Take Me! : Taboo NC Erotica - Lazarus Orlando - ebook
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Warning: This is a vintage hard-boiled full length (100+ Pages), post-censorship erotic novel. This is bad stuff. Both bad meaning bad and bad meaning *good*. The story is so crazy, we can't even give a proper description. Check out the free sample if you can.****Again Pat tried flailing her head from one side of the pillow to the other in an effort to escape his probing filth, but she was impaled, her arms and legs handcuffed to the four corners of her bed, her glossy, black mound pumping high, with her vaginal slit pulled wide, pink and softly tender, gaspingly awaited his attack.It had to come. She knew it.Her mind raced helplessly. Fred had executed the perfect ambush, with Kate out of town, and the nearest neighbors a half mile away.What a stupid fool she'd been tonight. It would have been far better to give herself gladly to Ron Severn, no matter what his shortcomings were; spend the whole night in his arms, under the trees, than be a helpless victim to a sadistic madman's oral rape.

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Take Me!

Lazarus Orlando

Copyright © 2017

Table of Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER ONE

As Patricia Rawlings walked through her mother's empty house, she began shedding her clothing. She felt degraded and used somehow, after tonight... she hated to use the word orgy, but none other quite fit. Pat told herself that she still loved Ron as much as ever, but her skin crawled with imagined filth, with the things they had done to each other, and his threat to drop some acid in retaliation.

She couldn't bear anything touching her, not even her silken briefs.

Pat wadded her blouse into a crumpled ball and threw it into the corner of the couch. Reaching up, she unsnapped her bra as she walked through the kitchen, waiting to step out of her mini and panties when she had reached the sanctity of her bedroom.

The old house was strangely quiet. Her mother was visiting in San Luis Obispo, and her new stepfather, Fred, still on shift. Pat felt completely free in her solitude, as she stepped nakedly before the bathroom mirror.

She cupped her generous breasts in her hands, holding them straight out, closer to the glass, peering at their nipples and her coral aureoles. They were tender and bruised, portions showing more darkly red with the marks of Ron's teeth, mouthing and gnawing away her gentle resiliency.

Pat was still flushed and confused, with a lingering, slowly dying fire in her loins. The whole scene had been horrible. She had loved Ron Severn with all her heart and mind for over two years now; they were being married in less than a month.

Never in God's world should she have let him talk her into lying with him in the back of his Volkswagen bus.

She could still feel the drying scum of his wasted sperm on her face and neck, and taste its bitter saltiness on her lips.

They had always been so straightforward in their attitudes on premarital sex, both deciding to save this ultimate, rewarding joy for their wedding night.

What demons had entered their bodies tonight, Pat asked herself in shame, making them writhe in the dust like rutting beasts in the field? She knew it wasn't all Ron's fault. As much as she had fought and struggled against her weakening will, wild physical desire had consumed her body and reduced her to a quivering mass of demanding flesh.

Pat turned away, no longer able to face her image in the mirror. She felt the hot flush of shame center between her thighs as she reflected on her sinful wantonness. This was one of the glories of marriage, as the books all preached, saving yourself, remaining pure and untouched for the one man. The phrase, "giving yourself in marriage" would be truly empty, if you had nothing to give.

Tonight she had been as eager as Ron to destroy herself on the huge, massive shaft that thrust at her tenderness from between his hairy legs.

Just thinking about his delicious closeness was enough to start her fires raging again. If it hadn't been for Ron's innocence and immaturity, her sacred nineteen-year-old virginity would have been lost forever.

Pat tried thrusting these disturbing thoughts from her mind as she lay back on her wide brass bed. The heat of her body, coupled with the heat of the surrounding air, made covering impossible. She kicked everything to the foot of the bed, stretching flat, flexing tired muscles like a cat, lying naked in the moist heat.

Her hungry vagina welcomed her darting, questing fingers, as she soothed herself into fitful tossing slumber.

Almost immediately, Pat's sleeping consciousness was engulfed in a horrendous, nerve-shattering nightmare. It seemed so real, she could have sworn she came awake in downtown Santa Barbara, running naked through the tortuous alleys of El Paseo.

Evil blackness closed tightly around her, and still she ran. Cataclysmic clouds, in flashing psychedelic colors, roiled at the far end of the arched passageway, and out of the mouth of a paper-strewn alley rolled the expected black-and-white cruiser.

Pat's deeply rooted intuition sensed the presence of the automobile before it came into view, and pulled in to the curb beside her. She also knew that the evil, lascivious man her mother had married would be behind the wheel, devouring her with his dirty eyes.

She stopped running in mid-stride, realizing in one horrible instant that she ran naked. There was a dim memory of a shopping trip downtown, and somehow she had lost all of her clothing. It was all such a mystery. She couldn't remember where.

Whirling away, she still ran frantically. She glanced down through the valley of her violently jogging breasts, wishing there was some way of protecting the vulnerable triangle, the dark, inviolate center of her life and being.

The heat was stifling, but despite the rivulets of sweat dripping into her eyes, and streaking her creamed, ivory thighs, Pat's vision was sickeningly clear. The police car was so close behind her she could reach back and touch it.

The burning concrete sizzled under her tender bare feet, and she jumped aside as the cruiser slued in toward the curb. Pat cast a frightened glance over her shoulder, and it was Fred Hinson behind the window glass, with his closely shaven head, black, uneven teeth and shattered pug nose. He flung open the door and lunged out to grasp at her naked, jouncing breasts.

"Oh God. Why me?" Pat cried out to herself, as she darted through an alley, eluding the slavering beast once more.

No matter how fast she ran down all the long, dark alleys, his patrol car was always waiting, sealing the exits.

Pat felt the succulent heaviness of her young, innocent breasts as she turned, her long, black hair flying straight around, the warm, swirling air caressing her heat tortured nipples. She was extremely conscious of the weight of her naked breasts, as she sprinted off in the opposite direction, feeling them jounce almost down to her flat, arching belly, and then bounce back upward in their resilience, nearly touching her chin, always in time and in rhythm with her bounding leaps for protective safety.

These deep, milk-white, exquisitely rounded globes had always given Patricia Rawlins problems. Early in her teens, she'd harbored a secret longing for impressive size and shape; she'd wanted them to be the biggest pair in La Colina Junior High, though she'd rather have died than tell anyone. She couldn't remember how many nights she had huddled on her great brass bed, facing the wall in her adolescent shame, still as a stone, fearing discovery, but still working away, massaging her hardening nipples, kneading her soft, pliable flesh into ever greater prominence.

It was a simple case of overkill. Pat's success was almost more than she could handle. Every male with normal eyesight, even blind studs within sniffing distance, had to handle them, fondle them and suckle them. Her twin beauties had swelled and expanded beyond Pat's wildest expectations. One silly millimeter more, and they would have split the pure ivory skin that encased them, held them upright, and pointed them proudly.

Pat's breath heaved, hot and gusting. Her tongue and lips were dry as desert sand. She could hardly lift her bleeding feet. Thank God, she was nearly at the end of the block.

Even here there was no haven. As she stepped down from the curb, the police car shot in front of her, and Fred Hinson, his lusting eyes feasting on her naked purity, motioned Pat inside.

It seemed the door was made of clear plastic. Fred turned toward her in his seat, rolling on his right hip, and Pat could see him plainly, straight through the simulated metal. His trousers were open and gaping, and his horribly large, red thing, with its blood-filled knuckle, was standing straight up from his crotch.

The thoughts that were jumbling his mind couldn't have been more plain if his brain had been split open on an operating table. Pat caught a vision of herself spread-eagled on the rear seat, with his massive root tearing at her vagina.

"And all because of these," Pat told herself, as she cupped her joggling breasts close to her body, stilling their disgraceful exhibitionism as she turned to run again.

Her last five years had been hell. Every living male, boys and men alike, college professors, gas station attendants, service men, and for some strange reason, especially milkmen, had insisted on squeezing them, clutching them to their hot, slavering mouths, purporting to use their scented sweetness as a direct pathway to her unsuspecting, quivering clitoris, and the commission of unnamed depravities upon her pure, untasted body.

Or so she believed, because her mother had instructed her in the evil ways of the world.

The face Pat turned toward savage society was one of iron will, which fostered a grim determination to preserve her maiden's hymen for her chosen spouse. This elaborate facade could have been easily breached, because her truly soft vulnerability was her own well-kept secret. No one but she knew how easily she could be had if proper procedures were applied to her humbly supplicating body at the precisely correct moment.

Her deep, throbbing breasts, with their blossoming coral buds was the sure route to her passionate submission. Inside her secret savage soul, Pat knew that gentle, tender manipulation of her breasts, and smooth, rhythmic salivary suction on her hardening, brick-red nipples could transform her instantly from a shy and modest virgin, into a rampaging, rutting she-beast, insatiable in her lust for protuberant male flesh.

So many nights she had lain alone, lonely in the jingling brass bed, loving herself, and rehearsing the sacred act in pantomime.

Pat's face reddened as this sober truth crossed her mind, and she remembered that just tonight, before she'd been caught up in this stupid nightmare, the man she loved and would devote her life to had coaxed her into lying on the bed of his Volkswagen bus.

She couldn't count the times she had dreamed of glorious, connubial climax. Never had she been so close to achieving her heart's desire, and never had she been so bitterly disappointed.

God made his only creative mistake in his conception of the male and female sexual appetite, Pat mused. Their capabilities should have been reversed. Man should have been granted the durability necessary to cope with Woman's insatiability.

"Pat, Darling," Ron had crooned softly in her ear, reaching for her breast, sharply outlined under her jersey blouse, as she skillfully fended him away, "it's not as though we were exactly strangers."

He was feeling a slight high from blowing two marijuana cigarettes while they watched Lee Marvin at the Airport Drive-In. She herself sucked in a few drags while sipping Vin Rose out of a paper cup, but outside of a slightly up feeling they did nothing for her.

After the show they had driven down Las Palmas Drive, through the Hope Ranch, and had parked on a bluff overlooking the ocean.

The silver moon had blazed a pathway from the bird-whitened rocks offshore where seals barked in guttural chorus.

It was much too picture-book with the moonlit surf pounding against the cliffs, and the soft music from the radio.

Pat couldn't let Ron know all her secrets.

She'd been exposed to her own mother's shame and degradation too many years to test her honest passion.

She'd learned how to fence and parry, using her tongue and ready wit to protect herself from her own emotions.

Pat lay quietly in Ron's arms, trying to keep a wall of security between them.

"I know what you want, you devil." She laughed into his dark brooding eyes. "Free samples before you buy the merchandise."

"Something like that." He said, smiling, with that flash of sunlight that clutched at her heart. "How do we know we'll be good for each other, unless we try it first?"

His mouth was searching for hers in the darkness, and she stiffened instinctively, placing a warning finger against his lips.

Pat was filled with doubt, unsure of her capabilities; the result of the frightening spectacle of her mother's pathetic submission.

She knew it came through in her voice.

"What if I'm a failure? You'll hate me, I know."

"Oh, honey," he scowled impatiently, shifting his eager hands further down, into the small of her back, and pulling her reluctant loins closer to his. "Stop talking like a wife, and come on. Make love. I'll be gentle. You'll see."

Her whole being was flooded with the warmth of his embrace, but there was this block deep in Pat's mind that held her emotions in check, waiting for the secure joy of sanctity.

She stored long memories, hearing again Kate Rawlins and her bestial, rutting groan of ecstasy, grinding away in the next room, beyond the lath-and-paper wall, wearing out her damnably noisy bed, under yet another one of the endless stream of nameless, faceless men that came and went, always failing to satisfy her mother's demanding, sexual hunger.

As Pat grew older, and realized the significance of the orgiastic screaming beyond the tissue-thin wall, she massaged her budding breasts even harder, digging pulsing fingers deep into her seeping, sobbing vagina. She was shamed by this compulsive self-gratification, and knew it for the artifice it was; but despite the repugnant squeals of pain and pleasure echoing from the adjoining room, she was driven to release her own inhibited pressures.

Through devious rationalization, she assured herself that whatever she did wasn't the same as having a man.

She was still unsullied, virgin pure.

Ron had been so close tonight. If she had only kept control, he would have... given her something she'd have treasured the rest of her life.

The very thought made Pat quiver deliciously.

Ron had made all the right motions, except the last, and most important.

Lying on their sides, with their mouths locked together, his meaty tongue had snaked into her eager throat with an indescribable sweetness. Deliciously aggressive, Ron had slowly worked the buttons of her blouse loose, each delicate flick of his fingers a tender torture all its own.

Her firm resolve melted away like spring snow in the summer sun.

The strong firmness of his hand clamped behind her unresisting head, kept her mouth tightly glued on his as she sucked deeply on his probing tongue. His other hand, free and wandering, was warm against the chill gooseflesh of her jumping, frightened skin. He unsnapped her bra, so that it flapped uselessly around her neck like deflated water wings.

Pat knew she should never permit these liberties, but it was too late to turn back, lest she should expose herself for a prudish ninnie.

She was filled with a sudden secret joy, as her deep yielding breasts swelled outward in glorious freedom.

Ron pushed the offending brassiere still further up her neck, as he tore his lips from hers, and buried his hungry mouth in the warm, silken valley between her succulent breasts.

His lips came alive like wriggling snakes, as he nibbled his way across her rising whiteness, and his mouth was a ravenous, hungry maw as it engulfed her hardening nipples. Ron's tongue was a bright flicker of flame, darting quickly across her body.

Suddenly, as though doused with burning sulphur, Pat felt the heat from her own banked fires of passion flow the entire length of her spine—to lodge, burning and crackling, in the innermost depths of her tender vagina.

Pat ground her teeth in pent frustration, fighting an almost overwhelming desire to just relax in his arms and submit to Ron's tender, forcing caresses. But now, so close to their wedding night, she couldn't let him see how easily she could be taken.

Pride lay in a solid lump at the bottom of her heart.

If she was this eager with him tonight, then he'd know there was no sense getting married at all.

Pat tried smothering her flaming emotions, but it was useless. Might as well put out a forest fire with a squirt gun.

In an unguarded moment of blind, unthinking reflex, she tangled her fingers in his black, curling hair, and pulled his writhing, voracious lips tight into her proudly rising breast, revelling in the sweet pain that racked her heaving chest.

Ron's vicious teeth bit deep into one tortured nipple.

"Oh God! Yes!" she whispered into the enveloping night, so low that not even he could hear.

Sensing her need, Ron filled his mouth with her tender beauty, nodding violently, pulling at her resilience like a suckling child.

Behind the deceiving shell of her self-control, Pat's body seethed in passionate agony. Fighting her hedonistic, savage impulses, her hips inched closer to his now pulsating loins with an insatiably independent life.

A tiny corner of her mind froze into immutable shock as her soft pubic mound flexed against the rising hardness of his crotch.

The abbreviated mini that Pat was wearing barely covered her buttocks when she stood, but now, lying prone beside the man she was soon to marry, the flimsy garment was pushed up beyond her navel.

Oh God! Oh God!

It was so beautiful straining toward him, with his loving, tender hands cupping her trembling buttocks, feeling the thrust of his manhood through the hard denim of his riveted Levi's.

She was nearly crying with ecstatic joy.

Pat clamped her mewling mouth tight into the soft hollow of Ron's neck to keep from screaming with delight. She had suddenly discovered heights of latent enchantment lying hidden and stored in the secret glands of her body. The crackling flame in her vagina spread throughout her raging blood. The jerking stiffness in her nipples matched the rising rigidity of her timidly hiding clitoris, sweetly swelling, pulsing with nervous anticipation, as she pressed closer to his hardness, flexing her corded thighs in an indecisive moment of puzzling quandary, locking her ankle behind his muscled calf, pumping at the warmth in his loins in unguarded abandon for one quick moment before her naked shamefulness struck her smack in the face, causing her to pull away from the tidal force of his body in blushing embarrassment.

She lay hypnotized in his arms for a long moment, not struggling against the tight, clasping grip on her trembling buttocks. He strained close to her in dry, shameful rehearsal.

Pat knew she had to roll away from him. Call it quits, and save the best part for their special night. She also knew that the flickering flame burning in the tips of her breasts were burning up her defenses.

She and Ron shouldn't be pressing their bodies together like this. Stealing forbidden fruit. But the rapture was so delicious.

Pat sensed a sweet, aromatic dampness oozing from the inner walls of her vagina. Casually she wondered, with warm detachment, whether or not her moment of unrestrained pumping against Ron's throbbing crotch would leave unexplainable traces of herself on Ron's Levi's.

Pat smiled secretly to herself.

She could just hear Ron's laughter if he could read her thoughts.

Spoken like a true wife.

In one last flash of rational sanity, before surrendering to her own driving sense for pleasure, Pat lay still for another suspended second, quietly enjoying the cool sensation caused by the chill seepage of her own juices inside the elastic band of her panties, as the leakage crept round the full curve of her right buttock as it rested against bone-grinding steel.

There was one disquieting moment when Ron reared up and away from her, feverishly wrestling with his impossibly tight buttons.

Pat shivered slightly as the cold sea air gushed between their near-naked bodies.

Suddenly, his proud red thing was out, staring at her.

They were so dangerously close to the vital moment that she stiffened into icy rigidity.

He was down against her, and his insistent virility was throbbing against her belly. He had her pinned tight against him, and no matter how she wriggled she couldn't escape.

Pat knew she'd played with matches too long. Ron's short fuse was due to explode any second.

She was being torn apart. One half of her being was religiously protecting her virginity, while the other half thrust it toward her lover, desperately trying to throw it away.

Pat found his mouth in the darkness, in order to seal her own. Bright, sparkling flashes invading her vagina and turning it upside down with pyrotechnic sensations, forced her to send her darting tongue probing between his writhing lips.

Words she'd seen scrawled on rest room walls now had delicious meaning, as they tumbled through her mind. She wanted to scream them to the heavens.

"Oh, Ron. Fuck me, please." She chanted to herself, deep in her mind, beyond the ken of man. "Stuff me full of your cock, Darling. Deep. Oooh, deep. Fuck me now."

Pat involuntarily spread her thighs, wondering at her sudden enchantment, knowing she could take on a platoon of marines simultaneously.

Ron's rigid member molded itself into the soft flesh of her belly, and her widening thighs felt the gentle weight of his seamed and wrinkled sac. She hunched down against him so that the rayon-covered mouth of her vagina mothered his pulsing root.

Ooh, she had to, had to take all he could give inside her aching body, mothering it, smothering it, crooning over the delicious length of it, milking it down for the beautifully, marvelous sperm hidden away in his luscious nest of eggs.

But the day was so close.

Pat loved Ron with single-minded devotion, and she knew she must have strength enough for both of them.

She must hold back.

This was no good. No matter how badly she wanted to rationalize, salve her conscience so that she could just lie back and let him go, allowing the wicked desires that ravaged her body to take control, just to joyfully spread herself wide, watching Ron plunge his huge evil deep into the hungry recesses of her body, she couldn't bear to let it happen.

Pat ground her teeth, and clenched her fists in the darkness, but she might as well have tried riding through an ocean storm in a wash bucket. The rhythm of her bucking, grinding loins quickened, and she grasped Ron's swelling, meaty root, close to its knotted end, forcing it, forcing it down, down from her navel, and wedged it tightly between her gripping thighs.

Instinctively, she knew that if she worked him, worried him like a bone, in the safe, soft flesh of her thighs, his own excitement would finish him, and she would still save her ultimate gift for their honeymoon.

The sweet torture of his nearness was exquisite. She moaned softly in his ear, wrapping her arms convulsively around his neck, as she felt his corded knob push against her silken panties, between the trembling lips of her vagina.

Her reserve was blown away on the hot wind of her animal desire, galvanizing her to quicker action, sliding her rounded, tightening buttocks down his entire length, then flexing back, until just his throbbing glans remained stationary between her aching thighs.

"Ooh, Ron...?" The sparkling words were right there, dancing on the tip of her tongue, bright as fireworks, but she was too ashamed to ask him. She bit into the moist flesh of his neck in a vain effort to stifle her desire.

"What, darling?" he asked, breathing heavily on her naked breasts, pressing her close.

'"You're so good for me," Pat moaned, snaking her fingers through the short hair on the back of his head, pulling his mouth close to her own.

Her thighs clutched him tightly to her blooming vagina, and Pat was suffused with the frantic impatience of her passion. Again, she hunkered down the length of him, vainly trying to synchronize her pulsing gyrations with his viciously pounding pelvis.

His entire shaft was sweetly sticky with the natural juices that poured from her body.

"Oh my God, Pat... " Ron writhed, panting through his open mouth, as his darting tongue flicked across her nipples.

Pat stiffened, tightening her thighs around his hardness, as she felt his scrabbling fingers crawl up between her legs, like tiny hardshell crabs on an early morning beach, forcing themselves eagerly between the trembling lips of her vagina, and his slickly sliding member. Nipping quickly under the band of her panties, one probing digit found her red moistness, as it throbbed with an eternally consuming fire.

She sucked in her breath sharply at the sudden beautiful shock, and she bit down on her lower lip as she flicked her hips forward without conscious thought.

The palm of his sweating hand slapped sharply against the curve of her buttocks.

She had his whole lovely finger trapped up in there, and would never let it go.

Nothing else mattered in this pregnant instant in time. The center of her life, the one focal point in her entire universe, was being soothingly satiated.

Pat groaned in agony, as Ron's finger slid away, continuing its tender ministrations at the hypersensitive point of her puckered, sucking anus, tracing the swelling hemisphere of her buttocks, and then fingering her jumping labia again, and at long last, tenderly caressing the inner regions of those mouthing lips where her quivering, hardening clitoris jerked upward in sweet anticipation.

"Ooh, Ron, darling...?" She moaned again, trying to mouth her demanding words, as she rolled even closer to his punishing finger, locking her long legs behind his knees, again caught up in her moment of wild abandon. She crowded herself onto his stroking digit in fitful rhythm, sucking cold air deep into her lungs, almost like a marijuana toke, whispering, whispering, "... please, oh, please... " Pat could feel him stiffen, easing himself away, tensing against the binding grip of her spare and corded thighs.

He lifted his sucking mouth from her naked jutting breast, and stared deep into her smoky eyes.

"Jesus, Pat," he breathed, "we can't. We can't do it. I can't fuck you now."

She was in agony, beyond all rational thought.

Ron's use of THAT WORD struck fire deep in the folds of her throbbing vagina with( as much force as if he were actually performing THAT ACT. A mental picture quickly sketched itself on the walls of her mind, and she saw herself skewered to the metal bed of the bus, her legs flailing wildly, with Ron's long thin snake slithering far inside the insatiable red mouth that had taken possession of her soul.

"You've got to do something Ron, if you love me." Pat rolled away from his thrusting strength, almost crying as his finger slipped away from her hungrily devouring vagina. She lay flat on her back on the cold metal floor, her rumpled skirt pushed high up under her naked, quivering beasts. "I don't want to either, but damn, damn, can't you see what you've done?"

Ron tried to be gentle. He inched closer to her, kissing her lips softly and tenderly, with his rejected pride still standing erect between them like a young pine tree.

"Pm sorry, darling." He crooned. "I didn't mean to get you started."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. We were playing with dynamite, and it just exploded."

The bittersweet taste of love hung heavy on their lips. Ron reached out in his need, and his hand was warm and comforting on her breast.

That one tender gesture, that one single caress triggered her. She lay in heaven, reaching for him, thrilling delight as steaming fluids filled her vagina, seeping along its stiffening walls, oozing through her trembling lips, soothing the chafed tenderness of her buttocks with its cooling dampness.

Never in her wildest fantasies, in all the years she had lain alone, soothing her aching desires, had she achieved such a satisfying climax, so enveloping, and yet strangely unfulfilling, because deep in her soul she knew she had another, more important purpose.

She was the willing instrument for Ron's complete gratification.

Pat was gripped with an uncontrollable desire to milk the last drop of his eager sperm deep into the haven of her merging body.

"Ron. Oh, Ron." She sighed, thrilling at the cool, silken touch of him, savouring his rigid muscles, and the corded veins that ran the length of him.

"Darling. Darling." He was almost sobbing on her breast, as he pushed himself deeper into her nest of constricting fingers.

She hadn't meant to grasp his private parts like this, but it seemed such a natural reaction, reaching and touching, as innocent as a good-night kiss. It was one of God's miracles the way he sprang rigid under her caress; potently powerful in his little nest of tangled hair.

Ron was in complete command again, as he placed a knee between her thighs, and she widened them dutifully. His straying fingers found the trembling source of her raw hunger, and she was helpless before him, sliding her hand up the massive length of his delight, and quickly down again. Slowly at first, with as much natural ease as though she had been doing it all her life, and then with an ever increasing tempo that forced whimpers of ecstatic joy from his mewling lips.

Pat felt his hot blood course the length of him, as it pumped through her quickening fingers. She felt the dominant strength of earth power, mothering him, and suckling him like a new born baby, guiding his destiny, potently merging her life and love with his mounting passion.

Ron was devouring her yielding breast, taking a full quarter of it in his sucking mouth, while his devil tongue flickered around her bursting nipple.

Pat had succumbed completely to ancient, evil desire, repressively sinful in this supposedly enlightened age of plastic contraception, but as old, and as natural as mankind itself.

Pat's hand tightened on him, and her fingers felt his knob once more. Moving spastically, she ground her vagina tightly around his ravaging finger.

Ron hobbled closer, crawling between her upraised knees, nibbling his way to her other hungry breast. There was a groovy rightness raising her legs, and crossing her ankles in the small of his back.

"Mmm, honey," he purred, forming two fingers in a rigid monolith, and slathering them deep inside her.

"Oh, yes, Ron." Her head was thrown back as she breathed deeply, but the air was thin and never reached her lungs. Everything had turned to steam, and there wasn't enough air in the world to quell the heaving of her chest. "Oh my God, you've got me. You really have."

He leaned into her quickening fingers, almost crying.

"You're wonderful, Pat, darling. Wonderful."

"It's you, sweet. You make me that way."

"Just think. It will always be this way. For us."

"Let it be now. Please, love. Now."

The words had spilled unconsciously from her lips, despite the fact that the opposite sides of her soul were still at war. She had a deeper insight into the sickness of her mother's nymphomania now, but even so she had to have something else filling her yawning crevice beside a psychosomatic, tearing pain.

She arched her hips, forcing her vagina to follow his disappearing fingers, as he wriggled from her grasp, and sat upright.

"Yes. Now, darling," Ron whispered in the darkness. "I'm going to be good to you right now."

As soon as her stroking hand was empty, and he leaned away from the heat of her body, the old doubts and fears crept into her mind.

"God. God. What should I do?" Pat asked herself in true agony. "I want him so badly, I know I'll die without him. But we've waited so long... just a few more days."

Remembering lonely times past, and secure in the enveloping darkness, she dug her own two fingers deep inside her yawning vagina, stroking boldly to keep her fires banked, until Ron could slip out of his Levi's, and care for her the way a husband should.

Ron knelt beside her, almost in an attitude of prayer, as he slid his hand under the elastic band of her panties, caressing her buttocks as she arched them upward, helping him, as she felt the flimsy silk trail the long length of her leg, before he crumpled them into a ball and threw them into a corner of the bus.

Pat reached for him again, as he leaned between her widened thighs, which flexed and tightened in anticipation, and his searching fingers soothed the tortured depths of her shivering vagina. On each outstroke, his delicate touch never failed to titillate her tiny, pinkly-throbbing clitoris, as it jerked wildly up to meet his touch.

"Man, oh man. What a groove." Pat sighed happily, pumping him quickly, as she cradled his fuzzy wrinkled sac with her free hand.

Unbridled joy shot the length of her arm, as she felt him wince under her pressure, and then settle deeper into her cupped hand for satisfaction.

"Pat. Faster, faster... " Ron cried, as he rocked tighter into her crotch, pumping his fingers swiftly down the full length of her bubbling vagina, slamming his palm against the bone of her pelvis, and his bruising fingers into her cervix, then quickly slipping out, until Pat felt the cool rush of air soothing his fevered roughness.

Under a compulsive spell stronger than life itself, her fingers crept across her flushed thigh, to the silken slit of her cunt, and with practiced agility, spread her hungry lips. Pat felt a cold, unreasoning fear, because she had never manipulated herself for a man before, but she shrugged it off in a certain sure instinct that flushed her face with shame.

But in the last possible instant she couldn't do it. She could feel him throb and shudder in her hand, as he surged forward in all his proud manhood, seeking desperately to thread his glans between her rich, sucking lips. But she held him back, back, even as her undulating hips rose to meet his thrusting madness.

She bit deep into her tongue, clutching him in a grip of death, not giving an inch, because even an inch would be fatal.

His great clubbed sweetness had just peeked inside her starving maelstrom, and her ravenous mouth fluttered wildly, trying to swallow him whole.

But no. No. His perfect driving force was to be denied.

She was dying inside, as he swelled and grew within her tightening fingers, and she pushed him even farther along the line of her clenching thighs.

"Oh my God... " Ron moaned, bucking wildly, as Pat relented in that last soul-tearing instant, and his throbbing head slid slickly inside her thickly wet, red mouth, with her steaming heat, and her wiry pubic hair framing their innocence. "I can't... My Christ, I can't... I've got to... Got to... Shit, Pat, darling, I'm sorry... " Gloriously, he was just inside her, and her ravenous cunt sucked every detail of his goodness ever deeper. Pat's whole harmonious being responded to his entry into her body with the wild joy. She flexed quickly under his crushing weight, in a spastic effort to consume his entire length, but in that one chaotic instant he whipped his glory away from her, fearful of the demanding strength of his potency, stripping her soul in cheap degradation, falling weakly across her arching stomach, the whole bony length of him belching useless, burning spurts of sperm, coating her naked belly, the lower curves of her heaving breasts, and even lining her neck and chin with the slimy strings of his wasted viscous fluid.

One clinging strand of yellow mucus stretched stickily from her surprised lips to the end of her nose.

"Oh, Pat. Goddamn it, darling," Ron whined, awash in self-pity, as she rolled away from him, hiding her slimed face in her hands, feeling the tears of shame and degradation start in the corners of her hot, burning eyes, and roll down the length of her defiled nose.

The close, stifling air was gamey-rich with their mixing juices. They lay apart, as though each suspected the other was a leper, breathing heavily, descending painfully from the glorious heights of their passion.

Ron leaned toward her, clumsily stroking her now flaccid breast, but his caress lacked the necessary fire. It was as though he was dragging dead fish across her burning flesh.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, with the hysteria gone from his voice, "I couldn't help it. You were so wonderful. I tried to hold back, but all of a sudden I was just there."

He leaned forward, arms wide in supplication, seeking to enfold her tight in his arms, and beg for forgiveness.

A sudden fit of blind rage shook Pat's body, and in an enveloping red haze, she raised her foot, and kicked him viciously in the stomach, sending him crashing against the wall of the bus.

"You son of a bitch." Unknown, unbidden words boiled out of her agony. "How could you do that to me?"

Ron's head crashed against the metal door. He shook himself for a moment, clearing the sparkling lights before answering, still contrite.

"I'm so damned sorry, darling." His puerile words only fanned her flame. "This time just wasn't meant to be, that's all."

The raging fire of her all-consuming passion blazed even higher, now that there was no chance of fulfillment. Their love was no longer a thing of beauty, merely degradingly shameful.

"You're a messy, stinking failure, that's what you are." Pat breathed painfully. "Well, just don't sit there. Give me something, your T-shirt, anything. You've fucked me all up."

"I'll make it up to you, honey. You know I will."

She couldn't bear to look at him. It was as though Ron had deliberately smeared her with filth. Flushed with shame, she scrubbed the scum from her face and neck.

The tender submission of her one precious gift had been distorted into a writhing torment of unbelievable degradation.

Pat had known shame before. Never for herself, but for her mother's compulsive sin. How many nights had Pat lain stretched out on her massive brass bed in tortured sleeplessness, listening to her mother being driven through her own mattress, by a succession of meaty, heavy ramrods; sometimes as many as five in succession.