Chapter 2

For some reason my thoughts kept swirling back to Mr. Goldstein while I climbed the stairs. God, how I hated that man! He'd been pudgy--not really fat, just smooth and pudgy and sweaty- -and he'd seemed to me to have as many hands as an octopus. I'd been scared to death of him the first time I'd had to talk to him. Mother and Daddy hadn't been dead longer than a month and I'd already realized the insurance wasn't going to stretch far enough at Ma Conner's. I mean, there were two of us no matter how you looked at it, and that meant it cost for two instead of one. She'd gone to bat for us and kept them from splitting us up, but she did have a living to make, herself. And the people who paid her for board and room furnished that living.

The trouble was, I actually lacked about five months of being old enough to be my own boss. Technically, Mr. Goldstein should have gotten a court okay to put me to work. And that would have meant somebody from Welfare snooping around his place all the time and him filling out extra forms and all sorts of other trouble. But he did understand how desperate I was. So he hired me without going through the formalities. They'd wink at it so long as I kept my nose clean, he assured me. It wouldn't be fair to pay me what the other usherettes got, either, he pointed out, since they were all legal and didn't involve him in any risk. And I could see that and accepted what he was willing to pay; at least I could come out just about even at the end of every month.

Only keeping my nose clean really had meant doing whatever Mr. Goldstein wanted me to. I hadn't been working more than a week before one of the patrons made a big fuss about losing his wallet. I looked for it--he was sitting right on the aisle where I was working--and never did find it. Mr. Goldstein was worried about that. He made me keep looking. And when everybody else had finished and gone home, I was still looking. And Mr. Goldstein was watching me look.

So I was crawling along between two rows of seats and my miniskirt was hiking up to my ass--he insisted on real short skirts for the good of the business--and my head ached until I was practically blind. And all of a sudden I felt his hand on my back, sort of between my shoulder blades, and his other hand grabbed my pussy. God! What could I do? I could yell some and struggle some more, but I didn't have room to break away. And before I could get out more than the first couple of yells he had his hand inside my panties and one finger lying in my slit. He was as fast as a cat, too! I didn't even know how he'd done it, but he got astride me, his knees holding my waist and wedged between the seats and his rump over my shoulders! And that gave him two hands to use where he wanted to.

I'd grown up in a little town about twenty miles upriver from Emporia. I knew farms and farm animals and farm kids. There wasn't anything about sex I hadn't heard and sniggered about and gotten shivers over. Maybe I'd even hidden behind a woodpile once in awhile. But mother and daddy had done what they could to teach me what was "right" and what was "wrong." I could remember how daddy's belt had stung those times when he'd found out I'd slipped a little.

So I was full of horror and panic at what Mr. Goldstein was doing. But that finger in my slit felt good! Oh, God, so terribly good! And I couldn't get away from it! He jerked my panties off my legs and grubbed at my pussy lips with those pudgy hands of his. He pried them apart and rubbed them between his fingers and worked one fingertip around the quivering, raw little rim of my cunt-mouth. And all I could do was make my hips go! I knew there was cunny-juice there; I could feel its heat as it oozed out and the cold as it began to dry. He spread it all over me--on my pussy lips and into the crack between my "bum-apples," as one of the boys used to call them, and right on my scared, puckered little asshole!

I can't remember everything he did that night. It all gets foggy in my mind. But I do remember the way he wrapped his arms around me, just forward of my hips, and lifted my bottom into the air. My feet were waving and my back felt like it would break, and everything was wide open for him! I remember how hot and wet his mouth felt when he shoved his face into my ass crack. I remember the weird, fiery sensation when he kissed--YES, ACTUALLY KISSED--my asshole. But the most fantastic recollection of all is what it felt like when he started wedging the tip of his tongue into that puckered, winking little hole. Oh, Jesus! What an unbelievable sensation! Sweet and awful... delicious and agonizing... so exciting it made tears come to my eyes and so repulsive it made me want to throw up!

I didn't throw up. Not then or any time after. But I could have killed myself for some of the things I did because he made me do them. Especially when I found out the projectionist was staying at the theater every time Mr. Goldstein and I did. And that he was taking movies until they had hundreds of feet of me doing all those things. It was too late to quit, then. And Mr. Goldstein started letting other men use me. And boys!

Well, that was the one part I liked right from the start. Those sweet, cherubic, eager little boys with their peewee-cockers that were just barely ready to turn into hard-ons and the way their little foreskins peeled back and left them all red underneath and the way they...

God! Anyway, Mr. Goldstein got another real young girl in there after I'd worked three and a half years for him. And he let me quit and take the cashier's job at the Emporia Bowl. And I began to get over that awful period.

I guess I thought mostly about those little boys while I climbed the stairs and went back to Mark's and my apartment. I know I was thinking about them when I went inside. And I went right through my bedroom to the sun porch Ma had enclosed and let us have for a sitting room of our own. It was dark in there and I dropped onto the beat-up old rattan lounge and stared out the low windows at the cottonwoods and the street lights and wondered if any of those little boys recognized me now when they came bowling.

I was a little ashamed of myself; the crotch of my panties was wet from the goo my thoughts had triggered. My hands shook a little, too, but that was mostly from the fury and frustration I'd felt in the dining room.

There was a faint scuffling sound and Mark plunked down on the edge of the lounge. He leaned over me and sort of cuddled me without saying anything, as if he were twenty-two and I were fourteen. I let myself float in the warmth and security of his boyish embrace for awhile and then chuckled quietly.

"It's going to be okay, Markie. You know that Latin phrase you keep saying."

"Means 'Don't let the bastards get you down'?" he asked.

"That's the one. They can't get us down." To my horror, my voice cracked and I started to cry. It's that bastard, Eric! I thought. He's the one's getting me down!

Mark just held me tighter. I felt him squashing my boobies and tried to smother the abrupt wave of cock-hunger that washed over me. I cried harder and he squeezed harder and I had to squirm. I mean, my hips were squirming. I was sort of curling up around him and panting through the sobs and my pussy was burning up!

I don't know how he did it, but somehow his hand moved and brushed my bottom. It was like touching a match to a rocket! I grabbed him and hung on. My tits rubbed on him and my knees jerked up to jam my thighs against his buttocks and I was all over him! And his damn hand was all over! He didn't rub my thigh with it more than a couple of strokes, probably, but while I was still twisting around, he got it onto one of my boobs. He could have done anything, then. He was all those little boys rolled into one, and I was going to teach my own brother how to get the most pleasure out of fucking!

He didn't fight when I scrambled around so he was lying down and I was over him. He didn't object when I propped myself up so my boobs were right above his face, either. He simply unbuttoned my blouse and pushed my bra up off the swaying mounds and buried his face between them. But he did jerk pretty hard when I grabbed his hard-on through his trouser-front. That really seemed to shake him!

I didn't mind. I let him buck a little while I unzipped his fly. And when my hand had burrowed inside and clamped onto that naked, smooth cylinder and his wiry pubic hair was pricking my hand, he was welcome to flop around all he wanted to. He was clear gone, though. All of a sudden he wanted to do whatever I wanted him to. He let me undress him. He lay there with his eyes big and round and his mouth forming an "O" and let me take his pants and shorts off and held his arms right for me to get his T- shirt off. And he lay there as if he were paralyzed, looking sort of scared... scared of what was happening, but more scared to move.

"I'm not going to hurt you, honey," I told him, real soft. "Don't you see? I just want you to learn.

"Yeah." He gulped.

I let my dress settle wider on my shoulders, then shrugged so it slipped away from them. I stood perfectly still while the material sagged and wrinkled and slid down me a little at a time. It hung around my hips, twisted and draped, and I tugged at the bra cups Mark had shoved up. My boobs filled them again and I worked one shoulder strap real slowly off my shoulder, then the other, and pulled my arms out of them. Mark's eyes bugged as he stared at me. "Sis?..." His voice sounded strangled. "Sis! You're!..."

When he stopped and didn't say what he'd started to, I pushed my bra down to my waist. Just like that, I pushed it down so my tits spilled into the open. Mark licked his lips with the tip of his tongue and I turned the bra around at my waist so the catch was in front where I could unfasten it easy. And I pulled the empty thing away from me and let it dangle from my hand, slack and flat without its stuffing of flesh. I tossed it away, suddenly not feeling nonchalant or superior, but just as scared and unbelieving as the scared, naked kid who lay there staring up at me.

"Oh, Jeez, sis!" he whispered, kind of hoarse-sounding. "Oh, Jeez!"

As if his awe were a spur, I stiffened and fumbled at another button on my dress. Loosened, it gave the flimsy garment just enough freedom to start sliding again. A fraction of an inch at a time, the swell of my hips came in view--and the broad, sweet curve of my lower belly. My panties hugged me intimately, too thin and clinging to soften the crease at the top of my pubic hair or to hide the dark-shadowed hump where the hair mat thrust forward on my love mound. In the rays of the rising moon--they reached in through the windows and bathed me with their dusky radiance just like in some mythical rite--wisps of black hair twisted around the edges of the panties and were silhouetted against the smooth whiteness of my flesh.

The dress passed the fullness of my bottom and slid off my thighs with a rush, exposing their rounded taper and the taut rigidity of my knees. I stepped out of the crumpled garment and began to work my panties down.

Again, Mark made a strangled noise. His breath hissed unsteadily and he whispered. "Oh, Jeez! Oh, Jeez, sis! I never seen... !"

"I know, sweetie." Real soft and tender, like a mother soothing her child. "I know you never. Don't you see, honey? It's time!" And I kept showing him more and more of that secret flesh he hadn't seen. My pubic hair bulged out when the panties freed it, springing full and curly, and my hands shook when I touched part of the crotch of the flimsy garment and found out how wet it really was.

After my whole pussy was uncovered and the panties were halfway down my thighs, there wasn't any way to keep the suspense up. I bent and quickly stripped the messy things from my legs and kicked them and the dress away. And then I stood over him, letting him get his fill of a figure as good as any in Emporia-- and better than most--while I studied that peter of his and contemplated how much a man he'd become.

His pubic hair was still a little thin. It clustered into strands that curled in tight ringlets, clinging to the base of the white-shafted, veined, swollen-headed cock. His balls lay half- overlapped in the hollow between his thighs. Their bag was drawn- up and taut, goose-pimpled under the sparse hair that grew on it, and the nuggets inside reminded me of prune-plumbs. His pecker looked like it was going to burst! It lay stiffly on his belly, its tip almost hanging over his belly-button, the head bulging inside its stretched foreskin, which gaped at the end as if gasping for breath.

It exercised a hypnotic charm on me, that innocent, straining young organ. I sank slowly to my knees beside the lounge and laid a hand on his thigh, my fingertips reverently caressing the silken texture of his scrotum while I lowered my face closer and closer to that lovely, pulsing, thick-veined rod of meat above it. With my lips parted expectantly, I touched the softer underside of his dick with a tender kiss. I nibbled at it for a moment while Mark jerked in a deep breath and tensed his thighs. His knees rose and separated when I continued nibbling along the turgid stalk toward its crown, and he groaned.

"Oh, sis! Jeez, sis!... Unnnhhh!... Nnnggg!"

I fingered the sweet stem, the pads of my fingertips stroking along its sides while my teeth squeaked on the twitching foreskin. He acted as if he were afraid I meant to bite the raging pecker off. Every little nip brought a sharp flinch, his belly jerking and his cock leaping under my lips. His fists pressed tightly to his hips, clenching and unclenching. But he couldn't fight the eagerness I was arousing in him; his knees spread and his heels dug at the cushion while his hips started grinding.

"Uuuhhh... nnnNNnnn!... Oooh, sis, let me play with you, too!"

"Mmm?... Mmm! Okay!"

I sighed. It was so comfortable and so beautiful this way, kneeling--sitting on my heels with my boobs resting on the edge of the lounge and just touching his hot, young body while I loved his throbbing dick. I'd have to stand, bending at the waist, if he wanted to dabble at my pussy. But I couldn't refuse his young male need. I pushed myself up and bent over him, smiling to myself at the way my boobies coned as they hung beneath me.

He caught at me, pulling me around toward him, and when my leg bumped the side of the lounge and stopped me, he seized that ankle and lifted my foot, swinging my leg across his chest. I gasped at the way my pussy had so suddenly been pulled open to his view. I struggled for a moment, but his hands held me securely and he continued to maneuver me until I knelt astride his chest, his upper arms resting on my calves and pinning my legs. And I stared right into the tip of his cock, shivering at the weird notion the hooded bulb was leering back at me.

I hitched myself over him, my tits brushing his hard, flat belly, and took the young cock in both hands. Lying on him, feeling the thickness of that boyish rib cage wedging my thighs apart and his clumsy, trembling fingers fumbling at my pussy-lips, I lost the artistic detachment I'd felt and became suddenly the voracious, cock-starved female. I extended my tongue and lapped at him. I scoured the skin of his scrotum, feeling his balls slide against each other under my tongue's pressure. I straightened the crusted hairs and stripped them of their musky coating on the surface of my tongue, letting them spring back squeaky clean. And I laved the dear, quivering trunk of his cock, its flavor strong at first with the remnants of sweat and seminal secretions, then clean and fresh and scented only with its own subtle man-smell.

I paced myself. I fought off the ever-growing impulse to gobble at the waiting, bulging head of that glorious prick. My tongue lingered over the last of its homage, caressing and teasing his drum-taut foreskin and twirling with tantalizing persistence around the very rim of that darkly gaping opening that would lead to his cockhead.

Mark was groaning continuously and twisting ferociously. His fingers dragged through the furry pelt that clothed each of my pussy-lips and probed tentatively at the hairless crevice between them. But I knew he was overwhelmingly distracted by the strange, delightful sensations in his dick. And at last my impatience broke its bounds. My hands closed in hard rings over the broadest girth of his hooded cockhead and started working his foreskin back. Terror threaded its way into my thought; maybe he'd never peeled that sheath to expose the tender meat inside! Maybe it wasn't going to be elastic enough to release that one blood-packed knob I wanted so badly to taste--to fondle--to gulp into my throat!