Debbie stepped forward. She didn't touch me. Eyes open, her tiny tongue darted out. She licked my peter. Hey! It couldn't be happening. I didn't want it. I didn't want a five-year-old cunt kissing my ramrod. Never trust a ramrod-even your own. I didn't want it, but just the wet lick of the kid's tongue was making it harden. If this was going to be my punishment, I could take it.
The bearded man pushed her away from me.
“Get her out of here!”
Beth bundled the pint-sized cocksucker off to the other side of the partition.
The bearded man spoke softly, even persuasively. “You un'erstand, I gotta protect myself. Like if you was t'make a complaint. I'd say I couldn't let you get away with forcing the kid t'suck you. You made her do it, didn'cha? I hafta make you pay for it, don' I?”
Whatever this bonzo had in mind wouldn't do Doug Trent any good. Whatever he had in mind involved stripping.
My jolly captor peeled his shirt off. He-man style. No undershirt… just thick, matted chest. A nice caved-in chest would have suited me better. Coogan or whoever the hell he was wasn't kidding. He dropped his pants. His thighs under his Jockeys were spread like twin tree trunks. He reached in to expose his whacker, handling it idly, as if the heavy foreskin tickled him.
Prick swinging, he towered over me. I was sure he was going to order me to suck it. Then what? No mouth could take a dong like that. He'd kill me. His hang hung at least seven inches, thick as a milk bottle. And it wasn't even hard yet. Sweat poured down my forehead.
His voice, unexpectedly, was gentle. “Don't be afraid. I like Cheat guys. I won't hurt ya-much.”
I wet my lips. They felt cracked, as if he'd whipped them.
“Look, lemme go. I didn't mean any harm. Honest! By morning, I'll be miles away. Please don't-”
He wasn't listening. He was pulling the belt off his pants. “Don' worry, kid. I don't aim for y' nuts.” He held the belt bunched so that he had about a foot-and-a-half of whip. He flicked it over my legs, then my chest. The pain was sharp, but not unbearable.
The blows came faster. They hurt more. The tip of the leather was probing fresh welts and connecting lower. I felt the lash on my thatch. Lower and he'd lacerate my buzzer. I'd taken the beating in silence, tasting blood on my tongue, biting off pleas for mercy. But now I howled in anguish.
My cries seemed to amuse him. Grinning, he sent the whip lower, below my balls, to my thighs. Then the torment halted abruptly, and he called, “Get in here.”
Beth crept in, flushed, her breathing raspy. She knelt on the floor, mouth open, staring at the bearded man's massive erection, moaning. He dropped the belt, still towering over me. His fingers touched the wounds, tentatively, as if he wondered how they got there. His other hand held his prick, pulling it.
The blonde girl shot forward, screaming, “No, Matt, don't do it. Fuck me!”
Matt took his hand off his prong to brush her aside. Beth landed in an outraged heap, half on the bed, half on the floor. Ignoring her, Matt flicked his fingers over his joint and started to spurt. Blobs of his cream hit my legs, hit the girl on the floor. He kept spurting.
Beth spouted a stream of curses. Still ignoring her, Matt contemplated his shriveling dick as if he wondered how that got there.
He started to undo the rags binding me to the bed.
“I didn't hurt ya,” he mumbled. “You'll be okay.” He tilted his chin toward the blonde. “That cunt sure hates t'miss out on a load! If ya want, you c'n fuck 'er.”
I didn't want to fuck her; I wanted to get out of the cabin. As if he read my thoughts, Matt grinned. “You won't wanna put your clothes on over those-” He hedged at the word wounds. “Anyway, where ya gonna go in the dark? Car's locked. Roads don't lead no place. Be smart, kid. Fuck 'er an' grab some sleep.”
Matt kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks, and climbed into bed. Whimpering, otherwise silent, Beth got in with us.
The bastard was right. Where would I go in the dark? I didn't relish the thought of clothes near my raw skin. I should as well slay put. What else could happen? Unless he'd wake in the night to cut my nuts off!
Matt was snoring already. Beth had stopped whimpering. She was feeling for my tool in the darkness. I didn't want to fuck her…just sorta fall asleep with my hand up her cunt. I reached out. She had gone to bed wearing the cotton dress. When I reached out, I didn't feel cotton. I felt silk. Silky thigh. Silkier fuzz. I fingered her twat. Beth released my hard-on so I could mount her. I screwed it into her lazily, then in a tempo that accelerated in spite of myself. I boffed her, rolled off, and heard myself snoring. Balling beats any sleeping pill.
No matter how rough the night, morning follows. A soft summer morning, some sun even penetrated the cabin. That was a cardinal error. Light made the hovel inexpressively shabbier. But the smell had improved. Frying bacon made me feel almost human. Human and alone in bed, with the sun pouring in. I bounded out and looked through the partition.
Matt was standing at the stove, shaking a skillet. Without turning, he said, “Sunny side up okay? It's the only way I know how t'make 'em.”
“Sunny side is fine. Where do I take a piss around here?”
I had joined him on the kitchen side of the cabin. Matt faced me grinning. “Just go outside. Anywhere'll do. Nearest neighbor's two miles, an' the girls drove t'town, shopping.”
Bare ass, I backed out of the cabin. When I returned, Matt was heaping food on the table. I put on my shorts and dove into my portion. We chewed our eggs and bacon in companionable silence. Only when we'd finished, Matt mumbled, “Sorry about last night, fella.”
“That's okay, Mr. Co-uh-you are Mr. Coogan, aren't you:
Matt grinned. “You think 'cause her name's Coogan-? Hey, you don't think I married her?” Matt guffawed at this unlikely thought. “Who would hafta marry her!” He stuck his hand out politely. “I'm Matt Hammond.”
We shook hands after I introduced myself.
“You from New York, Doug?”
I admitted it.
“Geez, I'd like t'see New York sometime. Guess I never will. I'm sorta stuck here. Suits me in a way. Got my work. Hirin' out to the farmers, doin' a bit of farmin' on my own. Got that no-good cunt. Got my own place.” His eyes shifted over the cabin as if it were a place to be proud of. He noticed my expression. “Not much of a place, but it's mine. I got my privacy. I c'n do what I want.”
Like beating guys.
Malt must have sensed those words on my lips, because he said defensively, “I'm not queer. I like fuckin' cunt. I tried everything, Doug. I sucked pussy. Once I let a queer blow me. An' I like t'whip a guy when he's tied up. Not t'hurt 'im. Jus' whip 'em an'jack off on 'im.”
I assured Matt that back East no one would consider such predilections queer.
“How did you come to team up with Beth?”
“Everyone 'roun' here knows Beth. She's got a hot box for big dick. Since she was a kid.” Matter of factly, Matt added, “I got a big one, a very big one.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
“Well, that's what she's after. She'll do anything to get it. Suits me,” Matt said, complacently. “She keeps the place clean, cooks, an' she's aroun' when I want her.”
Cozy arrangement. I hardly heard Matt, however. I was thinking. Trying to think. Not getting anywhere. To keep the conversation going, I asked at random, “Much action in this part of the country?”
The bearded man ruminated. “Not too much. This is farm land. Don't see many folks till y' get t'Prescott.”
Prescott, I knew, was the local metropolis. I had skirted it the day before on my way to the woods-and the cabin.
“How big is Prescott?”
“Plen'y big,” Matt answered, like a rural Iowan. “Population nearly 5,000. An' lots of folks come to Prescott. See, it's the county seat an' on the road to Des Moines an' Omaha.”