With this ring, I thee lust
Poncho V. Ilia
CHAPTER ONE

When I was fresh out of Cape County High School, Julie asked me why I didn't enter the Miss Mackerel contest.

"Julie," I said, balancing a tray of dirty dishes, "you're shitting me." "No," she said, "it would be good business."

I was working as a waitress for Julie in Julie's Seafood Restaurant, Old Town. I was just eighteen.

"You've got the figure for it," Julie said. "Good tits. Nice ass." She was a plain spoken gal, Julie was. I liked her. She talked my language. "You were Homecoming Queen, weren't you?"

I had been, but when she said it I had to smile and then I spent the next few minutes thinking about how I became Homecoming Queen, by spreading my legs for not only my current steady but for that big, black stud who ran fullback on Cape County High's championship football team and for-well, that's a story worth telling and since this is supposed to be the true confessions of me, it's as good as any as a place to start.

One tiny bit of background, however, before we get down to the nitty gritty and talk about one of my favorite subjects, screwing. My father was and is a no good sonofabitch who then and now exists on a combination of lying, welfare, unemployment and stealing. They have a saying in Cape County. When Juby is out of jail, watch out for your water pumps. Juby special-ized in water pumps. You know, in Cape County, city water systems are limited to the County Seat, Old Town, and one of the beach towns. Elsewhere they get their water by pumping it up from the ground with an electric pump which, tank and all, costs about two hundred bucks and which, sold as hot merchandise, can bring' in about fifty bucks. Juby had a good hacksaw and he could run it in the dark of night, whip the two pipes in two with his hacksaw and be off with the water pump in less than five minutes.

Juby had another speciality, which I'll mention later. I believe in not putting the really shocking material right up front, since it might sear the pants off any ready who stumbles onto my little account.

O.K., being Juby Gore's daughter got me assigned to a particular place in Cape County, the general area of low life. I didn't give a shit at first. I once told a goddamned social worker, who was trying to get me lifted out of Juby's house, "Look why shouldn't I give the old fart a little? He feeds me don't he?" That was when I was young and innocent. And, whoops, I'm hinting at the shocking material which I was going to save.

So I was Miss Low Life of Old Town, which is as corny as it's name. An old town, indeed, with the blue-fucking-bloods to go with it, although they fall generally Ђ into the old southern catagory of being too poor to paint and too proud to whitewash. You had to be third generation Old Town to be accepted in that burg and I was white trash come in with my father's generation. Juby came in on a shrimp boat, being a Florida cracker, and found that state's unemployment payments to be great and stayed living in a tar paper shack on the beach road with my mother, who he never got around to marrying. She was a good old gal, sort of stupid, I mean, she was, like, retarded, but she didn't pass it on to me or my two brothers. Like, I think, her problem was brain damage at birth, so that she was a slow, smiling zombie in my life and I remember her best going about in a old house dress, clean but ragged, smiling and singing hymns while Juby had his hand under the dinner table finger fucking me and grinning at me across the table.

But I was going to tell you how I came to be Cape County High School's Homecoming Queen. The Queen was elected by popular vote.

I was already pretty popular with certain elements of the school. I liked 'em big and strong and the football team was a good one that year. I was going more or less steady with Bill Murphy because he was the only young stud I'd found with the staying powers to give me my whees. Most of them I'd tried would shoot off inches away from my muff and leave me stranded up there on a cloud of the hots. Bill was hung like a Shetland pony and he knew how to make a girl feel good. We'd make it every time we had a chance and once we almost got caught in the janitor's closet at the school knocking off a standing up piece between classes.

Bill was the captain of the team. He was a nice looking boy, blond, built like a champ. The team, itself, was integrated, as was the whole school. And it was not quite half spades. I'd sampled the wares of, maybe, five or six of the white players and they all called me buddy. They, at that time, didn't know that I'd spread it so freely, because I learned early that you keep it quiet if you're going to screw a little. I learned that when I popped off about my dad to the social worker and had to lie and cry like hell to get out of it. You don't tell and you make it damned sure that the stud doesn't tell, either. I had it made in that case. Once, when I was a kid, I put out for a young kid and he, icky kid that he was, started telling it all over school that Ruby Gore was a hot piece. I didn't mind the praise, but I was trying to make something of myself, made pretty good grades, and didn't want my reputation ruined, because I wanted to be in a couple of clubs and the clubs sort of frowned on what they called "bad girls." So I told my two brothers, Sam and Ruf, that this little shit was bad-mouthing me. Sam and Ruf whupped up on him a little and after that I told each of my boyfriends, "Look, if I give you a little, buddy, you'd better make damned sure it's just between you and me, for if I ever get word that you've been bragging around about screwing Ruby Gore, I'll sic Sam and Ruf on you." Sam and Ruf were both older. Sam had been in and out of the chain gang a couple of times, once for nearly killing a guy, and Ruf was built like a horse and could lift the front end of a car by himself. After they heard me say that they kept quiet.

But there was no need to tell Bill Murphy that. He loved me. Bill was a sweet guy. When I first let him screw me I pretended to be tight, holding my twat muscles in and grunting and moaning, and he thought I was a virgin and wanted to marry me. That would have been great, except that Bill, popular as he was, Old Town and all that, was just the son of a commercial fisherman and I didn't see myself getting assfat and chasing snotty' nosed kids in Old Town while Bill went fishing and made, maybe, five grand a year. But he served the purpose in High School, because he was Old Town society and he got me into a few of the clubs and got me more or less accepted, except with the snitty girls of the town, who knew rough competition when they saw it. Then, when we were seniors, Bill asked me why I didn't run for Homecoming Queen. Man, that turned me on. I'd picture myself riding the Boat at the big game, dressed in virginal white, ha ha, and looking down on those snitty bitches who wouldn't speak to me in the halls. "I can guarantee the support of the team," Bill said. Well, the way it worked, the Homecoming Queen was always the girlfriend of one of the players, usually the captain. I began to think that maybe I could make it. I said, "Yes, I'll do it." We started the campaign with posters saying RUBY GORE FOR HOMECOMING QUEEN. And the snits of Old Town came up with Selena Smith, daughter of the crooked lawyer, because the nice ladies couldn't stand the thought of Juby Gore's daughter representing their school at the big game. And the spades, who had developed the technique of block voting through their N.A.A.C.P. training, put up a nice looking black girl with a neat Afro. I saw the handwriting on the wall. The spades would vot for the black girl and the "nice" kids would vote for Selena Smith and little old Ruby would lose.

There was this great, black stud who was fullback. Jesus, he was a boss. Give that spade bastard the ball and he'd bulldoze his way through the entire opposing team. He was built like the proverbial brick shit house, strong, Jesus. I'd seen him carry three men for twenty yards without slowing down. He was built a lot like my brother, Ruf, and sometimes when I was easing Ruf's growing pains, my legs spread, his stocky, strong body on mine, I'd pretend that instead of Ruf's cock in me it was Roalt's. That was his name, Roalt Pepperdine. He went on to play fullback for one of the big pro teams, if you remember.

Roalt was as poor as we Gores. His family, consisting of two old women and his fat mother, no men, the black stud who sired him having taken off for parts unknown, lived in jigtown in a shack about as bad as ours. So I thought me and Roalt might have something in common.

But I had a devil of a time getting a chance to talk to Roalt. The spades sort of stuck together. We didn't have any knifings in the hall or like that, but the blacks and the whites didn't really integrate, they just went to the same school. But one day, when we were rehearsing for the Senior Play, I got a chance to get Roalt alone. I was playing a minor part, the society gals having glommed into the best parts, and Roalt, being black, was the butler or some such, so we didn't have much to do but sit around and wait for our one or two lines. We were sitting back in the auditorium behind the rest of the cast. There were only a couple of other spades in it, so they were up on the stage, leaving Roalt alone. I went and sat beside him.

"Roalt," I said, getting right to the subject, since I didn't know how long we'd have to talk, "are you bound and determined to vote for Chicky?" Chicky was Roalt's steady and the black gal who was running for homecoming.

"You know I am," he said, looking at me, his white eyes rolling and his face looking mean.

"You know if all you Hack cats vote for Chicky that Miss Sweetpants Selena Smith will win, don't you?" "That's the way it looks," he admitted.

"And Selena doesn't even go to the football games," I said. "She thinks they're cruel and barbaric." I had fought my way onto the cheer leading squad and was at every game, jumping and showing my bottom through my royal red panties and urging the boys on to commit slaughter on the opposition. I cheered next to Chicky, who was not a bad looking girl and we'd talked some. "I'd rather see Chicky get it than Selena," I went on, "but you know and I know that the whites won't vote for her." 'Tuck 'em," he said.

"On the other hand," I said, "if I could get a few black votes," I looked him in the eye and gave him my best smile, his eyes meeting mine in fine black defiance, "we'd at least have a queen who is one of us." "Not one of us," he said. "You want Selena to get it?" "Shit," he said. "Couldn't make a deal?" I asked. "Sell out Chicky?"

"Talk to her, tell her how it is. I think she'd agree she'd rather see me than Selena up there." "Not a chance. We'll go down together." "You haven't heard all my offer," I said. "I don't want no^offers," he said, turning away.

What I was going to say sent little flames into my panties and made me wet down there. "Roalt," I said, leaning close so he could smell me, "I'd do anything to get elected." I put certain emphasis on the word, anything, so that he looked at me again. "I've always admired you," I said. "Gee, when you go banging into that line-" I sighed. "You're one strong bastard," I said. "I like strong men."

He was looking at me with a funny expression. "I haven't got much to offer," I said, being humble. "But what I have…"

"Shit," he said, but I could see the old devil in his eyes.

"Maybe we could get together and talk about it?" I was leaning close. It was dark in the auditorium off the stage. I put my hand on his thigh and squeezed. "When?" he asked. "Tonight?" "You shitting me?" he asked.

"Not a bit," I said. "Look, there's a dirt road goes back of my house. Right after dark I might take a walk down that road, that is if I thought there might be someone there to keep me company. I'm scared of the dark." "There might be," he said. "Right after dark."

Juby was in jail for stealing water pumps. Sam had married a slit from the beach and was living over there working at the pier. For dinner I gave Ruf beans and chicken and then I cleaned the table and Ruf went off to smoke dope over on the beach. I waited until dark. I left the house in a skirt and sweater. It was warm for October. I left my panties and bra at home. I felt my boobs swing with my steps and began to think about Roalt and all that power bottled up in his big body and wondering if I'd be able to take that strength and vitality without flipping out completely.

He was already there in an old ambulance that I'd seen him drive around. I saw it and walked up to the passenger's side and got in. He was a dark, massive blur. I said, "Hi," lightly. He grunted. "Waiting long?"

"Naw," he said.

"We can go to the house if you like," I said. "No one's home."

He reached over and put his big, ham-like hand on my shoulder and pulled me to him and I felt that he was going to crush me. "I gave. I let my body melt into his and gave him a feel of my unbound knockers, which were, even then, something to feel, I'd guess, and he was panting and snorting like a bull. My curiosity was overwhelming. I shot down one of my lily whites and closed it over his cock and, whee, was it a stud. It felt like a club down there between his big, muscular thighs. "God, Roalt," I said, my voice going fuzzy.

I'm what is known as an easy lay. I can think myself into a state of near climax and sometimes I blast off being handled. I mean, when I feel a man's hand down there at my glory hole I feel all girl and am one huge, wet, slick, throbbing cunt of passion and just feeling all that man, his arms around me, my hand on his massive cock, made me begin to tremble.

His lips were big and demanding. They covered my whole mouth. I gave him my tongue. I like kissing. You know how it is in certain circles. People are always kissing. You kiss a casual aquaintance at a party. Sometimes you kiss him on the cheek or on the lips. A lot of people kiss other people of the same sex. It's sort of a social ritual. If you'll notice, if you're ever at a party with me, I don't kiss casually. When some dizzy broad comes at me with a kissing pout on her lips, I get the hell out of there. And I don't kiss any male I don't want to kiss. None of this smack on the cheek shit for me. If I kiss a man he knows he's been kissed even if it is just a quick thing at a party or a meeting in an office or something. I mean, I look at a man and I think, gee, I'd like to kiss him. And if I feel like that, I kiss him. I lay one on him. I give him my mouth turned inside out and he's wet from the nose to the chin and if there's a bit of time I'll drive my tongue into his mouth to taste him. I like the feeling of being sexy. It sends me. And one kiss, from a man who turns me on, makes me sexy and I'm often able to keep myself in a state of excitement just by kissing a few selected studs at some dull affair.

But about Roalt. He was the first spade I'd ever kissed. Nqw, as I've said, he was a big man, boy, then, I'd guess. But he was all spade. He had these big, wide lips and one of them made a mouthfull for me. When I gave him my tongue, my lower lip was spread all over his face and then, with a little shiver of pure satisfaction, I took his lower lip between mine and began to chew on it. It was big and meaty and all man and it made my belly start dancing with the delicious trembles. I climbed all over him, trying to make every inch of my body contact his. I rubbed my tits on him and put one leg over one of his so that I could press my twat against his hard-muscled thigh. I felt all that strength.

I turn on easy. I was wound up like an eight day clock. You'd think I'd been without it for weeks. I was shivering and trembling and when he tried to get his hand in between us I gave him space and gasped when he gave one of my knockers a squeeze, hard. He got a nipple between his fingers. There was nothing between his fingers and me but a thin summer pull-over thing and when he clamped down on it the hurt was so good I made a little crying sound. He stopped.

"Be rough," I said, my voice hard to control. "You can't hurt me." I liked 'em rough. I'd had good training. Ruf. "For a white gal, you're sure hung," he said, taking both my knockers into his hands and weighting them before he began to rub and squeeze and find the nipples, which had hardened and were pushing against the material. He pinched, hard, and I went into orbit and began to try to eat his mouth. "Jesus," he breathed, his hand going down my body, feeling its way, trying my waist for size and then finding my bulging hips and squeezing them. He wasn't the first to be awed by my wild willingness and I was pleased to think that I could make him say "Jesus" that way, for I'd always heard that spade gals were pretty wild.

His hand finally started trying to make its way into. my lap. I had my leg thrown up over his, and my skirt was hiked up. He rubbed up my bare leg to my thigh and I felt wonderfully sexy as I lifted my leg like slow and held it up and his hand went up and his fingers touched my pantiless twat. I was gooing and ready and shaking.

"Jesus," he said, for the second time, when he felt me. I laughed down inside with pleasure. He felt around, letting his fingers find my labia. I have nice fat twat lips. They're small. They serve to guide anything hard right straight into my glory hole. And I'm very, very wet. I find that men like that. They like to think that it's them and them alone who has created enough hots to make me wet my panties and, if it goes on a long time, have my slick, inner oils running down and making a slick sheen of liquid on my pudenda and my anus. Roalt found that wetness and he fingered it and played with it. He wasn't a dummy, because he knew that I lived up there in that little round thing at the top of my slippery slit. He would wet his fingers in me and then slid them up and rub my clit and I was begging and crying inside, wanting to feel something more than that. I mean, I have to have penetration to really live and I wanted to be stuck.

"Let's put our bods in the back," he said, croaking in his need. Man, I was willing. I pulled away and started to scamper over the back of the seat. I raised one leg and he froze me in that position because he shot his hand up my skirt and his big social finger gave that sign, up you, and up me it went, all the way to his third knuckle. I moaned and began to screw wildly, not even knowing what I was doing I was so hot. I screwed around on Ms finger and moaned and bis finger was shooting in and out of me.

He had me from the front and his palm was pressing hard on my clit and I was bucking and crying and he was panting and I said, "Gaaaaa," and came like a nym-pho, wildly, poundingly. I almost fainted with the goodness of it and then he was pushing me over the seat. I was so weak I just fell down on the back seat and there were quilts and an old mattress there instead of a seat. The whole back of the old bus was a queen-sized bed. I lay there on my back and watched him crawl over. He filled the whole space he was so big. He put his weight on me and I could feel his hard cock through our clothing and it didn't take much more than that to have me ready to go again. He body-fucked me. I spread my legs and he slid between them, his hard cock pressing into my softness. His mouth found mine. He was drilling me so hard that I thought he was going to push a hole right through his clothing and my skirt.

That was a beauty I had on his fingers, but that was just a warm-up. I was going to come again just dry-fucking. His cock was really hard. At that moment I didn't give a shit about being Homecoming Queen, I just wanted to be fucked. "Put that thing in me," I gasped, reaching down to seize his cock in my hand. "Get naked, mama," he said.

I sat up and lifted my pullover. He helped. It came oS and his hands found my bare tits and gave them a work out. I put my hands behind his head and pulled him down and thrust one tit into his mouth. "Bite it," I gasped, "Bite it, you bastard, bite it."

On my knees, one knocker pushed into his mouth, my hands on his head pulling him close, I reached down with one hand and did my skirt and began to push it down. He was biting me hard, so hard that the little shoots of pain were going all over my body and sending messages of whee down into my wet twat. I had my skirt pushed down as far as it would go with me kneeling and then I began to work on him. I got his shirt open and gushed my white tits up against his black chest and rubbed them and then had my hands down undoing his pants and when I had them open and went inside to feel that cock, oh, God.

He wanted to see me naked. He pushed me away and pulled the skirt off and then, in the light of the night moon, he gazed at me and rubbed me while I moaned and squirmed under his hands. I knew what he was seeing. He was seeing whiteness in skin, a nice figure, small waist, large ass, good legs, big tits.

I wanted to see and feel› too. I reached out and seized that monster as it came out of his pants and I could put both hands on it and have room left. I was so hot I had to do something. I was holding his cock in one hand, frigging it gently. I was trying to push his pants off with the other and then I made a sound and fell down and smelled him just before I kissed that big monster. He smelled like man. I opened my mouth, one hand hold ing the cock and guiding it, I took the head of it and tried to push more into me. I had just the head and maybe a half inch more and it was back at the back of my throat and I kissed and sucked and licked the cream as it oozed out of the little eye of his beautiful cock.

"You're gonna waste me, mama," he gasped, plunging his cock into and out of my mouth. I let my wet mouth run down the big vein under it, all the way to his balls. Then I fell back. "Now, Roalt," I said, "fuck me now."

He pushed his pants off and I pulled and tugged as he put his weight on me. He was no gentleman. He didn't support his weight. He just threw it on me, about a ton of man, and I didn't care. I like to be treated rough at times. He was crushing me and his cock was down there banging at my box and I squeezed one hand in between us and threw up my ass and, wow, it hit and went in and it was nice, nice, nice, the finest cock I'd ever felt, huge, throbbing already. I knew he was so close that he'd go like a house afire, but I wasn't worried. I was so dose I was throbbing up in my cunt and I ground my ass up and took all he had to give and came blindingly, the second one in a couple of minutes. I knew from the feel of it and the strength of it that it was going to be one of those great, great nights.

He was pounding me. I, feeling those sweet after feelings, made it great for him by moving just right, reaching up to take him, letting it drive all the way up to my liver as it went in. He came with a power which left me breathless, and hungry for more. He dug his fingers into my soft ass and lifted my pelvic basket to punch his cock ever deeper. He must have come a quart. I could feel his cock swell and burst and throb and I could feel his come jetting out into me and I had this secondary climax which was so sweet and it lasted and lasted and didn't stop until he'd pumped himself dry and had let his body just sag down as he relaxed.] squirmed under him from time to time, just to feel his cock. He was panting. "You're some hot mama," he said. "You're not so bad yourself," I said.

"You got my vote, mama," he said. "Any woman knows how to handle poon like that I'd elect president."

"I'm glad," I said. "But let me tell you, you spade bastard, the way you rang my chimes I'd fuck you anytime, anywhere. I mean, Jesus, Roalt, that was the best I've ever had. I mean, wow, you're great." "Don't shit me," he said. "Get off me and lay down," I said. "Huh?"

I pushed him off and started working on him. He lay there, his cock relaxed. I started kissing his mouth and eating those big, delicious lips. I had the hots again.

I ran my hands all over his naked body. I kissed him all over. I'll admit, now, that I was ignorant then. I had expected Roalt to' smell just because he was spade. You know how it is in the redneck South. They say a nigger has a peculiar smell. Well, I guess a spade who doesn't take a bath has a smell, just like whites who don't bathe smell, but Roalt, although I doubt if his shack in jig-town had indoor plumbing, was clean. I guess he took showers every day at the gym. He smelled like a good after shave lotion and clean, sexy sweat and of us. When I started kissing him around his belly I could feel, under my lips, the hard rows of muscles.

I timed it. I didn't want him to get hard, not yet. I felt his cock and it was still soft and then I went down on it. Soft, I could get almost all of it into my mouth.

That's still one of my favorite things. And I think that was the first time I'd ever done it, I mean, taking a soft cock into my mouth and tonguing it and kissing it and sucking it until, as it grows, gets too big and hard for the space available in my mouth and pushes itself out backward.

It tasted of come and pussy juice. The taste of love. Come and pussy. I loved it.

Back in those days I was usually so eager to get laid that I didn't do much Frenching^nd I guess I really learned to love it with Roalt.

He had not been circumcised. He had this great flap of foreskin. I pulled it up and nibbled on it before he got hard, covering in his head with his foreskin and chewing on it until he squirmed. Then I pushed his soft cock all the way back into my throat and tried to swallow it. You'd be surprised, unless you're a French expert, how far down you can get a limp cock if it's long enough. I did a swallowing motion and the head of his cock slid down to my belly, it seemed. I mean, it was into my gullet. I would have thought that it would gag me, but I guess I was so hot that I didn't think about that. I just swallowed it. My teeth were pressed up against his mound, his whole soft shaft in my mouth, the head of it actually swallowed and the swallowing things in my throat working on it. That's when he started to get hard. He told me later that he had been a little scared then, afraid I was going to actually eat him, I mean, swallow the whole thing. It was soft in my throat and my throat worked every time I tried to swallow and it squeezed and he got harder and harder and it began to back its way out.

Then I worked on the head of jt, running my tongue around the rim, nibbling with my teeth and making him squirm. Then, with it hard, I licked it up and down and took his balls, one at a time, into my mouth and toyed with them ever so gently. He was getting hot and moaning and squirming. I was turning him on and did I ever get a bang out of it.

I liked it. I like anything, and I mean anything, about sex. I ate and sucked and licked and kissed that huge, black cock loved it, swelling for me and growing into a forearm-sized club which had both my hands on it and my mouth as wide as I could over the head of it sucking and then I felt his loins go tense and his hips begin to rise and fall, fucking my lips, my mouth, stretching my mouth painfully and I knew I had an opening which could better take it, so before he rammed it all the way down my throat I climbed on. I mean I threw myself astride his big, hard body and looked down and damn me if he wasn't invisible, black in black, but I could sure feel him, and I found the prong and sat on it, lowering myself, letting his cock slide in one inch at a time on the slick highway paved by his own come and my juices. I felt short.

I didn't think you'd ever see me alive again. I mean, it went on and on and my body took it, that big club frothing at the tip, inching up into me, splitting me, filling me to the point of joyful screaming. I took it all and let my weight down to drive the head of it up against my useless womb. I'd had this problem when I was a kid and they'd done something up inside me and the doc said I'd never have a kid, 50 I didn't worry about getting knocked up, ever. I had that huge black mother squeezed in my cunt and I was throwing my body around wildly, circling the thing with my hips, riding, squirming, bouncing, feeling my eyeballs pop when Roalt lifted his hips to drive it home. I was in my element, I'm Miss Sex Queen and I've never had it better than it was with Roalt. I mean, baby, he had it. He was Mr. Sex. He loved it. "Shit," he said, "you've got a sweet cunt."

He drove. He lifted. He pinched my boobs. He mauled me. He was rough and I loved it. Then he threw me off and overtopped me and lifted my legs so that my knees were against my chest and drove that third leg of his into me and I screamed with the good, good, hurting brutality of it, because I was in serial climax with that, that pain, that pounding, that brutal blow each time he hit my clit, that panting, hard, strong body of his, his clasping hands, his fingers digging. I came and came and then when he came I came again and we came for an eternity, his cock throbbing and pumping and my cunt squeezing him as it throbbed out another story of pure heaven. We lay there, his cock going soft in me. "You liked it?" he said. "Honey, I loved it." "I think you did. You like black cock." "Is it black?" I asked, laughing. "I can't see it." "White lady fucking the nigger," he sneered.

"Don't give me that nigger shit, Roalt," I said. "I don't allow it. You wanta be goddamned bigoted, you go find someone else to bigot on, because I don't like that sort of shit."

He laughed. "I'm gonna talk to the people," he said. "I don't know if it'll do any good, but I'm gonna talk to 'em."

"I'd appreciate it," I said. I kissed him. "I'd also appreciate it if you'd rub my ass just a little. I think you've bruised it." I rumpled his kinky hair and turned over. He rubbed my ass tenderly and when he bent to kiss it I said, "Unless you want to rouse the sleeping tiger, don't do that."

He went on doing that and he roused it and when we finally left that old dirt road I was oozing come and loving it. I like to keep it up inside me, feeling it, knowing how it got there and remembering every stroke of it. He left me off at the house and I went in and sat on the John and peed and felt a huge glob of it slop out and make a splash in the water and then I had a balh, but didn't wash too good inside the lips of my pussy because I liked to go to sleep with it nice and gooey.

Nothing happened for a couple of days. Then I saw Roalt at play practice. "I talked," he said. "Yes?"

"I talked to the guys on the team, the brothers. They say, what the hell. It's no skin off their ass. I mean, they don't care whether it's you or Selena."

Well, that shot me down. "We can still be friends," I said.

He looked at me. "Mama, it was good rocking, but I ain't in the mood to get hung."

"No one will know," I said, remembering that huge weapon of his.

"The guys wonder why I'm pushing for them to vote for you."

"Oh." I went up to do my three lines then and when I came off he was gone and I didn't see him for a day or so. Then I heard Selena Smith saying, "That little whore can't win. We have to stop her. I could never face the disgrace of losing to that little whore."

I cornered Roalt in the hall. "I can't accept it," I said. "I want you to get the guys on the team, the brothers, to hold a meeting. I want to talk to them." "I won't do no good," he said.

"Tonight, at about eleven o'clock," I said, "I'll be walking down that dirt road. Now no one ever goes down that dirt road. My dad's in jail and Ruf will be off. I want to talk to all of them."

He looked at me and grinned. "You want that Queen shit bad, don't you?"

"I want it more than anything in my life," I said. "I want to be able to spit on Selena Smith." "There's ten of us," he said. "I'll be there."

I walked down the road at eleven. It was pitch dark. I was, frankly, scared shitless. I'd never had a gang bang before and there I was going to take on ten spade studs. I had the screaming willies about it, not knowing whether to be hot as a pistol or scared out of my dress. I had on a one-piece, buttoned down the front, no pants, no bra. I started to turn back. I thought they'd call it off. Then, rounding a curve, I saw the dark mass of the old ambulance and then it was too late to back out. They were standing around the old bus with their hands in their pockets. I couldn't see very well in the dark, but I picked out Roalt by his size. I went up to him and said, "Is it a deal, Roalt? Will they vote for me and have their friends to vote for me?"

"Only if you're a good rocking, mama," one of them said. There was a general laugh.

"If I do it for all of you and make it good, will you vote for me?"

"Deal," one of them said. There was a muted chorus of assent I whispered to Roalt. "You first?" He took my arm. "How come him first?" someone wanted to know.

"Because I'm bigger than you and can whup your ass," Roalt said.

"I knew there was a good reason," the other one said, laughing.

I crawled into the back of the bus, nervous, not sexy at all, a hell of a lot scared now. I took off the dress and put it over the front seat and Roalt was playing with me, squeezing my tits, running his hand up my legs to find my twat, which was scared into an odd dry condition. "You sure you wanta do this?"

"I'm sure," I said. He put a finger into me and found some moisture and began to play with my clit, rubbing the wetness from my soft insides on it and, in spite of my nervousness, I began to feel sexy. As I said, I'm an easy lay. I fell down on my back like a bug and opened my legs and, with some of the cats outside looking in and saying, "Hurry it up, you fucker," I took Roalt in for the second night and fondled his body and found him to be as sexy as he'd been before and had a beauty before he blasted his come into me.

Up until then, I've never had the fun of having more than one man a night. I was steamed up from Roalt's good rocking and I just lay there while another stud, and it was so damned dark I couldn't recognize any of them, crawled up and drove his cock into me, sliding right in on Roalt's come and filling me up, but not as much as Roalt. He must have been an inexperienced kid, because he came just as soon as he was in me and his cock wilted away. I didn't try to push him off, because I knew they'd laugh at him if he came out too quickly, and he lay there a little while, only moving his ass as his cock dwindled and fell out and I felt a stream of come begin to ooze down my thigh.

I was looking ahead to number three and liking the idea. The quick come in me by the second kid felt good.

I mean, I like to have a man come in me. I like the feel of his swelling cock and the tender clasping of his arms and the way his whole body comes to attention. I like it. And then there was number three and he was almost as quick, but not to quick for me to work up a good one, driving my ass up to help him, moaning with it, coming as he jetted his come into me and then four and after that it was a glorious blur.

None of them was sophisticated enough to want to share me. They came one at a time. I lost count. I went into the sex daze, my body ablaze, my cunt wet, oozing. I felt the quilt under me get wetter and wetter with escaping come and I was so like slick with it that they used my legs as a guide and sort of skidded into my waiting cunt. I was a perpetual fucking machine. My ass kept pounding and twitching and my legs kept twining up and around and my arms kept reaching for man after man and I lost count and just lived for the next one to drive into me, feeling sexier than I'd ever felt in my life, feeling like the eternal woman, the machine put on earth for man's pleasure, and I didn't care if they came and came in me, because each time I felt them grunt, heave, come, jet, I felt a new little thrill of lust and my cunt would squeeze and bite and make it good for them and I'd come and moan and cry out and sob and laugh with it it was so good. I mean, I'd had good ones before, but never, never an unending stimulation of my cunt and my ciit so that it seemed I never stopped coming and my tight pussy got looser and looser and my thighs were slick with come and it was up over my belly where one poor guy came before he got it in, wetting down my bush with it and making me smell like semen, that rich, starchy, warm odor, and guy after guy came and once I heard someone say, "It's my turn for seconds."

They were going around twice and I was in a wild, blind, lovely daze of pure sex, coming, my cunt pounding, my body trembling and crying out for more.

Finally I was dozing, weak, happy. Not thinking. I was the best fucked girl in the world and I just wanted to sleep forever. They all crowded in and held my head in someone's lap and I heard Roalt saying, "You all right, mama?" I laughed.

"We gon' have the sexiest fuckin' queenie in the world," someone said. "Wow."

You may think that I've sort of shortened the story of my gang bang. I guess I have. I mean, well, like I said, after the first down and come with Roalt and then two or three more, I really went into sort of a hazy state. I can't really remember the details. If you're a broad and wonder how it would be to be the center of a Hells Angels gang bang, I'd say, it won't hurt you, and it might do you some good, but you've got to be sort of strong. If you're one of these gals who gets tender after getting your jollies once, forget it. I don't get tender. I just get ready for more. I haven't got a tough cunt. No one has ever said that. I mean, it's not like the cunt of some old whore, with teeth in it, and when I was young it must have been even more tender than it is now, but even I was sore for a week after that wild party.

I try, now and then, to remember the details. I'd like to have living color pictures of that night, in close-up detail, so I could study the size and shape of every cock that went into me. Cocks do vary in size and shape and there was a good assortment, small, medium, long, slim, big, fat. But I missed all the fine details because I was Miss Fucking Sex Assed Queen and loving every minute of it and it was, in effect, like having one continuous man. After a while they seemed the same. They had cocks and they grunted when they came in me and their come was wet and slick and I could feel it jet out into me, because they were all young, horny studs.

I don't regret it. But I've never done it again. Oh, I'd admit, if pressed, to being four in a bed, two broads and two studs, and three in a bed, both ways, two gals and two guys, not at the same time. But as things went, I learned that quality is better than quantity, after that first wild rush of youthful lust.

Still, I'd give a couple of grand for pictures of that night. I know that if I could lie on my bed and watch myself that night, with ten young, horny studs taking turns, I'd cream without even touching myself, for when I think of it these days it takes on the aspects of being one of the sexiest nights of my whole life.

Ten studs. Not quite a whole football team. And it was me, my cunt, my body that felt every one of them and milked them and drained them so that all of them were smug and satisfied. And me floating in come. I like the story about the French girl who saved all the come she took and then put it into a bath tub and wallowed in it. I like the feel of come, like the smell of it, the taste of it. But I don't think that French thing actually happened, because come loses its white color in minutes and, if kept in a bottle, gets thin and unexciting.