His lower body exulted in the slow grinding of Blythe Jackson as she stroked wiggling upon his buried cock, using the tight muscles of her narrow pussy to squeeze down on him, then releasing his shaft so she could screw it another way.
Dallas ate joyfully into Susan Lee’s cunt, sucked the delicious meat into his mouth and worked the throbbing clit with his tongue. Dimly, as he sucked and was fucked, he heard other voices moaning, other girls crying out that they were coming, coming.
CHAPTER NINE
He went in the same way he’d gone out, through the back, across a neighbor’s yard and an empty lot. Everything looked about the same as when he’d left it, but Dallas had one of those weird premonitions, the same kind of feeling he’d often experienced while on patrol in Vietnam. It was nothing concrete, just a prickling at the back of his neck, and a sensation that something was wrong.
Peering through the drawn drapes, turning down the radio, he saw nothing outside and heard nothing out of the ordinary inside his house. There was no car parked across the street, and it probably had been gone for some hours. The party as the communal pad had lasted for quite a while. Joey Nottingham drove him home, weaving through a crisscross pattern of back streets in a circuitous route that would thoroughly have confused anyone following them.
But still, something was wrong. Dallas searched the house, and that didn’t take long, even though he didn’t know for what he was looking. Dissatisfied, he took his last can of cold brew from the refrigerator and popped the top. Settling into the battered easy chair, he flipped on TV and drank a few swallows of the cold beer.
Watergate was on, what else; he reached for the dial and stopped his hand in midair. Watergate bugging. Dallas came out of the chair and went directly to his phone.
He found the tiny mike buried in the mouth piece and stared unbelievingly at it before screwing the mouthpiece back together. Then he really searched the house, looking everywhere a transistorized bug could possibly be planted, and, that meant just about everywhere.
In the bedroom, Dallas found one, and another in the bathroom; there were two in the living room and another in the kitchen. He didn’t disturb any of them; it had taken him more than two hours to uncover the damned things, but be left them alone when they were discovered. Sweating and angry, he sat down and thought about this new development.
Maybe he hadn’t found all the bugs, even though he had been pretty thorough.
Electronic cuties could outsmart him easily enough, but what was pissing off Dallas was why. It wasn’t only that his privacy was being invaded; it was the idea that a full head of hair and a gunfighter moustache should bring on all this kind of shit. Craig Collins was setting him up for any kind of bust that could be hung on him-pot or contributing to the delinquency of a minor, anything at all to get him fired.
Well, screw Craig Collins. Dallas would see the big bastard dead first. He turned up the TV and went to the kitchen to drop the empty can in the garbage sack. Whoever had followed him home had evidently come sneaking up to see if he was actually there. How much later, there was no way of telling.
Then the private cop had come into the house via trick key or an unlocked window, using the time to wire the premises for sound. The guy had done a fair job of it too, Dallas admitted. And the guy also knew that Dallas had been somewhere else that evening, that he had sneaked out of his own house.
Which would tell the cop something else, Dallas thought it would say that Dallas Bradburn knew he was being checked on. Getting away wouldn’t be as easy; from now on. But maybe that bit of information would prove a two-edged weapon.
The private eye didn’t know Dallas had uncovered the hidden mikes, and he should be able to lay a lot of false trails by feeding crap to the listeners.
Shaking his head, he thought that this had to be Collins; the school board didn’t have this kind of money to spend, so the store chain owner was putting up the bread himself, to get Dallas. And with a sweet, horny little daughter like he had. What the hell would Collins do, if he knew Dallas and a few other guys, blacks included, had been fucking Kathy Collins. Call the Cosa ‘Nostra probably, and put out contracts.
He felt like another beer, but damned if he was going to drive anywhere this late at night to get more. Dallas took a shower instead, and once lying nude and nicely tired upon his bed, he got the good FM channel on his radio and closed his eyes. Damnit, the kids were worth all this hassle. He wasn’t going to let them put him down or chase him out.
Dallas had never been fucked the way the kids were giving it to him, hadn’t even thought that sex could be so wild and free, without hang-ups or jealousy or uptight moral barricades. He had been to an orgy with them, and it had been wonderful. Not only accepted by them, he was part of them, one with them in their grooving on sex. He didn’t want anything to change that. So now his battle had gone beyond the mere keeping of his hair; now it involved his inner core.
If he cut his hair now, if he backed down and kissed ass for the school board the kids would know him for a copout, and they’d be right. All this fine, deep rapport between him and his class would vanish like pipe smoke in a high wind.
There’d be no exchanging of cunts upon his hard prick, no tender pulling of young mouths upon his balls. He’d have no marvelous little snatches to eat. The mingling, the blending and meshing of flesh and spirit would be gone suddenly.
He fell asleep with the radio going, and woke only once in the morning to shut it off, and to pull up the sheet in the early chill of a new day. Strangely enough, he had a hard-on, and grinned sleepily at the idea. By all rights, the strength should be gone from his cock for weeks to come.
Dallas didn’t dream, and awoke again some where around noon. He loved Saturdays, he thought, and climbed groggily from his bed, ravenous and ready for whatever the day might bring. Frying bacon, he remembered the bugs and frowned; he didn’t get many phone calls, but one of the kids might buzz him.
After he ate, he’d have to do something about that.
There’d have to be a code set up he realized; something very simple that didn’t sound phony. Or else, he’d pass word not to call him at home, unless it was strictly school business. Any messages could be given to him in class, passed to him with test papers or something. Dallas bit into toast and thought that he was already turning paranoid and thinking like some kind of cloak and dagger operator.
Finishing breakfast, he piled dishes in the sink and headed for the shower. By the time he’d soaped himself all over, the events of the night before came crowding back to shove everything else out of his head, and his sudsy hand caressed his half-hard cock as he saw the scene again.
Damn-those kids were the hottest, sexiest he could imagine. Not only the now known bodies of Kathy Collins and black Angel, but the other two girls-silvery Blythe and golden Susan; they loved to eat cock, and to both a man’s semen was precious, something to be swallowed adoringly.
He had fucked them both, or rather they had screwed him with sweet little cunts so tight and blazing, so juicy and slick. And he had eaten both of them, sucking and lapping, happy with the wonderful intimacy of pussy hairs against his cheeks and cunt oils over his chin. He had reveled in the twisting and surging of their modeled asses, the moaning and heaving as they came against his tongue and teeth.
Stiff-dicked, Dallas rinsed himself off, and climbed out of the shower. Drying his taut body with a rough towel, he thought that he was among the most fortunate of men. He’d been given the chance to fuck not one, but four lovely teenage girls, and he was thankful that he hadn’t screwed up the opportunity.
Was one of the kids better fucking than the other? He shook his head and plugged in his electric razor to move it over his cheeks and chin. The moustache, he left it alone, and the sideburns too. Kathy-was she a hotter screw than Angel, or was Blythe Jackson’s little snatch more loving than Susan Lee’s almost hairless pussy?