She didn't have to be told twice. Because now she too was cuming, the hot juice spewing out as if her cunt were a faucet. She couldn't breathe, and her lungs were about to burst through her tits. Her belly was about to explode and spatter cum all over the room, and her asshole – oh, her adorable prick-loving hole was about to drop shit on the bed.
"You little mother," choked Lew as the first turd appeared, inched out, and slipped slowly down his fat balls.
"I… I can't help it," sobbed Wendy, still fucking, unable to control herself from the waist down. Another shithall plopped onto the sheets. And another. "Owwwww!" she wailed, hating herself, hating him, hating God for having created big, lovely cream-pissing cocks.
Lew grimaced at the stink wafting up between them. His dick went limp. Abruptly he pulled out, dropping her bottom into the mess on the mattress which was oozing down onto the floor. "Stupid cunt! I should break your filthy ass!"
Wanting to die, cheeks burning anew, the hot shit spreading like a syrupy pancake beneath her weight, Wendy watched him move to the foot of the bed snatch her white knit from the post, and use it to wipe his nuts. "Not my dress!" she bellowed, sitting up in the gook.
"Dirty bitch!" Lew flung it at her.
She tried to duck, but she wasn't quick enough. The material wrapped itself around her head, smearing the brown, smelly slime all over her face. She hollered; she fought to dislodge the horrible thing, wrapping it tighter, getting the shit in her hair. It had been so wonderful there for a moment Lew humping it to her, her cunthole ablaze. And now this! Treating her as if she were not better than the shit itself. And still she wanted him, wanted his dick up her hole. She smelled her own awful stink, felt the slime beneath her buttocks and thighs, and could think only of how good it was when he lifted her onto her head and rammed it – his love dart, his long spitting dick – all the way home.
CHAPTER NINE
She'd forgotten about the parole, about the possibility of being sent back to the State Home for Girls. By the time Daddy found her – getting it out of Lew: beating him up some, she suspected – the grumpy old man she was supposed to report to each week had already signed the recommitment papers. Daddy was furious with her. But after the initial scolding and a kiss to make up, he suggested she hide, and go away to an aunt's home out of the state until she was eighteen. But that was no good, either, because the aunt was Mummy's kid sister, and she suspected there was more than blood ties involved in the summer vacation relationship.
"It won't be so bad," she told Daddy. "I know most of the girls, and – well, I don't know."
"Four years," he whispered, crushing her to him, tenderly patting her bottom. "They can keep you till you're an adult. It's my fault, honey. I shouldn't have whipped you that night. I wish… Goddammit, I wish we could turn the clock back. All the fucking way back to the day Lew and Penny Ogden told those lies about you in court."
Wendy rested her head on his chest, listened to his heart thump, and thought about what he'd said. It was almost a month since she arrived at the house and met Miss Alberta. A grueling month of fucking and sucking every way imaginable. A month of shame and wonder. She was exhausted, and needed a place to rest and think out the mixed feelings. She needed the home, she decided; it was a place where she could sit and evaluate the past.
"Four years isn't so long," she said at last. "At least I'll be grown up. There won't be any more parole, and then we – well, you and I…"
She looked long and lovingly into his tortured face. He wanted her, she thought, wanted to take her right there in the whorehouse. He was almost crying, and sorry, and worried sick, she could see. Still the hand on her ass was exploring, tracing the crack between her melons. The prick in his pants was growing, arid in another minute he'd have her bent over the foot of the bed.
"Then we can do as we please," she finished, pushing him away. "Me, you, 'n' Mummy. It'll be fun waiting for."
The State Home hadn't changed. The red bricks were still gray, and the halls still smelled of pissy disinfectant. The dorms were drab, and the girls still pushed mops that left muddy streaks on the scuffed floors. She was greeted at the door to the strip-frisk room by Crazy Inez, who, because the matron was watching, merely wagged a wet tongue suggestively over thick, painted lips.
"You know the routine," barked the same tank like creature who'd dug rough fingers up her pussy on the fateful day more than a year ago. "Take it off, honey. Strip."
Without hesitation, Wendy peeled. The tips of her breasts hardened as the nylon panties slipped from her hips, exposing the little red triangle that held the answer to all the confusion inside her head. She bent forward, spreading her cheeks, the hot blood of lust gushing into her pussy as the matron stepped close. She watched between her legs… watched the fingers. Then she bucked – purposely impaling herself on the inquisitive darts, sighing.
The ugly old woman seemed pleased. But she was one of the secret dykes, and the fingers remained only a second longer than was necessary to ascertain that there was nothing hidden up the tight niche. Then she stepped back. "Put some clothes on yer ass," she snapped, feigning indignation.
Wendy grinned. Everyone wanted her: men and women, young and old. Her little red bush was the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. She stepped slowly back into her panties. Glancing shyly over her shoulder, she watched the matron lift a hanky to her pug nose, pretending to blow as she drank the wet cunt juice from her hand.
Doctor Bruce was next. She was so anxious to get there – but only to "talk" to him, she told herself she almost tripped while entering the office. He was slouched behind the desk, just as she'd seen him the first time. She grinned. Without having to be told, she quietly closed the door and moved to the deep leather chair opposite where he sat.
"Well now," said the doctor, eying her in that same horny way she remembered. "Another one of my girls come home for a visit? They always do, you know. Once they get a taste of our hospitality, they just can't seem to stay away." He sank into the chair, apparently expecting an explanation.
Wendy was beginning to wonder why men wasted time with innuendos, and then, after the clothes were shed, why they changed so much. It was fun talking about one thing and meaning another. Like the word taste! She knew what that meant; she knew that out of sight under the desk the doctor's ramrod was growing, that he was remembering how her lips had chopped down on his knob. But there were other things on her mind: psychiatry! He was the only one she knew of to ask about the mix-up inside her small, troubled head.
"I… I came back because – well, me 'n' Daddy 'n' Mummy… and then Lew and the whorehouse and Gus, and the others. What I mean is, I don't really know actually how it all happened." She looked helplessly into his thick glasses, where the two Wendys tugging her this way and that were reflected.
Sitting far forward, the doctor braced his forearms on the cluttered desktop. "What you're trying to say," he offered in a low, soothing voice, "is that you had to come back because of what was done to you here… in the dorms… in this office."
"No!" She frowned, trying to put her thoughts into words and coming up with nothing. "I… I don't want to, then I do, and it's simply awful, is what."
"Oh?" The doctor's glasses slipped low on the bridge of his nose. His watery eyes blinked at her.
"Sex!" she supplied, fidgeting. Even saying the word made her cunt wet. But that wasn't the bad part. The worst thing about it was the horrid acts men made her perform, and the agonizing fact that she loved it once a big, stiff cock was fucked up one of her hot, hairy holes. Tears of confusion flooded her eyes. She set her small jaw, and sat up tall. "How come I like it when I really don't?" she blurted.