"Nasty Sharon" - читать интересную книгу автора (Taylor Roberta)

CHAPTER FOUR

Buddy approached the motel, trembling like a thief on a dangerous job.

The floodlit building looked enormous. When he reached the lobby entrance the walls seemed to tilt out over him, as though to swat him like a fly, crush him down into the coral drive.

Sharon had said Nancy was about thirty. Pretty old. She probably looked like a dog, though Sharon said no. Well, he had to at least make a pass at her or Sharon would never let him fuck her again, and man, that had been good, squeezing his meat into his sister's hot little slot.

It was almost three o'clock. He had sneaked out of his bedroom through the window. If Ma ever found out…

He pushed the door open, the lobby was dark except for a light in the corridor ahead. He moved in, glancing about, expecting somebody to yell at him. In military school a guy learned to stay within bounds, especially at night. The marble lobby looked classy, and he had on an old T-shirt, cut-off denims and sneakers. He felt like a bum. He should be wearing a dress uniform in this joint.

He paced silently toward the light. He glimpsed a dark-haired girl behind the counter. Dark eyes flashed his way. Nearer, he saw her shape and her big, thrusting tits. This had to be Nancy.

Her eyebrow formed a question mark.

When he spoke his voice squeaked. "I'm Sharon Wilson's brother."

Her head cocked. "You?"

He nodded, trying to swallow. She looked sort of fierce, like he had no right to be here.

She said, "I thought Sharon's brother was smaller, younger. The way she spoke…"

"I'm Buddy all right." He dodged her gaze. Into his mind flashed a saying of one of his instructors at military school. The enemy is always just as scared as you are. And seeing Nancy's gaze shift, he said, "You must be Nancy…" Bolder now, he added, "I thought you were older."

Her smile flashed. "Older than what?"

He gulped. He had run out of courage. He grinned sheepishly.

She said, "Sharon is checking out the units. She'll be back soon. Do you want to come behind the counter and sit down?"

He nodded and rounded the counter, glancing at her body as he took a seat. Wide ass. Long, sleek legs. He felt a throb in his pants.

He said, "I woke up with a pain in my stomach. I took a walk and now I feel better."

She was smiling at him. "While we're waiting for Sharon, tell me about military school."

He knew she was putting him down, like older people did, by asking him about school. It angered him. He said sharply, "Sharon told me you were pretty, Nancy. But she didn't say how sexy you were."

Nancy's face turned red as a beet.

She took a cigarette from the pack on the counter to cover up her embarrassment.

But Buddy saw a twinkle of pleasure in her eyes.

Sharon had been glancing worriedly at her watch. It was late. Where was Buddy?

As she moved up the corridor toward the lobby she heard voices, then laughter. She paused, listening intently.

She heard Buddy say, "So we stole the captain's uniform and his wife's clothes. We figured they'd have to walk home from the pond naked. It was so dark that night, we were back at the barracks before we noticed it wasn't a captain's bars on the uniform but a lieutenant's, but the dress sure was the one the captain's wife wore at the party."

Nancy burst into laughter.

Sharon smiled wryly. Little brother was apparently not as shy as she had thought. Maybe she had not been his first lay either.

Then Nancy said, "Buddy, if you really want to take a swim, we can find trunks for you. As long as you're quiet in the pool."

Sharon had heard enough. She moved down the hall, clicking her heels loudly to catch their attention. In view now, she saw the two of them sitting behind the counter, glancing over it at her, looking annoyed at the interruption.

Nancy said, "Sharon, Buddy woke up feeling ill. But he's all right now."

"And thinking of going swimming?" Sharon said. "I'll get him a pair of Harve's trunks. Come on, Buddy."

She led him to the employees' lounge. There she whispered, "Are you making any time?"

"Gosh, I don't know. But Nancy doesn't seem thirty years old. I mean, she's a lush piece."

Sharon nodded agreement, then went to Harve's locker. She had not seen Harve for an hour. Not surprisingly, he was sacked in on the bunk bed, snoring away.

She found two swimsuits, a pair of gaudy trunks and a slingshot apparatus like a jockstrap, made of nylon and almost transparent. She chose it.

She would soon learn if Nancy liked young cocks sufficiently to lose her job over one.

Nancy tried to light a cigarette. Her hands were trembling too violently to cope with matches. The cigarette broke in her fingers.

Buddy was exactly the type of teen-age boy that had ruined her marriage, an impish fuck with a cock like a flashlight.

She heard their voices, Sharon's and Buddy's, coming from the employees' lounge. Could she bear the sight of him in a swimsuit? Nancy knotted her fists, cutting fingernails into her palms. God, could she control herself?

Buddy's naked torso was solid, hairless, gold, perhaps a bit plump with baby fat. He wore Harve's strap-and-pouch swimsuit, and God, oh God, his genital bulge seemed to leap into Nancy's face, cock and balls wadded up in nylon about to split open.

She tore her gaze from him. The fireball in her panties lengthened and squeezed fully into her snatch, burning a hole before it.

Sharon's voice seemed to come from another world.

"Nancy, if you want to show Buddy the pool, I'll mind the desk."

Woodenly, Nancy replied, "All right. Then I'll tour the units."

She went outside, rubber-legged, treading on wheels. At the edge of the pool she wobbled to a halt. Surprisingly, her legs did not tumble her into the water.

"Some pool!" Buddy said, and she heard the splat of his body striking the surface, saw the splash, then water churned by his kicking feet. His wake diminished as he left the lighted section of the pool.

Was he a reincarnation of Freddy, who used to mow the lawn, and once in the basement stuck it into her standing against the washing machine? Or of Jack, who had been tightly clamped between her thighs, his prong buried in her cunt, that time her husband came home and stood gape-mouthed in the doorway?

Buddy had all the deliciously dangerous qualities – golden hair and monstrous genitals. His smile was charmingly shy but his gaze bold. Nancy had felt it peel her dress away and burn her breasts.

She had shut her eyes, teetering on the edge of the pool. She opened her eyes and through tears saw Buddy swimming slowly toward her. His gaze raked up her legs and left them wilting. She knew he could see through her dress. She was silhouetted against the lobby lights. His stare was riveted on her soggy panties.

Her lawyer had said, "Don't even be seen talking to a man! If your husband can hang an adultery charge on you, it's good-bye alimony."

But Buddy was not a man. He was an impish wraith who had pursued her since she refused Wally Beaver so many years ago. He was floating below her and the pool lights showed his stiff prong stretching the transparent swim trunks.

He said, "Come on in, the water's fine."

Nancy's legs would no longer support her. She dropped down, sitting on the pool edge.

As she sat she felt the wetness in her panties spread over her behind. Was that oily sex lubricant seeping through her dress? Why was she sliding off the rim of the pool? Her feet were in the water and she flopped into Buddy's arms.

He was grinning at her.

He said, "I'll race you to the end of the pool."

His warm grin dispersed that terrible experience in her past.

She said, "You silly thing, Buddy! I can't race wearing a dress and shoes. You're being crazy."

Well, it was all crazy, standing fully dressed in the pool, facing a grinning boy-God, a Pan with a stiff prong.

She realized now that when she slid into the pool she had peeled off the outer layers that formed Nancy Forbes, night manager of the Sunland Motel, revealing her true self.

Laughing, she threw herself flat on the water's surface and began swimming beside the boy-God. She lost a sandal and kicked the other one off. Flailing at the water, stroking long and hard overhand, she wrenched at her dress. A breast squeezed out of the neckline. She was in the dark section of the pool, then, turning to face Buddy. He suddenly hooked an arm around her. She was kissing him, yes, feeling his hard tongue push hers aside. She sucked with fluttering lips.

After a moment she turned her head away, smiling coyly back at him. Her bared breast brushed against his hot chest. Her nipple had grown hard. And below, his stiff erection prodded her.

She asked him, "How old am I, Buddy?"

"Twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

"Wrong, silly. I'm only fifteen and don't you forget it." She kissed his throat. Yes, she had shed Nancy Forbes. She was the Nancy Barthals of long ago.

Pockets of air floated her skirt above her waist. Looking down she saw Buddy's trunks angled out by the stiffness of his penis, and, dim in this poor light, the black splotch of her pubic hair showing through her white panties. She was exposed to his view and she did not care. Nothing mattered now.

Buddy's hand cupped her exposed breast. He whispered, "You sure have big titties, Nancy."

She giggled, "For a girl of fifteen, yes."

Even in those days she had been large-breasted. But such a prude. What hell to have had protruding breasts advertising her maturity, but to be so wrenchingly afraid.

The heat of his hand on her breast made the nipple push out against his palm. It tinged deliciously. She saw his other hand, underwater, trace the line of her hip, caress her thigh, then rise between her legs. At eighteen she would have screamed. At her new eighteen she sighed with pleasure as his palm cupped her pussy. The hand stroked her. She spread her legs before his touch.

Then she reached down, found his slick leg and the swimsuit. She fingered the pouch, lifting it. The escaping cock sprang into her hand.

She gripped the fat root of it. The head touched her arm, seemingly halfway up to her elbow.

She had lost all sense of equilibrium. They were floating now, she clinging to the root of his cock, supported by the hand between her legs, given stability by the one holding her breast.

They drifted under the night sky, alone on a sea of forgetfulness, two people exploring sex on a summer night.

Perfection came when he tugged aside her panties and fingered her split.

Like that they drifted under the moon wheeling through the sky.