"Innocent in Chicago Volume One" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jenkins Mary)

CHAPTER TWO

As the months and years passed, she found many new ways of fulfilling the ache which periodically filled her groin and crept down her legs and through her body. Instead of Pal, she used books, the arm of an overstuffed chair, the edge of her bed, or a pillow stuffed between her legs as she lay face down on her bed in the quiet of the night. The small, rosy bud mounted high between the lips of her sex became more and more the center of her attentions. With one or two of her fingers she would rub its fleshy swelling, gently and rhythmically, or smoke the soft length of the path leading up to it, terminating her stroke against it until the familiar rising flood of pleasure would swell up sharply and spill over. Or she would use her whole hand to apply moving and steady pressure over these warm responsive areas. And sometimes she tugged at her sex with her hand, finding that the pull on her muscles stimulated the pink bud to which they were connected.

By the time she was fifteen Cynthia was strongly desirous of a full sexual experience. But the farming community in which she lived was so small and closely knit she was afraid of the possible consequences of being discovered, punished severely by her parents and talked about by all the gossips, her reputation ruined and her parents ashamed. Then, too, she still felt lagging remnants of guilt about her own masturbation and was uneasily reluctant to take the next step. True, she had been kissed, and deeply, by many of her boy friends, had allowed a few of them to handle her young, swelling breasts, and permitted one to finger her sex with his rough, chapped hand, making her sex juices flow and her desire mount almost unbearably, but she had gone no further.

That June, when the winter-bare, plowed fields were covered with emerald green stalks of corn, rapidly inching their way upward to be knee-high by the Fourth of July, a square dance was held to celebrate the end of the school year. Johnny, as well as Paul Dawson and another friend named Mike, were home from the state agricultural school. Mike had become engaged to Betty Sorenson, who had blossomed into a dark-haired, ripely-rounded beauty with a saucy pair of blue eyes and a dimple in her right cheek.

The dance was to be held at a meeting house a few miles down the road. All the girls had new skirts, full-belled and brightly colored. The fiddlers in the area tuned up their fiddles and practiced the songs, the callers reviewed their patter and tried not to overstrain their voices during the preceding days, and all the wives and mothers cooked their treasured specialties, pecan pies, double-fudge cakes, fruit bread jeweled with red and green candied fruit, succulent hams studded with cloves, all to be eaten at midnight by the leg-weary crowd. For everyone was going, everyone who could still shake a leg or scrape a fiddle, or even just sit along the sidelines and gossip and urge on the dancers.

There was a full moon that fourteenth night of June, an orb glowing like an opal which lit the countryside almost like day and covered the rolling hills with a sinuous cloth of silver lame. Cynthia was dancing with Paul Dawson, now a tall, attractive lad of twenty with a lean face and a ready smile.

"My legs are about ready to give way," Paul said, as they finished a fast square dance and walked, breathing heavily, off the floor. "Let's get some fresh air."

They went outside and sat on the cool grass. With her arms behind her, propping her body, Cynthia tilted her flushed face toward the sky, in the moonlight her heavy, blond hair a rippling mass of silver sequins, and her eyes, dark and deep-set under the winged brows, as quiet and mysterious as a Sphinx. Her blouse, cut low in a circle revealed the clean curve of her shoulders and the soft, rising mounds of her white breasts, the hollow between them a deepening shadow as it disappeared under her blouse. The firm, twin arches of her breasts rapidly rose and fell as she tried to catch her breath, perspiration gluing the cloth to her moist, hot body, sharply outlining under the thin material the molded, outward swelling curves, each tipped with a hard bud, jutting outward under the wet gauze, dark and swollen, and the round, cupped fullness below. From her small, nipped-in waist her full skirt billowed out, its hem lying above her knees, framing in firm, plump flesh of her thighs, white and glistening in the moonlight.

"You're growin' up pretty as a heifer, Cynthia," Paul said. "Pardon my buttin' my nose in where it has no business, but is there anyone you're particularly sweet on around here?"

She glanced sideways at him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. She liked Paul. "No," she said slowly. "Not particularly." She waited quietly.

He started to move his arm as though to put it around her, but then picked up a stone instead and threw it with a brisk swing, the stone clinking on a rock when it fell. He seemed embarrassed and unsure of himself, his inexperience revealed in his husky voice and nervous manner.

"Well, look, Cynthia," he said, "I was wonderin' what you were thinkin' of doin' after high school. Going to get married? Or are your parents goin' to send you to college?"

"I don't really know, Paul. They've said I could go if I wanted to, but I don't want to much. Maybe I'll go to Chicago and get a job. My aunt lives there, you know."

Although she hadn't told anyone, she had already made up her mind. College was not for her. She was too anxious for a quick plunge into the complex morass of life where she could surrender herself to the myriad delights she knew it would offer. It was not for her to go to college, where the fetters of a college routine would bind and choke her like the restrictions she felt at home, where the boys would be replicas of Paul and others in her own community, young, hesitant, undeveloped, and where she would not be able to freely indulge in the kind of experimentation she knew her body was ready for and eagerly demanded. No, when the time came, she would go to Chicago, live with her aunt until she found a job, and then strike out on her own.

As she shifted her position so her arm would brush against his and gave her head a shake so her fragrant hair swung against his face, tickling it with the golden wisps of her curls, she felt herself suddenly pushed back against the ground, her back pressed into the grass, her breasts and her belly flattened by the crush of his body on top of hers. Roughly he grasped her hair with one hand, entwining his fingers in its thick locks until her scalp tingled with the pain, while his other hand kneaded her soft breast, rapidly making it become firm and taut with desire. His mouth hungrily sought her own, his lips smashed go forcefully against hers that they parted and her teeth chewed his upper lip, making the blood flow and fill her mouth with its warm, salty taste. Her nostrils flared as the acrid scent of his male sweat reached them and she arched her back like a bow while his hand passed heavily down over the smooth swell of her stomach, seeking her hot loins.

Just then a figure appeared in the brightly lit rectangle of the door, the whirling music of the fiddles and the hoarse patter of the caller blaring out behind it like a radio fully turned up.

"PA-U-L! PA-U-L! Are you out there, Paul?" It was his mother.

He quickly rolled off her, breathing heavily, swearing softly. Cynthia lay with her eyes closed.

"Yoo-oo-oo-hoo-oo-oo! PA-U-L!" came the insistent, inquiring call again.

"Yeah, I'm over here," he finally yelled back, as he adjusted his clothes. "What do you want?" His voice was impatient and angry.

She walked toward them, saying, "It won't take a minute, dear. I only want you to drive me home. So many more people came than expected, we'll need another coffee urn. It'll only take a second." Her voice sounded apologetic when her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, saw Cynthia with him.

"God-damn," he exclaimed under his breath. Turning to Cynthia as he got up, he added, "I'll be right back. How about eatin' with me when the dinner's ready?"

She nodded and watched him trail after his mother toward the line of parked cars. She lay back on the ground, her arms clasped under her head and looked at the glowing sky. The milky moon floated like a white gull on the calm, deep sea of the night, cloudless and without horizon. The warm, summer scented air and her aroused unfilled desires flooded her body with longing. The knot of lust twisted deeply in her belly and flowed down her limbs, making her legs ache and her muscles tense. She could not sit still. Rising from the ground, she slowly wandered away from the meeting-house, over a moon-drenched hill toward a small wood which lay like a silver castle on the far side of a meadow. Under the trees, standing like silent sentinels, the moonlight filtered down through dark, leaf-laden branches and fell on the grassy sod in liquid white pools. She walked between the dark pillars of trees. It was as if she were walking through an eerie, deserted church in a dream, or in another world, all alone, where objects could not be recognized and had no name, but only existed, quietly, peacefully.

But she was not alone, for suddenly she heard a male voice speaking gruffly a short distance away and an answering, gentle female laugh. Wondering who it could be and what they were doing, she took off her shoes and, picking her way carefully, so as not to stumble over a branch or snap a twig and thus betray her presence, moved cautiously toward where they were hidden. As the voice became more distinct she recognized them as belonging to Mike and Betty. She fell to her hands and knees and inched along, her aim a small group of bushes behind which they seemed to he. What could they be doing? Whatever it was, she hoped they were too intent to hear the small rustlings she unavoidably made now and then. That they might be making love was more than possible. The mere thought of it made the tight knot in her groin rotate sharply. Having reached the bushes, she searched for an opening; finding one she looked through into a snug, grass-carpeted glade, ringed with bushes, which the moonlight, fading between the tall, watching trees, bathed in an opalescent light and softly spotlighted the entwined figures against the darker ground.

"Mike, darling, I do love you," Betty murmured, "but do you think we should? Mightn't someone come?" She was lying on her back, Mike beside her, one leg angled over her knees, an arm propped on the ground and the other stroking her hair.

"Oh, honey, please. No one'll come way out here." He moved his hand to her blouse and began unbuttoning it slowly, his lips following his fumbling fingers as he gently kissed the gradually exposed flesh. Quietly she lay, the fingers of one hand hidden in his dark, curly hair, her body then moving with easy twists as he took off her blouse and reached behind to unhook her brassiere. As she sank back onto the ground her long dark hair fanned out on the grass, moonlight glittering in the rippling mass like a phosphorescent fish swimming in a dark sea. The soft silver light accentuated the contours of her young torso, high-lighting the lustrous curves and shadowing the hollows, moulding her smooth body into a liquid, flowing melody of beautiful movement, without beginning or end. Her eyes were dark pools of desire and love; her full lips, mauve in the moonlight, were parted to reveal small, glistening teeth and the pink end of a wet tongue, eager to be met by his. The column of her neck flowed outward into the sloping, alabaster curves of her shoulders and down to the raising sweep of her apple-sized breasts, which were firm and raised like two white-hot, glowing coals, tipped with lavender buds, swollen and hard, and as softly caressed by the shimmering moonbeams as by Mike's hand and lips. Moving his fingers to her skirt, he raised it up over her ripe belly, kissing the lily-white shafts of her thighs and then eased it down over her hips and slowly pulled off her panties with exaggerated care. Quickly he got up from the ground, undressed, and stood gazing down at her, his body like a statue of chalk in the moonlight. He was fully a man, for his male organ stood out like a long, thick rod of ivory, ready and eager to bury itself in the wet, dark tunnel between her legs. Against the darker grass, the long milky, columns of her legs widened upward in pure, clean lines, swelled outward in the rounded parentheses of her hips, which were as white as snowdrifts, as mysterious as the moon above. Her belly curved in a gentle swell, soft, inviting, centered by the dark shadow of her navel, while below rose the strong jut of her mound, richly covered with sparse, dark swirls of budding pubic hair.

He dropped to the grass, leaned half over her and raised his hands to the shadowed hollows of her neck, moving them slowly and heavily outward around her sloping shoulders, downward over the soft pillows of her breasts, around the small circle of her waist and over the smooth, silky rise of her belly, following the creamy sweep of her hips down to the pliant, satin flesh of her full white thighs which he tenderly licked, slowly, heavily. She reached down and drew him up on top of her. Their lips met in a hungry kiss as they clasped each other strongly, their legs tangled together, her hands passing languidly over his back and kneading the white globes of his haunches. Soft moans and sighs mingled sensuously with the sound of their bodies, brushing and sliding against each other as their hands and lips explored warm curves and hidden crevices, their entwined, moving bodies looking like shifting, silver snakes. He buried his head against her breasts, kissing and fondling them.

Cynthia held her breath and reaching forward carefully with her hands, parted the bushes slightly and crawled forward a few more feet. She was as silent as possible in the darkness and the slight noises she made were no more than the wind rustling through the otherwise quiet forest. She was not more than two feet away from the sensuously writhing couple now and had a sudden almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch them. Her position was such that she could see without hindrance the soft, sparse pubic hair nestling mysteriously between her girlfriend's wide-spread thighs and the wet, pink slit of her open cunt as it throbbed in anticipation of the ravishment it was about to receive. Betty's hand had reached down between their hard pressed bodies and her fingers were curled tightly around the full marble-whiteness of Mike's cock as it hung poised for entry into the tiny, waiting entrance between her legs.

Cynthia's mouth was dry and she could feel tiny beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead just beneath the soft, blonde hairline as she heard the moans and sighs rippling from deep in Betty's chest. She would have given anything at that moment to change places with her, to be lying there beneath Mike's hot, lust-filled body waiting for him to fuck into her like the bull she had seen so long ago in Chris' corral.

"Put it in, darling, now, oh my darling," he whispered into the writhing girl's mouth beneath him. "I want to fuck you."

"Oh, fuck me, please do, please fuck me, darling!" the half crazed girl twisting under him pleaded wetly into his mouth. He moaned and pressed forward with a flick of his hips, the full, blood-filled head of his cock guided by the eager hands of the girl parted the moist red lips of her young, ready cunt and slipped wetly inside. She moaned loudly and crushed her head against his shoulders, chewing at it passionately with her lips. His hands slithered down the full rounded curves of her body and cupped the full rounded cheeks of her ass, bringing it suddenly tight up against his pelvis as he rammed forward with one great flesh splitting lunge and buried his cock deep, deep down in her belly.

Cynthia gasped as the forest was suddenly split by a half scream that was choked off almost as suddenly as it began by his hand that clamped down over her tortured girlfriend's mouth. There was a moment's silence and then the soft sounds of painful grunts coming from Betty's hand covered lips as Mike began a slow but hard rotation of his hips between her wide-spread thighs. He rode her slowly at first, taking his hand from her lips and again cupping the full rounded melons of her buttocks to pull her tighter up against him.

Cynthia's mouth was gaping wide now as she watched with unbelieving eyes the giant white cock skewering like a well greased piston deep between the wide-held legs of her girlfriend. She felt the juices of her own vagina begin to moisten the tightly clenched insides of her thighs as Betty suddenly jack-knifed her churning body and clamped her legs high up around the hollowing and plumping buttocks of her lover. Her pelvis rotated wildly against the softness of the leaves beneath her and small grunts of passionate delight burst in puffs from between her tightly clenched teeth. Cynthia's hand had lowered itself without consciousness down between her own legs and had inserted itself up under the elastic leg band of her panties where she fingered herself madly, almost forgetting the silence she had to maintain. She could not take her eyes from the now wet and glistening instrument that drove without mercy into the clasping hair-lined cunt between the legs of the moaning girl in front of her. She had slipped to her knees now so that her own buttocks were waving high in the air behind her and the tiny bud of her clitoris throbbed and jerked beneath the hot, slippery tip of her finger as she followed the wild rhythm of the couple fucking right in front of her eyes.

Then, when she thought they could go no more, she saw Mike speed up his thrusting hips until they were almost a blur in the whiteness of the moonlight and smacking them loudly and wetly down into the twisting and churning loins of Betty beneath him, gave a deep, muffled moan and rammed as far up into her as he could go. At the same time, Betty squealed and locked her ankles tight around his back and jerked as though she were dying beneath him. Cynthia gasped also and felt her own wetness cascading down into the palm of her wildly stroking hand as she watched the small white trails of the sperm Mike had ejaculated deep into Betty's body overflow out the lips of her quivering vagina and down between the cheeks of her buttocks to the leaves below.

There was a last deep groan from both of them as Cynthia held her breath in silence and then Mike sank down heavily upon her girlfriend's satiated body. She lay still, not daring to move. Later he rolled to one side and lay on his back, his chest rising and falling, while she put her head on his shoulder and her hand down on his now limp and useless penis.

"God, I'd like to touch a boy like that," Cynthia found herself muttering silently, surprised at the sudden boldness of her thought.

After awhile, they rose hesitantly from the pile of leaves they had been lying in and after adjusting their clothing walked happily back toward the party. Cynthia followed in a few minutes, almost afraid to look at anyone for fear they would know what she had been doing. She knew now that she had to get away from this place, and quick, or she would be raping the first young male that came within arms length of her. There was only one place she could go, and that was Chicago.