“Ernie, I don't like to see a boy like you wasting his talents on Beth. You should be humping dewy gash now that you're experienced. Wait till you get your prick in a virgin-you'll know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean right now, mister. Got any virgins who want it?”
“No. But you have.”
Ernie looked boyishly puzzled. How many virgins lurked in his closet? I had to remind him. “Don't you remember your friend in the basement? Jeannie.”
“Yeah…” I could trace the course of his memory, slowly percolating down from his thick skull to his crotch. Apparently, he had forgotten the teen-aged cockteaser. That's what living with a nympho can do: makes a guy forget basics. A cunt is like an eraser-among other things.
“What about Jeannie?”
“I think this is the right time of year for you to make a pitch. Girls her age put out in summer more than in winter. It's a biological fact. If you treat her right, in the proper surroundings. No basement, that's unromantic. I have an idea or two. First-will her parents let her come out and play?”
“I reckon.”
Before pitting Jeannie's cherry, we had to make the ex-bellhop presentable. That involved getting him dressed to begin with. He had acquired the disgusting habit of wandering around all day in soiled Jockey shorts, if not totally bare ass.
Bribed by having her clit kissed, Beth was prevailed upon to make like a housewife. The age-old drudgery of washing and ironing. She washed Ernie's cock and ironed his chinos.
Within an hour, we set off to find Jeannie Larson.
Ernie was instructed to invite the girl to a party, supposedly to be given by a mutual school chum. I parked the car down the block from the palatial Larson house. In the rear-view mirror I could see Ernie walk up to the porch. The door opened.
Soon my protege emerged. He came up to me, his scrubbed face grinning with pleasure.
“All set. She'll be ready in a minute.”
“Good. Are you sure you explained to her parents that the party might not break up till late, but there'll be chaperons and all that crap?”
“Yeah. I told her mother.”
“What about Jeannie's father?”
“She don't have a father.”
Good, I thought, prematurely.
“She has a stepfather,” Ernie added. “I don't like Luke Larson nohow. Acts like he's Christ almighty since he got elected Police Chief in Prescott.”
Christ almighty! That's what comes of employing a schmuck like Ernie as talent scout. I could see where we'd have one slam-bang party! Mr. Endicott would no longer have confidence in me. Fuck him! I'd drive the police chief's stepdaughter out to the cabin, feed her a Coke, keep her out of Matt's clutches, and speed her homeward.
The review of these somber alternatives was interrupted by the sudden appearance of the young lady in question. Jeannie was truly a girl in a million. All decked out in her party dress and ready less than ten minutes after Ernie called for her. Poor kid must have been eager for an outing. Shame to waste a pretty dress on a ride in a jalopy, with a Coke at the end of the journey.
Shame to waste Jeannie! She wasn't blatantly sexy, but she had what it takes to stiffen a labe. The girl-next-door type. Tiny, not quite as high as my armpit. Slender, with masses of curly chestnut hair framing an oval face. Smiling. Looking forward to a happy, wholesome evening. Good for a fucking. Couldn't her mother have married a goddamned barber!
Her manner was charmingly girlish when she said, “Hi, Mr. Trent. I'm so glad to meet you.” She slid into the front seat, neatly squashed between me and her boy friend. Conversation languished; I started thinking.
In one way, Jeannie was unlike other girls. She didn't ask one fucking question. Come to think of it, her conduct was more than merely unusual-it was suspicious, unnatural. Why didn't she ask about the party, about our destination? Ernie couldn't have told her much; she should have been curious, inquisitive. Jeannie sat, hands folded primly in her lap. Quiet. Expectant.
The frigging old car didn't hit a rut in the road. Actually, the ride was surprisingly smooth. But a change had occurred on the crowded front seat. A subtle change. If I were unconscious or dead or queer, I might not have noticed. Those girlish hands with the slightly bitten fingernails weren't in Jeannie's lap any longer. They had shyly crept one inch west of my zipper.
I was getting groped by an expert.
Abruptly, I realized why Jeannie didn't ask any questions. She knew all the answers! She knew what she was getting into. I wished I did! A few yards away from the cabin, we exchanged one brief look of understanding. With Jeannie, winks weren't necessary.
“You get out here, Ernie. I just want to show Miss Larson the scenery before it gets dark.”
Ernie seemed inclined to protest, but a girlish shove sent him sprawling out of the car. I drove on toward the river. I had a helluva lot to accomplish before darkness fell.
There was no time to lose. I parked haphazardly, shrubbery brushing the fenders. I cleared my throat and started, “Look, Jeannie-”
“Don't talk, mister,” she interposed, impolitely, “Just fuck it into me!”
XI
I gave her straight fucking, hard fast lunge banging. The walls of her cunt gripped my cock, hugging the life out of it. Draining the juice like a vampire. Holding me in the vise till my spurting gism sizzled into the cauldron.
I shook my schlang and patted her shoulder.
“Honey, you're wonderful!” I said it sincerely, with feeling. Feeling her budding teen-aged knockers. The girl squirmed in a spasm of acute embarrassment. “What's the matter, sweetheart? Didn't anyone ever play with your titties?”
Jeannie shook her head shyly. What kind of a pervert had she hooked up with? I opened the top buttons of her dress, she cooperated bra-wise. Her boobies were buttery soft and crushable. I squeezed them together to make a two-nippled mouthful, and ate them. The nipples jutted out firm and erect, but that gave my tongue no pain. I sucked, giving little bites-nips that bring the bloom of roses to a girl's aureoles.
Jeannie moaned, “Darling, I didn't know it could be so wonderful. My titties ache, but it's such a sweet ache. Now I wish you would-”
“Fuck you again?”
“No. Please let me suck your prick.”
The guy who started Jeannie off may have been a pervert, but he could write a textbook on girl training. Maybe one day we could collaborate. Because, honest, that was the next item on the agenda: a blow job.
She took it greedily and I kept feeding it into her. Full length swipes of her tongue over my whacker. Her strong teeth brushed against it for body. The warmth of her throat muffled the slapping sounds as I pressed my prong toward her windpipe. She sucked it.
A forehead feels so cool against a guy's overheated bush. I knew my wiry hairs were leaving marks on her, imprints, tattooing. “You're my girl now,” was the message, “my favorite cocksucker.”
“Suck it!” I sent it down deeper, pumping faster.
Closing her hand on my balls, groaning. “I'm coming!” I gave her my gism. It had no place to go but downward. My gism gushed out, coursing straight down her gullet.
“Thanks, kid.” I drove back to park outside the cabin. “Wait in the car; I'll be back in a minute.” I raced in to warn the others to get ready. Then I headed for town to pick up the Endicotts, taking Jeannie with me.
To keep Clint Endicott in a state of productivity, I took precautionary measures. I requested Jeannie to sit on the floor in back, lightly covered by a sheet of tarpaulin. She agreed without asking questions.
The last precaution was to see that Clint took the front seat. Ruthie, however, insisted on sitting in back.