"No longer virgin" - читать интересную книгу автора (Finch R W)

CHAPTER TEN

Wendy sat across from Sander in a booth in a restaurant on Hollywood Boulevard, set her fork down with a little sigh, could not have eaten another bite. Sander was finished eating also and he pulled a partially crushed pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket, offered one to Wendy, who shook her head, then lit one for himself. He tossed the match into the ashtray, exhaled smoke at the ceiling.

"I should make a fortune off that movie," he said. "You – all of you – came across fantastically well. Really natural, just like the three incredibly enthusiastic teens you are. The buyers are going to love it!"

"I'm glad you're pleased," Wendy smiled. "Pam and Robert are really something else!"

Sander laughed. "So are you. I had a hard-on from the first second your perfect tits popped out of your blouse. I mean, Christ, I've filmed a lot of naked girls, but you have the most lust-provoking body I've ever seen! Not to mention one of the prettiest faces in the city."

Wendy giggled, was beginning to blush, looked away.

"But you did disappoint me in one respect." She glanced at him, and he went on, "You didn't blush once in front of the camera… not once! I was looking forward to it."

"I was too nervous to be embarrassed," she said, brightening. "Then, by the time I got over my nervousness, I was too busy to be embarrassed." She smiled at him, said boldly, "I really like you. You seem so sure of yourself about everything… so in charge of everything! And you're so different from any of the other guys I've ever known."

"I'm glad to hear you think so," he laughed, seemed somewhat self-conscious for the first time since Wendy had met him. He took a long drag at his cigarette.

"I guess now you'll have Sherry, uh, move in with you, huh?"

He looked at her oddly, asked, "What makes you think that?"

"Oh!" Wendy was surprised. "Well, Sherry said that…"

Sander interrupted her, "I wouldn't pay too much attention to what Sherry says about us. She always seems to think we're just one step from the altar. She's always telling everybody that. I have no idea why. I certainly don't encourage her along those lines."

"Oh," was all Wendy could say.

"And anyway," Sander continued, "if I was going to ask anyone to move in with me, it obviously wouldn't be Sherry. It would be you. In fact," and he smiled at her, "consider yourself asked."

"What!" Wendy blurted, suddenly felt her heartbeat quicken, her face flush. She turned her head away, asked haltingly, "What do you mean? Why me?"

He smiled at her as if she was being falsely modest. "Why not you? You're smart and you're amusing and you're sexy as hell. Also," and he laughed softly, "you're a hell of a lot younger than you say you are. That, turns me on. And, like I said, you could give a hard-on to a marble statue."

Wendy said nothing, was more than merely surprised at his sudden – and seemingly sincere interest in her. Not that she didn't welcome it… she did, after all, find him fascinating.

"It's perfect! Now I know I have to have you living with me! Tonight. You can move in tonight! You will won't you?" He was leaning over the table, looked like he was ready to leap over it and start kissing and hugging her.

"I, uh, yes!"

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. Sander finally said, "You'll have to pick up your things from Sherry's. I'll go with you."

Wendy glanced at him with sudden realization, considered what Sherry's reaction would be to all this for the first time, was actually terrified at the prospect of facing her with the news.

"No," Wendy said with more confidence than she felt. "I'll go alone. If you went, it would be like rubbing it in her face. And she's still my friend."

"Whatever you think is best." He reached out and squeezed her hand. "I hope you know what you're doing, though."

"Me too," she said, smiled at him uncertainly.

Wendy stood before the door of Sherry's – and what was technically still her own apartment. She had no idea what to say to Sherry, much less how to say it, and knew only that she wanted to hurt the girl as little as possible, was feeling a curious mixture of both guilt and elation at her decision to move in with Sander.

She took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked in as casually as she could manage. She saw Sherry immediately and cringed inside.

Sherry glanced up from where she lounged naked on the couch, a glass half-full of wine in her hand. Her large eyes were slightly red arid swollen, and Wendy knew that it was from either drinking or crying, or possibly a combination of the two.

"Well," Sherry said, "so you've decided to come home at last." She attempted a small smile, only partially succeeded, managed a somewhat lopsided grin. "How did the movie go?"

"I'm moving in with Sander," Wendy said abruptly, knew she could never handle going through any preliminaries. "I'm really sorry. You were very good to me and I like you very much. I… I don't know what else I can say."

Sherry merely stared at her, then stood very slowly and very shakily. "I'm glad for you," she said quietly. "I'm gad for both of you, in fact. I hope you'll be very happy together."

Wendy thought for a moment it would be all right, thought with relief that Sherry wasn't going to display any hysterics. She found out how wrong she was when Sherry suddenly burst into tears, broke and ran, sobbing, to her room.

Wendy stood alone in the living room, considered only briefly just gathering her few belongings and leaving quietly. She couldn't do it, she realized, not without at least trying to assuage Sherry's feelings. She walked to the open doorway of the girl's bedroom, peeked in cautiously.

Sherry lay sprawled naked across her bed, face down, her pretty face buried in her pillow, shaking convulsively, her crying soft and muffled.

"Sherry?" Wendy started.

The girl's thin frame stiffened, and without looking up, she said, "Go away… just… go!"

Wendy swallowed hard. "I love him," she said, was trying to explain. "I can't help it, Sherry. I wouldn't hurt you for the world, but I really love him."

"Well, maybe I love him too!" Sherry sat up suddenly, wiped at her eyes. "Did you ever think of that? Did you? Did you, you little whore!"

"I'm… sorry," Wendy said simply, knew there was little else she could say that would make any difference.

"You should be sorry!" Sherry spat, started to cry again. "You fucking little bitch! You dirty fucking cunt! Don't you ever come back here! Ever! You bitch!"

"Good bye, Sherry," Wendy said quietly, felt a strange lump in her throat. "Good bye."

And she turned and walked quickly away.

"How did Sherry take it?" Sander wanted to know right away when Wendy finally got to his apartment. "Was she very upset?"

Wendy didn't answer, set the knapsack with all of her things crammed in it down on the floor, looked around at her new living quarters. Sander's apartment was huge, big enough to easily, contain two the size of Sherry's place. It was decorated entirely in white and black, was almost stark, the living arrangements consisting of strangely-shaped pillow furniture and odd plexiglass and wire lighting. Wendy could see into his bedroom – their bedroom, she corrected herself – saw that the king-sized bed was unmade, was a tangle of blankets and sheets thrown half on the floor. Everything impressed her. She smiled to herself.

"How did Sherry take it?" Sander asked again. "Did she get very mad?"

"She seemed to take it very well," Wendy said, smiling up at Sander. "She said she was glad for us. I guess she's pretty tough."

"She is," Sander nodded, seemed satisfied, tough still maybe a bit glum. "Good, I'm gad that's settled. Now," and he wrapped his arms around Wendy's slender waist, "where shall we start?"

Wendy smiled again, was feeling more at home by the minute. She said, a little shamelessly, "How about the bedroom? I can hardly wait for you to fuck me." She looked at him provocatively.

He brightened right up. "Very direct, you are, my dear, very direct. I like that in a woman. What an amazing combination of admirable traits you seem to possess. Amazing. Yes, I like that."

"You know…" Wendy started, pouting her full lower lip, "you've never kissed me. I mean, here we are, actually going to live together, and you still haven't kissed me. Not once."

He laughed easily, "Soon enough – and I do mean soon enough. A little anticipation on each side will only enhance our… enjoyment later in the evening. You'll see. For now, though, why don't you put your things away and get used to everything." He squeezed her gently.

"You sure talk funny sometimes," she laughed.

"A touch of formality," he laughed. "It's become something of a habit, I'm afraid."

Wendy suddenly stood on her tiptoes, kissed him lightly on the cheek, then with a giggle broke from his grasp, snatched up her knapsack, and ran to get unpacked.

Wendy stood in front of the bathroom. She couldn't see Sander anywhere and announced loudly to the apartment at large, "I've put my stuff away. I'm going to take a quick bath and then," she giggled, "I'll meet you in the bedroom."

Sander appeared suddenly from a doorway just off the long hall, said with a smile, "Here, put these on. You might as well dress the part," explaining, "This is some of the junk we used in one of my first movies. Pick out what you like. I'm sure you'll find something intriguing of the lot."

Wendy peeked into the bag, shrugged with an almost secretive smile, said, "I'll certainly try." She stepped into the bathroom and closed the door.

Forty-five minutes later, she flounced happily through the same door with a bouncy giggle, posed for Sander. He got up off of the couch and walked over to her with an appreciative smile, looking her up and down.

She wore a frilly white dress, cinched at her waist with a tiny red plastic belt, the ruffled hem of the skirt just barely covering her panties.

Sander was right at her heels, pounced on her almost immediately, brought her down laughing and squirming wildly, twisting, the two of them landing squarely on a massively large bean bag chair. They flattened it almost with their impact, the vinyl surface instantly taking the contour of Wendy's firm buttocks and back. She tried to wriggle free of Sander.

"Oh, please, mister," she panted, giggling, and Sander had his hands all over her writhing body, squeezing and tugging at her, half-pulling and half-ripping the front of her dress open, "Please," she cried, "you can have… your candy back… please!" And her exquisitely heavy breasts jounced into view, burst free from their confinement, quivering, the rubbery nipples already hard and distended.

Sander lunged at her, ravenously covered a swollen nipple with his mouth, sucking and chewing at the pliable flesh. He forced her dress open wider, tearing it back out of the way, popping her buttons off right down to her red belt.

Wendy twisted away from him with a sharp little gasp, kicking her slender legs, managed to get on her side, then on her stomach, was trying to pull herself across the huge bean bag, was crawling, her bare skin sticking to the vinyl, her breath coming hot and quick. Sander was right back on top of her, had somehow managed to get his pants down, had his throbbing erection tight against the backs of her bare brown thighs and was slowly working his way up between them. Wendy flailed with her outstretched arms and he held her down while she wiggled and squirmed, sill trying to break loose.

"Please!" she wailed, thrashing, "…it'll hurt! Oh, please, I'll do anything… just let me go!" They had slowly slid back down the bean bag, were sprawling over it, Wendy's knees just touching the carpet, her short skirt pushed up over the thrust-out tautness of her rubbery firm buttocks. Her white cotton panties were damp with perspiration, the crotch sopping with her lush female lubrication.

Sander let go of her with one hand, with his weight pressed against her to hold her down, he pulled with his fingers from underneath and behind at the narrow band of wet panty between her legs, was at the same time trying to force his twitching hard cock under it and up into her slippery cunt. Wendy squirmed her damp buttocks wildly, tried to slow his progress, but with a push against her, he slipped the smooth head of his erection into the slick lips of the opening he sought. He was constricted by her tight panties, managed still to work himself slowly but surely up into the wetly pink hole of her.

She cried out, panting hoarsely and thrashing relentlessly, then she suddenly straightened her trembling legs with a jerk when he finally shoved his stiffened cock fully into her pulsating cunt, filling her with throbbing hardness. He held her struggling hips down with his hands, began to move in her with quick, full strokes that soon stopped her thrashing and had her moaning and sobbing and working her straining buttocks feverishly against him.

She clenched at the covering of the massive bean bag chair, hung on to it tightly, could feel the shifting-sand sensation of the huge pillow under her tits and thighs, could feel Sander's weight slamming against her from behind as his thrusts quickened and became more violent. Her underwear was binding her crotch, was riding up in the back between the damp cheeks of her pumping buttocks, in the front was tight against her cunt-mound.

Sander was driving into her with a fluid, intense motion that let Wendy feel every solid inch of his cock, that let her feel it from the blood-engorged head all the way back to the hairy base of it, the full length of it repeatedly parting and then filling the slick, clutching muscles of her tightly gripping cunt. She was reeling with mad delight, ravaged into a sensual stupor by Sander's throbbing, jabbing hardness.

Her legs were spread open against the bean bag, her knees imbedded into the contour of it, digging yet more deeply with each of Sander's vigorous heaves, her soft inner thighs so sweaty they were beginning to slide on the smooth vinyl. She worked her churning buttocks frantically, enjoying this rape fantasy as she had never enjoyed anything else, was spellbound by the illusion of being taken against her will, of being forced to submit.

And then, to her surprise, she felt Sander's hammering cock slip suddenly from her heated loins. She looked up, was caught by even greater surprise when he abruptly slammed the full hardness of it up into her tight and still extremely tender rectum, made her cry out with a shuddering groan, "Oh, God, you're hurting me! You're hurting my asshole!"

Sander rammed into her, oblivious of her wailing protests, pumped until her puckered anus was even more raw and swollen, until Wendy was groaning with a mixture of acute pain and pleasure, her reluctance lost in the swirling sensations that filled her.

She was grinding the bulge of her slick pubes into the bean bag beneath her, was fast approaching the verge of what she knew would be a staggering orgasm, and then, when she was almost there, gasping for breath, Sander pulled his cock out of her wet anal passage with a soft sucking plop, once again drove his solid stiffness into her lush cunt, thrusting into it feverishly.

Wendy grabbed more tightly with her hands at the bean bag's vinyl covering, hung on, her small fists clenching until her knuckles were white, the sleek muscles in her damp thighs and round buttocks tensed rigid. She felt Sander's stabbing cock deep within her, felt the first spasm of pleasure bit her, jarring her, suffusing her with sensation as it was quickly followed by another after another. Each stab was more intensely delicious than the last, each driving her still further into the moist fog of near delirium that enveloped her. The glistening interior walls of her hot cunt closed with a wrenching convulsion about Sander's throbbing cock, and he jerked deep inside of her with a harsh moan, shooting his thick sperm into her, pumping with a fury.

Wendy cried out, then sagged limply, utterly spent.

They lay sprawled across the bean bag chair, panting for breath, both too drained to move. Wendy felt a trickle of thick liquid running slowly down the inside of her bare thigh, reached back with her hand. She dabbed at it with her fingers, found it warmly sticky.

"You're running down my leg," she murmured quietly, showed him. She laughed softly. "After all of that, and you still haven't kissed me yet!"

He said with a smile, "I haven't licked your pussy yet, either, but that doesn't mean I never will." And with a groan he pulled himself forward slightly, kissed her damp cheek.

"That's certainly a start," Wendy giggled.