"I… I like it."
"Louder!"
"I like it. I like it." Her voice began to waver and rise as she felt the fucking rhythm increase and she worked to match thrust and thrust. She could feel his heavy balls slapping wetly against the tightly clenched cheeks of her buttocks. Her cuntal lubricant had seeped down into her anal crevice as she fucked him with obscene abandon. "I lllloovveee it!!!" Her voice was low and wanton, "I love it, fuck it, hurt me, fuck me, rape me!" She was screaming with lust now, and it seemed his cruel hurting hands were everywhere at once, all over her body; at her hips, her thighs, her nipples, raking across her wildly thrashing buttocks and splitting her ass-cheeks open while a cruel outstretched finger stabbed at her puckered little anus!
"Fuck me, fuck me all night!" she moaned, spitting the word, "fuck" out with delight and feeling and obscene pleasure shudder through her body at the forbidden word. "Fuck me!"
George closed his eyes and thought of nothing but driving it home. They fucked, crushing the wild sweet grass beneath their bodies, slipping and bucking across the slope until they were splashing in the water. I'll continue to fuck her even if she drowns! Fuck it, I ain't gonna stop now.
He fucked her as he felt her tensing beneath him and her moaning becoming deeper and more rhythmic; it was only then that he felt his own heated cum building in his balls to the point where they ached.
"Aaaaagghhh!" He felt her body suddenly full of a wanton strength as she arched up beneath him and her body began trembling deeply. Then she was fighting him like a game fish before falling back into helpless spasms of searing ecstasy as her first orgasm convulsed her.
That was too much for the step-father and, with a guttural roar, he came, pumping powerful spurts of his white-hot cum deep into her cunt, filling her up so that it spurted out all around his wildly jerking shaft. Then grinning, he pulled his eagerly ejaculating cock out and let it flop on her stomach where it continued to pump sticky white sperm onto her nakedly rippling stomach.
She lay with her loins and stomach glistening with cum, completely relaxed, feeling like putty, feeling tired, very tired… and a little uncertain about her own emotions.
George rolled off her with a groan and lay catching his breath for awhile before he got up and slowly dressed. His clothes on, he looked down at the still naked Sandy and spat in the water, then turned and climbed up the embankment.
Left by herself, Sandy had rolled over, sobbed, and lay still until it was almost dark. Then she slowly got dressed, a sad and weary young girl and went home. Two months later she realized her afternoon encounter had left her pregnant. She'd let her mother believe it was Curtis' fault, a young freshman boy she'd been seeing on the sly. It caused an uproar, predictably enough, but the reticent girl refused to tell the truth, reasoning she had been hurt enough, there was no reason to destroy her mother's life, too.
The baby was adopted out from the hospital – a darling seven pound baby girl with black hair and brown eyes. Sandy had seen her infant through the maternity ward's glass window, but never once did she hold her baby, never felt it squirm in her arms. For nine months she had been holed up with nothing to do but watch her body grow to a distended grotesque shape, and those months in solitude had taken their toll. The thirteen year old girl made a vow to herself on her first teenage birthday, to never, never allow any one man to claim such a great part of her.
Any psychiatrist would say it was a natural rebellious response to a stressful situation, that she had been far too young to bear the burden alone with no natural father to help her through the rough times and dreary, lonely nights.
Predictably, it had been all down hill from there, though Chris would never have believed it possible for her girlfriend to sink any lower into the depths of confused depravity she was exhibiting now in her twenty-second year of life. From what little Sandy had confessed, she'd spent most of her time hot-rodding around town with the loose crowd in high school – smoking dope, drinking beer, having wild parties. Everything a young girl should not even know about, let alone indulge in.
In college it had been the same way. Chris was the only friend who stuck by her, sometimes out of pity, occasionally out of unsatisfied desire to have a sister, but always out of genuine sincere friendship for Sandy, confused and ravaged though she had become.
Sandy's carefree, live-for-today, the hell-with-tomorrow attitudes could be a bit disconcerting sometimes, though, particularly when Sandy seemed to bounce from one man to the next, from one affair to another, without a trace of scars from the frequent, and often tempestuous breakups.
And Chris, her one and only real love experience now just a shattered memory, still hated herself for crying softly sometimes in the night as she remembered those wonderful times with Mark. She hated him now, loathed his brutality and cowardice, but she still thought of him on lonely nights when she lay there on the other side of the door listening to her roommate making love in low soft whispers and giggles.
Chris O'Brien stared out of the window, watching Sandy get off the Geary Street bus, a boy right behind her. Chris witnessed all of Sandy's feminine tricks: the flinging of her long black mane of her hair over her shoulder, the hip-thrust stance that could provoke the Pope himself, and the carefree style in which she handed the stranger her telephone number as casually as if he were asking for a donation for the Salvation Army. Oh, no, thought Chris with a gasp of disbelief. Another night listening to Sandy making it with another stranger… it never ends. She let the curtain fall from her clutching fingertips with a movement that might have been a sigh.
CHAPTER THREE
Chris listened apprehensively to the key turning in the lock, waiting for her roommate to step through the door. They'd have to discuss their money tragedy, Chris knew, and this might be the last free moment of Sandy's man-hungry day before the telephone started ringing and the doorbell buzzing.
"Hi, ya!" beamed Sandy, closing the door behind her handing Chris her mail. "Here… look." She thrust an official looking envelope in Chris' hands. "Food-stamps. First of the month. What do you say we buy a couple of Porterhouse steaks and celebrate? God, it seems like an eternity since we've had a real meal," she complained, collapsing on the faded velour couch with a squeak of the protesting springs. "Mine came too, only I got them for a whole family."
"What? But Sandy, you don't have a family. How did you get $128 worth?" She waved the envelope accusingly in the air, one hand on her levied hip.
The black-headed girl shrugged casually. "Simple, I just told them I had a husband home sick, and this neat looking guy told me to follow him and fill out the forms." She pulled open her shoulderbag, and, searching for her pack of cigarettes, found them and tore open the top and shook out two, one for each of them.
Chris hissed through clenched teeth. "Damn it, Sandy. That's fraud! Don't you read the newspapers?" she blurted heatedly. "They're cleaning house down at the welfare department. Anybody who's caught telling lies to get foodstamps is up for fraud, and that's a federal offense."
Sandy tutted. "Oh, don't be silly Chris. How is anybody going to find out I don't have a husband and two kids? Why don't you look at the bright side?" The green eyed girl spread her hands and shrugged. "We're getting $128 worth of free food and you're complaining? It was easy: I borrowed somebody's kids in exchange for a joint. No big deal." Her long lithe arm reached over to the end table and long red fingertips clutched the match book.
Chris' platform shoes made clunking sounds as she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Oh swell. Just don't call me up when the authorities start looking for you!" They were riding the red line of poverty, and it was wearing on both girl's patience.