She wasn't moving fast enough to suit him, and he found it too much of an inconvenience to reach for the whip. He stretched out an arm and grabbed her by the long, blonde curls of her pubic thatch and pulled her toward him.
It wrested a painful cry from her throat, and she stumbled, trying to keep on her feet and move fast enough to relieve the agonizing pull on the hair which was rooted in such tender flesh.
As her thighs hit the edge of the bed, he let go of the furry handle and pulled at her forearm instead, tipping her off balance and making her fall across his chest and belly.
Then he transferred his grip again, this time to the nape of her neck. He forced her head down on his lower belly until her lips were flattened out against the hairy mat above his pubis.
"You'd better work a little harder and faster to please me, Pal baby," he warned her. "If I wasn't so tired from screwing Betty in the ass, I'd lash a little ambition into you just to guarantee a good performance. Now get busy and make that warrior ready for battle!"
Pal started to work, tonguing the hairy flesh and nibbling at little pinches of it, anxious to get the task over with. The faint masculine odor of him, emanating from the sweaty folds where his thighs joined his torso, stirred her a little, in spite of her determination to thrive on her contempt for him.
He had cupped one of her breasts in his hand, and her nipple had stiffly blossomed out between two of his massaging fingers. She felt the tiny stirrings of passion deep in her loins, and it angered her to be unable to stifle them.
Then her mouth was moving through the lower part of his hairy forest, and she came to the trunk of his solitary tree of flesh. It had been felled expertly, and lay there in the brush, soft and pithy as if attacked by dry rot.
The illusion almost became real as she caught the first whiff of the humus-like smell that came from it. She could begin to visualize mushrooms or toadstools springing up around it, so rich was the odor of decayed compost or manure.
Then she realized that it was manure. Betty's manure! She wouldn't let herself think of any words more commonly used to describe the organic stuff that had made those dark streaks on Paul's limp cock.
It was all she could do to keep from gagging. She stopped short, and raised her head.
"Would you please let me wash you off, first?" she asked.
"That's exactly what I thought you were going to do," he replied.
"I mean with soap and water," she persisted.
"I like it much better with just your tongue. Now get with it, broad, or I'll forget I'm tired!" He emphasized the impatience in his tone by taking his hand from her breast and slapping it flatly against the tender flesh of her nearest buttock.
She shrieked at the smarting blow, and knew that she was going to get no reprieve. Resignedly, she brought her mouth back to the stained shaft, holding her breath so she couldn't smell anything, and tried to think of totally unrelated times and places, hoping it would keep her from sicking up all over him. That would really make him mad, she knew.
As she licked at the pliant flesh, its doughy feel under her tongue reminded her of the cylindrical cinnamon rolls she had helped make while working in the orphanage kitchen.
She could smell the first batch in the oven as she labored over the last ones. Because she had missed breakfast, and because the hot, yeasty, spicy oven-smells churned up her appetite, she had felt starved. Not daring to eat any of the baked rolls, because their neat symmetry on the tray would betray the theft, she started to put one of the raw ones in her mouth. Its limp, flaccid pliability had felt so strange to her lips and tongue, that she had decided not to eat it. She remembered telling Terry about it later.
Terry! Dear, sweet Terry! Such a short, bittersweet love affair that had been, and how persistent was the deeper love that still clung to her!
As she thought of that last meeting in the greenhouse, she could almost smell the rich, peaty odor of the compost and fertilizer, and the warm earthy scents that filled the enclosure. And Terry's young cock had been so sweet in her mouth!
She felt the swelling rigidity as the thoroughly cleansed shaft slipped between her lips and pressed against her tongue. It made her remember that this was not Terry's lovable young penis filling her mouth, but a larger and less innocent weapon, one which had been in many places.
She forced herself again to not think of the last place it had been, and of the fact that she had just cleansed it of its travel stains.
But her reminiscing had stirred her too deeply, and Paul's busy hands – the one returned to her breast, and the other now dipping vulgarly in the spread slit of her crotch – had built up the fire in her loins.
As she sucked at the muscular meat, running her tongue around the smooth ridge and drawing it over the notched tip, she felt her juices start to suckle around her cuntal openings.
Paul, feeling the heavy lubrication on his fingers, speeded up his digital probing of the slippery, hairy canyon. He now had two fingers wedged deeply into her vagina, and his thumb was massaging her hurtfully-hard little nubbin of sensitivity.
"Oh-h-h! I'm coming! Ram it in deeper!" she cried. Her sudden involvement made her suck harder at the rigid flesh in her mouth, and she started to quiver all over.
Paul pulled her meal away from her, saving it for another use. She shuddered to her completion all by herself, as he rammed his fingers brutally into her heated, gushing depths. Then he let her collapse across him for a few moments, until her breathing became more quiet.
"Get your carcass off me!" he commanded suddenly. It startled her, and she jumped and rolled to get clear, ending up on her feet beside the bed.
His lash flicked out unexpectedly and painted a long red weal across, her belly. She screamed with the pun, and her lovely china-blue eyes widened, then filled with tears.
"I didn't tell you to get out of bed!" he said. "Now get back up here and pose yourself for me. On hands and knees."
She scrambled onto the bed, sniffling and gasping, rubbing her painful lash stripe gingerly. When she was in position, Paul got out and stood behind her.
"Jonas tells me he found another cherry and broke it. I don't see any cherry juice on your sheets."
Pal was silent, since she didn't think he expected any comment.
"Who took your cherry, Pal baby? Who unlocked your juicy little cunt so playmates could visit anytime without a key?"
She was sure she had to answer this one, or his starved ego would get mean from hunger, and she would suffer accordingly.
"You did," she said, in a low, sullen voice.
"And whose cock was the first in your mouth?" he continued, feeding his childish ego still more.
"Terry Patrick Monahan's!" she said clearly and proudly. It was a joy to be able to thwart him in this one thing, and she relished the shocked silence that followed her answer.
"Tell me about it!" he demanded. To let her know she had no chance of avoiding the issue, he pinched her right buttock so hard it brought more tears to her eyes.
"Ouch! It was… was a long time ago. I was only twelve." She hoped that he would let her stop there, but when she didn't continue, he gave her another pinch.
"Let's hear it! All of it! Tell Uncle Paul all about it. You were a bright little nymphet, and some nice man offered you candy to take a ride?"
"No! It wasn't like that at all! It was a boy my age. A very sweet boy! We were in love… We still are!" She knew she should not press her luck, but she could not help trying to get back at him for what he had put her through, and for what she knew he intended to put her through. Or, rather, for the things she did not know about, which were yet to come. Somehow, she thought she should be glad she couldn't see ahead!