The girl responded through some rippling movement of her inner vagina that somehow fondled his cock. They began to work in timed rhythm, he flexing and waiting for her squeeze. It was slow, but it was sexy, and Dallas heard himself panting, although he battled to keep from grabbing her delectable ass and slamming the meat up into her lascivious little snatch as hard as he could.
Kathy clamped down on his prick, let go and shut down again. He flexed and dropped quiet, twitched and let go, and the beat was getting to them both.
Maybe it was their enforced control, or the very oddness of their action, but Dallas was hot, hot, and the swelling in his balls warned him that it wouldn’t be long. Soon he would come into the girl who lay still on top on him, and he would come without having made a single stroke into her cunt.
Shuddering, Kathy convulsed atop him, and the grip of her magic pussy bit at him, then fell away in trembling movements. He let go a spilt second later, the semen leaping with a rush from the vibrating head of his prick. His fluid was sizzling lava that roared up into the tight volcano of her cunt. Thick and foaming, creamy and bubbling, his come filled her, packed her vagina, and his exultant cock wallowed in its greasy juice.
Small, exotic spasms passed through the girl’s pussy, moved over her tits so that they rubbed nipples into his belly, crossed to her shoulders and piled into the back of her neck, so that her head flung back and Dallas sensed, the titanic struggle the girl, was waging, in order not to scream out her orgasm.
But she won the battle, and slowly the great tension went out of her; her cunt relaxed, and some of his semen oozed out through her loosened labia to soak warmly upon his balls It had been probably the weirdest, the damnedest piece of ass that Dallas Bradburn had ever had.
Some long, drifting time later, when the tape player had gone through its only cassette for perhaps the twentieth tune, Kathy moved. Inch by regretful inch, she slid up his body easing his cock from the lingering hold of her cunt and drawing that softly haired little mound up his belly.
Reaching his throat with her mouth, she nibbled there for awhile, then made it to his waiting ear. “Lover man, that was the greatest.”
He patted her shoulder in reply because he didn’t trust his voice that much.
Hot waves of his climax were only now subsiding in him, seeping down into his lower groin. He wasn’t sure his prick would ever go soft, and had a flash of himself teaching class with a permanent hard-on, frying to hide it from the kids and hearing the sniggering.
And he heard something else,, the monotonous repetition of the tape deck.
Roberta F. was a living wonder, but not over and over again. The bugs, he thought; if there was a monitor somewhere, the guy would think Dallas had turned on the music and left home, using the noise as a cover up.
Quickly, he turned Kathy over and hissed it in her ear, “Grab your clothes and slide under the bed. Stay quiet, no matter what happens. I think we may get a visitor.”
Reacting without panic, but with swift movements, Kathy did as she was told, asking no useless questions. She was out of sight before he stood up. Dallas found his robe, put it on, then moved into the living room.
There was a 12 gauge shotgun in the closet, one he used to hunt birds with until he learned firsthand how it felt to be hunted, in Nam. Picking up the gun, he found the box of shells on a top shelf, then fed three into the pump.
When it snapped shut, the sound of the bolt was loud in the room, masked only by the song hammering there.
By the time Dallas settled, himself into the closet and was thinking that his hunch was a loser, that he might squat there for wasted hours while Kathy cringed under the dusty bed-the kitchen door opened and shut.
Taking a firm grip on the stock of the shotgun, Dallas thought: the tapes. He’s grabbing this chance to change the tapes, or to check the mikes one by one. Or maybe the man was after something else. He could have something to plant, like the baggie left in his car earlier today.
Dallas slid out of the closet and used one toe to pull the plug from the wall.
The tape deck suddenly stopped making noise. The man stopped where he was, in the middle of the room, and stood very still.
“Put your hands on top your head,” Dallas said. “Slowly, I mean. I’m talking from behind a 12 gauge pump mister. From here, it’ll cut you in half.”
“Oh shit,” the guy said softly, and followed orders, to the letter, standing stiff and with his shoulders hunched against what might be a storm of shot.
“Now turn around,” Dallas said, “just as easy.”
The man had a livid bruise across one cheekbone; he was one of the guys who’d jumped Dallas on the beach. His eyes were wide now, and his hands shook on top his bead. “L-look, buddy…”
“The music,” Dallas said. You heard it play over and over, and you thought I sneaked out. What do you want?”
“Nothing buddy-oh shit man! Don’t jiggle that shotgun around like that!”
“I keep Number Four shot in it,” Dallas said. “They’ll probably fuck up the far wall, after they go through you. What do you want here?”
The man’s hands trembled harder. “Look, I didn’t mean-I told Harry that you were some kind of goddamned pro, and that I didn’t want to screw around with you any more. Not after you nearly busted my head.”
“You’re wasting time,” Dallas said, playing with the cocked hammer of the shotgun.
“Don’t!” the man said sharply. “Harry-that’s Harry Sladermann, the bastard-he said to come over here because you’d sneak out if you could. He wanted me to-to leave something here.”
“Grass,” Dallas said. “Just a little bag of grass, right?”
“Look,” the man said rapidly, “I never touch the stuff buddy, and it wasn’t my idea. I ain’t-I don’t carry a gun; the bag is in my shirt pocket Can I drop it on the floor?”
“Just take it out and hold it by two fingers,” Dallas ordered. “Easy-buddy.
There, that’s right. Okay, now lift that hand with the baggie in it, right up to your mouth.”
“Oh nO, man! You ain’t going to make me eat…”
“I can blow your legs off at about the knees, or cave in your skull with the gun barrel. Eat it, you son of a bitch!”
It was over in a second or two, a confused crunching and gagging and swallowing. After he choked down the pot and its cellophane wrap, the man looked a little green, and stood swaying there.
“Be damned sure you don’t puke it up,” Dallas said. “Stand there until it takes good hold. Then I’ll let you get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”
Shaking his head, the man said, “I’ll probably die from this fucking stuff.
It’s dope, and I’ll probably die from It anyway. I told that damned Harry… “ eyes bulging, he said in a whisper, “and I’m telling him now. This house is bugged man. I forgot all about those damned bugs, and Harry is hearing everything I’m saying.”
Dallas pretended surprise. “Bugged? I’ll be damned. Wait until I get to that bastard Sladermann! I’ll have his license yanked so quick,…”
“Can I go?” the man asked plaintively. “Look buddy, I’ve had it. If this dope don’t kill me, I’ll leave town soon as I can. I’ve had it with Harry and bullshitting around with a pro, frying to set you up. Can I go buddy?”
Relenting, Dallas said, “The pot won’t kill you. It might make you sick as hell, or high as hell, or a combination of both. But it won’t kill you unless you get so stoned you run your car into something.”
“I’ll walk,” the man said, cautiously lowering his hands. “I’ll walk all the way out of town, I swear.”
“Start hiking,” Dallas said. “and-have a good night.”
“Oh shit,” the man said, and slouched hurriedly out the back door, the way he’d come.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN