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

CHAPTER THREE

Walker was beneath the shower for exactly twenty minutes. That was the maximum time he allowed himself, for any longer than that would be a damage to his body, not a benefit. He washed with soap, then lathered himself with skin cream and worked it in, rinsed it away. The last ten minutes, he stood in water as hot as he could bear, feeling his body rise to the challenge, the blood flowing faster in his veins. He dried himself thoroughly and went into the bedroom where he did a series of pushups, setups, toe touches, and deep breathing exercises.

He took good care of his body. He always had – ever since he had come to realize it was his greatest asset in life.

Sam Walker had been raised in a broken home. No one ever knew what had actually happened to his father, where he was or what he was doing. His mother did nothing to repair the rift in the family, nor did she attempt to make up for the love Sam lost by not having a father. The boy was often left to shift for himself while his mother went out for dinner with a variety of men who seemed responsible for most of the money that supported them. Often, she did not come home at night – or she came home with one of her companions.

A neighborhood girl, a year older than Sam, had told him that his mother was a whore. The girl had gotten him into a shed she used as a playhouse and had tried to get him to touch her between the legs and let her feel his things as well. Frightened, confused, he refused her. She grew angry, and she spouted the truth about his mother.

That night, he had thought quite a bit about what he had learned, and he realized, perhaps for the first time, how lonely he was in the world. No one loved him, no one even really cared about him – least of all his parents. But the neighborhood girl had shown him that he had one thing: his body. She had cooed to him, had told him how beautiful he was and how nice it would be to touch him, just touch him, only for a few moments, nothing more, just touching him between his legs.

From that moment on, he had worked for and with his body, developing it, preening it. He had done well with it, and he intended to do even better. It was the only friend he had. Now he needed money for the last year at the university in the Film Education Department. After that, he would need more for a trip West and to keep him alive while he dredged up a job in some studio where he might have a chance of advancement.

Here, in Daley-Hanover Camp for Girls, he the chance he had been looking for. He finished his exercises, picked a new magazine off the coffee table, and got into bed to read for a while.

He had gotten into the second paragraph of an interesting article when there was a brusque knock at the door. The portal came open, admitting Linda Mock. She closed it behind her and crossed, sank into the chair at the foot of the bed. She was wearing a pair of tight green shorts and a white blouse. Her big breasts tented the blouse, and her buttocks balanced by stretching the shorts to the breaking point. He felt a rising sensation in his prick as the blood poured in and the spongy tissue swelled with desire. It was no use looking away from her legs, for he would only have to look at her boobs or face, and both would excite him.

"Rough day," he said.

She looked at him evenly. For the first time, he realized she was angry. He panicked for a moment, probing his memory for something he had forgotten to do or something he had done incorrectly. There was nothing he could think of.

"Rough day?" she asked sarcastically. When he didn't say anything, she snapped, "What were you doing in the Markwell girl's cabin for two hours?"

He looked at her dumbly. He had perfect control of his face, and he knew he had not given himself away with an errant expression of surprise. And he had not blushed. He never blushed.

"Well?" she asked.

"I don't understand," he said, thinking as fast as he ever had, trying to decide what she knew and what those facts could be twisted to mean.

"I saw you go in there at ten o'clock," Linda said, eyeing him suspiciously. But it was apparent she was now uncertain. "You didn't come out until just before noon. Jenny Sansom saw you then."

Jenny Sansom was a small, dark woman who did secretarial work for Linda. She had an air of authority and honesty that he knew he would not be able to discredit. Besides, he could not lie and say he was elsewhere and risk her not believing him. "It was the drain in the kitchen sink," he said. "I changed the fuse that you told me about in the cabin next door. I was coming back to my own place up on the main line when this girl – Markwell, was that it? – called to me. I had to turn off the water to the cabin, take out the trap joint below the sink. It hadn't been cleaned in a long time. It should have stopped up long ago."

She looked at him, trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

"What did you think took two hours?" he asked, suddenly becoming the aggressive one. He knew he had her snowed now. If he acted self-righteous, he would embarrass her into accepting his explanation.

"Well…" she started.

"Shit!" he snapped, slapping the magazine against his sheet-covered thigh. "You thought I went in there and screwed around with that little kid."

"She's only four years younger than you," Linda reminded him.

"She's flat-chested!"

She smiled meekly and lowered her eyes now, willing to accept what he had told her. "Just the drain?"

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

She looked up, her eyes wide. "I couldn't get another man on such short notice. Besides…"

He watched her, his eyes moving over her bare legs, up to the mounds of her breasts, to her lovely face, the fall of short brown hair around it. "Besides what?" he asked.

"Besides…"

It was time to gain control of her again. "Besides what?" he insisted.

"I don't want you to go."

"Come here," he said.

She rose, moved to the bed and leaned down. He reached, grabbed her breasts through her blouse, and pulled her down onto him. He found her mouth with his, darted his tongue between her lips. When her own tongue sought his mouth, he sucked on it.

"When I think of all the other summers I had to go around horny as hell," she said, "I could kill that bag Worley. She always hired broken down old retired janitors. I don't know why she broke from tradition this year."

"My charm," he said.

She worked the sheet away from him and grinned broadly when she found him naked. She bent and kissed his swollen prick and pressed it against her cheek. "He's certainly ready for me," she said. "Big old fellow."

"Get the hell undressed," Sam said throatily. "You're keeping him waiting."

She peeled the shorts off, stepped out of flimsy bikini panties. He grabbed for her fur, snatched a handful, and drew her down again. She squeaked a quick protest, then surrender as his hot hands worked her out of her blouse, then out of the bra beneath. He loved big knockers, and she loved to show these off. She thrust them at him, burying his face in the warmth. He blew air, made a fluttering noise, then pulled back and sucked hard at her nipples until they stood out. He bit them softly with his teeth, loving them, loving the taste of her.

He pushed her down until her face was in his crotch, then ordered her to suck him. This time, there was no argument at all. She devoured his penis hungrily, as if she really would eat it. He watched her working him. "I like that," he said. "No, don't stop. I like to watch you suck. You've got such a pretty little face, so innocent. It's somehow twice as dirty as anything I've ever seen to watch your face split by dick meat. Have a suck. Faster, damnit!"

She held his balls and worked with them, rolling them easily in her hand. Finally, he pushed her away, though she didn't want to leave his baggage this time. "You've got such a beautiful cock," she said. "So smooth and satiny. I like sucking it. I wouldn't mind if you want to come in my mouth. I wouldn't make a scene like before."

"No," he said, pushing her onto her back. "I want to fuck more than your mouth or box. I want to fuck all of you."

"I don't know if I could take it in the ass," she said, her voice shaky. "It's so big."

"Not what I mean," Sam said.

"What then?"

He found the Vaseline, took out a huge scoop and began applying it to her big breasts, smoothed it over them until they were cunt slick. "I am going to fuck your gorgeous tits awhile, baby."

She giggled but made no protest.

He brought his red, throbbing meat up and – a knee to either side of her chest, laid it between her breasts. He used his hands to push the mammouth mammaries together over his rod, then stroked as if he were indeed in the jelly valley between her sweet legs. He closed his eyes and bit his lip as the thrilling waves struck out from his meat and coursed throughout his entire body. When he knew he had control of himself, he looked down. The knob of the prick peeped between the tops of the breasts at the peak of each stroke.

"You want to cream on my tits?" she asked.

He felt his balls jerk in the sack. He pulled away from her. "No. I can't come. I've got to hold out."

"But that was fun," she said.

"So is this."

He swung around, almost sitting on her face. "Put my nuts in your mouth. One at a time."

"The hair…" she started.

"Do what I tell you!" There was a commanding tone in his voice that could not be ignored.

She raised her head just enough to slip his sack in her mouth. It was too large, and she gagged.

"One at a time, I said. Come on!"

She felt the sack with her fingers, separated the two trembling globes and engulfed one in the saliva-rich hole of her mouth.

"Wallow it around," he said.

She wallowed it, rolling it deliciously on her tongue like a child savoring a hard candy. His whole frame shook with the excitement of it. He gripped his own thighs and concentrated on not ejaculating. It wasn't easy, but he didn't want to give Linda everything and not be more than ready for the Markwell bitch tomorrow.

"The other one," he said.

She was nearly delirious with sensation now. She obliged, quickly, seemed to like it. He could feel her slobber running down his thighs.

"How's it taste?" he asked.

She mumbled pleasantly. When she had him on the precipice of explosion, he pulled away from her, went down into her fox with his face, nuzzling it. "I like the way you smell," he said. "You smell like a woman should smell down here. Clean and good. Prime meat."

"Please," she said. "Will you lick me?"

"What will you do for me if I do?" he asked, stringing her along, debasing her as much as he could.

"Hell, I'll suck you off."

"That's not enough."

She looked perplexed. It was plain that she was in no condition to think clearly. Her attention was centered on his prick and tongue and what they could do to her sweet pot. "I mean I'll swallow what you shoot."

"Not enough. Will you suck me until I'm ready, then let me shoot on your face?"

"Okay," she said more readily than he would have thought. "But make me come now. Hurry."

He spread her slit and licked at the glistening red membrane. She bucked beneath him, panting, wild, on the brink of blasting off. He realized that she must have gotten super-heated just by sucking his nuts. He licked faster, chewed her until her sweet aroma changed, grew stronger and muskier. She climaxed twice within a few minutes, wrapped her legs around him, begging for more tongue work.

Instead, he mounted her, brutally, without any more Vaseline than was on his cock from screwing her boobs. He sank deep, began the most vicious motion he could maintain.

"Jesus Christ!" she whimpered, clawing at his back, digging her nails in his flesh as his probing meat made her explode again, again, then a fifth time.

"No, I'm… not… Christ," he panted. "But I think I'm… a… very good second."

"Yes, yes," she moaned, tearing at him as he reamed her, "your prick is God. I worship your damned prick."

He pulled out of her, brought his rod to her lips. He had not planned to shoot his wad, but the idea of spewing his cream on her pretty face was almost too much to bear. He poked at her mouth, and she accepted him, slimy with her juices. But she showed no distaste now. She slobbered and pumped and tongued until he felt as if the top of his head would blow off. Then the steam from his sack was coming, and he knew he could not wait or control it any longer. He pulled free of her mouth, holding himself with his right hand, pumping his meat.

A jet of milky fluid spouted out of the meatus and spattered across her nose. Then another jet, as large as the first struck her forehead. He jerked at his penis until the last droplet had spilled onto her face.

Linda brought her hands up, shaking, uncontrollable hands, and began to smear the cream into her face, as if it was a beauty treatment. Soon, her entire face glistened with his sperm. She licked the residue off her hand and smiled at him. He came down on her, kissing her face, licked his own cream away, kissed her, striking deep with his tongue. He felt the hard lump of his prick and found it had not gone limp. He mounted her again, plunged wildly, and brought her to a climax twice again, though he did not ejaculate any more of his valuable fluid.

She stood by the door, fully clothed again, and looked at him where he laid on the bed, still naked and beautiful. "I'm sorry about accusing you," she said.

"That's okay, Linda."

"No, it's not. I could have lost you. I wouldn't like that."

Then she was gone, closing the door behind. She stood in the cool night air, sucking it in, thinking about him, about his love making. When the summer ended and he was gone, she was going to miss that eight inches very much.

She turned back toward the cabin at the head of the main line in which she lived the summers of her life, had lived the last six summers ever since she was twenty-two and had started this job. She reached the door, unlocked it, and went inside. When she flipped the lights on, she was confronted by her secretary, Jenny Sansom. "How did you get in?" Linda asked.

"I have a key, remember?"

Jenny Sansom was a bird of a woman, five feet one inch tall, a hundred pounds. She was dark complexioned, with close-cut dark hair. She had a mean look to her, though Linda knew that – at certain times of ecstasy – she was genuinely beautiful.

"What do you want?" Linda asked, slipping out of her blouse and hanging it on a rod in the closet.

"You were down there with him a long time."

"We talked about the Markwell girl."

"I guess he has you fooled."

Linda looked at her sideways. "That's no way to talk. He's perfectly innocent. He was cleaning a stopped drain."

"Brenda Markwell's no virgin – her little drain isn't stopped."

Linda laughed. "You really hate him, don't you? I can't see why. Or maybe I can."

"You were in bed with him, weren't you?" Jenny Sansom asked, moving closer, more belligerent now.

"What if I was?" Linda asked, turning to her.

So quickly that the movement was almost unnoticeable, Jenny Sansom made a fist and slammed the tiny thing into Linda's stomach. The big girl doubled over, retching. Jenny used the same hand to slap her on the face, again and again.

"You were in bed with him!" Jenny shouted. "I wasn't!"

"Admit it, you filthy little bitch!" Jenny's eyes were wild now, her face contorted almost beyond recognition. Her thin lips were drawn back, exposing fine, white teeth.

"Really, Jenny! He didn't touch me!"

Jenny Sansom swung again, landed a blow alongside Linda's head. It was solid and painful. The big girl went down, hit the floor with a solid, crashing noise. Jenny drew back a foot and kicked her hips until the younger girl clutched them in misery. She ran into the bathroom, came back with a wet towel. When Linda tried to raise up, she pushed the girl back, got her bra off her, and slapped the wet towel against the heaving breasts of the young girl.

Red lines began to appear, and soon the great, beautiful tits were a solid crimson, and Linda was crying, shielding her face in her hands, bawling like a child.

Jenny stopped, exhausted, and seemed to see what she had done for the first time. She threw the towel aside and fell on the big girl. She was crying now too. She began kissing the breasts, licking them, soothing them. "Linda… forgive me. I love you. Pretty… pretty titties. I don't know… what got into me. Please… Linda."

Linda pulled the birdish woman against her stinging, heaving breasts and consoled her. "It's all right, Jenny. Don't cry. You didn't hurt me so badly. And I was with him, even though I said I wasn't."

Jenny blubbered from between the breasts. "You shouldn't fall for him. He wants to use you. Put it in and take it out of you. That's all."

Linda squeezed her more tightly. "But he is so good. He makes me come so often."

"I'll make you come," Jenny said. "And I don't have any big ugly organ to hurt you with. Just my tongue." She pulled down Linda's body, worked her out of her shorts, and began kissing her between the legs. "You smell of him," she said. "I'll lick you clean."

Linda laid back on the rug, her breath catching in her throat, and let Jenny prove herself.