been through a lot. He was impeccably and smartly dressed.

	He looked me over and I thought I detected a glint of appreciation behind the thick lenses. Then he moved a large hairy wrist, pulling back the shirt cuff with the other hand.

	He was consulting his watch, I realized after a second. All his movements seemed ponderous, monumental, words from a popular song rushed involuntarily into my mind.

	"I've got the world on a string, " hummed my brain. He did give the impression that he held the destinies of masses in his little finger. That the impress of his thumb could seal the fate of whole populations. Nero, his name should have been, or Claudius. He was a modern, day Emperor.

	So, at least, I felt then. Time, as I shall show, proved me slightly mistaken in one little particular.

	He had finished examining his watch, now and he spoke.

	"We'll have lunch and discuss this," he said heavily.

	Dumbly I followed him out of the office, onto the street, into a cab and to his own apartment, high on Beacon Hill. He did not speak a word the whole trip and I was too shy to initiate any conversation.

	In the same ponderous silence, we ate lunch, rare roast beef with miscellaneous and elaborate trimmings. He ate greedily, consuming a tremendous amount of food, washing it all down with generous gulps of vintage wine. I got the sense that he had a personal communion with "his food and didn't want to be disturbed. I sat quietly, nibbling at my own plate.

	He burped and looked up at the sound. I started, somehow feeling guilty for his sound. But he said nothing.

	Finally, the meal was over. He rose and I stood up, too. Then he turned and left the room.

	I hesitated, not knowing whether to follow or not. Perhaps he was only going to the bathroom; on the other hand, I had to go to the bathroom by now and since I was scared to speak to him, maybe if I followed I would find out where it was.

	My hesitation was cut short.

	"Miss P, " he bellowed from an adjacent room, "Are you going to sit there all day?"

	I hurried after him and found myself in the strangest room I had ever seen.

	"Sit down," he said, with another expansive burp. He gestured to one of a pair of matching leather armchairs. Speechless, bewildered, I obeyed.

	Even the chairs, I discovered, were strange. I sat down and immediately, there was a strange, low, whirring noise. A small prong, about the size of a man's cock, I realized, came jutting up from the seat, in just the way an arm will come down in the back seat of a car. This prong inserted itself between my legs, resting against my pussy. It gyrated, rubbed, setting up sensual tingles all through me.

	I was afraid to mention it, of course, so I just sat there in silence, letting that strange mechanized pseudopod vibrate against my pussy.

	I looked around the room. It was a large room and at various places on the floor, were huge pieces of complex machinery. They were made of shining steel and black leather and they all vaguely resembled things one might find in a dentist's office. I wondered hopefully if Martin Klenk pulled teeth in his spare time. A simple explanation like that would be supremely comforting, for the machines looked diabolical when one thought of other possible uses for them.

	Along the four walls, stood racks of clothing, costumes, I realized on closer look. Above these racks on the walls hung masks, every conceivable kind of horror mask. There was Frankenstein, there was Count Dracula and over on the other wall were a werewolf and a semi, decomposed mummy.

	I felt a slight shiver of horror, but at the same time that prong between my legs was arousing me intensely. The horror merged with and was superseded by an incredible, hitherto unknown swell of sexual desire.

	I had never been massaged in such a way, by such a device before and the tingle of exotic excitement it set up was unbelievable. I looked over at Martin Klenk, wondering if he had perceived my urgent hunger. He hadn't spoken for fully five minutes.

	I looked at him and then looked again. He was fingering himself. While I had been examining the room, he had unzipped his fly and taken out his bristling cock.

	I watched, mesmerized by the sight. His cock, like the rest of his body, looked rather worn and used. His hairy hand gripped it tightly, rubbing up and down with almost a fury. All his movements were rough, angry. He seemed to pummel and pull on his own flesh with furious viciousness and his face was tight, concentrated. He had taken off his glasses and his eyes gleamed with crazed lust and frustration.

	For, I noticed, in spite of his fervent efforts, his large, fat prick was still half, limp. It followed the pull of his hand, but it had none of the manly firmness he was obviously striving for.

	I looked away, embarrassed.

	"No!" he shrieked. "Come over here!" I had the first intimation that I was in the presence of a madman. His voice was hoarse and shrill with anger.

	I instinctively obeyed, my pussy feeling empty as I stood up and got off that vibrating prong on the chair.

	"Bring me that!" he yelled and I looked in the direction of his pointing hand. It was a large, ivory, handled cane that stood leaning against a far wall.

	I brought him the cane, fearing what he intended to do with it. At the same time, however, that pussy, vibrator had aroused me so much that I desperately needed release. I too wanted his cock to stiffen.

	I handed him the instrument and immediately got down on my knees in front of him. I had read enough books to know that that would be his next command.

	"Down on your knees!" he shrilled. And he looked a little taken aback that I was already down. A faint glimmer came and went in his eyes.

	I turned my back, obligingly pulling up my skirt and slipping out of my panties. Then I knelt over, exposing my lush, creamy buttocks for his blows.

	"Now!" he was crying, "Turn around and, " His voice fell with disappointment when he realized that I had again anticipated his command. There was a gurgling sound in his throat.

	Then it came, the first lash. It stung and I quaked a little, but it wasn't nearly as bad as I had expected. He obviously didn't handle that came with the same fury he used when he handled himself.

	Another blow fell. I could sense that my ass was all red now, probably the color he needed to stimulate his ailing prick.

	I waited for the third stroke of the cane.

	"Damn!" he said, instead. "It won't work now. You spoiled it." And to my amazement, he began to cry.

	I turned around and looked up at him. He was blubbering into his clenched fists, the cane having slid to the floor. His dick hung limp between his legs.

	"You spoiled it, you meanie!" he kept saying between sobs. "I'm not going to give you any job. You big, fat meanie!"

	As I looked at him, at his quivering and blubbering flesh, I had an inspiration. If my idea didn't work, I was lost of course, but it might work.

	"Stop that!" I bellowed, standing up and grabbing the cane. "Stop that crying. I'm going to hurt you if you don't stop!"

	He peeked at me through his fists, his sobbing momentarily arrested. To my joy, I saw his cock twitch a little in response to my words.

	"I am going to whip you and beat you and stick pins into you," I cried, "if you don't stop howling."

	That was a mistake. I had given him a new idea. He started immediately to howl.

	"Ooooh, ooooh, hooooo!" he wailed.

	Thwack! Down came the cane, hitting him across the chest. He stopped howling and I saw his cock stiffen and begin to rise.

	Thwack! Down came my arm again, this time catching him across the knees. He jumped in terror and surprise and his cock rose fully erect, mammoth and pulsing.

	"Are you going to stop now?" I cried.

	I was standing in front of him and he looked up at me, with something like expectation in his eyes. When I didn't move, he began to howl again.

	"Okay, you've had your chance," I yelled brutally. "I am going to cut your nasty thing off." I grabbed his dick roughly, its weight feeling huge and stiff in my hand. I held the straining, pulsing ram in one hand and raised the cane in my other arm.

	"No, no please. Please don't. I'm sorry." he begged, looking up at me with terror.

	But I knew I couldn't end the game yet.

	"You're bad," I cried and brought the cane down right on the stiff, hard shaft of his cock.

	"Oooohhh!" his voice rose in a crescendo, as he looked down at the red line across his penis. But the moan of fear and pain turned midway into a cry of ecstasy, as his huge prick twitched upward in a last, straining leap and then spurted, shooting a spray of hot virile come all over the room.

	"Ooooh," he wailed in his demonic climax, as he shuddered and writhed in his chair.

	"Do I have the job?" I asked, my voice firm and menacing, as I held the cane aloft again.

	He was still wiggling in joy, the last spurts of juice bursting from his cock.

	"Yes," he gasped. 

	"Good," I replied. Business taken care of, I could now turn to my own pleasure. My hot, itchy pussy had been sorely neglected in the last few minutes.

	Bursting with my own burning desire, I took the cane and without thinking, shoved it, rammed it hard up my pussy. I sat down on the thing and it shot at least eight inches deep into my urgent hole.

	I probed, prodded, twisted, turned, writhed and ground myself down onto that cane, until I was gagging in an orgy of lust and pleasure.

	A moment later, I heard myself groaning with satisfaction, as the waves of my passion rose and overtook me. I shuddered with the peak of my orgasm, the hot juices spilling out of my pussy onto the floor, as my whole body convulsed in a series of shocks. Then I sat back, a wave of contented lassitude rolling over me.

	As if from far away, I could hear Martin Klenk crying, "Good show!" He said this approvingly. "You've got the job all right."

	The following Monday was to be the most fateful day of my life, although I didn't realize it when I woke up that morning. I was too busy getting dressed and ready to go to work, to think of anything at all. I had to be at the set of "The Return of Caligari" at eight, thirty.

	I arrived exactly on time and there were only two other people there. They were extras, too and none of us knew where everybody else was. We helped ourselves to coffee from the urn and sat down to wait.

	Half an hour later, a group of people came in. One of them, a small dapper man in a peaked cap, detached himself from the group and came over to the three of us.

	"Extras for the crowd scene?" he questioned.

	We nodded.

	He shook his head sympathetically. "Look," he said, "I hate to break it to you, but you're not needed any more." We stared.

	"I know," he said regretfully, shrugging his shoulders. "It's a bitch, this business. I mean, I hate to do it, " He gestured limply. "But I have to tell you."

	We still said nothing.

	"What d'ya mean?" the girl on my right finally spoke up. "Are they still having that scene?"

	"Nope," he shrugged again. "It's all been re, written. No more crowd. Sorry, " He looked sympathetic, but there was obviously nothing he could do.

	"If I was you, I'd find some other business," was all he could offer.

	"Well, for heaven's sake!" I exploded. I couldn't help it. I was furious. "I mean, " I sputtered, unable to think of anything appropriate in my anger.

	Another member of the group who had entered came over when he heard the sound of my raised voice.

	"Well, well," I heard, "if it isn't Little Miss Jennifer."

	I looked at the person who had spoken. It was Bernie Larmont.

	At the sight of him, strange things happened to my body. As if on automatic reflex, it seemed, I could feel my twat come erect, throbbing with hunger and suddenly there was a nerve, way from my head directly to my pulsing pussy. All the area in between didn't count. His face, his voice, coming to me through that lapse of five years, were nevertheless as vivid and immediate as though I had last seen him only yesterday.

	All the time, between our meetings, was torn away in that instant. I felt somehow, that I stood in front of him naked. That I was waiting for his acknowledgement, his approval. I was unaware of anyone else in the room.

	"Is there some problem here?" I heard him say, his tone rich with the authority I remembered.

	The dapper little man who had first approached us explained the situation. I was powerless to speak. After an interval of talk, polite, meaningless words, foreign to me now, in the presence of Bernie, I found myself being led away from the group, on the arm of the man that fate had returned to me.

	He led me outside and around the corner of the building to a vacant lot. He guided me to some crates that were piled up messily and I sat down.

	Somehow, my mind had a vivid image of the props that went with Bernie Larmont's presence; discarded dust cloths the last time, old broken crates now. "Love has pitched its mansion in the place of excrement," my brain sang involuntarily. He seemed a Lord Priapus, risen from a dung heap to rule the world.

	And, as always, he was demanding, an autocrat, a tyrant.

	"Well," he said, in the mocking tones I remembered, "Have you grown up, Little Miss Jennifer, after all these years?"

	"What do you mean?" I sniffed defensively.

	"I mean," he replied, "have you learned to be moral and good. Have you learned to become a Useful Member of Society?" His voice dripped irony. "Have you managed to curb those awful physical urges, the way most women do?"

	I realize as I write this that my narrative sounds terribly dated and silly. But in the 1940's, these issues were true.

	I held my head up, but I couldn't think of quite how to reply. To tell the truth, that I had successfully evaded all the traps to which he referred, would have been easy. But at that instant, my body and my mind were divided in an intense struggle.

	"You want him, tell him the truth," my body urged. "No, don't submit to his will," my mind would respond.

	I compromised and said nothing.

	"Well," he said grimly. "I guess we'll just have to see." His hands moved to the zipper on his fly, while his eyes studied me. He seemed almost to be searching for something. I had a fleeting sense that I, for the moment at least, embodied some dream he had.

	But that sense was immediately superseded by the urgency of the struggle we faced. He said nothing, but I knew he was aware of it, too. He undressed in silence, his eyes probing my face and then he stood before me, utterly naked, flinging the challenge.

	The fact that he stood in a lot, behind a crowded studio, with no clothes on, had no relation to the reality of that instant. It would never have occurred to me to look around, to see if anyone observed us. We might have been on a desert island.

	I looked him up and down, coldly. His body was beautiful, wide shoulders, long tapering thighs, strong legs, gargantuan cock, and my own body responded involuntarily. But I allowed no outward sign of the rising hunger in my pussy. I was more fortunate than he in that respect. I could disguise my feelings.

	But then, I realized that Bernie Larmont needed no disguises. An actor, he was nevertheless greater than the sum of any of his roles. He was the only man I ever met who could stand naked with his penis fully erect and still be utterly in command of the situation.

	He looked at me and I took off all my clothes. But that was as far as the submission went. I didn't speak, I merely eyed him as coldly as he looked at me.

	And in the end, that compromise remained. We fucked silently, intensely, with a cold hard core of anger. He stepped up, brandishing his bristling prick, holding it in one hand like the sword it was and I slipped off my perch to meet him half way.

	He stood in front of me and his hands roughly caressed my tits, his fingers hobbling the erect, pointing nipples. I could feel the vibrations echoing all through me, my nerves popped to a tingling life under his touch. But I still did not speak.

	Instead, I reached out and put one of my hands to his chest, twirling my fingers in the little hairs, massaging the firm skin. In my reciprocal gesture there was an arrogance and I could see by the glimmer of expression in his eyes, that he admired that arrogance. I was still the object of his search.

	Then his hands moved down my body, resting lightly on the curves of my thighs, running over the smoothness of my belly, stopping to swirl a finger in the cave of my navel. Again I responded in my own way, letting my hands roam down over his belly.

	I was on fire by now, I could barely stand and I ached, I longed, for the feel of his huge cock inside me. But there was a certain pattern of preliminaries from which we could not deviate. We were caught up in some larger design, trite and cliched and not even of our own making. But we could think of no other suitable pattern for our age, old conflict to express itself.

	So on we went, playing out the scene to its end. His hand crept closer to my juicy pussy, mine came nearer and nearer to the firm rise of his rod.

	We were each eyeing each other warily, like the animals we were and inevitably, at precisely the same instant our hands met with their objects. He shot his hand into the gorge between my legs, shoving two fingers up the oily reaches of my pussy and I grabbed the prong of his cock in a clutch almost brutal.

	He prodded me a moment with his fingers, his thumb slipping up to diddle expertly with my eager twat. And I, of course, fondled and stroked his cock, up from stem to tip, down again hard.

	Our eyes met and our bodies stepped together seemingly of their own accord. His hands grabbed me firmly by the orbs of my ass, as he pulled me toward the tremendous pulsing shaft of his manhood.

	He held me to him and with the other hand, he guided his gigantic prod in between the lips of my snatch, until it found the gaping hole of my box. Then, with an animal grunt, he shoved his prick roughly far up into my pussy.

	I gasped as it went in. I couldn't help myself. The feel of his marvelous, straining ram, was so satisfying, so fulfilling, that I felt I, was melting all over. My pussy muscles gripped at his huge penis, holding it like a cherished object, never for a moment slacking.

	I could feel my hot juices flowing freely and I knew he could feel them too, like a pungent balm on the burning, sensitive surface of his dick. Every nerve in my body reached out to him and the glorious climactic joy his manhood offered.

	But still we did not speak. Our eyes held, in a hard, almost bitter contest that seemed independent of our now, writhing bodies. My vulva sucked on his ram, he pronged me viciously, every thrust going deeper into my being, our flesh melded together, but still our minds remained aloof. We were not androgynous, not yet.

	Somehow, the fact that we were standing symbolized that whole encounter of wills. I had never before in my life fucked standing up and I never have since.

	The uprightness, the awkwardness, the very civilized humanity (Man we remind ourselves, walks upright, the only such creature we know) of it all, heightened my sensations, gave me the most wonderful sexual desire I had ever felt. My flesh was on fire, burning, melting, thawing and were it not for that hard core of anger in my brain, I would have been groveling in the dirt.

	My pussy was flaming with urgent desire now, his penis had prodded me to full and deep hunger and suddenly his eyes closed involuntarily and I was speeding toward climax, borne on a tidal wave beyond my power to control. I became unconscious of him, I forgot the contest of wills. All I could think of was that burning craving in my pussy, all I could think of was my own need for release. Relentlessly, selfishly, I sped toward orgasm, not caring what happened to him. He could drop dead and I wouldn't have minded, as long as rigor mortis kept his prick hard long enough.

	Then it came, the waves of pleasure, of unspeakable rapture and release rolling over me. From a distance, I heard myself moaning and sobbing and I was aware of my body lurching and thrusting, my pussy seeking to gobble up every inch of his steel, hard prick, while my pussy was flooded my own hot juices.

	And, at the same instant, I felt him stiffen. His cock thrust itself deeper, tightened in a last spasm, erupted in a hot volcano of boiling come.

	We had been equal to the end.

	We came apart after our strange and unique communion and in the next moment, Bernie Larmont was asking me to marry him.

	"Oh sure," I said scathingly. "If you can't win one way, you'll try to win another. Marriage! I would spit on the ground if I had the courage to. Marriage! It makes women into slaves and I don't want a husband. I want a career."

	"You'll have a career," he said and for the first time, his voice didn't mock me. "You'll be Mrs. Bernie Larmont."

	"Thanks!" I knew I was being childish, with my expletives and my sarcasm. But I felt insulted by his offer.

	"No, seriously," he said and he was serious, "Marriage doesn't have to be what fools make of it. Anyway, what kind of a career could you have? You'll never be an actress, you know."

	I was stung. But, as they say in books, I knew he was right. A mere four weeks in Boston had taught me that. My only job had been obtained through the somewhat dubious means of whacking a casting director's prick with his cane. And even I knew that such methods were not, likely to work with all prospective employers. Perhaps, after all, I should consider Bernie Larmont's offer.

	That was the mood in which it all began, that was how I became Bernie's wife.

	We were married by a Justice of the Peace the next day.

	I moved into his apartment immediately and I realized with vividness something he had only explained verbally before. Bernie was very comfortably off. The financial aspect of my future was a bright one. His place was large, spacious, elegant, with huge windows overlooking Harvard and the river. The kitchen had every modern convenience. He had fine taste and he liked to collect things. The whole place was filled with paintings, antique furniture, priceless pieces of glassware. He presented me with a huge closet full of clothes for a wedding present.

	"You'll have to dress the part for your new role," he chuckled.

	Ironically, in spite of ourselves, we were every inch the newlyweds. I had scoffed at marriage and drifted into it with cynicism and doubts and then, with amazement, I found myself relishing to the hilt, the role of bride. We all play, act at life, but it is only rarely when we are able to perceive when the play has ended. Usually, we remain trapped backstage when the curtain has fallen, still acting, unaware, to an empty house.

	I took on the role and every day I fell deeper into it. At first I was awed by my new surroundings, by the unaccustomed elegance and luxury of my life. I would sit in Bernie's apartment while he was at work, staring endlessly at his beautiful objects, full of admiration and awe.

	Then, gradually, I got used to them. I learned to love and cherish his paintings, his glassware, the clothes he had given me. I would clean and scrub and dust and polish and I grew to know my possessions inside out.

	And finally, I became trapped by them. I was a slave, ironically enough, a slave not to my husband, but to the inessential trappings of his life. I couldn't live without clothes. I wept one day when the cleaning woman broke his Orrefors bird and I dismissed her in a rage.

	And all the time, J thought I was moving nearer to eternal happiness.

	It was a strange period of my life, that brief fling with marriage. I look back on it, even now, over the great span of years, with deep, felt sorrow and regret. It could have worked, it should have worked, I tell myself now, but could it? Is the dream of an endless play only the figment of a romantic mind?

	At any rate, for us, the last act came. I had married with reluctance, my will refusing to submit. And then my will did submit. It was my body which finally rebelled. Somehow, monogamy was a concept too abstract for my pussy. My body craved other touches, my flesh needed foreign contacts. Bernie and I, very simply, got bored with one another. After a year or so, our marriage entered a new phase.

	Naturally, we went to a lot of parties. And just as naturally, I met one night, a man more exciting to me than my husband.

	"This is Brad Haley," said Bernie gaily as he introduced us. "My wife, Jennifer." I looked up at the tall man, with his thick curling red hair and his heavy straw, colored beard. He wasn't particularly good, looking, but there was something deeply sensual in his bearing and my body responded to his message with every pore.

	"How do you do?" I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking.

	"I've been wanting to meet you for a long time," he told me and whether he meant it or not, I was too excited to care. "I've always admired you from afar," he finished, his grin compensation for the outrageous falsity of his words.

	He got me a drink and we drifted into a corner to chat. In the corner of my eye, I saw Bernie with one of the cute blondes, he always used to talk to. "Good," I thought to myself, "it will keep him occupied."

	Brad and I had more to drink and our conversation took a serious turn and an intensity aided by the liquor. After an hour, I felt I knew him like an old friend. And he knew me thoroughly too.

	When he suggested that we go where it was quieter, it never occurred to me to refuse. Bernie had drifted off somewhere (probably in search of similar quiet, I thought to myself) and he was nowhere in sight. I followed the broad back of Brad Haley, knowing full well what would happen, accepting it already as the most natural and necessary, thing in the world.

	It was quieter in the bedroom, until we ourselves began to make some noises. They were sucking, lapping, slurping sounds, however, not loud enough to be heard in the living room. When I began to gasp and moan and scream, Brad put his hand over my mouth.

	We were, of course, fucking. We came into the bedroom and sat down to continue our talk. We shared a cigarette. When he ground out the butt, Brad brought his arm up to put it around me. The next moment, our lips were drawn together. We were kissing deeply, passionately, hungrily. His tongue probed into my mouth, with stimulating and skillful force and I longed to see what else he could do so well. The familiar urgings had risen in my pussy, my skin was on fire, hungry for his touch.

	His lips roamed down, kissing my ears, neck, shoulders, while his deft fingers were a vanguard, preparing the way by skillfully loosening my clothing. When he kissed my shoulders, I was hardly aware that he was also taking off my satin blouse. And then, as he made the transition to my belly, my pants slipped off also. I lay there, utterly naked, responding to his kisses with deep fire. In a blonde surge of desire, my hands reached out for him and I got his shirt and trousers off in a moment.

	"That's the stuff," he whispered, nuzzling me, while his hands fondled my tits and roamed down over my belly and thighs.

	I was longing for him to touch my pussy, to probe, to fondle, to diddle, to suck, to lap, but his fingers remained quite teasingly on the outer edges of my furry mound. I squirmed and wiggled, hoping he would get the hint and slide a hand down into the hot reaches of my snatch. But his hands moved with me, staying always tantalizing inches away from my zone of ultimate pleasure.

	Finally, I initiated things. I reached out and began to pull off his jockey shorts, trying to get them off him. He obligingly lifted his thighs and I slid the pants down his legs. He kicked them half, way across the room.

	Then I got my first glimpse of his cock. It was the most enormous ram I had ever seen. It stood away from its bed of hair, poked far into the air, fully nine inches long.

	It was red, pulsing, colossal, with a huge round head and a neat rim. Then it fell away into a straining tight shaft. The skin of his balls was drawn up by the tremendous length of his erection and I couldn't tear my eyes away from those mammoth organs.

	He gestured feebly down at his dick.

	"It's, It's kind of big," he said apologetically.

	"So I see."

	"But it's not so bad, when you get used to it."

	"I'm sure it isn't," I exclaimed joyfully, wondering why on earth he felt he had to apologize for the most marvelous sight I had ever beheld.

	My hands came out and stretched themselves around the throbbing thickness of his prong. I could feel the large veins and vessels urgently pumping. I could sense his skin stretched taut with desire. I ran my finger in little delicate swirls around the very tip of that massive prong and then I bent my head and put my mouth to it.

	I could never get the whole length of his manhood into my mouth. I concentrated at the head. I sucked firmly on it, my tongue caressing every tingling, nerve, fired inch of the colossal end of his dick. I ran my tongue finally into the slit at the very tip, it was that big, and Brad squirmed all over, shudders and ripples of urgent longing running over his flesh.

	His hands were in my pussy now, his fingers digging and grinding with the violent urgency I wanted, while his thumb had worked its way to the delicate, sensitive knob of my twat.

	As the tingling, pussy, craving, lust, fevered spasms rose in me, I longed for his enormous cock to be sunk to the hilt of my pulsing pussy. I slid myself over on the bed, until I was able to lift a leg and be astride him.

	He lay back, his head on the pillow and his dong pointed up toward his face, reaching half, way up to his chest. Slowly, with infinite care, which belied the urgency T felt, I lowered myself onto that Brobdignagian spear.

	"Aaahh!" he gasped, as the tip of his dick met the hot juicy folds of my vulva. I lingered in that position a moment, sliding my body back and forth from the hips on top of him. That way, the straining head of his cock caressed my whole cleft. I felt his huge rod fondly my clit, then slide on down through the pungent furrows of my flesh, to the opening of my box.

	He was squirming all over with delight and every time he came near my hole, he pushed a little, trying to get inside.

	Then I, like he, couldn't wait a second longer. I slid up, got my snatch on top of his cock and sat down on the delicious thing.

	It was marvelous. In it went further and further, down and up into ne. Inch by incredible inch, I took in that whole tremendous prong, until I was sure it would come out at my mouth.

	I thought it was all inside, every glorious centimeter, embedded in my eager pussy and then to my joy, it came in further. It was wide, fat and strong and it was like being pronged by an elephant.

	"Ahhh!" he was moaning continually now, as his tingling prick was gripped by my pussy lips and the walls of my vagina.

	Once his cock was inside by pussy, I began to slide my body up and down. I'd lean forward on my knees, letting him come out of my box to within a few inches, then I'd sit down again, hard. I twisted, turned, swiveled, slid up and down. I couldn't get enough of that marvelous, incredible cock meat. My hair swung wildly, my breasts came down to caress his chest with their erect, pointed nipples, then swirled crazily in the air as I sat up again.

	He was thrusting upward from the bed, his hands clutching wildly, almost brutally, at my body, as he moaned and shuddered in overpowering excitement.

	His ram, shoved so unbelievably far up inside me, stimulated me to greater heights of pleasure than I had ever experienced. My mind discovered burnt, out images of lust that I had long forgotten. I was conscious only of that steel, hard piston in my snatch and the overwhelming waves of nerve, tingling spasms in my pussy.

	I rode him rapidly for many minutes, giving the sensitive skin of his prick every conceivable kiss with the walls of my vulva. And then my movements became frenzied, maddened, utterly out of control.

	As I rode to climax the heat waves exploded inside of me and I was rocked and shaken all over with spasms of release, my juices gushed out and I reached a peak of sexual joy I would never have believed possible.

	He caught fire from my frantic thrusts and lurchings, clutching the soft flesh of my buttocks, he drew me harder onto him and suddenly, he was spurting in geyser floods of hot, virile come. His sperm came shooting, spraying, spuming from the head of his huge prick and I thought the waterfall would never cease. It was trickling out of my snatch and onto the bed sheets before Brad was through.

	Then, with a final whoosh, I lifted myself off of his marvelous ram.

	"Umm," he murmured, in the sweet laziness of after, pleasure, "You're pretty good."

	"You," I replied truthfully, "are unbelievable."

	That, on the surface, was the start of it all. But now, as I think back on it, I wonder if in fact, it hadn't started many years before, with myself, with Janice, with Uncle Robert. With such full and varied beginnings, it is hardly surprising that I could not finally limit myself to a single man indefinitely.

	Brad called me a few days later, while Bernie was out at work. I reeled slightly when I heard his voice at the other end of the phone. That made things very real.

	As long as our little episode remained an isolated occasion, there were many problems we could avoid. But an extended affair, I knew, could involve great difficulties. I had decided in advance to refuse to see him again.

	What pitiful naivete that was. Naturally, the moment I heard his voice on the line, my body responded in spite of my will. My blood began to course faster, my skin started to tingle and I had difficulty thinking coherently.

	"Well, yes, of course, I'll meet you," heard myself say, through a blanket of fog, "Yes, eight o'clock."

	He knew, of course, being a friend of Bernie's, that Bernie was going to be away on location for two weeks. I was to meet him the first night of Bernie's departure.

	"He doesn't waste any time," I thought to myself grimly, as I hung up.

CHAPTER SIX

	But of course, my thoughts were only surface deep. My body was alive and singing with anticipation. I knew I would have met him anytime, anyplace, regardless.

	I got to the Cozy Kwilt Motel at eight, thirty and the manager directed me to the unit already occupied my Mr. Smith, my "husband."

	I knocked on the neutral colored door.

	"Come in, it's unlocked," said Brad.

	I entered. He was lying back on the bed, watching a boxing match on television. He was totally naked. There was a bottle on the night table and a half full glass in his hand.

	"You're late," he said. "I made myself at home." He chuckled and then turned his attention again to the fight.

	I went over to the bed and took off my shoes and coat.

	"Can I have a drink, too?" I purred provocatively.

	"Sure, help yourself." He waved in the direction of the bottle, his eyes still glued to the television set.

	Slightly taken aback, I went into the tiny bathroom for a glass. There was a dirty one on the edge of the sink. I rinsed it out and came back into the bedroom.

	"Any ice?" I queried.

	"Good boy, atta boy! Get him!" He was bouncing up and down on the bed now, waving his arms as he slugged an imaginary assailant.

	"Any ice?" I tried again. No answer. I saw a bucket on the floor. I bent down and unscrewed the top and then I put two cubes into my glass. I poured out the whiskey, not sure of the amount, since I could not remember ever having made my own drink before. I filled the glass half full and it looked all right.

	"Is that about right?" I asked him, holding up my glass. Naturally, there was no response. He didn't even look in my direction.

	Miffed, I trundled again into the bathroom and slurped a little water into the drink. My sense of etiquette and pride told me, of course, that I should leave and go home immediately. I certainly hadn't come all the way out here to watch television. On the other hand, there was nobody home. It would be so boring. So I told myself I would have this one little drink, then leave.

	I went back into the bedroom.

	"Well, hit! Come on over here, you gorgeous thing. Take off your clothes and be comfortable." Brad said this actually looking at me and patting the bed with one hand.

	Startled, I looked at the television. There was a commercial on. "Fight over?" I queried.

	"Oh, no, there's two more to go. So hurry up, come here."

	I obediently settled down on the bed beside him, lying back. He was all over me in an instant, his fingers skillfully undoing all my clothes, his mouth smothering me with kisses, all over my face, neck, hair and tits. He got ,my skirt and underwear off and his hands roamed deftly down over my belly and thighs, prodding all my nerves to tingling life. I lay back, my eyes closed, savoring the hot welling moisture in my pussy, squirming a little so that my throbbing twat could rub itself against the folds of flesh in my pussy.

	Suddenly and delightfully, he shot his whole hand down between my legs. I wriggled and writhed, as two fingers probed up into the hot recesses of my box and his thumb found the pointing trigger of my clit.

	"Ahhh," I was moaning contentedly, as I. squirmed and ground myself down onto the prong of his hand. "Ahh, yes!" He had pushed another finger up the juicy tunnel of my pussy and he was moving all his digits around inside my hole, setting all my tingling nerves on fire with spasms of pleasure.

	I reached out, my hands running over the firm skin of his belly, until I found the colossal erect shaft of his cock. It was huge, enormous. I had almost forgotten the great dimensions of his dick. I caressed that great pulsing rod, my palms sliding over it in little circular movements, my thumb running over the uttermost sensitive tip. He began to gyrate from his hips, thrusting his prick more firmly against my hands.

	Suddenly, he stopped moving. His hands became still, his face turned again toward the television screen.

	I followed his glance. The fight had started!

	"But this is absurd!" I sputtered, furious. "How can you possibly want to watch it now?"

	"Look, baby," he replied, "this is the most important fight of the season, you don't think I'm going to miss it, do you? You drink up and amuse yourself in any way you please, but shut up."

	Regardless of his will power, my body was crying out for a good screwing. My pussy was on fire with its cravings and I certainly wasn't going to stop now.

	His cock, in spite of the shift of his attention, had remained firm, straining and gigantic. I marveled at his amazing self control.

	"On second thought," he spoke up suddenly, his eyes still glued to the screen, "blow me."

	I looked at him. Such arrogance! He didn't even give me a glance. "I know you want to," he said with a little chuckle.

	Of course he was right. In spite of my pride, which told me to get up and flounce out of the room, my head bent to the stem of his tremendous cock. In a moment my lips were fondling it, while one of my hands had gone down to juggle with his nuts, bobbling the twin sacs from finger to finger.

	My mouth stroked the skin of his penis, sliding ever further upward, toward its pulsing, straining head. I massaged, nibbled, prodded, probed, sucked. And with every caress, my own fluids flowed more freely. My juices were trickling down the inside of my thighs now and my throbbing hole was clutching the empty air, craving some cock meat to fill it up. I could hardly stand it.

	Then, there was a sudden, slight knock on the door. It was repeated, a hesitant light tapping.

	"Quiet!" shouted Brad, furious at having his TV show interrupted. The door swung open.

	"I'm sorry, sir," said the young lad bashfully, "my father told me to come and ask you to turn the television down a little." He gulped, embarrassed and his face was beet, red. He looked down at his shoe the whole time. "It was disturbing the other guests. The walls are kinda thin, I guess." His voice died away sheepishly.

	I had heard that sentence before. His words brought me back vividly over the lapse of time. And I remembered myself, a nubile, twelve, year, old, in company with Uncle Robert, on my first sexual spree. How many hotel managers had told us the same thing, as they expelled us from their establishments for making unseemly noises?

	And now, suddenly, the tables were turned. I was no longer the child, I was the adult. I looked at the manager's son with a hot hunger between my legs. He was so young. He couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen.

	Well, I certainly wasn't going to kick him out.

	I sat up on the bed, covering both Brad and me with a sheet. I smiled as innocently as I could, not wanting to scare him away.

	"Look, " I said, "I'm sorry you are embarrassed about this." I gestured to ourselves, the bed and the drinks. "You can't just go away, please stay a moment and let me explain it all."

	He hesitated, his eyes meeting mine for an instant and then turning away.

	"My name is Jennifer and this is Brad," I said pertly. Brad grunted, still watching the TV "What's yours?" I finished.

	"Uhhh, Bruce," he mumbled, still not daring to look at me.

	"Well, Bruce, why don't you step inside and close the door? There's quite a draft, you know."

	As if bewitched, he obeyed. He shut the door behind him and stood leaning against it, as if to make a quick escape if need be.

	I felt like a hunter trying to catch a wary fox. Every move had to be just right. And the game entranced me. My pussy was getting hungrier by the second, the mere thought of this boyish flesh setting it on fire with urgent longing.

	"Do you smoke?" I asked politely, hoping to flatter him by treating him like an adult.

	"Sure," he said, struggling to make his voice deep. It wavered somewhere between High C and a G in the bass.

	"Well, then, come on. Have a seat and keep my company while this lout," I nudged Brad in the ribs, "while he watches television."

	I guess Bruce figured that nothing could happen while there were three of us in the room. Whether he regretted that or not, I couldn't quite make out. Certainly once he lost his initial shyness, he studied my flesh with greedy fervor.

	I patted the bed by my feet and he slid slowly over toward it.

	"Have a seat," I repeated and he did sit, finally. He was stiff, but he was on the bed.

	I took two cigarettes from my pack and handed him one. I passed him the matches and he knew what to do. With a hand that trembled slightly, he lit my cigarette and then his own.

	"Well, now," I said brightly, "Let's have a drink, shall we?"

	He nodded and I knew I was half way there.

	As I look back now, on that evening in the Cozy Kwilt Motel, it seems the most exciting night of my life. Again and again, after that occasion, I would find myself with an unspeakable craving for the flesh of young boys.

	When I approached middle age, as I came nearer to the forties, this urgent hunger seemed to increase steadily. I realized at last, the full truth of that maxim, that women are at their sexual peak in the late thirties, while men reach theirs at age eighteen. The incongruity of a middle, aged woman in the company of a young lad, no longer struck me. Instead, I was struck by the overwhelming fitness of such a couple. My most glorious moments now, are those occasions that I spend screwing one, or several boys.

	But I must not leap too far ahead of my story. To get back to that wonderful night in the motel.

	I poured out a drink for Bruce, filling the glass halfway with Scotch, as I had to my own. I tumbled some ice into his drink and directed him to the faucet in the bathroom. He came back, the drink almost overflowing. It was then that I realized he was not familiar with liquor.

	"Cheers!" I said brightly, lifting my glass and smiling at him over the rim. "Chug, a, lug, as we old fogeys say." I gulped down a large swallow.

	He giggled and took a long, deep swallow of the liquor. I was beginning to win him over.

	Then I made a great demonstration of taking a long, satisfying drag at my cigarette.

	He was juggling his drink and cigarette on his lap, uncertain how to hold so many strange objects. At my example, however, he stuck first his cigarette, then his drink into his mouth, undoubtedly using one to erase the taste of the other.

	Suddenly, he began to cough and splutter. Frantically, he took a large gulp of his drink and almost choked.

	"Oh, my goodness," I cried, leaping out of bed, regardless of my nudity. I grabbed him by the shoulders and hustled him in maternal fashion toward the bathroom.

	"Here," I said, gripping his slight shoulders, pushing his head into the sink. "What you need is some water."

	But there was no glass. I lieu of anything better, I stuck his whole head under the faucet and began to run cold water full force over his face.

	He sputtered, almost drowning. I took a washcloth and began to wring out more cold water over his neck and shoulders.

	He was struggling hard now, gasping for air. And though he was no taller than I, he was stronger with the force of desperation. His fingers dug into my soft skin, his hands and fists flailed everywhere, punching and pummeling wherever they landed.

	I released my grip a little. I didn't want him to drown, after all. As my hands shifted on his body, he writhed in my grasp and one of my hands slid accidentally down between his legs. I felt the softness of his penis and I began to stroke, hard and skillfully for dear life. I didn't have much time.

	I rubbed at the bulge of manhood with the palm of my hand and in almost no time, I could feel the onset of a firm swelling in his cock. I redoubled my efforts and I could feel the whole length of his rod stiffening as it struggled to escape from its trapped position down one leg of his pants.

	He pulled away from my grip on his shoulders, with one last gasping sputter. And he carefully extricated his head from the sink. He turned to look at me, bewilderment in his face.

	I looked innocent and apologetic, but my hand didn't move away from his sleeping dick.

	"I'm so sorry," I said, looking at him with sympathy. "It just seemed like you were going to choke to death." My voice trailed off contritely and he seemed convinced of my sincerity.

	"It's okay," he smiled. "At least I'm alive." He gulped, "For a minute there, I wasn't so sure. You really get enthusiastic."

	I looked at him, my hand still moving in voluptuous caresses against the ever, increasing bulk of his ram. I saw his face change, his eyes widen, as he felt his whole body come alive, as he realized that I was doing it. He gulped, flushed slightly, but he didn't say anything.

	"Well," I said, "at least I can help repair the damage. You're all wet. Let me help you get these things off."

	He suddenly seemed aware of my nakedness, as I pressed my body against him and the promise it offered. He didn't object in the least. He helped me get his shirt off and then he reached down and unzipped his trousers himself. In another moment he stood before me, flamboyantly naked.

	I say flamboyant, because his cock with the usual enthusiasm of youth, was bobbing, twitching, straining, trying to reach the ceiling. His dick was long though slender and it pointed upward past his navel.

	On sight of that marvelous ram I couldn't control myself. The urgent hunger had been building in my pussy for the last hour.

	"Ooohh," was all I could say, but he understood the invitation. With a gasping cry and a leap, he was on me, pressing me down, so that I was stopping on the floor of the tiny bathroom. He hovered over me, his huge throbbing penis waving in the air, as he lowered himself. Then he was kneeling and grabbing me roughly by the buttocks.

	I fell toward him on the tiles, my pussy gaping and wet as I spread my legs for his thrust.

	He was rough, in his overpowering enthusiasm. He lunged toward me, pulling my ass roughly. With one hand he guided his firm hard staff into my ready opening, pressing me back against the cold tiles.

	But I was unaware of discomfort. I was too caught up in the incredible excitement, as he shoved his strong adolescent cock far up into me. He pushed, shoved, ground, sweated, cursed, pronging and plowing me there on the floor with a violence that took my breath away.

	He was leaning over me, his prick huge and domineering in my box, his breath hot and gasping in my face.

	"Ahh, you fucking pussy," he said over and over, as he pummeled me with his rod, flinging me about on that steel, hard prick. My vulva clutched him at very thrust, sucking that huge cock further and further in, until I felt the marvelous slapping of his balls against my ass.

	I was moaning over and over, as I held him to me with my arms, legs and most of all, my firm, juicy snatch.

	Then suddenly and quickly, I felt him beginning to come. His whole body went rigid, his prick was stationary, buried in the furthest reaches of my pussy and he hung there a moment, suspended. Then he was shuddering all over and lurching his load into my pussy, spurting his fiery wads of hot come far and deep into my box.

	He screamed over and over and I was sure his father would hear the sound in the motel office. His passionate throes subsided and he drew away from me a little.

	"No," I hissed, "Not yet." I held him tightly inside me, while I pushed and ground my body against him, until I felt the shivering waves of my own ecstasy. In a moment, I, too, had orgasmed in a shuddering series of convulsions on the bathroom floor.

	We lay quiet for a moment. Suddenly, the silence was broken.

	"Atta boy, get him, that's it!" we heard from the bedroom. Brad was still deep in his boxing match.

	Bruce and I looked at one another and burst out laughing. We felt like old friends now. We lay back on the cold floor, shaken with the spasms of our mutual merriment.

	I looked at him. His manhood satisfied, redeemed, he seemed to have matured ten years in the last five minutes. He was happy, at ease, relaxed.

	Well, almost relaxed. Suddenly I noticed with incredible joy that his cock was stiffening again. Already! The lavender head was enlarging and lengthening right before my eyes. I could feel my own pussy begin to pulse and throb in response. My clit, too, had risen, hot and hungry.

	He reached over, cuddling me to him on the floor. "Come here, you luscious thing," he said with a grin. My boy, lover had become a man in a few seconds and it was the most stimulating transformation I had ever witnessed.

	And so we were at it again in a moment. I got astride him this time, while he lay back on the floor, eyes closed, sighing with rapture as I swiveled ancr slid my body deftly against his straining cock.

	I kept him in suspense for fully five minutes, sliding my oily pussy over his penis from clit to hole, but never letting him in. Finally he couldn't stand it anymore. He grabbed my buttocks roughly and held his prick with one hand as he guided himself, sure and swift, into my gaping pussy.

	He held me on top of him with his firm hands while his hips lurched and thrust up from the floor, giving me a marvelous ride.

	Up into the air I'd go, his powerful hips thrusting upward, then down again hard onto his massive rod. His hands strayed up to fondle my nipples.

	Soon, his movements got more frantic as his passion mounted. I kept pace, the waves of fulfillment beginning to form and swell deep in my pussy. With every thrust of his, I counter, thrust with my hips and the ecstasy was doubled for us both.

	We were clawing, clutching, screaming to climax, riding a tidal wave of ever, increased frenzy and then we both stiffened and clung tightly to one another. In a second, I felt the marvelous spurts of his hot come lining my pussy and the virile flood triggered my peak, so that I was moaning and sobbing in the utmost state of joy. It was one of the most incredible, most exciting screw jobs I have ever had.

	That memorable night with Bruce ushered in a whole new phase of my existence. For the next six years, I sought love everywhere, all the time. The more sexual enjoyment my body got, the more it craved. My pussy seemed to grow more and more responsive after each encounter.

	For a long time, my husband didn't suspect my maddened hunger and the measures I constantly took to gratify it. Bernie was still the passionate and sensual man who had first impressed me so deeply behind the stage of a theater and whenever he was at home, he was fully the match for my crazed yearnings.

	His prick was as hot and insatiable as my pussy. We screwed everywhere all the time. He would lurch into me and peel off my clothes in the middle of dinner. We would sit in movies and park benches, fondling and caressing one another's crotches.

	Were it not for the fact that Bernie was so often away on location in various parts of the country, my life would have been vastly different. As it was, however, my body needed satisfaction every day of the year and Bernie wasn't always there to give it to me. On those nights, I would go out in search of men, or I would meet whoever happened to be my current lover.

	It was a full life, sensational and marvelously happy. I experienced sex with all kinds of men and performed the oddest acts, relishing every moment of it. I was aroused and fulfilled my short men, tall men, thin men, fat men. But more and more my hunger was turning to boys, young, adolescent boys.

	Acting on a sudden inspiration one day, I applied for and got a job at a local YMCA. I was to sit behind a counter and issue swimming trunks to the boys as they came in for their lessons.

	From the first day, I adored the employment. I used to get up in the morning eager to be at work, looking forward with incredible enthusiasm to the day ahead.

	All those young bodies excited me beyond belief. After I distributed the trunks, I would go to the window and peek in as they swam and splashed in the pool.

	There was one young fellow in particular, that I had my eye on. His name was John Lark and he was sixteen. His voice was low and masculine, though it did occasionally slip back into treble. He was tall, lithe, slender, his skin firm and youthful. I watched him for two weeks, my flesh quivering, my pussy dissolving into hot, moist softness whenever I saw him.

	Then one day my patience was rewarded. He was the last out of the pool. One by one, all the other boys returned their suits and left by the front door. It grew later. It was dusk outside. The coach came by with a cheerful good night to me and a brisk athletic wave. He left out of the front door. All the suits had been returned but John's.

	I hardly waited a minute for dignity's sake. Then I got up and went into the locker room. I pushed it open without knocking.

	The whole room smelled of male odors and even the stench set fire to my pussy, but John was nowhere in sight. I moved down the passageway between two rows of lockers toward the shower rooms. I pulled back the curtain on the nearest stall.

	John stood inside, dripping wet, as the water poured over him in little rivulets. His slender body gleamed with the wetness, his hair streaming in his eyes and there, huge, mammoth, up, tilted, was his prick, fully erect.

	I was overcome by a wave of desire that almost made me reel with its strength. I couldn't speak, I couldn't see straight, I could hardly stand up, I was conscious only of the raging fever in my snatch. My hot female juices were flowing down my legs, my pussy, muscles were flexing with desire, my twat was erect and pulsing.

	John stared at me, surprise and embarrassment of his face. "Uh, Mrs. Larmont, " he began to mumble.

	Then he stopped short. My hands had reached out, almost involuntarily, it seemed and now I had his huge straining cock in my grip. Frenziedly I began to push, pummel, stroke, pull his burning rod.

	He was writhing, his flesh quivering all over, as my hands worked his penis to an uncontrollable frenzy. "Oooohhhh!" he cried suddenly, his eyes widening, "Ooohhhh, I'm going to shoot!" His whole body had stiffened, his prick was pushing and throbbing unbelieveably against my hands.

	Speedily I got down on my knees and took his huge burning ram into my mouth. I smelled the pungent odor of his longing, I saw the tender slit at the tip of his dick and it went into my mouth; and then my lips gripped him, sucking and pulling at the sensitive skin until his cock was half way down my throat.

	Suddenly he clutched my head blindly, furiously, his knees working, as he jerked his cock frantically back against my vulva.

	Once he thrust his monstrous, youthful prick into my mouth, twice, again, and then he was shuddering, sobbing and shooting off into the deep well of my mouth.

	He poured incredible amounts of hot young come into me, spurting again and again in violent burst that made him tremble all over. Then, finally, he was through, and I sucked up and swallowed every drop of his luscious fluid.

	"Oh, Mrs. Larmont, I'm sorry, " he began, his voice wavering into soprano. But I cut him short: my own appetite HAD to be satisfied now.

	"Don't be!" I said, smiling, "Just get to work!" Gently I drew him out of the shower and down onto the floor. I spread my legs and nudged his head in the direction of my pussy.

	I saw his eyes widen with wonder, as he took in all the delights of my gaping womanflesh. He had probably never seen such a sight before. He reached out a hand tentatively and I grabbed it and shoved it into the wet, hot, lips of my snatch.

	Once so placed, his fingers seemed to know how to act without being told. He probed, prodded, diddled and caressed me beautifully; and then, as his own desire began again to grow, he put his other hand to the lush mountains of my breasts.

	I pulled gently at his head and in a minute, his mouth was on my excited tits, his lips fondling my hard rosy nipples.

	His other hand was moving more urgently in my box now and looking down, I saw that his virile young penis had again risen, proud and firm.

	"Now!" I whispered, squirming on my thighs in eager anticipation.

	His rod was indeed hard and stiff again; it hardly needed his hand to guide it up through the juicy, yielding folds of my pussy. He was inside me in an instant, my wet hole receiving him eagerly; and "then he was pronging me furiously, pushing and shoving his cock in and out of me like a piston, as his whole body moved with the strong, impatient exuberance of youth.

	"Aaaaahhhh!" It was my turn to moan now, as the heat and force of his prick stimulated all the hungry nerves of my pussy. I gripped him with my knees, urging him ever further into me, as I raced toward the climax I craved so desperately; and then I was lurching and thrusting, quivering all over as the waves of ecstasy rolled through me.

	Dimly, I heard myself screaming and I felt my fingers clawing and scratching at his back, as I held on in all the frenzied peak of sexual fulfillment.

	"Well, Mrs. Larmont, is this how you perform your duties?"

	I barely heard the voice through my frantic spasms of delight; and I would have paid no attention if I had not felt John's whole body stiffen. But he went rigid not from pleasure, but from fear. He was looking up, over my head.

	I followed the direction of his gaze. Coach Barnes stood above us, his face thunderous with anger. "I forgot .  my lesson, plan for tomorrow," he said, his tone boiling with barely, controlled fury, "Perhaps it's just as well." He paused for a grim instant, his eyes boring into me. "Go and put on your clothes, John," he commanded finally.

	John scrambled to his feet and scurried off.

	"Mrs. Larmont, I hardly need tell you that you are fired," the coach thundered, "Get out!"

	I obeyed instantly.

	Coach Barnes, it developed, was not content with firing me. In an unusual show of malice, I thought, he telephoned Bernie the next day and told him everything. Bernie came back from the phone, his face a mask of cold fury and demanded a divorce.

	I would have refused automatically except for one very important thing. I had slowly, but definitely, become aware, over the last months, that my physical cravings were increasing in strength and frequency.

	I hungered more and more for the exotic and the unusual: my body wanted to experience everything and anything before it was too late. Perhaps, after all, divorce would give me the freedom I needed to satisfy my raging hungers. I agreed to Bernie's proposal and we parted.

	I had a tremendous feeling of relief and freedom the day I moved out of his apartment; suddenly I was free of all those objects, all those trappings of a life that no longer interested me. Now I could devote myself wholly and utterly to pleasure!

	Accordingly, I decided to get a particular type of job: I went immediately to see my friend Bennet.

	Bennet was a pimp. "You are the most incredibly passionate woman I have ever known," he had told me many times after we screwed. He had always been frank about his means of earning a living and many times he had jokingly said he's give me a job.

	He seemed to think it was the biggest joke of all when I DID come to him, seeking employment in one of his establishments. He leaned back in his chair and guffawed hilariously.

	After the initial reaction, however, he took me seriously and decided, after consideration, that I'd be happiest at Madam Minnie's.

	He was right. I love it here. I have been here five years now and the excitement is still as real as it was on my first night.

	I was a little nervous that first time, I remember; curious about the exact nature of my new job, hopeful that I could perform satisfactorily, but I was a great success from the first moment. My first customer, Larry Hengle, has been a regular ever since. We are old pals now and I even forgive him his occasional lack of funds.

	After all, if you're doing something that you love for a living, why be mercenary about it?

	Rex is extremely good looking; in spite of his Americanized name, he comes of Spanish stock and has the dark skin and deep black eyes of those people.

	To say nothing of their passion! There is that hot Southern ardor in Rex, all right, he can fuck five times in a row and never be tired! And his dong! It is large, brawny, extraordinarily active, I love every firm, throbbing inch of it!

	He is rather the jealous type, always very curious about my other friends, I get a lot of fun out of tantalizing his imagination with juicy accounts, and he has asked me several times to marry him.

	I love the variety, the constant stimulation, of my life too much, however, to accept his proposals; what would I do if I couldn't vary my diet, what would I do without Oswald, Barry, or Jake?

	Barry, likes to crawl around on the floor, wearing baby clothes and suckling on a rubber teat, while I follow him, in thigh, high black leather boots. I have a special whip for him alone; he has made me promise never to use it on anyone else and I shall certainly keep that promise. I flog him, naturally and with every blow his huge fat cock rises stiffer and harder into the air.

	The sight, as always, sets my pussy to itching, and every time I bring the whip down on his chubby back my desire rises.

	"Oh, no, Missy, don't hurt me!" he cried in baby talk, his blue eyes rolling upward in his head.

	"You have been a naughty boy! Imagine playing like that with your disgusting thing!" I yell back, in my deepest, sternest tones, "I most certainly am going to hurt you! You deserve to be punished! I am going to whip you until your skin is all red!"

	He cries and scrambles away, almost, but not quite, out of reach of my whip. I bring the weapon down on him again and his lovely prick rises more, the sight intensifying the burning heat in my snatch.

	Finally, after several such blows, his dick rises to full height, stretched high and taut. Another minute and he is shooting a milky spray of come all over my room.

	The sight of his spurting prick, the noise of his impassioned cries, all of it causes me to go crazy with unfulfilled longing, and I usually have to jam the whip, handle deeply and firmly into my box.

	Barry looks on in delight and appreciation, as I grind and swivel my body down on the device; he loves to watch me climax using foreign and exotic objects.

	We play other games too, of course. Sometimes I tie him to a chair and poke

	I thumb, tacks at his skin. Though I am careful never to punture the flesh, the effect is just as good; soon he is wriggling in his bonds, his cock rising in my face.

	"Suck me! Suck Me!" he cries then and I eagerly obey, getting down on my knees in front of him. I grasp his big dick firmly between my lips and I push at the sensitive skin, baring the very tip of his shlong and then rubbing my tongue lovingly in little circles over the head.

	He wriggles and squirms, sometimes almost knocking the chair over in his eagerness. His balls hang down between his .spread knees and I reach up with one hand to diddle the bouncing nuts. As I fondle and stroke, nibble and lap, his urgency grows, soon he is screaming in an orgy of lust, while his cock stiffens and rams itself deep in my mouth.

	I love every minute of it; I suck harder and in an instant he is shooting into my mouth, screaming and sobbing, writhing his whole body. I swallow every drop of his sweet come, relishing the taste, as I love the taste of anything to do with sex.

	I have other customers too; some who merely drop in for a night, others who return again and again for the fantastic pleasure I offer them. I have entertained some very famous men, in my time, just another fringe benefit to my whole exciting career. Madam Minnie (her name is) is very sweet; I think I am her favorite, for she is always complimenting me on my skill. "It's your acting ability, my dear," says she, "The stage missed a great performer, but aren't we glad!" Privately, she has informed me that when she retires, she will .recommend me for her position.

	Won't I have fun then!

CHAPTER SEVEN

	I stayed in that house for a long time. Of course the money was all right but I knew that with all my experience and training I could make a lot more money on my own.

	They wanted me to stay there and the madam even offered me a share of the business when she left but that wasn't my bag at all.

	I wanted to fly, swing, go through all the most famous men in the world and know the heads of states of a dozen countries.

	That was my ultimate goal and I knew that if I kept to it I would eventually get what I wanted.

	I moved out of the whore house and got myself an apartment on the Upper East Side. I knew that those were the hunting grounds of some of the people that I wanted to meet. It wasn't the most glamorous place in the world but it sure as hell was a good place to start. I found that out really soon.

	After I was there a week I got my first John. He was a normal sort of guy, nothing out of the ordinary or especially wild about him but he was a good lay and a big tipper.

	A house is really the only place to work from. I never got into a street scene with standing on the corner at the mercy of every weirdo and pervert that comes your way.

	I had a steady book by the end of a month and well into my second month I ran across some of the people that I wanted to meet.

	He was a diplomat from an African country although he wasn't black. He was a mixture of Dutch and some other race but I didn't bother to ask his blood lines.

	I met him through another man that I had serviced and I believe that I was getting to have quite a reputation among some people.

	I was reputed to be the best lay in town.

	To some girls that might be a flattering statement but to me it became a headache. The problem with being the best is that you have to stay the best for everyone and not once fall back to a bad performance. And you must know what that can do to a person.

	This African guy was very generous. When I went down on him he started pulling these twenty dollar bills out of his wallet and giving them to me. He said that the more I worked on his cock and the longer I kept at it the more money he would give me.

	That was swell with me.

	I kept him cooking for something like three quarters of an hour and he kept peeling those bills for me.

	He must have given me something close to six hundred dollars that night.

	What I would do was to bring him almost to the peak of his orgasm and then squeeze his cock really tight and stop him from coming. That would freak him out a little but it kept him going and going until he was ready to burst.

	I loved to watch that look on his face when he was about to come and then I stopped him.

	His eyes were begging me, imploring me to make him come. But at the same time he didn't want to come. He wanted to be teased like that and loved it as much as I did.

	His cock was big too. It was so wide at the head and the shaft that I had a hard time getting all of him in my mouth.

	But my pussy had no problem accommodating him.

	I loved to have my pussy stuffed with that huge cock of his. It was something that really sent me.

	But he got the word around to some of his other friends and pretty soon I was having a United Nations right there in my living room.

	I would hate to tell you how many wars I staved off and border fights I eased in the privacy of my living room.

	They would come in all tired and beat and worried sick about the state of the world.

	After I demolished their erections and got them to talking they would usually cool off enough to see things in a mellower, brighter aspect. That reflected in their work the next day and I saw the results on the evening news.

	It gives a hooker a wonderful feeling to know that she can alter the course of the world with the use of her tongue and her pussy.

	I sure as hell did.

	I have documents and letters to prove it.

	One of these days I'd like to write a book and devote it exclusively to all the conflicts that I stopped through the use of my mouth and pussy.

	I discovered one very interesting fact about people in high places with a lot of power and responsibility. They have the kinkiest demands and pleasures.

	There was one man that insisted on being blindfolded. Then I had to lay him down on the floor and tell him that he was going for a long ride down a dark tunnel.

	Then I had to slowly settle my pussy over his face and make gurgling noises while he ate me out.

	When he had done that for ten minutes I was to take his pants off and eat his cock.

	It was very stimulating for me to say the least and I know that he got a charge out of it every time that it happened. It happened at the least twice a week. That was two hundred dollars a shot just from him. And that's not counting the tips on my really good nights.

	These people were the ones that I catered to especially. They were the ones with all the money and the connections to make life very easy and very comfortable for a girl.

	With these diplomats I never had to pay a parking ticket or anything like that. They got me those DPL plates and I could park anywhere that I wanted to.

	It was really terribly amusing to see policemen show me such respect when I parked my car in front of Bloomingdale's in a tow, away zone. Me a hooker. It was enormously funny and I never tired of the joke, I was really getting places and in a few months I had to hire another girl to help out with the overflow. I made sure that these girls were refined and cultured and could offer these special clients the kind of fun and kicks that they could get nowhere else.

	Where else could these people come to have Shakespeare whispered in their ears while they were getting the shit fucked out of them.

	My girls were very special indeed and I made sure that I got none of the street variety. They were girls from some of the best schools in the country and some of them came from the very wealthiest families. Boredom and the easy availability of anything you want can turn that kind of girl into a hooker faster than the ghetto can. I can swear to that.

	The biggest break I ever got though was the time that I ran into this millionaire. He was something else all right. He was the biggest man that I had ever met. Financially that is.

	In the cock department he was strictly make believe.

	I had to make believe that he had a huge cock. That was his little trip.

	I would swoon and fawn over his measly cock and make believe that he was the most thrilling man in the world. Not that cock size has anything to do with the way a man satisfies a woman. But that was his game and the customer is always right in my line of work.

	I found that it was very easy to fool men. They are such vain creatures that they turn into putty when they are paid a compliment.

	I knew just how to handle them too.

	They became a matter of course with me and it got to the point where some of them even thought that I was falling in love with them. And that despite the fact that they told me what the scenario would be.

	On man, a Texas oil person, even wrote out the whole thing on paper and had me keep a copy for every time that he came to visit.

	I swear it was just like a play. That was where my own fantasies of the theater came to life.

	They would play out their fantasies and I played out mine.

	At times of course, the bittersweet awareness that I was fooling everyone including myself into thinking that this was the authentic life would crash upon me with the force of a bulldozer.

	I knew that all my girlish notions of making a life of the stage and turning all my dreams into reality were fading with each day that passed.

	It must not be forgotten that despite my life of leisure I was still studying and learning all that I could about people and knowledge in general.

	I was a student of philosophy and as such I realized that the existential notion of the authentic life was not something which I held.

	I was pragmatic about life, exchanging in the only currency that I had at my disposal. The world would not allow me any other means of barter.

	I had to use my body for the things that I wanted.

	Some people become scientists, others politicians and others doctors and lawyers. I became a hooker because there was nothing else open to me at the time or any other time since.

	But at least I never lied to myself about what I was and who I was. It was only that I could face myself in the mirror and know that

	I was a whore that kept me going. If I started lying about hooking and all that I would be in very serious straits indeed.

	It was the knowledge of myself that made me strong and able to see clearly through all the troubles that ensued.

	My mind was firm in one thing. I was the best damn hooker that this city ever had.

	Nobody could outclass me or outdo me in anything that had to do with sex.

	I am as intimate with every sexual perversion, deviation and fetish as any doctor. In fact I have been interviewed by slews of doctors and research people looking for information about the average visitor to a hooker.

	I was forced to tell them that my customers were anything but average.

	They were the cream of the social crop. They had their names in the social register of half a dozen cities and knew everything about everybody.

	I could be of little help to them about the average visitor but their ears were burning when I got through telling them about my techniques and manners in bed.

	I am the best fuck any man ever got. I have the letters and the enthusiastic notes from my customers to prove it.

	There is nothing that I will not try and there are some things that I would love to try but still have not found the man that is daring and wild enough to try them with me.

	When I find that man I know that I will marry him in a minute.

	But that's a whole other story.

	This story is much more interesting than the one about marriage and all that shit.

	I have come to the conclusion that marriage as an institution is something that will have to perish from the earth if man is to survive the next hundred years.

	The only way that marriage can survive is if every woman becomes a whore in bed.

	That is something, despite the so, called sexual revolution, that we are a long way from accomplishing.

	Women will not take on the responsibility of loosening their men up. It is up to the woman to lead the way because if we women don't the men will sit back and do nothing.

	Man is a basically lazy creature while the woman is the one that should do all the work.

	I feel that the woman should only work hard at the beginning. After that if the man does not get the message that he is supposed to put out a little too then he should be gotten rid of in place of a better lover.

	But the initial ice, breaking and loosening of sexual roles should be made by a woman. I firmly believe that and know it to be a fact based on experience.

	Men have learned things from me that they had never dreamed of doing with their wives. Marriages have gotten better after the men had a session or two with me.

	Of course in my line I have met some despicable men.

	The most despicable of all were the rich Americans. They had this attitude that I was some sort of street slut or something. They were terrible lovers and most of them were in many ways cruel and evil in their treatment of me.

	They had none of the polish that Europeans had. They were coarse men from the West and the Mid, West.

	These were the people that made their money in supermarket chains or fast food places. Others were used car dealers that happened to fall into good times and made it fast before they were forty or so.

	Oh, but they are crass.

	I tried to get rid of most of them but of course, pragmatic that I am, I had to keep some of the better paying customers.

	There's no two ways about it. I have to do things that I don't like sometimes and catering to these bastards happens to be one of the things.

	The absolute best fuck that I have ever had in my life came from someone that I would never have expected.

	He was a young man, hardly out of his teens actually.

	He came to me off the streets. He had heard about me through one of those people that I considered a good customer.

	I was a little surprised when I saw him.

	He had long hair and glasses and carried himself like a scared little person that was afraid of his own shadow. But was I ever wrong.

	When it came to fucking he was the tops. He never stopped.

	I was at home and had received the call from him. His phone voice sounded a lot better than he looked. He was very intense and honest on the phone but when I saw him I was a little surprised.

	I thought that I was going to feel like shit taking his money because I felt that he was going to pop in ten seconds and leave me hanging.

	But I was wrong. My hooker's instincts had led me the wrong way.

	He took my clothes off like all the others did and he didn't ask me to do anything kinky. All he wanted me to do was to suck him off a little before we got started fucking.

	I still suspected nothing and even waited for him to come in my mouth.

	But he didn't.

	He got hard and stiff and after a little while ae told me to stop and to get on my back.

	I did as he asked and watched the intensity in his eyes grow as he slowly pushed his cock up my pussy.

	I started to feel a little tingle shoot through me. I had felt that before upon first entry but this was something more intense than that.

	Then he started to pump into me really slow and steady. Then he did it a little faster and then faster still until he was going at it like a pile driver.

	I then expected him to shoot really soon. But again he surprised me and continued.

	By this time I was oozing come all over the place. I was shooting time after time and expecting him to pop at any minute.

	But this guy was like a sex machine.

	He would not stop. He continued to give it to me like he was a jack hammer and I was a hole in the street.

	His cock was pulsating and throbbing inside me as he pumped and plunged, sending it deeper and deeper into me until I thought I was going to pass out from all the fucking.

	Before he popped for the first time I had come at least two dozen times and going in for my second dozen.

	But after the first time that he came he continued to ram that stiff cock in and out of me.

	He hadn't wilted or gone soft or anything like that.

	He was like a hard salami inside me and he kept going like a maniac. My pussy was on fire and sore as hell but the orgasms kept flowing and coming one after the other.

	I thought that there must have been something wrong with me like I was having my time of the month or something but that was not the case. It was just his incredible stamina that kept me coming and coming like a bandit and this'was my last fuck in the world.

	My pussy ached and throbbed for his cock and I clasped my legs around his waist and kicked him, goading him to do more and come again inside me.

	His meat was all hot and red, stiff as a steel rod and just as long and rigid.

	I gasped, moaned, pleaded with him never to stop. He almost didn't stop, too. He kept fucking me for two solid hours.

	You can imagine what my fucked out pussy looked like after he was through with it.

	It was like raw hamburger.

	As it turned out I didn't charge him a cent for the night of fucking. I told him to come around any time that he wanted to and he'd get some free pussy from me. Any day or night of the week.

	For a hooker that is some right to give away. But I have to take care of my own needs after a while. I have to make sure that every once in a while I get some terrific fucking to make up for all the shitty screws that I get all week long.

	I was sure that he would never come back but there he was the next week, humble and meek like the first time but this time I had a different impression. I knew what was below all that shyness and timidity. There was one of the best lays in town and girls were probably turning him down left and right because of his exterior looks.

	That was why he had to come to a whore to get laid. And even then I didn't make him pay despite the fact that he made me keep two very rich boys waiting for almost an hour.

	That boy kept me good and satisfied for almost a year like that. We became very good friends after a while and he got to be the closest thing I had to a boyfriend since I was sixteen.

	We would see each other during the day when I wasn't working and he would tell me all about the books that he as going to write and all the poems he was going to publish some day.

	He was a poet and had the heart of a saint and the cock of a bull. A girl could not ask for a better combination.

	I had everything I needed to satisfy me. His cock was terrific and his mind was a constant source of pleasure and stimulation, Fucking with him was the closest I have ever come to a religious experience.

	That may sound weird coming from a hooker like me but that happens to be the truth. I don't care how odd that sounds.

	But he left one day. He went somewhere to write that terrific novel he had always talked about.

	He said that the city was no place to write. There was too much insanity and craziness there. He could never sort out all the insanity from the genuine article. I was part of that craziness and because of it he had to split from me too.

	I would have followed him anywhere that he wanted me to go but I knew that he wanted to be alone to do his thing and that I had to do mine as well.

	That was one of the things that I regretted about the business. I could never just pick up and leave things. There was always some man with his cock out ready to shove it in my mouth or ass or pussy.

	You'd be surprised at the number of places that men find a place to stick it.

	I always am and I thought I'd seen everything.

CHAPTER EIGHT

	My life as a hooker proved eventually to be short lived. It wasn't that I had gotten into trouble or anything of the sort. It Was rather that I was very bored and very rich. It is a disease of the upper classes. Something which I thought I would never be afflicted with.

	But I was. I was the richest hooker in town and the most sought after. But what else was there to life. I knew there had to be more. entered a period of self, examination re, appraisal of all the things that I was and all the things that I wanted.

	What were my priorities, I asked myself. What did I really want. Now that I had money I knew that I had freedom. Freedom of course only in the narrow sense of the word. In the existential sense I was bound and tied to the possessions which owned me. Y had fallen into the same trap that I was in before.

	I became the possessed. I was possessed by the people that came to me for fucking and the things that I had surrounded myself with.

	That was one reason why I was so sorry to see my poet lover go. I felt that somehow he could have led me out of the life that I had been living and bring me to a point where I would achieve the authenticity I craved.

	Of course I knew the road to be hard. Nothing is ever easy in this world.

	My words sounded trite and boring as I spoke them to friends,' the few that I still had.

	I bought a house in the country, in the beautiful New England countryside. I felt at peace there. There were no problems and nobody to interrupt the serenity of that mountain retreat.

	It felt as if I were born again, given a new chance to start life over.

	And that was what I secretly craved.

	I lived alone save for the few cats and stray animals I found around the land. I had a lot of land and my main source of pleasure came from walking through those mysterious New England autumns, the brown leaves rustling through the undergrowth, the gray sky threatening always to rain or inflict apocalyptic damage to the land.

	But I was happy. More secure and peaceful than I had ever been in my life. There was of course the usual loneliness that sometimes accompanies a life of that type but I fended it off, hoping that it would not get the better of me. Of course I also missed sex. I missed it a great deal in fact.

	I had met a man one day in the woods behind the house. He was stalking game it looked like to me. He had a rifle slung over one shoulder and was dressed as a hunter. He didn't notice me at first, his eyes were focused on some object in the distance. But as I approached he waved me aside, his arm making an arc through the air, waving me away.

	I froze where I stood, hoping that there would be no danger. I had heard rumors that bear and sometimes wild dogs had attacked people but I had never put much stock in that.

	I saw him raise the weapon to his shoulder and take careful aim. I tried to see where he was pointing but could see nothing save trees and bushes.

	Then the stillness of the afternoon was broken, shattereed like a brick thrown through a mirror.

	A steel jacketed bullet, black projectile of death, whizzed through the air, the report of the shot echoing hollowly in the distance until it dissipated though the forest.

	I heard the sound of branches being broken, leaves being rustled and the muffled steps of something walking and then stumbling. I looked again and I saw a deer, a stag actually, collapsing under his own weight and then trying vainly to stand.

	The man took off in pursuit. His rifle was carried out front before him, the black shaft of the barrel glinted dully in the meek sunlight. He ran smoothly, hardly breaking a twig or rustling leaves as he ate up yards of earth at a step. I somehow felt that he knew his way around the woods, knew how to walk and carry himself, a born woodsman.

	I chased after him, stumbling and falling about.

	He reached the spot where the stag had been and peered at the ground. He turned back once to look at me and then disappeared over the ridge of a hill.

	I followed, losing sight of him as he descended the other side. When I reached the crest of the same ridge and looked about there was no sign of him. I: was most perplexed. It was as if there had never been a man there.

	The woods were as quiet as ever, apparently having swallowed him up completely without a trace of his existence.

	I had the feeling that it might have been an apparition of sorts but the thought seemed absurd.

	I turned back and went towards home again, turning back occasionally to see if he might have followed me or given another signal of his existence.

	But there were none. There was only the whisper of a breeze stirring through the almost barren branches of trees and the constant, eternal rustle of the brown leaves.

	I sat by the large picture window of my home and watched and waited, pretending to be reading a book. I was actually waiting for him to appear again.

	Night fell and there was still no sign of him.

	I began to be frightened.

	It was an odd, eerie sensation. Something that I had never experienced in that house before.

	I told myself that I was being silly and irrational but I could not get the image of that man out of my mind. He was not particularly handsome but there was something about him that compelled me. Perhaps it was the loneliness, the absence of a man those many months that created that effect on me, Just horniness I assumed and shrugged the thing off.

	While I lay in bed that night I heard that frightening sound of a rifle shot again. I froze where I lay. Fearing now for some foul play, perhaps a murder?

	But the thought was too absurd. I turned over and went to sleep taking my mind off this happening.

	The next morning was something else though.

	When I went outside to chop some wood for the fire there was a note attached to my door.

	"Apologies for the rudeness. Please come to dinner tonight."

	It was signed Antony Vache.

	I had never heard of the man and was not even informed of where he lived. He presumed that I knew.

	It was an odd note indeed.

	I looked through the local phone book and found an address listed under A. Vache. It was him. His address indicated that he lived some five miles away. I had never been in that area and knew little of it except that it was very hilly and very secluded from the main areas o traffic.

	I called the number and a female voice answered.

	I announced who I was and asked to speak to Mr. Vache.

	She was a apparently a maid or a servant of sorts and announced that yes, Mr. Vache and his wife were expecting me for dinner.

	I asked again to speak to him but I was informed very formally that he was not available.

	I thanked her and hung up.

	There was a decision to be made. I didn't know whether to be insulted by his apparent haughty manners or complimented. Having received an invitation to dinner on the basis of a rudeness from a stranger was odd. Very odd but somehow exciting.

	Before noon I knew I would go.

	The best looking dresses I had were still in the city. I had left them there knowing that I would not have to use them. But I felt that this called for a formal attire. I don't know why but I had the sudden feeling that I was dealing with a very cultured and intelligent man.

	It was an aura I felt rather than anything tangible which I could put my finger on. There was also the slightest tinge of eccentricity about him. But that too compelled me to accept the invitation.

	I appeared at his door dressed in a plain but striking dress. It was too frilly for this climate and time of the year but I wanted to stand out, be light and airy in the atmosphere of gloom and melancholy of the woods.

	His house was almost a mansion compared to mine and I thought mine was rather large. It was, from the outside at any rate, quite striking. There were elegant, tasteful touches all about. A fountain, now turned off and leaves accumulating in the tank, stood on the brown grass in front of the entrance. It was by no means typical of the plain, rural houses which dotted the landscape.

	The house was situated on a hill, shrouded by woods and thick shrubs in the front. It was only later, when I finally entered the house, that I saw the magnificent view from his living room. The hill suddenly fell away at the back of the house giving one the impression that it hung almost in midair over the countryside that spread below it.

	I knocked once and the door was opened by the same woman that I had spoken to on the phone. I recognized her voice. She welcomed me, taking my coat and told me Mr. and Mrs. Vache were expecting me in the salon.

	The word salon struck me as a quaint but rather charming way of calling a living room. I had never called anything a salon. My impression of good taste and a certain sort of breeding was confirmed.

	I was ushered into the salon and there before stood the couple. She was strikingly beautiful, a woman somewhere in her late thirties but looking almost in her mid twenties. Antony was the same age but still kept that youthful appearance. Together they made a great looking couple.

	"How do you do, Mrs. P." he said smiling and extended a hand.

	"This is my wife, Sybil," he continued.

	She extended her hand. A disarming smile creased her face, bright teeth appeared between her lips.

	She was gorgeous. I felt like a mousy little girl next to her despite the fact that I had been a hooker and thought I knew it all. There was a calm sereneness about her that I envied and had tried to cultivate over the years. To her it was as natural as breathing.

	"How do you do," Sybil said. "Antony has told me about the incident in the woods. He was terribly rude and I scolded him when he told me. But when he hunts he is in another world. Men are like boys, aren't they Jennifer."

	She had used my name, pronounced it as if she had known me for years. Her words echoed in my mind. like boys she had said. Something of which I was convinced for many years. I took and instant liking to her.

	"Antony," she said turning to him. "Get Jennifer a drink."

	I could see immediately who was the, dominant one around there. Antony followed her instructions, smiling as he did so, more than happy to do anything she said.

	We sat on the plush divan by the fire which was situated at the far end of the room. There were curtains, closed now, over the windows that were in the rear of the house.

	As Antony brought the drinks to us she told him to open the heavy drapes.

	"I love to watch the sun set," she said.

	The curtains parted and I saw huge, floor to ceiling windows open up to the magnificent vista below. There was an unobstructed view nearly to the horizon. In the far distance mountains were changing hue, brown and greens turning now to almost a dark blue The setting sun was a flaming orange but muted as all things are in that part of the country.

	It complemented the deep browns and oranges of the landscape, making sun and earth and sky all part of the harmonious symphony of nature.

	"It's quite lovely," I said.

	She smiled and nodded.

	We conversed for almost a half hour before the maid entered and announced that dinner was ready.

	"What do you do?" Antony asked when we were well into the main course, a delicious suckling pig, complemented by the most exquisite dinner and silverware.

	"I've been in the theater," I lied. "But I've retired from that. I do nothing but live now."

	"An admirable vocation," Sybil said. She smiled at me. There was a strange mixture of the wanton leer of a whore about her and the sweetness of a Botticelli madonna.

	I was at a loss.

	I was attracted to her in a very pronounced and intense way. A sexual way. Why deny it, I thought to myself. I had slept with women before and this was nothing new to me.

	We conversed lightly, in a bantering but highly sophisticated level. I was glad now that I had been accustomed to such elevated banter. The diplomats I had entertained had taught me well.

	I was stuffed by the time dinner was over, my head spun from the wine and the drinks and by the time brandy was brought by Antony to the salon I was drowsy with sleep, a delicious tiredness having come over me.

	The sky beyond the window was black, a bright moon hung over the mountains and stars flickered like tiny points of sparkling ice. A wind howled, shuddering the windows, occasionally making the warm atmosphere inside .  more cozy and extremely intimate.

	My dizzy mind returned to the thoughts I had had during dinner, the thoughts of perhaps making it with her. But I dismissed these thoughts from my mind, knowing that they were absurd.

	"Shut the lights," Sybil said to Antony as she lay back in the depths of the plush divan. "I want to be able to see the stars."

	Antony again did as she said and shut off all the electric lights. Only the fire and the moon threw light into the room now.

	My face was flushed and hot as they spoke. I listened politely and pretended to be intensely interested in everything they said. Of course I wasn't. My mind was on the beautiful body that lay serene and available beneath the folds of that dress. I wanted Sybil. Of that I was sure now.

	I left their house that night feeling elated and saddened at the same time. I had discovered that beautiful woman and now I wanted her. But her husband was a stumbling block. He would be in the way.

	I invited them both for dinner at my house some night but left the invitation open and hanging. I also threw a look at Sybil and invited her to come down for a visit on any afternoon when she was free. I promised I would take a walk with her through the woods behind the house, hiking and walking being one of the many things she enjoyed doing.

	That night I could not sleep. My mind was filled with images of that luscious woman in bed next to me, on top of me, me on top of her. After what seemed like all night I finally fell asleep but woke up again very early in the morning.

	I bathed and changed into informal gear, going again to chop the wood I was supposed to have done the previous day.

	In the mid, afternoon I noticed a jeep driving up the road to my house. I didn't recognize it, knowing that it was not the day of the week for the deliveries from the grocer in town.

	To my surprise and delight it was Sybil.

	She exited from the jeep dressed in beige pants that clung tightly to her long, smooth legs. Her ass was tight and luscious, perched above her long stems. She was a sight too good to pass up.

	She greeted me even more warmly than she had the night before and asked what was on the agenda for the day and if she were interrupting anything that I had to do.

	"No. Not at all," I said taking her arm and leading her into the house.

	"I'd love some coffee," she said when I asked if she wanted anything.

	"I've been up since six," she continued "Antony had to leave this morning and I drove him to that little airport up by Barger's Falls. He had a deal or some such nonsense on the coast."

	"You'll be alone then?" I asked, wanting to know for how long she would be available to me.

	"Yes. At least until well into next week."

	It was Friday then and I would have the weekend and maybe until Tuesday of the following week. It seemed like such a longtime to be with her, every moment seeming as if to last forever.

	I showed her the house and the little touches I had put in after the previous owners had left it. I could not hide the emotion and the tension in my voice as I spoke to her.

	"Jennifer?" she asked. "Is there something wrong?"

	She put a hand on my arm as we sat at the kitchen table.

	"No. Nothing. Not a thing. I've just had a terrible night. I couldn't sleep."

	"Why? Are you having problems?"

	"No. Nothing like that." I dreaded saying the words but knowing that I had to let her know how I felt.

	"It's just that it gets lonely sometimes living her by myself."

	"I rather envy you," Sybil said. "I'm so happy sometimes to see Antony leave on his business things. Being with a man for too long makes one need the company of women at times. I find women much more comfortable to talk to, more serious and understanding. Men have these odd notions about life. I feel that women understand and feel so much more than men can. Don't you feel the same way?"

	I completely agreed with her but I knew that if I spoke I would blurt everything out, exposing my need of her to her face and perhaps frightening her away for good.

	She wanted me as a friend and I was looking for a lover.

	I knew that I shook visibly, all those years of hooking doing me absolutely no good before her. All the times I had controlled and dominated, played with men's emotions and sexual cravings were now useless. She was a force I could not resist, harkening a need in me that had lain dormant through all the years.

	She put a hand to my hair and caressed it the way a mother would to an ailing daughter.

	"What's wrong," she said crooning to me. "Would you like to tell me about it."

	And then I began. I told her the truth of all the things that I had done, all the trouble and the hooking and all insanity of my life. I was not ashamed of it in any way. In fact I considered it a monumental feat for a girl my age to have accomplished.

	And she understood all that and accepted me.

	By the time I had finished talking the sun was already setting, the wind having picked up blowing through the trees and dusk falling rapidly over the landscape.

	Sybil looked at me and I could see the emotion in her eyes. In a way I suppose that she felt sorry for me although I knew that there was nothing about my life to feel sorry about. I had enjoyed everything I had done and there was no shame or remorse of any kind in my heart.

	I had not told her the story just to pull at her sympathy and hope that she would bed me. All I wanted was for her to know me. Know me as I knew myself.

	She reached out and touched me. It was a gentle touch and yet there was something sensual, exciting about it.

	As she did that I threw myself into her arms, smelling the fragrance of her perfume and the pine trees on her.

	It was something that excited me and I buried my face deeper into her neck.

	"There," she said as if she were speaking to a daughter.

	She stroked me head and I could not begin to explain the feelings and the emotions that ripped through me when she did that.

	It sent me flying like nothing else had ever done.

	I was shaking with passion and lust! It frightened me but I reveled in the rushes that swept through me.

	She held me tighter and I hoped that she was feeling the same things. And then it happened.

	I reached up and kissed her full in the mouth. It was not the kiss between sisters and not the kiss between friends. When our tongues met I knew that it was a kiss meant to be shared only by lovers.

	"Kiss me," she moaned, "my mouth covering hers, choking off whatever she might have said.

	I wrapped her tighter in my arms, stroking my hands all over her tits and teased at the nipples until they were hard and erect.

	"What are you doing to me," she gasped as I pushed her down on her back, throwing myself on top of her.

	"I'm going to love you," I said. "I'm going to fuck you."

	She seemed to hesitate for a moment, trying to push me away and free herself from my attack.

	But I would not be put off. I wanted her more than anything and she was going to be mine.

	When my hands shot up her leg and caressed the mound of her pussy through the fabric of her pants she let out a low moan of pleasure and finally settled down until she willingly let me do what I wanted to her.

	"Yes, yes. That's very nice," she whispered into my ear as she ground her pussy against my palms.

	I gazed at her prone form, her long legs wide apart, her tits heaving and swelling on her chest and her mouth half open, panting a little as she sighed, trying to catch her breath. I was on fire.

	I ground her mouth against mine again, rolling my tongue deep into her mouth and licking at her as if she were a sweet treat.

	"Love me," she finally moaned. "I want you to love me."

	I went mad with excitement.

	I flung myself on top of her, her legs were spreading of their own accord and she was gasping and moaning like an animal in heat. Her mouth searched for mine and our tits were crushing against each other.

	I ran my hands over her tits, pulling at them and making the nipples hard and erect. Then I ripped her shirt off her. I had not meant to be so violent or brutal but the thing came off in my hands.

	I grasped at the braless tits and rubbed the nipples between my fingers, teasing and taunting her beyond belief.

	"Yes. Yes," she shuddered as I sucked one of them into my mouth, the heavy tits heaving and rising on her chest.

	"Yes, shit. Fuck me," she moaned and tossed about beneath me.

	I licked at both tits then, rolling my tongue around in her cleavage and running a hand between her legs again.

	"I want you naked," I gasped.

	I immediately undid the belt on her pants and rolled them down, her pussy stuck out, satin covered and already wet with juices.

	I could smell her pussy from where I lay panting on top of her.

	I raked a finger nails across the cloth covered pussy and she shuddered again. Sybil moaned, threw her hips up at me and clung to my tits. She was grasping them tightly and began to respond to me, giving pleasure for pleasure and matching my every move.

	Her body was hot and perspiring below me and that was the way I wanted it. I rolled the panties down slowly, letting myself get excited at the sight of her pussy hairs coming into view and then the pink and darkly puckered lips of her pussy.

	I could smell the aroma of that pussy stronger now. She was wet and I could feel the stickiness of it against my fingers.

	I slowly prodded a finger in there, massaging the outer lips and the clit and then plunging deeper.

	"Shit almighty," she said. "That feels so good. So wonderful."

	Sybil ground her pussy against my fingers and the palms of my hands. Her body was quaking with pleasure, trembling with excitement and writhing with the need that ripped through her.

	My finger drove faster and deeper into her pussy, stimulating the clit and making the erect tissue throb with excitement. It was something that I had dreamed about the night before but I had never actually though that it would come to pass.

	I gave her all that I had and then gave her more.

	I shoved two fingers in there and rooted around like a hog in the earth. Her long, silky smooth legs were spread far and wide and she reveled in the feelings that were shooting through her.

	There was nothing that she wanted more at that moment than to fuck and I was going to make sure that it would be one of the best fucks that she had ever gotten.

	I rasped and raked my fingers across her clit, exciting her more and then with a shuddering, spasmodic convulsion she climaxed. Her pussy juice flowed like a river out of her and she gasped as the trickle of warm come oozed down her thigh.

	I felt the tremor shoot through her, felt it as she grasped me hard around the waist and crushed me to her.

	There was nothing really tender about our first time together but I knew that it was the explosive beginning to more and more of these occasions.

	After a few moments we were both naked. Our clothes lay in a heap on the floor by the couch and we started to fuck in earnest now.

	I positioned her and then got on top of her in the sixty nine position. I leaned down and took a tentative slurp at her juicy pussy. It was delicious!

	I dove further, darting my tongue in and out of the hole, rimming the sides of the pussy and licking at the juices that came out.

	Her pussy was crushed against my face and she ground it harder and harder against my teeth.

	The smell was overpowering but tremendously arousing. I licked and sucked as if there were no tomorrow and this was the last fuck of my life.

	I dove my tongue until it could go no more, wishing somehow that it were longer and I could shove it all the way into the deepest crevasse of her pussy.

	My hands were wrapped around her waist and her ass, pulling her all the time closer and closer until I was inundated by her flesh, totally surround by her thighs and her pussy and the little circle of muscles that was her tiny ass, hole.

	And then I could feel her mouth begin to tentatively touch and lick me. It was a sensational feeling. It wasn't only the sensations of her tongue touching my pussy it was the very fact that she was responding to me and was wanting to suck me as much as I wanted to suck her. That was the most thrilling part about it.

	She slowly began to circle and caress my pussy with the luscious mouth of hers and then she started to really eat it. She devoured my aching, yearning pussy that was now flowing with fuck juice and dribbling with the liquids of passion.

	I spread my legs wide and willingly for her, letting her all of me, letting her mouth explore and eat every inch of my groin.

	It was exciting and thrilling, more thrilling than anything I had ever felt.

	My pussy oozed juices. I could feel them dribbling down my thighs and dripping onto the couch below.

	She loved it. I could hear the satisfied moans of pleasure escaped her lips and thrill me even further. There was something incredibly wild about having that done to me and it was as if nobody had ever sucked me before.

	I began to buck and throw my hips into her face, grinding my pussy and clit into her mouth and she sucked at all the delicious juices that flowed out of there.

	"Jennifer," she moaned. "Jennifer, I love to eat you. Love your pussy."

	I could feel her hungry mouth suck the life out of me, eat me whole and thrill me to the point where I could hardly breathe anymore.

	There was nothing more satisfying in the world than to have my pussy eaten out by such a delightful creature.

	My hands went around to her ass again and pulled her closer. Then I slipped a finger into her ass, hole and flicked at it, thrilling her more and then she started to gyrate and buck into the little digit that was securely placed up her hole.

	"I love that too," she gasped and she ground her ass, hole against it harder and harder.

	My finger were sticky and wet with the juices that came out of there and she threw her head back in delicious abandon.

	There was nothing that she could do now. She was impaled on my digit and a slave to my mouth.

	Her back arched high and tight, pushing her pussy into my face until I was buried in it.

	Her pussy was dribbling with the juices that I loved and I sucked them hard and quick into my mouth, swallowing them whole and relishing their flavor.

	We could take no more of the torture. We both knew that we had to fuck and do it now.

	I threw her on her back and spread her legs with my knees.

	Then I lowered myself onto her and kissed her passionately while our pussys came in contact with each other.

	It was as if all heaven were just opened up before me.

	The first contact of my pussy against hers was something that thrilled me beyond all belief.

	It sent me skyrocketing right out of this world and made me pant and thrill with the pleasure I felt.

	We both started to buck and gyrate against each other until we were rubbing our erect hard clits against one another.

	The little nubbins of pleasure were hot and quivering with pleasure as we began racing towards our orgasm.

	Then it started to happen for the both of us. I went over the top first, creaming her all over and dripping the delicious come on her thighs and the pussy. She followed suit only a scant second later.

	Her body writhed in pleasure, twisting itself in every direction she spasmed and moaned, twitched passionately and then exploded into a frenzy of motion and sheer sexual abandon.

	We lay heavily on each other until the orgasming stopped and we were able to once again reach a semblance of normality.

	There was something incredibly wild about our love making. It was as if neither of us had ever made love before. We were cleansed and renewed, almost reborn by the fucking and the sucking.

	That was the wonderful part of it and I knew that she was very happy when she wrapped me in her arms and took me gently once again.

CHAPTER NINE

	Antony stepped through the woods behind the house. He was carrying his rifle over his shoulder and looked back at us. Sybil and I stood by the shed in the back and watched as he disappeared into the forest.

	"He won't be back for hours," she said. "When he goes hunting nothing will get in his way.

	"I suppose not," I said.

	I was anxious to get to her again. We had fucked only three times and I was still hungry, still needy to have her pussy in my mouth again.

	"What do you want to do?" I asked, hoping that she had the same idea as me.

	"I don't know. Let's go into town and shop. I'd like to get a few things."

	I loathed going anywhere with her.

	I hated the eyes of the men that leered at her as we walked down the street, the hungry lust filled looks were all directed at her and she knew it.

	That was something that I hated almost as much as her husband.

	Antony had gotten to be as big a pain in the ass as anything and I had a hard time hiding my true feelings for her and my true hatred for him when we were together.

	But there was nothing that I could do to alleviate the situation. I was stuck between them.

	She would never leave her husband. He had too much to offer her. He represented security and the assurance of a wealthy life. She had all the things that she wanted from him and she was not about to relinquish them for me.

	I was sure of that.

	We had talked about it many times.

	As we bumped along the dirt road into town

	I wanted to reach out and touch her, take her into the woods that bordered the road and make mad, passionate love to her.

	But she had forbid me ever to touch her in public. Even so far as to take her hand or touch her innocently.

	She feared that every person who saw us would see through the game that we played. That they would know she was some sort of pervert and me a dyke. I tried to tell her many times that neither of us looked anything like the stereotypes people think of and that her secret was safe.

	But I desperately wanted for her to come out, to admit to herself and the world that she was what she was and it was nobody's business but ours.

	Sybil would never go for it.

	She thought that there was something weird about. She thought it was weird until we got into bed, though. In bed she was wild and unrestrained, totally without inhibitions.

	But after that she was Mrs. Antony Vache, very sedate and very proper.

	I hated that about her. I wondered how she could possibly turn herself on and off so quickly. It was a feat which I could not understand.

	I felt that she was holding something back on me, I felt used somehow and I wanted to tell her so many times that in the end I would end up frustrated and angry at myself and her.

	I knew that a problem did exist and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.

	"Do you want me?" I asked her point blank.

	She kept her eyes on the road ahead of her and she spoke in a flat even tone.

	"I know what you're going to say, Jennifer. I've heard it before."

	"So what's the answer?"

	"Look. What's wrong with the way things are going now? I see you three times a week and sometimes more when Antony is away. We're great in bed and we don't have to work for our living."

	"So what more can I ask for, right?"

	"Right!"

	"It's not that simple."

	"What do you want from me then, Jennifer? You have all my free time and even more than that."

	"But Antony has the rest, the best part of you. He has your love."

	"Love," she spat out. "Do you still believe in Santa Claus?"

	I was silent, shocked into silence by her harsh words.

	"Okay. You win," I said.

	I was silent for the rest of the ride and the rest of the day. I spoke only when I was spoken to and even then as little as i had to.

	There was no longer any emotion for me. I felt dry and used up. As if all the life had been drained out of me and I was but a shell of what I was once was.

	But the odd thing about it was that I still loved her, still needed to have her with me and have her in bed.

	My need cried out for her and there was no way for me to try and get her back unless I could offer her more money and more of the good life than Antony did.

	But of course I knew that it would be like buying her, like trading money for the pleasure of having her company.

	That was too cut and dried, too much of a business deal.

	Try as I might I could never come to terms with the wasp Sybil was. I had led a hard life in many ways but I could never be as cruel as she was to me.

	For the first time in my life I felt cheap. Never had I had that feeling before. Never, even after taking on half a dozen men in one night, had I ever felt degraded before someone.

	But this was love and that was different.

	I was always on top before. I always was the master and the one that gave the orders. Not that I was on the other end of the game it was very difficult.

	I was sure that I could never make her love me and I was too old and too tired to start the little games that younger people do.

	If she would not have me then fine. I would quietly go out of her life and leave her to herself and her precious husband.

	And that was exactly what I did.

	I no longer cared to go back to the hooking business. I had made enough money at that and there was no longer a need around for an old street whore.

	It was as simple as that and I knew that my life was here in the woods with the animals and the serenity of nature.

	And that is how I now spend my days.

	Not exciting at all most people might think. But I have had my fill of excitement. I've had my fill of both men and women and I regret nothing that I have done. In fact I cherish it all and think on it fondly, no bitterness remains, no migraines in the middle of the night over it.

	Nothing at all but fond remembrances.

	I have taken to raising plants in the summer. I also raise animals and feed the hungry deer and rabbit in the winter. They come as close as my front door at times, knowing that no harm will come to them.

	I like this sort of life. I read a great deal.

	Youth is for the adventures of the body. At my age it is time for the adventures of the mind.

	There has been one development in my life which has been most recent. I had decided to hire a young man to help me around the farm.

	Little did I suspect that he would turn out to be my lover. This boy has the body of a Greek god and the mind of an Einstein.

	Yes, yes. I know what you are all thinking.

	Well, let me tell the world something.

	I'm the best looking forty year old in the world and this kid knows a good thing when he sees it. He fucks the shit out of me every night and I give him everything. All that he wants is there for the asking.

	When he makes love to me its like I was twenty again.

	His body drives me wild.

	His name is Jake. He was a drifter until I met him. As a matter, of, fact he drifted in here with nothing but the shirt on his back and a copy of the Upanishads in his knapsack.

	And I can tell you that he has the wisdom and the knowledge of a man three times his age but none of the stuffiness and the self, centeredness of a boy who literally knows it all.

	Love is a funny thing. Do I love him? Who knows.

	It hardly matters really. Essentially our relationship is something that cannot be defined in any sense. It is a glorious one to say the least. It is the one area in my life that has yet to be explored and I look forward to it with the same enthusiasm as I looked forward to my very first lover.

	Yes. Life can begin at forty.

	When people see us in' town they give us that look that's supposed to mean they know something we don't.

	I don't give a shit about what they think and their ridiculous petty morality.

	I have fun watching them turn colors when they see us together. It was as if we were a three headed camel walking down the street, foreign and alien, visitors from another planet.

	I know the kind of people they are. They were the kind that flocked to my whore house.

	I see them, smile at them, knowing them for what they really are. Petty, insidious little people that would as soon see you crawl in the street for help and then turn their back on you.

	But what can you do.

	Life has taught me many bitter lessons and I am still learning them.

	If there is one thing that I would like to do is to write the memoirs of my life.

	This little volume serves only as introduction to a larger, more complete work in progress.

	That will give intimate, hitherto unknown sides and facets of my life. The little games and intrigues that go one behind the scenes in the highest circles of government would make a Marine blush.

	Those juicy details however will be reserved for the larger work.

	I am firmly convinced of the basic nature of man. It is that he is an animal. There are no two ways about it. I have seen it time and time again.

	There are course obvious exceptions. But they are so far and few between that they are the ones that justifies the rules.

	There are countless other topics of which I would like to spout but time grows short for me these days.

	I am always busy, always doing something. I fuck a great deal and I think that most readers only want to read about that. Voyeurs that they are.

	The world is full of them and I have seen every kind under the sun.

	Now that the rosy fingered dawn creeps up along the hedgerows I set my weary pen down and face another of living.

	It is sweet.

	I feel good about life.

	I lack nothing.

	Jake and I are very happy.

	THE END