Again she ran her fingers between her thighs, high up against her soft, fleshy pussylips. Ah, she thought, that feels more like Sue Robin's hand. It felt good, very good. It was something she had never done, rub herself "down there". She had heard talk in high school of what boys did to themselves, but she had never heard of girls doing anything like that. And any sensations of pleasure had been firmly repressed whenever she bathed herself.
Many times when she dated boys in high school, they tried to get their hands between her legs, but she'd always stopped that in a hurry. To keep them from being too angry and upset, she'd let a special ones that she really liked squeeze her boobs – outside her clothes, of course – but only for a minute or two. Nobody had ever touched her bare flesh, except Bobby Lee.
I love him, she said to herself. I really love him. Her fingers were gentle as she stroked herself absently. But he scared me. She recalled his frenzied words: "We're getting married tomorrow, honey! Dammit, we'll make love then – why not now? I'm getting a stone-ache, Mary Beth!"
She hadn't understood what he meant by a stone-ache, but she could tell he was under tremendous stress, and she thought, why not? Well be doing that after we're married, so it won't hurt to pleasure him tonight.
The lean-back seat of his Capri was comfortable enough, but it was cramped quarters for his six-foot-one frame, and he was impatient. The instant he sensed her surrender, he reached under her frock and pulled her panties down her uncooperating legs. Dragging out his aching, throbbing cock, he forced himself between her legs.
"You'll like this, honey," he muttered, but he was too sexed up to take time to warm her up, and her virgin pussy was dry as he prodded between the lips with his rampaging pole.
His own juice, drooling through the tiny slit in the end of his cockhead, lubricated the outer lips as he tried to curb his eagerness and push his way gently into her. Meanwhile, she lay perfectly still, her eyes closed tight and her hands clenched by her sides.
"Oh!" she wailed briefly as he broke through the flimsy membrane of her maidenhead, and the involuntary tensing of her cunt squeezed his swollen shaft deliciously. For a moment, he thought she was going to respond, but again she lay as though dead while he pumped away, careful not to drive his entire cock into her tight passage for fear he might injure her.
She didn't even stir while he spasmed his sperm into her in fierce volleys. When he pulled his softening cock out of her, Mary Beth sensed his disappointment, but she didn't know what to do about it. This was what her mother had hinted that she would have to expect from time to time, though the widow had never gone into detail.
Without her realizing it, her hand was now inside her panties and sliding up and down the padded hump of her pubic mound. She hardly knew what a clitoris was, but instinctively her fingers pressed through the soft furry cluster of hair to the spot that generated such lightning flashes of intense pleasure when she touched it.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" she gasped, and her body tensed and twisted sideways on the couch. Then, "Oh!" She sprang up from the couch and stood cowering on the rug, frightened and shocked by the sudden electric jolt that had ripped through her. She looked at her fingers, slick and glistening with the extra juice that had gotten on them.
"What happened?" she murmured, and hurried to the bathroom to wash herself.
CHAPTER THREE
"So now you come to me!" The tiger eyes blazed at Sue Robin as she stood in the doorway of the little cottage, waiting for the old woman to invite her inside. "I know what you here for. Why you didn't come to me first? You chillun today think you know it all. Got no respect for us old people."
Sue Robin repressed a smile and waited patiently. Unlike everybody else in Maxwell, she was not afraid of the black witch, for the "witch" had been like another mother, or grandmother, all her life, and she loved her as much as she loved Great Aunt Minerva.
"All right. Come on in and set down." The muddy-gold eyes traveled over the tall shapely young woman, and the corners of her mouth twitched with approval. She'd done a fine job, bringing this one and her twin brother up.
"That brother o' yaurn ain't happy with his new bride."
"You knew already?" The astonishment was fake. Sue Robin was not at all surprised at the old woman's occult knowledge.
"Course I knew," the other snorted disdainfully. She pointed to the cane-bottomed chair next to her and Sue Robin came and sat beside her, towering head and shoulders above the gray mop of kinky hair.
"How long Bobby Lee gonna be in Atlanta?"
"Probably a week, Aunt Clarinda."
"We'll need more time."
"He'll probably call me tonight or tomorrow night. I can stall him, if you say so."
"I say so. Full moon ain't fill eight more days."
"I'll do it, Aunt Clarinda."
"I'll call a meetin'."
In spite of her education, Sue Robin felt a superstitious thrill shoot through her. She had heard vaguely of Aunt Clarinda's "meetings", though never from any whites. As a child, she had heard some of her black playmates whisper about "meetings", and always they looked over their shoulders with genuine dread as if afraid of being struck dead – or worse.
The eyes flamed yellow as they stared into the blue eyes of the young woman, reading to the very depths of her soul, Sue Robin felt.
"An' you won't talk about it, neither, y'heah? Nobody talks about it. You get a loose tongue, an' you won't just die; you'll come back as a zombie." The eyes seemed to grow larger and larger, and Sue Robin felt drawn into circles of luminescence, hypnotized, powerless to move or say anything.
The power was suddenly withdrawn, and Sue Robin took a deep breath. "You don't have to worry about me, Aunt Clarinda. You know I'd never talk."
The fierce eyes softened to mellow gold again, and a smile lifted the withered brown ups. "I know, honey. Don't worry no more. Everything's gonna be all right. You just keep that big dumb brother of yourn away." She shook her head. "Sometimes it seem to me that men ain't right bright. Git outta heah now; I got work to do."
Sue Robin stooped and kissed the wrinkled forehead, then turned and hurried out. She long-legged it across the fifty years of manicured lawn to the big house, smiling to herself at the fierce independence of the old woman. Her father had tried again and again to persuade her to take one of the extra rooms in the house, where they could keep an eye on her in case she should need help. At eighty, them was no telling what might happen. But so adamantly had Aunt Clarinda refused that Tyrus Forsythe had finally given up. Anything the old lady asked for – or demanded – she got, with no argument.
The early September sun was still well above the horizon, so Sue Robin didn't worry about hurrying to Mary Beth's house, which was down the road a half-mile. She stood and looked toward the river, winding a short distance away through willows and live oaks festooned with Spanish moss, zigzagging its lazy way to the ocean less than a mile to the east. She and Bobby Lee used to go down to the river as youngsters, to fish or swim if the tide wasn't pulling too strong. Sometimes they went alone, sometimes with other kids. A favorite playmate had been Sybil, Aunt Clarinda's granddaughter. Sybil was in Atlanta now, working and going to college. Let's see, Sue Robin reflected, I think she's majoring in anthropology.