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

CHAPTER EIGHT

In the dining hall, he found he could eat only a very little. His stomach was queasy, and he was strangely depressed. He thought that it had to do with losing Susan, but then struck that idea from his mind. She was only another mark, nothing more. He couldn't afford to let himself get hungup on her. Still, he ate little.

On the way out, he met Linda Mock who was coming in to eat. He stopped her, a hand on her shoulder. "I shook that headache," he said.

She grinned. "Good for you. I wanted to talk about some maintenance problems with you. I'll be down later."

He smiled, left her there, and walked back to his cabin.

He stripped, showered, creamed his skin and washed the lotion off, did his exercises. He stretched out on the bed with a paperback and tried to lose himself in a good mystery story. But every few paragraphs, he would find his mind wandering, find himself remembering the slope, the curvaceous tilt of Susan's breasts, or the long lines of her perfect legs, or the rounded cheeks of her ass that fit so nicely in his hands.

When Linda came in an hour later, his prick was standing like a flagpole, though he still struggled to concentrate on the book. She laughed, ran lightly across to the bed and grabbed the lance. "You were thinking of me," she said, bending and kissing it.

He tossed the book aside and raised his hips, pushing the rod into her mouth an inch or so. She worked on it with expertise, sucking it so tightly that it seemed she would strip the skin off layer by precious layer. Then she stopped and looked up. "It was me you were thinking about, wasn't it?"

"Who else turns me to stone?"

She chuckled and stood, quickly undressed and laid on top of him, his iron cock pressed between their bellies. He bent his head forward just a bit and gnawed at her tits, thumbing the nipples to make them hard as bullets.

"What did you say to Jenny today?" Linda asked.

"Why?"

"She ran a two hour tirade against you when I came back to the office this morning."

He bit her breasts again, nuzzled them. "I just told her she could make some man a very good lover if she tried."

Linda laughed, showing a lot of bright teeth. "That's cruel, but it's still funny."

"She didn't think so."

"I know." She rolled on him, turning his cock back and forth between them. "Poor Jenny is so hungup on her girl-loving."

"You make it both ways?" he said.

"Don't you?"

"Just once," he said.

She slid forward and shook her boobs in his face, slapping him with them. "You should run both ways. You don't know what you're missing."

"Yes I do."

"Oh, you sucked one cock," she said. "What does that prove?"

"Proves I didn't like it."

She shook her hair. "Proves nothing. How was it when you fucked your first girl? Wasn't tremendous, was it."

He laughed. "No. As a matter of fact, I thought about giving it up."

"So what makes you think the first cock you sucked was the best you'd ever have? Two guys making it is cool in a way."

"You're ahead of me."

"You're just hungup. You should swing more than you do. Not necessarily more times, but in more ways."

"Well," he said, putting his arms around her, crushing her firm body to him, "how about settling for doing it straight?"

"Agreed."

He rolled her over, climbed onto her. He slid the thick rod into her box without lubricating it. It caught a few times, but he merely rammed harder until it broke through into her well.

"Ungghhh," she said, clinging to him. "There's nothing at all wrong with the straight way."

He stroked, wanting very badly to spurt into her. He had held himself this morning with Brenda, again with Susan. He had not lost any of his vital energies, but now it was essential to get rid of them so that he could forget Susan's body, forget the tightness of her crotch soup. Otherwise, he would not get to sleep.

"You're tearing me up!" she moaned. "No, don't slow down. Shred my cunt with that thing! Pound it in!"

He pounded it in. But though she exploded and her creamy liquids ran down her thighs, wet his own balls, Sam could not ejaculate. He could keep a hard, but he could not get rid of it. He tried thinking of Susan, tried imagining this was her that he was buried in. He envisioned her tits, but the vision was replaced by the slightly smaller, slightly less upthrust tits of Linda. He tried to see Susan's face where this girl's was, but he had no luck. At last, dejected, he pulled out of her and rolled onto his back.

They laid there, talking inconsequentialities until, his hard now gone, she left for the night. When she was gone, he got out of bed and brought back a bottle of concord grape wine he had been keeping in the half refrigerator in the kitchen. He poured a glassful and drank it. If there was no other way, he would get blasted. At least, he would sleep.

There was a point during the long evening hours when he began to have trouble with his movements. His tongue felt thick, and his eyes were watery. It was the middle of a heavy drunk. The wine was gone, and so were three of his remaining cans of beer. He opened the fourth can and worked on it.

This was supposed to have been a skin summer. Plenty of screwing and money. But it was turning into something else. Because of… Of Susan.

But he refused to think about that.

So he drank.

That beer and another.

Sometime after that, his actions became unclear even to himself. They seemed disjointed. Each act was a quantal moment in time. Seconds seemed like minutes. Then, at other times, minutes seemed like seconds. Each thing he did was separated by blank periods of time wherein he was either asleep or all but unconscious.

Item: He was on his way to Brenda Markwell's cabin. If he could not manage to shoot into Linda, he could find release in Brenda. Sweet little Brenda. Coming into the kitchen with her little tits hanging out. Pretending not to care. Little Brenda with piss dripping off those tits. Little Brenda, warped, sick little Brenda could make him shoot. But then he remembered her roommate would be there at I night, and he stopped, standing in the woods, weaving, try to think. At last, he turned and started back toward the main area of the camp, walked into a period of blankness…

Item: He was in the office, had entered with his key. He was standing in the dark office, looking through the files of the girls who had registered at the camp. When he found Susan's name, he committed her cabin number to memory. He put the files away and went to the door. At the door, he could hot remember whether he had put the files away or not. It would not do to let Linda or old lady Worley know he had been snooping. He went back to check. When he reached the door again, he had forgotten what he had found. Were the files away or laid out? He started back, hoping that this was not the Twilight Zone…

Item: He was standing outside of Brenda's cabin. He moved alongside it, looking in the windows. At last, he saw her. She was sleeping on top of the sheets, for it was a warm night. She wore no pajamas. He studied her body, felt his penis growing rigid. He wanted to go in to her, to hold her. But her roommate was there also. And if he was caught, he would lose his chance to hustle Brenda and other chicks. He turned and stepped into the darkness…

Item: He was standing next to a pine tree, pissing. For a moment, the trunk was transformed into Brenda Markwell.

Item: He was before a strange cabin. For a moment, he could not recall where he was. Then he remembered that he had looked up two names in the files. Jenny Sansom lived in this cabin during the summer. He went to the door and tested it. It was locked. He put his weight against it, but it held. He stood there in the night…

Item: He was prying at the window to the living room of Jenny Sansom's cabin. It creaked, gave a bit. He slid his fingers under the tiny crack that had opened, shoved the window up. It made a dry rasping sound in the cool darkness. He went through, moving surprisingly quietly for a man in his condition. He went through the shadow-filled living room into the bedroom where she was nestled in sheets. He stood, watching her sleep, then moved to her, took the corner of the covers, and lifted them away from her, dropped them to the bottom of the bed. Still, she did not wake. He stood over her…

Item: She was wearing nothing, her small, dark body very fragile against the white sheets. He reached down and placed a hand on her thigh, moved it slowly up to cup her little cunny mound. She mumbled, rolled completely onto her back. He put his first finger into her soup and slowly twirled it around and around. Abruptly, she opened her eyes…

Item: She started to scream. He clamped his other hand over her mouth. They met each other's eyes and locked their gazes.

Item: His finger revolving in her cunny, revolving and revolving until she began to react, until he could feel her cunt contracting with pleasure…

Item: Her eyes. They softened as he worked his finger.

Item: "Will you scream if I release your mouth, Jenny?" he asked her. When she shook her head negatively, he released his hand and slipped his mouth over hers, darted his tongue into her lips, between her teeth. She did not react, just laid there, trying to stifle the rising excitement in her sparse body. When he pulled away from her and began to unbuckle his trousers, she said: "Will you hurt me?"

"No, love," he said.

"You can do whatever you want," she said. "Just don't kill me, please."

He looked down at her when he was naked. "I only want to love you. I won't kill you."

She could only say it over and over: "Do whatever you want to me, but please don't kill me. Don't kill me."

Item: Sam got into bed with her.

Item: "This will be good," he said. "Wait. You'll see." He worked with her cunny until it was dripping, went down on her and ate her until she erupted, moaning, crying but ecstatic.

"I'll be gentle," he said. "Do you have any Vaseline." She didn't, but she had some unobnoxious hand cream, and he worked a glob of that into her pie. Then he lubricated his big staff and gently, gently, very gently worked it into the channel of her pleasure.

Item: She was crying, but less and less as he stroked her. He worked his meat softly as if she were but a child. She had been fucked before, for she was broken, but she was tight from inexperience and did not know how to move to complement his strokes. He fondled her tiny breasts as he worked his dick, and he felt the buds grow, swell, reach a peak just as she came for a second time. And a third.

Item: Sam clung to her, dizzy with liquor, unable to see straight or to know just what he was doing. But he did know that he had forgotten Susan. He was going to shoot. He stroked several quick thrusts, shuddered as the thick load of semen burst out of his organ. "Jenny, Jenny," he whispered in her ear. "You're draining me dry, Jenny." He burst twice, then spurted only droplets until his cock had shrunk and fallen out of her.

Item: He was dressed again. She was naked. She was lying on the cooled sheets, a hand to her crotch, holding herself not so much in pain as in disbelief. He left her there, went out into darkness…

Item: He was in his own bed. He felt depleted. He tried to think why he was so relaxed when earlier he had been so terribly uptight. But sleep stole in and claimed him before he could dredge up a suitable answer…

Item: He had changed. He had met Susan, had had his character dissected and laid out for him, and had found himself unpleasant. And now, perhaps even without his conscious knowledge, something was greatly different…