Chapter 6

It was a diabolical kick for Dapper George to see how this prim, young, rod-up-ass missus reacted to the outrages being visited on her. Up to now, however, Hetty hadn’t actually had to watch herself being spiked, and he wondered how she’d take that. So, shuffling over as best he could with his pants around his ankles, erection bobbing, he grabbed a hank of the lady’s hair and obliged her to lift her head. Using his boot, he shoved Tomo’s pack in behind her neck, like a rough-and-ready bolster to prop up her noggin. “There, now you’ll have a proper view.”

Her face took on an alarmed expression. Without bothering to explain further, he situated himself between her legs and knelt. Unlike Tomo, he didn’t aim to do it the missionary way. Instead, he dipped his hands in under the woman’s silky calves. Lifting and opening, he raised her legs to the vertical, and then just kept on pressing her knees back toward her torso.

Hetty was young and limber, so that although such a pose was awkward, it didn’t present any insurmountable physical challenges. Emotionally, on the other hand, it was more than a little unsettling—because, with head and pelvis bent toward each other this way, it meant she was confronted at the very closest of quarters by her own garish female physiology.

There on her chest lolled her tits, nipples still perked up hard and ruddy. At least they were a part of her anatomy she was fairly familiar with. Far worse was to encounter her vulva on such terribly intimate terms. It was impossible not to register the pornographic gape of her labia, split wide by both posture and arousal, nor the way the exposed flesh in-between glistened red and plump and sodden. Her clit, in particular, had swelled with Tomo’s manipulation, and poked out now at a jaunty angle, mocking her with its unapologetic lewdness.

Even worse, being doubled up in such fashion also left her feeling dreadfully vulnerable—unable to shield her reproductive tract in the slightest, nor impede any male from ramming himself full length down the pipe. That latter prospect was imminent, too, because George’s grotesque masculine organ lay primed right there, unbearably close to her opening, straining feverishly to get inside her.

Her dismay only deepened as the brute shifted a hand to his cock. Then he nuzzled its springy glans against her hole, and that made her flinch and tense up. If he hadn’t tossed off that remark about giving her a view of the proceedings, Hetty probably would have looked away. But with the idea planted firmly in her head, she found she was unable to stop staring down over her body, drawn to the spectacle of her own desecration like a moth to flame.

As George pressed ahead to complete that desecration, he drank in her face, with its wide, cornflower eyes. It made him smile to see how wildly and unwaveringly those eyes of hers fixated on the fateful conjugation of phallus and cunt. He took his time to impale her, enjoying every second. And that was just as well, because his girth posed fresh challenges for Hetty. Despite everything that Tomo had done to arouse her, and stretch her out, accepting a dick the size of George’s, and under such harrowing circumstances, presented a much more difficult proposition.

Why, even just lodging the fat, elastic head in her took effort. After a few moments, however, the resistance of her vaginal ring gave way, and George was inside. Hettie blanched at the satisfying pop of the incursion—reconciling herself to the fact that a second vandal had breached her defenses. She understood that nothing she did now could prevent the man from breeding her. One way or another, this liaison was going to lurch forward to the same sticky, shameful conclusion.

Edging his pelvis forward, George forced himself deeper. Hetty still couldn’t tear her gaze away, as his shaft slowly disappeared inside her. Gradually, her chest tightened, and her brain boiled, like an overstoked locomotive heading for a crackup. The tactile sensation of having her body prized open, having her supple skin rubbed so aggressively against his, it made her crazy. But equally disorienting was the impression of being overmastered—the sense of being made a pawn to this man’s penis, helpless to ward off its primitive, masculine designs for her.

She should have been disgusted by it, horrified by it. But instead, she felt incited, stirred-up, raised to a hair trigger. Being claimed this way seemed to satisfy some murky, elemental need in her—a need she’d never dreamed she possessed, and would have disavowed if she did. And when at last he stuffed her completely, her pussy splaying out to accommodate him while his pubic curls smashed hard against her nub, what she felt flooding through her frame wasn’t revulsion, but a heady, rarified wave of fulfillment.

A few hours earlier, Hetty wouldn’t have recognized this mental state at all. Now she knew it well enough. It signaled that a third orgasm lay squarely within her reach.

And to her consternation, she realized she was itching to seize it.

What a pretty picture Hester Wilcox cut for George’s lusting gaze—face flared up a hot crimson, auburn tresses lank and sweaty from hard-use, eyes unfocused, and sex jammed to bursting with his manhood. “Sweet Mary an’ Jeezus, you got the tightest cunt ‘f any whore I ever fucked,” he breathed, and profane reverence sounded in his voice.

The degrading connotations of his words made her wince; yet somehow that humiliation just spun her up higher. She hated what was happening, but ... oh, there was no use lying. God knew her heart. In the throes of the moment, she wanted the man to fuck her, needed him to fuck her. Now that she was so close, she craved to have what she’d had with Tomo again.

Like some drunk floozy, reeling from last night’s binge and hating herself for a weak fool—who nonetheless barges into the saloon at opening time to get soused again. That’s how Hetty felt now. Oh, why didn’t George just get on with it?!

Then at last, he did. Leaning into her slightly, bending her legs back that much further, Dapper George sucked free, and commenced to railing her hard. Her flesh had begun to adapt itself to the dimensions of his cock, and a fresh surge of wet had spilled through her canal—but even so, the experience of being reamed out this way was tender and inflamed and raw. Not truly painful. Just raw enough to hammer home, with every surging thrust, that her body was being dominated, imposed on, taken without her consent.

And what a glorious imposition it was. Faced with the compulsion of the man’s ramrod cock, and the stubborn, case-hardened insistency that lay behind it, she had no choice but to surrender—no choice but to subsume herself into the inevitability of what was being done to her. All her senses were saturated: her eyes full of the vision of his massive, ruddy pole pounding up into her; her nose redolent with the scent of her own arousal; her ears abuzz with the tantalizing thwack of his groin on her open pussy; her nerve endings in thrall to the tactile lunge and scrape and slap of their bodies.

Still, there was something missing; a final dash of seasoning she’d need before she could come. And sex with Tomo had given her a clue what that something was. Mindlessly, she reached slender fingers down to her clitoris. Even as George went on penetrating her, his groin slamming up against her finger tips, she began to tease herself, lightly, effervescently—unwittingly emulating every technique that the native man had used to break down her defenses.

“Ahhhhh... ” The somatic responses were immediate.

“Ahh-ahh-ahh... ” She was like a marionette, dancing to the rhythm of some enchanted puppeteer.

“Ohhhh-God-oh-God-oh-GOD!” Her brain dissolved into a bottomless pool of euphoria.

As Hetty gave herself over to climax once more, her body convulsed wildly, eyelids shut and lips parted, wafting thin, feral moans to the heavens above. It was the most powerful outburst yet, jolting her sinews with its magical, irresistible fury, ripping her completely from the moment, and elevating her high above the contours of this sphere. And watching Hetty come, sly George Sirico felt he’d never been so alive. It was like he’d won all the marbles—like for once this screwed-up world made some kind of sense, and the story he was living really was about him after all.