For a moment she wondered about that, mentally comparing her slit with Mummy's loose, meaty gash. Then she wondered why the welts on her ass didn't hurt anymore – why the tiny brown anus between her fleshy cheeks no longer cried out against the earlier degradation. For two days she'd been fucked and made to suck cocks every which way. And now she lay in the arms of a stranger, his cream beginning to crust along her smooth inner thighs, and there was no pain, no shame. There was only the heat in her pussy, the swollen pink cunt lips, and the hair standing on end. And the need in her belly. And the cock – Gus' stiffening tool, the glans once again throbbing like a big toothache inside her.
Impulsively she reached for the wide cheeks of his ass, and found the hot, hairy crack.
"What the – hey!"
She giggled. She supposed that she should be embarrassed or something, but it was fun to make someone as big and strong as Gus, someone twice her weight and size, gulp and buck. "I read in a book, Daddy's sex manual," she explained, "that a man's thing gets harder than anything when someone does this." She forced her small middle finger high in his hot asshole.
"Arrrghhhh!" Gus pumped his hips forward, pushing her halfway across the bed. The dick in her twat sprang up tall.
"Ummm!" Wendy wiggled her finger, searching for the thing the book called a "prostate gland". She wondered if that was the counterpart of her own little clit, the magic trigger that set men off. She buried her face in the crook at his neck, kissing him there, on the shoulder and chest, shiver after warm shiver climbing the steps of her spine and bringing goose bumps out on her flesh.
The question about the prostate was answered when Gus yipped, and another gob of cum shot off up her tense belly.
"Ow. Oh, wow!"
"Mother!" gasped Gus, gripping her bottom, slamming himself roughly into her crotch.
Again she wiggled the finger embedded in his rear. It was the very first time she'd been the boss, in total control of the sex act. Her whole body sang with sensation. Her cunt drank the new load, and began to milk him for more. Now she could understand the compulsion behind the belt Daddy wielded; the thing that made Mummy beat her, and what made Larry and the boys at the point bruise her body even after she gave in.
It was the giddy sensation that came with command, she realized, amazed. Fucking was like everything else: someone had to be boss, and someone the slave.
She stopped thinking, wiggled the finger, and fucked herself onto Gus' stiff, spitting cock.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Sam stared pensively down at the same worn spot in the bedroom carpet that he'd eyed the night Wendy, his little Wendy, had run away from home. A week now, he thought, cursing himself, blaming his own stupidity. Where could she be? he wondered, going over in his mind the neighborhood hangouts, the homes of friends and classmates he'd visited in the hope of a clue. There were just so many places a fourteen-year-old girl could hide. Yet he'd been to everyone he could think of, and still there was no hint of her anywhere.
Worse! Wendy had ignored her parole, had failed to report, and although he'd been stalling, telling the gruff parole officer she was ill – too sick to even come to the phone – she was on her way back to the State Home for Girls, unless he or Cynthia could come up with something to satisfy the Sherlock Holmes character.
Cynthia, wearing the new shorty pajamas she'd bought especially for him, appeared at the open bed room door. "Sam?"
"Hum?" He turned and studied her, thinking how much Wendy had changed their lives in the five weeks since her release from the institution. Cindy was once again the woman he'd married – the chick who knew all the ropes in the back seat of a car, the way to make him propose. His gaze swept over her body. She looked great; she'd gone on a diet, and lost all the excess fat in the week since they'd begun to screw regularly. Her cunt was still loose and sloppy, stretched out of kilter from too many years of taking his dick up her belly. But she'd already made the appointment with the doctor who was going to sew it up some; and, until then, there were other ports he visited nightly, an asshole and a mouth that made up for the deficit, and then some.
"You're not gonna find her in here, Sam," said Cindy, her tone soft, understanding. "I feel as bad about it as you do, but moping around won't bring her back any sooner. She has to get over her mad."
He supposed she was right, but that didn't make it any better, any easier to accept. He watched her step into the room, and cock her head at him. She was almost girlish; she looked almost as good as Wendy had the last time he saw her standing before the dresser, with the same lamp outlining her body through the flimsy nightgown.
He cleared his throat, not wanting to think about sex in Wendy's bedroom. "You better put something on. I can't concentrate with you running around here like that. Not on Wendy, anyway."
Cindy grinned. "You're just saying that to make me feel good."
Sam glanced toward the closet, where the black, frilly thing Wendy wore to bed – wore whenever he gave her a chance to put something on – hung forlornly. Damn it! he thought; knowing what she was doing out there. She'd be doing the only thing a girl her age with no training could do to survive and remain hidden in a world of grownups.
The realization made him angry. Angry and hot! She was still his daughter; he was still responsible for her. And he resented the thought of someone else planting cum in the cunt he'd resisted because of some stupid idea about incest.
Cindy stepped up close to him, and her arms snaked around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she rained small, moist kisses over his chin, onto his neck, his earlobe. "Wendy'll be okay," she whispered. "But what about me, lover? Momma's got a big problem too."
"Um. I can feel it." He gripped her slim waist, and his limp prick began to stir. He could feel the heat of her loins through the pajamas, through his pants and shorts. She was getting to be some chick, his Cindy. Both of his girls were top drawer, and he had only himself to blame for the temporary loss of the one with the red pussy.
Cindy steered one of his hands to the waistband of the nightie. "You can feel it better at the source," she cooed, pulling the elastic away from her belly, then letting it snap tight on his wrist. "Down a little bit more, love. You know where."
"Here?" Sam found her bush and rubbed.
"Uh-huh." She planted her feet wide apart, still on tiptoe, swaying gently against him.
Closing his eyes, Sam fingered the loose, juicy slit and envisioned the night he'd found her and the girl using the dildo. Now he wished he hadn't beaten Wendy so cruelly; that he hadn't grown so excited, whacking her butt that last time and sending her off to the bedroom so he and Cindy could be alone. What had she done in the dark? he wondered. Had she fingered herself? Had she listened at the door, jacking herself off before going through the window into the night?
His fingers, all four, slipped high into Cindy's wet cunt. He felt her tremble, but it was Wendy he imagined he held in his arms, as he'd held her so many times in that very same room. It was her breath he felt moist on his neck. Her round bottom was raw from the belt, and he was making it up to her. His dick was growing, getting hard, anxious to find its way up her little-girl tightness, up her hot daughter-asshole.
"Lover man," gasped Cindy, offering him her lips, grinding her cunt into his hand. She clawed at his belt buckle, undid the zipper, and let his pants fall to the floor. Her hand dove inside the fly of the shorts, groping.
"Not this way," choked Sam, still envisioning Wendy, seeing her childlike beauty in his mind's eye. Quickly he backed Cindy to the foot of the bed. Then, before she could utter a protest, he spun her around and yanked the shorty pajama bottoms down off her hips. "Over the mattress," he ordered, already shoving the bloated head of his cock between the lush, quivering cheeks of her ass. "Double up, baby. Give Daddy some asshole!"