He sucked noisily on her stiff nipple while his fingers tweaked the other. She looked down at her soft swelling flesh and watched in fascination as his hard fingers turned the pink tip into dark red. She felt the blood engorging the erectile tissue of her nipples, sending shivers over her ribs.
Brenda rolled against him and reached for the hotly rising prick that lay against her leg, pushing back the foreskin from the satiny head and squeezing it between her fingers until it grew into a throbbing steel-hard sphere. She made a cunt of her fist and moved it up and down over the fat rod until he hissed, baring his teeth in his ecstasy as he moved atop her, shoving open her parted thighs with his knee.
"Fuck me," she murmured breathlessly, her hips circling beneath him. "We haven't fucked yet, you know. Fuck into my cunt and squirt your cum in it. Oh, do it, do it, do it!"
"Put it in," he commanded. "Let's see you fuck."
His turgid shaft bobbed hotly into her crotch, dabbing against her anal crevice and brushing her gushing pussy. She reached up and grasped his prick and impaled herself on it with one sure thrust.
Brenda groaned and tossed as he sank deeper into her lust-mad pussy, wrenching her hand from the trap that their meeting bodies made. Her legs kicked up and flailed around his pummeling hips and her up-turned ass heaved against his slapping balls. Her gritted his teeth and grunted in frenzy as her insanely sucking vagina fastened its slick, fiery membranes around his throbbing penis. He screwed down into her until he struck her tender cervix and made her howl with sex-crazed delight.
"You're so thick! God, it's like a fist, a big fist slamming into my pussy! Oh, hit it hard, good and hard! I've got a belly full of cock and I love it!"
He was sunk so deep in her that his black bush of hair scratched the inside of her thighs. Her pussy was split into two, flattened pink folds of exposed slippery flesh that glistened with thick, milky sex fluid. She rubbed her sensitive vulva against the base of his jabbing prick and shivered with uncontrollable delight as she felt the answering pinpoints of fire pound through her marble-hard clitoris.
Her cunt was a flexing tunnel of spasmodic velvet, oozing the hot sauce of her excitement. The wet, slapping sounds of wild, mad, mindless fucking drove her into an obscene litany of phallic worship.
"You make my pussy talk, darling. She's sucking at that big, gorgeous, thundering cock of yours for all she's worth! Listen to her, she's getting wetter and wetter, she's drooling over that thick monster that's shoved in her."
The words made her hot, spongy channel throb in a pounding, soaring ecstasy that exploded in a grasping convulsion of a climax, a come that rocked her to and fro in its unbearable release. It was only when Leo's palm clamped over her mouth that she realized she was screaming.
His black hair hung over his forehead, wet with sweat. His body quivered and jabbed as his cock spewed out into her raining cunt.
He lay on top of her as they both gasped for breath. The open window admitted a cool spring breeze and dried their sweating bodies as they remained motionless, legs entwined. Brenda's arms tightened around his muscular shoulders, rubbing the coarse black hair that grew on them. He smelled male, pungent and strong in his sweat. When he finally rose up, their chests made a suction of wet flesh and separated with a suckling noise. I'm joined to him, she thought. I can't break away from him. Joined…
Leo smiled to himself as he felt her draw away from him and turn her head to the wall. An excitement stirred in him as he thought about the poster. Odd that it had frightened her so when it slipped down the wall. It gave him a particular pleasure to contemplate the incident because he had given the poster to Ginny. It had been a necessary gift. The lunatic fringe that she ran with had thrown an impromptu party one night to make plans for an invasion of the draft board office. Some kook had a bottle of blood in the knapsack that contained all his worldly goods and started to demonstrate how they would leave their mark on the hated induction center. They had all been high on pot when it happened, Leo recalled. The zonked boy had thrown the blood on the wall, probably thinking he was already down at the draft board.
Ginny had shown it to him, gesturing excitedly and babbling about form and depth and meaning.
"It says something," she murmured, tilting back her head and gazing at the splotch with half-closed eyes like a connoisseur in an art gallery.
"Damn right," Leo said. "Christ, Ginny, don't wreck the place, huh? That's all we need, is blood on the wall. I've got a boss to answer to, believe it or not."
"Blood on the wall!" she burst out excitedly. "What a marvelous title."
"Oh, now you're going to be a writer, hmm?"
"It reminds me of something," she said, her brow puckering. "Some expression…"
"Blood on the moon," Leo supplied. "It means somebody is going to die."
He had enjoyed the look that crept over her face. He knew she was afraid. Her fragile features seemed to crumple for a moment. She looked like a lovely, mad specter of doom. Once again he saw his favorite vision of her – a white-draped beguiling ghost rising out of a swamp mist.
To solve the immediate problem of the damage to the wall, Leo picked up the poster for her in a wacky bookstore on Greenwich Avenue. It was huge, big enough to cover the spot completely. He bought that particular one because the girl in it looked like his fantasy of Ginny as a wailing forest creature of course she had loved the poster and immediately slung it up on the wall in her haphazard, spur-of-the-moment fashion. No wonder the tack had come loose.
Now, he turned and looked at Brenda as she lay silent on the furtherest edge of the mattress. Had she seen the blood, he wondered? Something about the poster upset her, he was sure of that.
Through the open windows came the sounds of the street. It was a noisy neighborhood, with homeless, hopped-up Village types marching up and down all night long. The room seemed to echo with the tramp of feet. He thought about vibrations. Was it possible that an apartment or a house could contain the spirit of someone who had lived in it before?
Maybe there were bad vibrations in this apartment… The thought excited him. Had the sticky blood thrown by one of Ginny's depraved friends adhered to more than just the wall? Maybe a whole aura of depravity lingered in here. There was nothing more permanent than blood. You could scrub it until you dropped but it would never come clean. Even on metal… The surface of an edged weapon used for murder might look clean if you washed it, but there were invisible imperfections in the surface of any blade in which blood would stubbornly cling. As for the wall… it would never come off of that wall.
The blood bothered Leo in a way that had nothing to do with its symbolism. It bothered him because it was messy. Ginny would have ignored it and come to think of it as some kind of esoteric finger painting, but not Leo. He had to cover it up with the poster, just as he had to cover up the dark side of his personality that plagued him. Being neat and precise made him feel commonplace and part of the real world. Orderly surroundings helped him forget the disorder of his thoughts. He was afraid someone would find out just how fascinated he was with ghosts and spiritual happenings. Being fussy and neat, with a place for everything and everything in its place helped him to stay grounded in reality.
That was why…
He stopped, but the unwelcome words entered his brain in spite of him.
That was why I hated Ginny.
He hated her because she represented wildness and unleashed freedom. Because she was kooky and didn't care who knew it. Leo cared very much whether anyone thought he was kooky. Ginny latched on to every fad and talked about it to all her friends. He kept his occult interests to himself, and made open fun of horoscopes and fortune tellers and all the rest.