Her Secret Sex Life (16 page)

"Goddamn you, what the hell are you doing-pull my skirt down-stop it, Arnold, I tell you-ouch- hey-noooooo!" For he had yanked her panties off and flung them onto the floor, then applied five or six stinging swats with his right palm on the lush rondures of her bottom summits, imprinting a bright crimson hue on the smooth satiny naked skin. Then, even as she kicked and ragingly cried out, he turned her over onto her back and swiftly and agilely mounted her. Heather's cat-green eyes, supremely dilated and glistening with fury, fixed on him with disbelief: he had yanked down the zipper of his immaculately pressed trousers and emerged a formidably long, broad-tipped penis whose dark veins stood out ominously against the tightly drawn skin of the shaft.

"For Christ's sake-Arnold-what do you think you're-oh you bastard, no!" she shrilled, trying to fend him off with her fists, trying to kick and twist herself off the couch. But already he had seized both her wrists, and, forcing himself between her plump quivering, flexing thighs, mockingly lowered his face to hers and sibilantly rejoined. "Why, I'm going to fuck you, of course, Heather. I won the game and I claim the prize."

Adroitly, he shifted hold of both her slim wrists to his left hand, and deliberately slipped his right hand down between their bodies till he palmed the thick forest of dark red silky curls shrouding her soft fleshy cunt. Heather wriggled frenziedly, her face scarlet and twisted into a vindictive mask as she kicked her stockinged legs out, then lifted them and jammed down savagely with her heels against his buttocks.

"You want to kick, do you, Heather?" again he chuckled as, staring down at her angry, reddened face, he forced his prickhead against the lips of her fleshy vulva. Then, even as she uttered a shrill shriek of fury at this obscene usurpation of her body, Arnold Cantwell nimbly knelt up, seized both her nylon-sheathed knees with his hands and forced them back against her heaving breasts, thus lewdly gaping the pink maw of her cant as well as the shadowy ambery groove which led to the furtive crevice of her anus.

"Stop it, you Goddam son of a bitch you, stop that!" she shrieked, beside herself, flailing out uselessly with her fists and trying to roll this way and that. But he maintained her, his strong fingers sinking into her knee hollows to flatten her round breasts down with all his strength as, with a mocking little smile, he bent his head and thrust his tongue into the distended cleft of her yielded cunt.

Heather frantically kicked her stockinged feet this way and that, again exerting all her strength to try to roll away from him, but in vain. Uttering hoarse, in-coherent cries, her lovely face congested with rage and shame, she continued to strike out at him with her fists. But Arnold Cantwell, with surprising dexterity, kept her in that obscenely splayed posture, and once again, bowing his head, roamed his tongue slowly round the yawning coral-tinted cleft of her vulva, then suddenly prodded the visible nodule of her clitoris.

At this last cunning assault on her most sensitive nucleus, the red-haired young woman stiffened, uttering a choking gasp; then, with redoubled energy, she kicked and struck out at her relentless assailant, raucously sobbing, "You son of a bitch, I'll cut your nuts off for this-let go of me, you bully, you filthy rich-bitch snob you-no, I don't want you to have me- I'd rather do it with a nigger, d'you hear-stop it ahhhhhh!"

For, ignoring her furious tirade and her convulsive struggles, he had again roamed his tongue in a circular, lingering pattern round the gaping petals of her twitching vulva, and finished by flicking back her throbbing clitoris into its secretive soft hiding place at the very apex of her distended cunt.

"Would you now, Heather girl?" he taunted, his own voice thickening with lust. "You can tell me when rye finished with you-assuming you've been fucked by niggers before, you snot-nosed, insolent little bitch!" With this, straightening now and redoubling the energy of his grip on her knee hollows, Arnold Cantwell arched himself to aim his swollen cock at the moist quaking fissure of her vulnerably open cant. and inserted himself nearly halfway.

"Noooo! I dont want you to fuck me, Arnold Cantwell! Take your dirty prick out of me this minute, oh you Goddamned son of a bitch you, stop it!" Heather shrieked, turning her flushed face this way and that, thrusting her hands down towards her pelvis to intercept his penetration. But by now, with another vigorous shove, he hilted himself inside her warm deliciously tight vagina, and then began to thrust in and out of her with masterful, cramming strokes. Seeing that her clawing fingers threatened his cohesion with her, he laughed humorlessly and pinned her wrists with his left hand, using only his right to press against her left knee hollow so that her freed leg might kick and thresh all it would.

Her buttocks contracted and relaxed, sometimes lewdly distending the ambery-coral furrow that allowed him to glimpse the puckering rosette of her pink anus; her hips jerked nervously as he quickened his digging, delving thrusts, drawing back almost to the brink of her up tilted, proffered cunt, then ramming home all his virile length with a gasp that betokened his own infuriated sexual need for complete domination of his beautiful rebellious red-haired partner.

Heather had begun to sob hoarsely, crushed by her defeat; her wrists jerked fitfully against his steely, relentless hold; her right leg thrust straight out and along the couch, her stockinged heel scuffing it in her frenetic movements. Seeing this, he stealthily released her other leg, using his right forefinger to press against her clitoris, and at the same time, instantly lowered himself over her. Now he was supremely planted in her amorous saddle, and he began to slacken the cadence of his deep thrusts.

Twisting her face away from him, eyes closed, her nostrils flickering and clenching, she seemed to submit passively now, as if willing herself to be impervious to his maneuvers. But as his fingertip bore down on the now turgifying lodestone of her clit, he could hear her faint gasps and see her lips curl back as in a rictus of aversion and despair. Yet the tumultuous heaving of her round lushly young breasts betrayed this feigned abandon; and with a knowing smile, he now quickened the tempo of his penetration to the nethermost recesses of her tight young cunt as his fingertip began to roll the hardening little coral button back and forth.

"S-stop it-damn you-you b-bastard-let me go!" she panted.

"You haven't finished paying your forfeit yet, my girl. Save your energy till you have," he muttered. Then his mouth came down on hers; Heather moaned, tried to twist her face away, but his left hand cupped her chin, and his right forefinger hastened its frictioning of her now fully burgeoned clitoris. He drank in her raucous groans and sobs and inarticulate protests; he felt her fists bullet his back and shoulders, but he continued to thrust back and forth and to press her turgid love-button this way and that, forcing it all the way down into its soft cowl of sensitive flesh and letting It spring back up again.

Her eyes began to roll, glassy and humid; her forehead furrowed deeply; and now suddenly, with a little wailing cry that acknowledged a greater defeat than any she had previously admitted, red-haired Heather Woodling locked her stockinged legs over his thighs and dug her tinted fingernails into the back of his neck as she thrust herself up at him to receive his delving probe. "Ohh you dirty, clever bastard you!" she breathed, her green eyes huge and luminous as they stared into his. "Go ahead and have your nasty fun-ahh-ooooh-God-.oh you bastard you-ohhhhhh, I'm coming-you son of a bitch, you tricked me-oh Arnold-Goddamn you-oh Arnold, yes, ahh-fuck me, harder, harder, hurt me, give it to me, harder now, you bastard you-ahhhhhhhhfl"

"That's better, you gorgeous, nasty but thoroughly lovable young bitch," he panted, as he lifted himself above her writhing body, then sank down with a mighty lunge that hilted his bulging cock deep inside her quaking sheath. His forefinger swiftly fleeted against the throbbing key to her innermost sexual emotions, tweaking and frictioning, pressing down and letting it spring back up, rolling it from side to side. And then as Heather began to utter quick little flurried sobs of nervous frenzy, he slipped his other hand down between them and with his forefinger prodded the crinkly petals of her tensing anus.

Her fingernails raked his cheeks in the white-hot crucible of lust that seethed through her; with a wild, piercing, wordless cry, she tilted back her head and ground her loins to his, locking her thighs even more tightly over his, and then her body began to buck and thresh under his as he in turn reached the culmination and, with an answering shout of ecstasy, felt himself burst violently into her quaking cunt

Her head fell to one side, her breasts rising and falling turbulently, her legs sprawled, her arms lax over him, and now on that petulant, contorted, lovely face a look of serenity signaled that the holocaust had ended. With a soft chuckle of triumph, Arnold Cantwell lifted himself from her sprawled body, standing watching her, skirt and petticoat up trussed and rumpled by their clashing frictional encounter, the thick glossy curls of her cunt moistened and matted, the pink lips twitching uncontrollably, and the stiff little semaphore of her aroused clitoris the indisputable symbol of her total awakening and fulfillment.

Slowly she blinked her eyes, her expression vague, uncomprehending in that after-moment of total obliviousness that follows frenzied carnal release. Then gradually she perceived him through the mist and shadows, and smiled wanly, as, in a faint voice which contained a hint of her usual flip cynicism, she murmured, "And you're a damned voyeur besides, you horny bastard! Look what you've done to my best dress and petticoat You might at least have the decency to cover me up, now that you've had your fuck. And I hope you feel it paid off my lost game In full."

He delved into his trousers pocket for a pack of cigarettes, took and lit one, handed it to her, then one for himself, standing brazenly, his zipper still open, his diminished, glistening cock still partly erect. "It wasn't too bad," he said casually as he took a puff at the cigarette, then studied it a moment. "Yes, I can say it just about pays you off for that one lost game."

"Why, you-" Heather sat up, tugging down skirt and petticoat, her cheeks scarlet. 'Do you realize you might have got me pregnant? I don't happen to be on the pill right now, Mr. Arnold Cantwell. If you in-tended to rape hell out of my poor little unsuspecting pussy, the least you could have done was use a safe."

"Don't worry about getting pregnant. If it does happen, it'll be legal rye made up my mind that a spoiled, snippy, filthy-mouthed young lady like you needs regular discipline and affection. I propose to supply both, in doses depending on your future conduct as Mrs. Arnold Cantwell. I'd say September would be a good time-my projects will allow some free time then for a honeymoon. Till then, we'll play some more chess and I'll work on your manners, your choice of diction and most especially your bedside technique."

"Why-why you-you-" Heather spluttered again. What makes you think I'll marry a society snob like you and dress up for fancy dinners out in this old barn of a house?"

Arnold Cantwell crushed out his cigarette slowly and carefully in the ashtray in a nearby metal stand. Then he bent, grasped her by the wrist and hauled her unceremoniously to her feet. "Because you happen to need both a father and a master, because your cute little crack about my being likely to be shocked at your antics makes me realize I'll have lots of fun giving you quite a few demonstrations that I'm far from ready for the bone yard yet, and because I happen to have a yen for your red hair, your temper that goes with it, your soft white skin, your gorgeous bottom and legs and breasts and that tight hot little pussy of yours which certainly requires a great deal of attention."

Heather Woodling stared incredulously at him for a moment. Then she began to giggle, and, flinging her arms round him, ground her loins against his still turgid penis. "You know, I might take you up on that. That Is, if you're proposing."

"I thought it sounded like one."

"Mmmhmmm. Especially the great deal of attention part. And now, if you'll allow your somewhat battered bride-to-be a few minutes in the biffy so I can tidy up that part of me which seems to interest you most, you might Just want to make it official by giving me another lesson. I'll have you know my bedside technique is plenty good enough for the right guy, if you're it."

He turned her round, gave her a smack on the bottom. "You'll find It Just around the end of the bar. And get back here quickly. This time, you might as well remove the dress and whatever else you think might get rumpled in the educational process."

Heather giggled, put a finger into her mouth and mumbled a teasing, "Yes, Daddy." As he took a mock-menacing step towards her, she giggled again and hurried off to the bathroom. Arnold Cantwell puffed at a new cigarette, glancing down at himself, and smiling to observe that he was rapidly recovering all his initial vigor as regards the size of his erection.

Then it was his turn to gasp and cast aside both cigarette and his studied casual air, for Heather had Just emerged, wearing only her garterbelt and nylons, and was advancing, hands on hips, swiveling herself to this side, then that, as she slowly approached him with a saucy little smile on her moist red lips. "How's this, Daddy? Satisfactory?"

"Seems to me a daddy has spanking privileges when his girl is naughty."

"Oh oh, then I better be good," Heather teased, putting both hands back to her creamy rounded posterior as if to shield it. "Maybe this will convince you I plan to be a very good girl. Good enough so you won't go raping any other girls down here, Mr. Arnold Cantwell." And with this, Heather felinely sank down on her knees, and, reaching out with both soft hands, began to caress his stiffening cock while her soft lips imparted a tiny kiss to the tip of his cock.

"That's slightly better, yes. Keep going. You're still on trial, you know," his hoarsening voice betrayed his rising excitement.