At the same time, Bret drilled his cock into Norma Jean, feeling some of his curly pubic hairs actually slipping inside her ass, he was grinding against her so tightly.
Again and again he gave it to her, one merciless stroke after another as Lou continued pounding into him. Hoping to get the man to come as soon as possible and thus relieve him of the terrible pain, Bret worked his long-unused sphincter muscles, tightening the width, the diameter of his asshole and rectum so that he felt himself squeezing the chef's cock, as if to milk it of its as yet unreleased semen.
"Harder, pack my shit in," Norma Jean called out excitedly. "Oh keep doing that, fuck me, mister, more, more."
Bret couldn't believe that she was actually enjoying herself, actually pleased with the rough non-stop treatment he was giving her. But evidently he hadn't been the first person to drill into her hole. His fingers were sopping wet as Norma Jean kept dripping her liquids and Bret knew that he wouldn't be able to hold back much longer, nor keep up the steady and relentless pace of his madly careening pecker.
The pressure inside his ass mounted, as if he was having his back broken. Lou ripped into him with such force and animal excitement that Bret could barely see straight. "Come, come already, hurry, now, now," he told the chef. "Shoot man, we'll all cream and shoot at the same time."
It seemed incentive enough, for Lou lunged forward, faster and harder than ever before. He pounded his unbelievably mammoth cock into Bret's rectum and then it snapped and suddenly Bret was screaming, shaking as he lay wedged between the chef and the lush hot body of the waitress.
His penis was down in Norma Jean's ass while his own bottom was filled to the breaking point with Lou's thick overlarge dong. Suddenly, great wads of cream gushed out of the head of Bret's tool, spewing into the woman's ass as he shuddered and saw stars.
He came with an incredible force and energy. His semen, hot and steaming, seared the waitress' butt as Bret shuddered again and again, his muscles twitching as he felt Norma Jean reaching yet another orgasm a few seconds later.
With his fingers wet with her juice, they rolled on the floor and then Lou finally reached his climax as well. "Hold on!" he called out to them, battering into Bret's ass as he felt his grapefruit-sized scrotal sac whacking between his legs. "Now man, now. Feel it boy. Feel a man's cream! Oh shit, I'm so hot, I'm coming, coming you cock-sucking pussy-licking bastard!"
Something akin to an explosion happened inside Bret's ass. For that was the only way he could describe the strange and perhaps incredible sensation. As his cock petered out, drained of come, his bottom was suddenly awash with a soothing thick ointment that he knew was the chef's jism.
Bret kept his cock inside of the waitress as he felt Lou spraying into him and he could actually feel it spurting, unbelievable as that might have been. He felt it hitting the walls of his stretched and tortured rectum until the pain began to fade completely away, replaced by a numbness that was easier to handle than the insistent pressure of the man's enormously thick and long penis.
Finally, Lou dribbled off and fell down on top of him, his balls milked dry, his body drained of energy. Bret couldn't move and a few minutes later, his cock totally limp and lolling between his muscular thighs, Lou pulled away from him and Bret got unsteadily to his feet.
He didn't say another word.
Dressing quickly, he hurried out of the diner, having had his fill for one afternoon. But when he finally made it to the office, telling his secretary that he had forgotten something at home, something that he needed for the afternoon's conference with his boss, Bret disappeared into the men's room.
He closed the stall behind him and sat down on the toilet seat, lowering his pants. His ass was bleeding and it was a good half-hour later before he could get back to his feet, shuffling slowly towards his office, wondering when the pain would stop.
CHAPTER FOUR
That day at school, Gail Baxter's mind was not on her studies. She was a graduating senior in high school, having already been accepted to a branch of the state university. Nothing seemed to matter to her, nothing that is, except Paolo, the Italian boy who was an exchange student and who sat next to her in her English class.
She had a study date with him that night and the people that he was staying with wouldn't be home. It would just be the two of them. The very idea of being alone with the tall and intense-looking young man made her shiver with expectation.
And then she thought of her parents, and frowned.
Just that morning she had heard them carrying on in bed. It wasn't enough for them to go at it every night, she thought. No, they had to do it in the morning, too.
But her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had peeked into their room, hoping that they wouldn't catch her spying. What she had seen that morning still gave her goose-bumps. Her mother had been sucking on her father's cock and the very sight of him naked filled her with a strange creepy-crawly kind of sensation.
It was difficult for Gail to admit that she had liked what she had seen. She had stared at her father's cock, feeling envious, jealous of her mother for being able to take it between her lips and suck on it. It was the first time she had seen him naked and now, as she sat in class, it all came back to her.
She sensed that something was wrong, that she was thinking and feeling things that were dirty and perverted. But she couldn't help it. The more she pictured Bret's naked body, his firm muscular chest with its thick growth of hair, his huge jutting cock and his heavy nuts, the more excited she became.
There was a dampness spreading between her thighs and she tried to turn her mind away, to concentrate on other things. But she couldn't. She finally had to admit to herself that she would give anything, anything at all, to have her father moving his penis right between her legs.
"Gail, Gail Baxter!" a voice suddenly rang in her ears, awakening her from her reverie and jerking her to attention. She saw her teacher standing before her desk, her orthopedic black oxfords pressed together.
Looking up, she smiled, hoping that Mrs. Phillips wouldn't accuse her of daydreaming. "Take this note down to the janitor, Gail. He's in the basement," her teacher instructed, handing her a folded slip of paper. "It's about the broken window," and she pointed to a missing pane of glass.
That morning she remembered seeing Mrs. Phillips' collecting the shards of broken glass, as well as the rock which had been thrown by someone who – in her teacher's words – didn't care for public institutions or respect municipal property.
Glad to be excused, she took the note and hurried out of the room. She had seen the janitor on several occasions, a tall and stern-looking man who spoke with a foreign accent she couldn't place. Once or twice she had seen him in the halls, but most of the time he kept to himself down in the basement.
But as she went down the stairs, Gail recalled the man's face. It was, she thought, as if he radiated a kind of fierceness, as if he was angry at the world. She had wondered what he did with his spare time, for he hardly ever spoke to anyone except, she recalled, one of the new young teachers who had started working that fall. Opening the door to the basement, she stepped inside. It was strangely quiet. At first, she didn't see the janitor. She moved into the main room of the basement, feeling a little spooked. Pipes hung over her head and she heard the boiler hissing, the furnace roaring several yards ahead of her.
Curious, having a kind of woman's premonition, Gail walked slowly towards the rear of the basement, cocking her head to one side and listening. It was, she decided, unusually quiet and then, from the farthest corner of the huge echoing room, she heard someone giggling.