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

CHAPTER TWELVE

After his confrontation with Brenda, he did not know whether he was prepared to face Susan. He wasted some time about it, walking along some of the shady trails in the camp, thinking what he would say. After half an hour of this self-torture during which his tension became far greater instead of less, he turned and went to her cabin. She was changing clothes for supper, and she came to the door in a robe, her abundant figure bursting at the seams.

When she saw who it was, she tried to slam the door, but he got a foot in the crack and wedged it open, held it against her pressure with his hands. "My roomies' here," she said. "If you try anything, they'll be two of us to handle."

"I'm not here to try anything," he insisted.

"You're breaking in."

"I am not. I only want to talk to you."

"There's nothing I want to hear from you."

"There is," he said.

"Please, Sam, go away. You know that I don't want to see you. Forget it. You won't get any money from me. I said I wouldn't talk to anyone about it."

"I don't want your money. I don't give a fuck about your money. That's changed."

She looked doubtful – and beautiful. He could not conceive of his former stupidity in trying to use her as a mark, in not giving her the love she deserved from the start. He had been an emotional cripple; she had been a faith healer.

"If I listen, will you go away?"

"Yes," he said.

"Go on, then."

It was difficult saying the things he had to say, but he managed to get them out. He told her about his family, his unknown father, his mother and her friends. He told her about his first sexual experiences, how he found he could get what he wanted with his body, how he did not know what love was. He told her about Brenda, about returning the money. About how he had fallen for her, Susan, at once but had been too stupid to know it. About Linda and Jenny and what they had talked out. About what he hoped for them, how he wished he could undo it and make her accept him again.

It was a long speech, and when he was finished, he waited for her reply.

She said nothing, only looked at him, her eyes cutting deeply into his eyes.

At last, he said, "You don't believe me."

"I don't know," she said. "I don't think so, Sam. I really don't think so."

And she closed the door.

Left him standing there, sick.

He did not go to the dining hall for supper, but returned to his room and showered, exercised, trying to forget, through the sedative of routine, this rejection he had just received. But there was no hope of blanking his mind so easily. He loved Susan, and that love could not be erased like music on a tape. It ate at him, walked around inside his head until he could not sit or lie still. He was a man possessed, a man with a monkey on his back. And that monkey was his own, ugly past which would not leave him be.

He wrestled with it, but could corns nowhere near conquering it. At last, when he knew he was going to have to put up with misery for a while, he went into the kitchen and came back with some beer he had purchased that afternoon, after Linda and Jenny had left, before he had built courage enough to go to Brenda Markwell. He nursed the first bottle, letting it ice his throat and numb some of the nervous strain that plagued him. The second bottle, he pulled harder, drinking it like a man who wants to be bombed, who wants to cross out his memory and operate only in the present where things could be as rosy as the liquor could delude him into viewing them.

He was opening the third bottle, a few minutes before seven o'clock, when there was a knock on the door. He was in his jeans and a tee-shirt, so he went and answered it. It was Susan Calderwood-Logan.

He looked stupidly at her.

When he said nothing, she said, "May I come in, Sam?"

He nodded. "Sure. Come on in."

She went past him.

He closed the door.

He turned and faced her, his eyesight a little bleary from two fast beers and no lunch or supper. She came into his arms then, encircling him with her own arms, mashing her huge breasts against him, burying her face in the hollow of his neck.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Sam, Sam," she said in a tiny voice.

He held her, afraid she was a vision, a smoke ghost that would vanish if he didn't clench her to him.

"I was wrong," she said. "As wrong as you were yesterday. You are trying to change. And – And you do… you love me, don't you."

"Yes," he said.

She raised her head, pressed her moist lips against his, found his tongue with her own and washed him with it. She scoured his gums, his teeth, picked at him with the sensuous tongue, pried and teased and excited him.

When they pulled away, breathing hard, he said, "But you didn't believe me."

"I wasn't sure. I wanted to believe. But experience has shown me that people always say they are changing from bad habits and never really do. I couldn't commit myself. If I had, and you were just on to a new method of hustling, I would have been destroyed. I would not have been able to take that. You see, I love you too. I don't know how much, but I know love is there."

This time, he initiated the kiss, a long and amorous one. His hands roamed the contours of her tits, and he longed to free them, to kiss and suck and squeeze the bare, warm, vibrant flesh. And it was nothing but love now, no hope of profit.

When they pulled apart again, she went on. "I told myself that I should forget you. That if you were hustling me still, I was only in for heartache. But the part of me that loved you wouldn't let it rest there. It kept telling me to check your story out. Be sure. Know for certain. So I went to Brenda. I had found out yesterday that you had been hustling, conning her. She was angry. Said you'd given her money back. Sam dear, I think she needs help. I don't know exactly why, but she seems ill to me. Mixed up, anyway. Troubled. So, after I left her cabin, I took your advice and looked up Linda Mock and Jenny Sansom. They were waiting for me. It was all as you said. I think Linda loves you. Though not as much as me. So I want to try again. Do you think we could?"

He hugged her. "I don't see what's standing in our way."

"Just…"

"What?" he asked.

She kissed his lips tenderly.

"What?" he repeated.

"Don't ever let me down."

"I won't."

"I couldn't bear that."

"I promise. Look, the old Sam Walker makes the new Sam Walker sick. Besides, now that I've been able to open up, just a little, to people, I don't want to go back to being like I was. There are easier, better ways to make money."

She kissed him again.

Long this time.

Lots of tongue.

And her hands on him.

Moving down him.

Searching and finding the iron of his organ beneath his pants.

"Now?" she asked.

"If you want."

"I do."

He kissed her.

"Do you?" She asked.

He was fevered with the smell and taste and feel of her. "What?" he asked.

"Do you want me now?"

For answer, he worked loose the buttons on her green blouse, reached under it and unzipped her bra, grabbed her breasts and kneaded them. They were fiery in his hands. The nipples, hard and pointed, burned his palms especially. He helped her out of the blouse and waited while she shucked the bra down her arms. When her breasts were free, he grabbed them again, cuddled them, loved and kissed them.

"You too," she whispered.

She helped him off with his tee shirt, pressed her heavy knockers against his chest. The nipples bored into him, made him want her more than ever, want to lose himself in her, in the sweet ecstatic aura she radiated for feet about her.

He found the zipper to her shorts, got her out of them. She was wearing no panties. When she pulled off his jeans and found that he wore none either, she laughed. He went to the floor with her, laid beside her, feeling her tremendous body with quick, gentle hands, loving the curves and mounds, the great, animal heat she threw off. He pressed his prick against her hip and slowly rode it up and down against her silky flesh. He went on top of her, on his knees, one to either side, and took handful of her breasts. She reached out, in turn, and clutched the straining cock that thrust from between his hips, masturbated him while he massaged her flesh.

"Big," she said, cooing over his tool.

"You're able to swallow it all," he said.

She giggled.

He moved down, pulling his prick out of her hands, kissing her heaving breasts, chewing the nipples until they vibrated in his lips. He went on to her belly, kissed and licked it. There was a fine golden down there that he had not noticed before. He licked it until it was plastered down and a few shades darker. He took a tuft of her pubic hair between his teeth, teased it.

She had raised her head, watching him. "You look like you have a beard," she giggled.

"I'll have a mustache in a minute," he said, burrowing his head between her creamy, sexy thighs, parting her pussy labes with his tongue and licking the button of her clit.

"Ungghhh. Oh!" she writhed. "Eat me, darling. Suck me."

He worked harder, faster, devouring her alive until she burst, leaped, gurgled in her throat and called him her lover, her cuntlicker, her baby.

He moved up, then, between her legs. There was no time for Vaseline. He could wait no longer to be buried in her. He spat on his hand, wet his prick, and sliced into her holy box with a savage but wonderful plunge.

"God, you've got a helluva box!" he gasped, stroking, twisting back and forth from one side of her gorgeous, soup tunnel to the other. His hands moved on her breasts, and he nestled in them while he fucked. He sucked the nipples, blubbered in the moons of warmth. "And lovely, lovely tits. Big, yet really well-formed. I could come on your tits. Just having it lay on your beautiful tits."

She moaned in reply, ground her cunny against him. "I love you," she said. "Fuck me, darling. Fuck and fuck and fuck me until… we can't… move."

"Until our parts freeze up?" he asked, grinning.

"Until we rust!"

He plunged, sucking in his breath at the tremendous sensations of her love well. After a few moments, he said, "You want the top?"

"Yes," she said. "That would be nice."

"Let's roll then. Keep him in as we go over."

"Yes. Keep him in," she said.

They rolled together, keeping the stiff prick inside her, until he laid on the floor and she rode above him. From this vantage point her tits were an awesome sight. They look twice as large from beneath, jutting out over him, the nipples huge, made to be bitten and chewed and loved. He raised his head and took one into his mouth. While he brought it even further erect, she ground her cunt against the lance of his dick, clutching at his shoulders.

"It fills me up," she said. "There's no room in there at all."

"Well," he said, loving the slickness against his rod, "I don't have anything else to put in, so we don't have to worry about the lack of space."

She ground faster while he pressed hard on the deep erogenous centers in her fabulous ass. Then she was coming, blubbering, almost crying, calling his name over and over again as if in pain. And it was pain of a sort, the most exquisite pain a woman can ever know. When she fell onto him, he rolled her back until he was on top.

"Will you come now?" she asked.

"I want to hold it. Until you've made it as much as possible."

"You're better than before," she said. "I can tell it's different with you. I can tell there is love in it. I don't know why I couldn't tell there wasn't love the first time."

"There was," he said. "There's always been love with you. But I suppressed it those first times."

"Take me up again, then," she said. "Take me wherever you want to take me."

"Going up," he said, pounding swiftly but easily into her hot, wet trough.

It was better than before for Sam too. There was a thrill in his body that he had never known before. He had glimpsed it those first times with Susan, but had not felt it in its full force. Now, admitting his love, caring for another human being, the well of his emotions was spouting the water of his soul high into him, and he had never felt remotely so wonderful.

When he had brought her through another climax and felt his balls screaming to explode, they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

He stopped, listened.

Whoever it was used the doorbell this time.

"Better get up," he said.

"Damn!" she said, grinning.

He plummeted her slick depths one last time, making her gasp, then pulled out, rolled away, found his jeans and struggled into them. Behind him, she slid into her shorts and started putting on her blouse, not taking time to sheath her breasts in the bra.

When he opened the door, he found Brenda Markwell standing on the other side. She was looking depressed, had heavy bags under her pretty eyes. She fidgeted, looked at him, then looked down at the wooden stoop as if she were a child that had done something wrong and had now come home to admit it.

When he could think of nothing to say to her, she raised her head again and asked: "May I come in."

"Yes," he said, stepping away to let her by. He could not imagine what she had come here for. He hoped that there would be no scene to ruin the evening. Then he decided, with Susan now his, nothing could ever possibly ruin the evening!

He closed the door and turned to her. She had seen Susan, caught sight of the bra lying beside the sofa. "Oh," she said. "Maybe I'd better go."

He turned her away from the door. "Not at all," he said. "You're welcome."

"But if I've interrupted…"

"Shush," Susan said, smiling at her.

Brenda turned to him and said, "I came… I thought that…" She looked back to Susan. "I guess not…"

"Brenda, what is it?" he asked.

"Well, you're with her."

"So?"

"Well, I thought you were serious this afternoon."

"About giving up hustling?" he asked.

She looked surprised. She stared at Susan, looked even more confused when Susan only smiled. "But… Well…"

"I was serious," he said.

"But…"

"I'm here without strings attached," Susan said.

"I meant what I said, Brenda," Sam said.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well," she said, licking her lips. "I came to ask you if…"

He put his arm around her.

She cuddled against his side.

"If you… could give… me the help you mentioned and… and you also… you said something… about loving me too… just a little… but you said it."

He kissed her lightly. "I remember. Did you think I didn't?"

"I was afraid," she said.

He kissed her again. "I love you."

She almost broke into tears then.

"Now, now," Susan said.

"I do need help so much," Brenda said in a small voice, a lonely little voice.

"We'll try to help," Susan said.

Brenda looked at her. "We?"

"Yes," Sam said.

"You too?" she asked Susan.

"Me too."

Susan opened her blouse and took it off. "You've got beautiful breasts," Brenda said. "You're beautiful."

"We'll talk later," Sam said. "We'll talk, and we'll make love, and maybe we'll help. But if all else fails, at least we will have each other and will have shared with each other."

He pulled the zipper on the light sweater Brenda wore, raised her arms and pulled the garment over her head. He took off her bra, cupped her breasts in her hands. He brought her down onto the floor with Susan and himself. Susan caressed Brenda's tits. "Yours are also lovely," she said. "Every bit as lovely as mine."

Sam nodded. "I don't know which of you turns me on more."

Brenda smiled, kissed him.

"Relax now," he said. "And don't ask us to humiliate you. We love you. We couldn't debase you."

She leaned back, offering them her body.

"Sex is not a sin," Susan said. "You don't have to atone for it by having yourself degraded and hurt. Just enjoy it. It's based on love. Accept it."

"I want to," Brenda said.

Together, Susan and Sam ministered to the girl's body with the tenderness of priests at the side of the dying. For she was dying now. Just as the old Sam had died, so the old Brenda would die, given time. It was love that she needed, someone who cared for her and for whom she cared. Given that, there could only be success.

They touched her with their hands and with their bodies, and they made her feel wanted and alive…