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"Let's seal our deal. I'll eat you."

He was fully awake and hard by the time he got out of his clothes. She went for his cock like it was the last in the world and sucked him expertly.

"Oh, you doll," he breathed. 'Hey, what're you doing?"

"Mmmmm," she went. Her hand on her cunt was busy.

He pulled her on top of his naked body, her cunt to his face. "We'll do sixty-nine."

He ate into her cunt. She spread her legs and humped with a cry of delight.

'Hoooo-eeee," she went. "I didn't know guys did this to chicks, except in magazines. Nobody ever did it to me. I thought I tasted funny."

"You taste like nectar, Linda Sue," he breathed. "Pungent, but full of sweet girl flavors. I could drink a gallon from your guts."

She humped wildly, thrilled by that. "Holy Je

– " she started. Then she remembered his blow on her face. "Goodness, gracious me," she gasped, "I am hotly happy."

He laughed. "In sex Linda Sue, you can use all the dirty words you want. Only then-it fits."

"Ah, Christ," she cried in relief and delight. "Suck my hot pussy shit-crazy, you asshole tongue reamer." Then she grabbed his big cock and bent it to her mouth and sucked with ecstatic enjoyment. There was something compelling, powerful, mind-smashing about a prick like this. She reveled in its hardness, its aliveness, its tight-balled beauty.

They rocked in splendor and she let the sweet hotness of his cunt-suck grow and glow in her. He slurped her fluid, tongued her clit and ran loving fingers in her spring-tight tunnel. She'd never had anyone treat her so tenderly and erotically. Usually her guys just shoved hard cock in her mouth and rode. Or fucked her small cunt sore.

"Oh, God, Hank, I've nee-ver had sex like this."

He couldn't answer. The expert young girl brought him to peak with gentle yet demanding tongue and handwork. He was in seventh heaven.

"I-won't be able-drink-just now," she gasped, drumming her loins on his chin. "So hot-so good-loveeeely."

He laughed heartily and found her tiniest of assholes. He worked a finger in as he continued to lick, suck and lave her clit.

"Oh, my Jesus God heaven!" she cried. Her loins worked like fury in pure, golden delight. No one had ever given her thrills like this. "Ah, eh, oh." She grunted, mewed and whined as he drove her to the inevitable stiffening of her sex death. Then he harvested her sweet young cunt as she throbbed against his chin, "hooing" in breathless delight.

After she faded, he just lay back in luxury, stroking her smooth young skin and her soft tautness. She grabbed his cock and unplugged him like jerking a cord from the wall.

"Hayeuuuuu," he went, thrilling, lifting, locking. And then he filled her mouth with gush after gush of body-hot jism-urging it into her, delighted that the deft way she took it all down her throat as if it were whipped cream. She drained him like a perfect slave girl.

"Linda Sue, we've got a great future," he laughed happily in the euphoria of his perfect suck.

The breeze inside the cave had lessened. Outside the roar of the fire was gone. It had made its visit to Treeline and rushed on down the hill to gulp at the woods below.

Just before they left at dawn he made one quick trip out into the burned resort village, a trip he felt he had to make. The ground was hot but not unbearable. A few small fires still burned but mostly there was smoke and embers and massive shapes of charcoal.

Yet Kay Simpson had been right. Parts of the town had been skipped by the fast-running fire. Whole houses survived, apparently intact-and one of them was the Simpson's.

He went quickly inside the living room where he'd seen the body of Todd Simpson. It was still there intact, two small holes in the forehead where Kay had shot him with a.22. Hank didn't know her reason for killing her husband, but he was sure that Todd deserved it. Todd hadn't been one of Hank's wife's lovers that he knew. Todd wasn't the kind to have sex trouble-too tight. Maybe that was the reason Kay took advantage of the fire to shoot him.

Anyway, he owed her something. He lugged the body to another still-burning fire down the street and saw it burn in a decent cremation there'd be no traces to trap her. Some day he might return and enjoy sex with her fine ass. He guessed she'd have plenty of reason to service him if he did. Like a quick reminder of what he'd seen in the living room and what he'd later done for her. But that would be at a future time.

Later as Linda Sue drove them down the hill on the motorbike, saddlebags full, he hugged her young body and buried his face in her sweet hair that flew out from under her helmet. The great fire of Treeline had come and gone and done a few folks good, lots of good. A new day and life grew out of the destruction and ashes of the old and he had no further complaints about his years in Treeline.

Chapter 4

Warm, snug and alone in her room on the upper floor of the SKI FORTUNE INN, Scotti Crawford did not bother to get up when she heard the knock on her door about ten that night. It would only be her father's best friend, Robbie Wells, bringing her a hot cup of chocolate-along with sly sex hints and innuendoes. He bored her with that, but he also amused her. He was a pretty good looking man, too, even if he was forty.

She stretched her young body luxuriously in front of the fire-Dad always took the best of accomodations-and called for him to come in. She could easily have pulled a blanket over her pajamas but decided to tease him. He was such a good-natured wolf. He came in grinning and stopped in mock shock as he saw her elegant body draped along the sofa.

"My God, a seductress in satin."

She tilted her glasses on her upturned nose and waved her book. "Come off it, Robbie. I'm reading, not seducing. And it isn't satin, it's only polyester crepe de chine."

"The color dazzles."

"Pale Melon, if you want to buy one for your wife," she said wickedly.

"Oh, no. Cynthia sleeps nude."

He was much like her father in looks, the same big shoulders, white hair, olive complexion that was so glossy, a kind of sleepy sexual look. He set down the chocolate and dropped to his knees alongside the sofa.

"To think your dumb father could've produced such a flower in only twenty-one years," he said.

"He had to. Mom up and died on us a long time ago."

"But such a waste, Scottie. All up and down ski city tonight the bars bounce, the disco drums, and you curl up with a book."

"It's called making out, Robbie, and I don't like it. They devour you with their eyes, pat and fondle and then think they can drag you to their miserable huts and hutches to bundle in the cold night. Next day on the slopes they don't remember your name. No, thanks."

"Gotta start some time."

"Don't gotta, Robbie. Dad doesn't like me fooling with young guys. I guess I'm like him, studious and sober-minded."

He put a hand on her flat stomach and she felt its warmth through the thin pajamas.

"Maybe it'll be older guys."

She made to no attempt to remove his hand or protest. She felt devilish and wanted to see how far he'd go. She forced a yawn.

"Could be, Robbie. But sex bores me. Like Dad."

"Maybe you and your Dad have some secret that Cynthia and the rest of us don't know," he said.

It wasn't the first time he'd hinted. The idea was outrageous and shocking. Doug Crawford would sooner cut off his arm than touch her sexually. But she felt warm and she blushed.

"I've tried and tried Robbie," she kidded him. "We take endless showers together and tried to hump in the back of his Caddy, but we both fell asleep from boredom."

"You two are always together, more like a man and wife than a father and daughter," he said.

It was getting a little annoying. He kept harping on that and for the first time she wondered if he seriously believed that her stiff, unbending father, and, for that matter, Doug's still, unbending daughter, would really touch each other. His hand moved on her stomach and she felt uncomfortanbly warm.