Cathy's eyelids fluttered as she continued to hunch and buck beneath the wildly fucking man. She could feel the sensation in her loins increasing and intensifying with every passing moment, the promise of final climactic release looming like a bright light on the horizon before her. Then suddenly Jack Bailey launched into a series of even longer and more violently racking strokes, driving the thickly elongated shaft of his cock again and again all the way to the hilt in the young blonde's eagerly squirming loins. His balls slapped into the crack of her ass against her sensitively puckered anus with his every churning lunge, that added weird sensation only further intensifying her excitement and need.
They were both building toward the end now, the wet flat smack of his loins against her pelvis echoing and resounding through the room as he reached down to take one of her erect little nipple-buds into his mouth, nibbling and biting the sensitive little protuberance causing further whimpers of submission and longing to pour chant-like from her lips.
Then abruptly his cock flexed and extended even bigger and harder far up into the inner tightness of her cunt. The blood-filled head seemed to flare and surge until she feared it would rip straight through the lining of her belly, and once more she drew her arms up around his sweating back, holding his body tight against hers as she rushed closer and closer to the brink of delirium and release, as his lunging thrusts built to a crescendo of violence and fury. Then her mind almost blanked as far a up in her loins she felt the first awe-inspiring waves of her climax surging with stunning volcanic fury across her eagerly writhing flesh.
"Oh my God, yes!" Cathy cried out in final surrender, her hand once more clutching Bailey's buttocks to pull him even tighter against her. She thrust her own naked ass-cheeks up from the bed in a violent bucking motion, grinding her impaled pussy in luxuriating circles around the cock that filled her, taking it into her at odd and even more exciting angles.
At last she sank back against the bed, her body quivering in uncontrollable spasms. The rosy hue of her cheeks grew even more vivid and her sobs of submission and gratitude rose to ecstatic screams as the fluids of her vagina flowed freely forth to mix with the hot splattering drops of male semen pumping in a vicious torrent far up into the most secret depths of her loins.
"It's happening," she wailed, flailing her head from side to side. "I'm cumming! Oh yes, oh God yes, I'm cumminnggggg!"
Bailey rammed his throbbing cock again to the hilt in Cathy's hotly contracting vagina, his gigantic load of cum erupting in a cannon-like volley of hotly pumping spurts that filled and flooded her womb. He continued to fuck violently into her until every ounce of his male seed was spent, until she'd already sagged in motionless respose beneath him on the bed. Then at last he collapsed heavily on her.
Bailey wasn't sure how much time passed before he raised his head up, then started to draw his deflating cock slowly out of her sated, warmly clinging loins, prompting a low hissing to rise from deep in her throat. He freed himself from her arms, which had still been wrapped tightly around his back, rolled over, lay gasping for breath for a moment, and finally sat up on the bed.
"Oh Bailey," she purred. "That was wonderful. That was so wonderful. I'm not… not sorry."
He sat up, pulled his trousers up and buckled them. He turned back, staring at her silently for a moment, then walked from the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Through the ages of the history of mankind, Cathy mused, later that afternoon in a moment of uncharacteristic philosophical reflection, ignorance on the part of one man, or people, has bred the most special kind of loathing on the part of another. From the doctrines of White Man's Burden, back through the Spanish conquest of South America, back to the Roman Conquest of the greater part of the known world at that time, ignorance on the part of peoples, nations, has been employed as justification for enslaving them. Early explorers in Black Africa had never questioned the intelligence and ingenuity of the indigenous race; but the Black Man's ignorance of certain Western technological advances were self evident. White man's ignorance of techniques necessary for survival in the local environment, the only suitable criteria for achievement there, was conveniently ignored. The blacks were taken into captivity, sold as slaves. The justification on the part of the Christian slave traders who took them to the New World was their ignorance of a way of life they had never seen.
The fault in the basic concept, of course, was obvious. Yet now, on a smaller, much more personal level, Cathy was indulging herself in the same kind of rationalization as she sat listening to Bob explain how he'd gotten the car out of the ditch, how Bailey had gotten off to a good start in repairing the bridge, and how Sylvia had convinced him they might as well stay another night, then get back on the road in the morning.
Her dress now held together in front by a couple of safety pins she'd used to replace the three buttons Bailey had torn off when he'd yanked it open, the sensuous young blonde stared deadpan at her husband. My God, she thought, her contempt welling in her breast. He must really take me for an idiot. Apparently he didn't think she could have even the slightest suspicion about what had happened between him and Sylvia down at the barn while Sylvia's husband was fucking her silly in the guest bedroom here at the house. And Bob, of course, was the real idiot here. Because he couldn't have even dreamed that had happened either. He didn't even guess that Bailey was a threat, otherwise, they would have been long gone like she'd wanted, before.
"Well, whatta you think?" Bob asked.
Cathy took a sip of the Bloody Mary she'd made after she'd emerged from the bedroom. She walked over and looked out the window over the sunlight terrain. From down at the bridge she could hear a hammering. Now, what Bailey had said as he was dragging her to the bedroom returned to echo clearly in her mind: If I didn't know you wanted it you wouldn't even be here. Suddenly, understanding what he'd meant, she smiled.
Bailey must have knocked the supports out from under the bridge himself. He'd kept them there intentionally, because he knew what she wanted, what she had wanted ever since he'd first grabbed her in the barn. He'd known it even better than she had.
"What if I said no?" she asked; turning back to Bob. "What if I absolutely refuse to stay here another night."
He gazed at her in exasperation. "It just doesn't make sense, honey."
Cathy fixed her husband levelly in her gaze. She wondered, fleetingly, what it would be like making love to him again, after what had happened between her and Bailey. Perhaps it would be different, better, perhaps the same as before. Slowly the young blonde let a smile cross her face. "Doesn't it make sense, Bob? Can't you think of a reason why I might not want to stay here another night?"
She watched the alarm flash in his eyes, she imagined he was invisibly squirming on his feet. Then she turned quickly away.
"I don't really mind," she said, gazing again out the window. "You're driving. If you want to stay, we'll stay."
By the middle of the evening, after they'd enjoyed another of Sylvia's delicious meals and an ample number of after-dinner drinks, Cathy had decided what she was going to do. As to her motive, that was less clear. It could have been vengeance, for as she watched Bob's smug and secretive looks at Sylvia, sensed his continued oblivion to even the possibility of something having happened between her and Bailey, she felt almost an obligation to herself to knock the props out from under him and watch him tumble back to earth.
But there was more to it than that. Jack Bailey's ruthless assault on her tender young body that afternoon and the rousing climax she'd experienced seemed only to have whetted her appetite. After he'd left her, exhausted, slightly sore inside, her skin still tingling and burning all over as though memory of his hands on her naked flesh. She could still hardly believe it had really happened, that she could still hardly believe it had really happened, that she could have allowed him to take her that way, to eat her pussy until she thought she would go out of her mind and then fuck her until every last shred of decency in her being had been pushed aside by her compelling physical lust. Then he'd just left, saying nothing, not even looking back. Through the evening she'd been waiting for some sign from him, of recognition or acknowledgment of what had happened between them. There had been none. And she was almost sure she knew why. It was her turn to make the next move. The first time he'd literally dragged her to the bed. He hadn't really raped her, but had that been necessary she had no doubt that he would have. But the second time around things were not going to be that easy for her. She was going to have to meet him halfway at least.