"Skin summer" - читать интересную книгу автора (Griffin Ann)

CHAPTER NINE

It was a dreamless sleep for Sam Walker.

When he woke the next morning, he laid very still, waiting for the hangover headache that would soon crash down on him. But it did not come. He moved his head experimentally and was pleased that he was only a mite dizzy, nothing more. He looked at the clock beside the bed, then sat bolt upright. It was eleven-thirty! He had slept through the entire morning!

There was a rattling noise, and he realized that was what had wakened him. Otherwise, he would have slept on. Someone was knocking on the door outside. He pulled on his jeans and ran fingers through his hair, untangling it. He went quickly through the main room, unlocked the door, and looked out at Linda Mock and her secretary Jenny Sansom. Linda pushed by him, leading Jenny by the hand.

"Close the door," she said.

He closed it and turned to them. "What's the matter?" But he knew what it was about without asking any questions. Jenny Sansom was crying, holding a Kleenex up to her small face, but looking at him around the edges of it.

"Is what she says true?" Linda asked. Her face was set in hard lines that he had never seen before.

"What does she say?" he asked.

Linda pushed Jenny into a chair, then came back to face him. "She didn't come into the office this morning. I didn't think much about it until a little before eleven. Then I went down to her cabin. She was so upset it took twenty minutes for me to find out what she was saying."

"Which was?" Sam asked.

"That you broke in last night and raped her."

"That's what she said?"

"Is she telling the truth?" Linda leaned toward him, belligerent now, demanding.

"Not exactly," he said.

"But you did fuck her?"

Linda slapped him hard, twice. Her palm print remained on each of his cheeks. "Get out before supper. Pack up, go into town, and then keep going."

"Jenny," he said to the little woman sitting behind Linda.

"Don't go near her," Linda snapped. "She was right about you." She tried to slap his face again, but he grabbed her wrists, twisted her arm, and pitched her sideways onto the couch. He bent next to Jenny Sansom, took her hands away from her face.

"Stop it!" Linda snarled.

"Oh, shut up," Sam said disgustedly. "You either didn't get the entire story or she didn't tell it plainly enough."

"What do you mean?"

He traced the line of Jenny's delicate jaw with his fingers. "You reacted to me, Jenny. It wasn't rape."

"You would have killed me," she said.

"Not at all. You knew better. You climaxed, Jenny. More than once. You liked it. You made it."

"No," she said, trying to look miserable.

"What are you trying to do to her?" Linda asked.

"I told you to shut up."

"But…"

"Shut up!"

And she did.

He turned his attention back to Jenny. "Look at me, Jenny." When she faced him, he took her chin in one hand and kissed her lightly on the lips. She didn't object. When his tongue penetrated her mouth, she tried to pull away for only a moment. Tentatively, then, her own tongue slid between his teeth. "You're lovely," he said, breaking the kiss. "You're as good as any women. You can enjoy it like any woman. You were too tight. Something hung you up, lover." He continued the kiss, his hands falling to her breasts, squeezing them gently.

"I'll be damned," Linda said.

He opened Jenny's blouse and took out her breasts, shoving her bra above them. He rolled the nipples in his palm, and they grew stiff. Then she had her arms around him, crying, but with happiness. Carefully, he pulled away her blouse, unhooked and removed her bra.

"I guess I should leave," Linda said.

"Stay," he told her.

"The three of us?" Jenny asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes," he said. "It shouldn't matter. We love each other, at least a little. There's nothing to be ashamed of."

Gently, he removed the rest of Jenny's clothes, then his own. When the three of them were naked, he drew Jenny to the floor, directed her to stretch out. He moved his head over her crotch, went down on her. His tongue found her feminine perfume, lapped it. The smell of her made his already stiff organ jerk.

"I want in on this," Linda said.

He nodded. "Jenny, sit in the chair. I can eat out from there."

When she was in the chair, he knelt before her and tongued her pretty hole. Linda stretched under him and took his bloated cock in her mouth, began working on him. Jenny looked down, amazed as the stiff meat probed her female lover's mouth. When she had come, she said, "Can I suck you?"

He grinned. "I think that can be arranged."

They all moved to the floor, in a rough ring. Jenny slipped his pecker into her mouth. Her eyes went wide when she found how big it was. Then she worked with it, trying to please him, her little cheeks full of his meat, ballooned out.

Next in line was Linda. His face was between her legs, and he sucked at the button of her clit, had her squirming and cooing. Linda, completing the daisy chain, had her face in Jenny's crotch, was performing lesbian love on her.

Jenny whimpered. "God, God, God…" Then she attacked Sam's root with more vigor than ever.

He raised his head, using his fingers to work on Linda, and looked around at the tangle of arms and legs, the fiercely working mouths and organs. Flesh slid over flesh; bodies bucked and jumped as the right nerves were licked, pinched, sucked; legs kicked; hips writhed; Linda's breasts quivered, one flattened against the floor. Sam realized that this was different. This was not the same sort of sex he was accustomed to. For one thing, there was no profit motive. He was not trying to bind either of these women to him, not any more. Furthermore, he was not only trying to get pleasure himself – but to give it for the sake of giving. He wanted to please Linda and Jenny. Not to collect money from them later, but for the sheer joy of pleasing them. It was a totally new experience for him, and he marveled at it as he lowered his head back to Linda's hole and made love to her with his mouth.

In a moment, she came, and he followed, quickly, blasting his heavy load far into Jenny's mouth. The little woman gagged, but continued to suck, swallowing the gooey juice until he had no more to offer her, until he was bone dry in his bone.

When they had finished and were depleted, they laid together on the floor, idly fondling one another, thrilling to the sweet softness of each other's genitals, of each others muscles and flesh. Eventually, the conversation drifted to Jenny, to the change in her. Both Sam and Linda were curious about why she had never been able to make it with men before, and slowly, in pieces, the story came out of her…

Jenny Sansom's family had immigrated to the United States four years before she was born. She became a citizen, actually, before her parents. Her father owned a small grocery in Philadelphia, a hole-in-the-wall place that had a delicatessen section and supported them mildly well only because the old man kept it open twelve hours a day, seven days a week to catch even the smallest purchase. Jenny was the last born of the four Sansom children and grew up in the grocery and the apartment above it where the family lived.

When she was four, two of her older siblings died from food poisoning. She had become terribly ill, but somehow had survived the ordeal. The only children in the Sansom family now were Jenny and her brother Peto, who was six years older. Her mother and father had made a great show of tears and anguish at the deaths of the others, had hardly been able to bear the funeral. Yet Jenny was always somewhat certain they actually were relieved that the number of mouths to be fed and the number of bodies to be clothed had been so drastically reduced.

When she was seven years old, Jenny was a lovely little girl with dark skin and big, dark eyes. (At this point, both Sam and Linda interrupted to say that she was still lovely.) She was a precocious child, and a very inquisitive one. Everyone said what an attractive girl she would grow up to be. But then things changed for her…

She had gotten into a pie which was to be reserved for supper, a peach pie that her mother had made that morning and had put into the refrigerator before lunch with the warning that it was not to be touched until she cut it herself at supper. For the first part of the afternoon, Jenny hung about the refrigerator, opening and closing the door, eyeing the brown-crusted pie. Her mother and father were in the store. It was a Saturday, and her brother was out somewhere with his friends. At last, being a child with little will power, she could not help herself, and she cut a piece of the dessert. She ended up eating two pieces and feeling a little unwell but happy.

When her mother found the violated pie, she did not require much time to discover the culprit. It was decided that her father would have to spank her with the hairbrush. It was the first time for her. She had seen – or, rather heard – her now dead siblings receiving it in time's past, had listened to the sharp slap of wood on flesh when her brother Peto had trespassed. She was frightened, but it was a trait of hers not to even seem cowardly. When her father led her into her parent's bedroom and closed the door, she did not snivel.

She wanted to.

How she wanted to!

Her father instructed her to lie across his knees while he sat on the bed. He was a big man, with arms like cords of wood, hands so large that one of them could completely conceal her tiny face. He held the standard hairbrush in one of those hands now, and waited for her to comply. She crawled up and stretched out, gritting her little, sharp teeth and waiting for the first explosion of pain.

Her father pulled up the dress she was wearing, rolled her cotton underpants down to her knees. She was surprised at this, for she had not known it was to be a bare spanking. She was confused and a little embarrassed.

Then the hairbrush bit into her flesh, and she had no room for embarrassment.

Only pain.

Crack!

Again and again, he slammed the wood home until she could no longer control herself, stoic though she was. She burst into tears and wailed loudly with the childish hope she could stir some sympathy in him. But she did not achieve that goal, of course. After a dozen more whacks, he finally did stop. There was a pause while she waited to see if there was more. Then she felt his big hands on her plump little behind. At first, she did not understand that this was not part of the punishment. But it felt good, soothed some of the pain, and she quieted while he massaged her cute flesh.

His fingers slid down between her ass cheeks, down the smooth crack of the fatty lips of her little sex. One finger entered the edges of it, and she felt a slow, pleasant tingling. He worked the finger until she was dizzy.

When he withdrew it, she put a hand back and pressed his fingers to the wetness again.

He tickled her more.

Then, there was a knock at the bedroom door, her mother. Her father pushed her off his lap, and she fell to the floor just as her mother came in. Her father lectured her severely, as did her mother. She knew, innately, that it was not wise to mention what he had done, where he had touched her – though she did not fully understand his actions. She thought about it that night and found she could achieve much the same feeling he had given her by using her own little finger on her second set of lips.

That night, two weeks before her eighth birthday, lying alone in the darkness of her tiny, stuffy bedroom, she experienced her first orgasm, though it was on a mild order compared to that a full grown woman could experience.

Still, it was a turning point in her life.

She fell asleep with her hand between her legs…

Two days later, on a Monday, after school, she was alone in the apartment again. Peto had gone out to meet friends, and her mother and father were downstairs in the store. She was reading, in the shadowy living room, when her father came in. He stood in the archway between the living room and kitchen, watching her. She asked him how the business was in the store. He did not answer her, but stood, staring intently, until she felt distinctly uncomfortable.

At last, he said, "Come here." He went to a chair, sat, waiting for her.

She knew better than to ask why or to refuse. She got up, put her book down, and went to him. He put his hands on her chest, but finding no breasts, he moved them to her bare legs. "Have any boys touched you here?" he asked her, moving a hand to the crotch of her panties.

"Only you!" she said.

He slapped her. She stumbled, fell onto the floor on her rump.

"You tell no one that!" he snarled. "If anyone asks, I have never touched you. You say nothing. You hear me? Hear me?"

"Yes," she said, holding her cheek where his hand had left a crimson stinging imprint.

"Stand up," he said.

She stood up.

"Come here."

She walked to him.

He put his hands on her legs again, caressed her small thighs. His fingers found the elastic of her cotton panties, and he pulled them down, made her step out of them. He unbuttoned the front of her dress, baring her. She had no breasts, and her gentle mound of venus was hairless. Still, he worked a finger into her tiny slit, watching her face.

She closed her eyes and clung to his shoulders while he fingered her. She shuddered and whimpered and bit at her lips.

He seemed to grow more excited. He came out of the chair and onto the floor with her. He kept his finger in her child's cunny, but used his free hand to take out his dark prick. It was bursting with the blood of his desire. "Touch it," he said.

She didn't mind. It was the first she had ever seen. She had thought men were like women down there. When she took it, it started like a frightened rabbit in her hands.

He took his hand out of her, dropped his pants and shorts to his ankles, and pushed her face down into his crotch. Without being told, she kissed his organ. When he shoved it at her, she managed to get the head in her mouth.

He directed her to lick it.

When she did, he spouted his cream against the side of her face, a great, gushing explosion of it. When he was finished, and she was curiously wiping the jelly stuff off her, he pushed her down and used the tip of his tongue to make her come.

After that, he avoided her for two months. She had enjoyed herself, and she wanted to make him spout again, have his tongue in her. But she knew she dared not broach the subject. Finally, he came to her again, and they had sex again. After that, he made love to her on an average of once every month for the next two years. It was gentle sex. Chiefly, he wanted to gratify his own lust – but he incidentally gratified her as well. He seemed to have no guilt whatsoever at having sex with his own little daughter. Later, she would find that he was not the sort of man to worry much about what was right or wrong. Statistics would have told her that eighty percent of all sex crimes are committed by immediate relatives; thus, she was no exception.

She was halfway to her eleventh birthday. Her breasts had now begun to bud slightly, though they were almost totally nipples. There were a few strands of dark hairs around the lips of her love box. She was proud of these things and hoped they made her father more happy with her body.

The trouble came on a Saturday, the same day it had started years ago…

She was naked in her room with her father. She was able to get more of his large organ into her mouth, and she had begun to milk and swallow what he gave her. He was stretched out, filling her bed, and she was between his hairy legs, hands on his massive thighs, his organ between her lips. He was grumbling as he always did just before ejaculation, and she was preparing herself for his liquid. Abruptly, her brother called her name and thrust open the bedroom door, back long before he should have been.

He stood in the doorway, mouth hanging open.

Her father tried to rise, but he only succeeded in driving his loaded prick further into Jenny's throat, as she had not let go of it.

Her brother smiled, recovered now. "Go on, sis," he said mockingly. "Eat him. I'll wait."

She had never known that what they did was considered wrong by some people. She had known that she was not to talk of it, but she had not necessarily made any connection between oral sex and other's judgment of evil. She saw nothing wrong with continuing to suck her father.

The old man moaned, tried to pull away. She took his actions for lunges, and doubled her sucking frenzy.

Abruptly, he spouted into her mouth, long, drenching explosions of his stuff, and she wallowed it around in her mouth, swallowed it without protest, drew for more.

When she let go of him, his pecker was limp and useless. He rolled to the edge of the bed, looked up at Peto. Her brother had used the last moments of her father's explosions to get out of his clothes. His own pecker was thin and hard, but very long. A snake between his hairless young legs. "Move over, old man," he said.

Peto had not gotten along with their father for years. It was expected that he would leave soon, as quickly as he could get onto some racket in the uptown part of the city where they lived. He was not one bit frightened of the old man, and proved it often. Now, he had something on him that the old man could not afford to let get out. Peto was saying he wouldn't talk if he could screw Jenny too.

Her father stood, let Peto on the bed. "Try some of this cock, sis," he said. "Tastes better than old meat."

She took it in her mouth, wallowed it, held his bag in her hands.

"God!" Peto said. "You've trained her real good in whore mouthing, old man."

Her father stood, watching. His organ was hardening between his legs.

Peto pounded his meat into her face, harder than her father ever had, not caring whether he hurt her, not gentle in any way. When she gagged, he stuffed all the harder.

When she could feel his balls quivering in her hand, he pulled his snake from her lips and pushed her down, spread her legs and fingered her cunt. "Is there room?" he asked her father.

"Don't do it to her," her father said. "I haven't."

"A cherry?" her brother said.

"She's not even eleven yet."

Her brother laughed. "Look who's talking!" He got off the bed, went out into the hall, to the bathroom, came back – long prick swaying before him – with a jar of petroleum jelly. "We'll make it easy on her."

Her father was solidly hard again.

"What are you doing?" Jenny asked as lubricated his staff.

"I'm going to fuck you, sis. You never been really fucked."

He laid down on her, guided the ramrod to her slit. Then, with a heave of his hips, he slammed into her love box. He met membrane, bounced off it. She squealed with pain, and he clamped a hand over her mouth. He rammed his stick into her four times before the hymen burst and he slid home. "Christ what a cunt!" he hissed.

"Please," she said, crying now.

But he wasn't interested in her, only in getting off his rocks, losing his own tension.

Life from that point on until she left home four years later, was a nightmare. While Peto slammed into her bleeding love nook, her father, excited now – acting like the animal he was – came around and fed his prick into her mouth, let her suck him – made her suck him – until Peto groaned and blew his wad into her jelly-jar. She was unbelievably sore. The ache spread up through her guts. But as soon as Peto was out, her father took his staff from her lips, climbed on and thrust deep into the territory Peto had opened. He pumped while Peto took his place, making her work her mouth on his snake, wet with her cunny and blood and his sperm, until he shot again.

They left her on the bed, crying, shivering, and warned her to clean up and say nothing to anyone if she did not want to be hurt, spanked and struck by both of them.

After that, they fucked her any time they got the chance, usually once or twice a week each. Every time – though now and then she came near a climax – they were rough and inconsiderate, beating out their cream, then leaving her. They continually hurt her.

Once, when she tried to tell her mother, she was slapped and called a liar and turned over to her father for handling. And he handled her, making her eat him while he slapped her with the hairbrush across the shoulders and back, leaving bruises that lasted a month.

The penis became an object of fear. She dreamed of it, and in the dreams, it was a knife that sliced her.

A gun that blasted her, ruining her insides.

A prodding steel pole.

A harpoon.

And finally an animal, a wicked, demonish beast separate from the men on whom he grew. It was a thing out to destroy her, and she hated it with every ounce of her being. She was certain it would kill her, and she could do nothing but wait to be reamed too deeply, to start pouring blood out her cunny, to die…

When she left home, there were no more men.

But there were women.

And then, Sam.

When she had wakened in her room, she had expected him to kill her with his penis. She had been resigned to death. She had begged him not to kill her with it, but there seemed little hope. Then he had put it between her legs, slid it deep, and had fucked her gently, gently. She had never felt anything as remotely exciting. She had exploded twice with his rod buried in her, and he had left her satiated and without pain.

After she had accepted the fact that she was not dying, she tried to rebuild the hate she had for men. She couldn't do it. She realized she had judged all men on the performance of her father and brother. She had narrowed her mind, had closed out the world, and had tried to be happy as only half a woman. She laid awake all night, fighting with the knowledge that she had wasted much of her youth. She had not been willing to admit that until she had seen Sam here again, in this room. When he had kissed and touched her, she knew the old life must be destroyed.

When she finished her story, she bent to Sam Walker's lap and took his wilted penis in her mouth. She felt it swell against her cheeks…