F Hemmingway - A family saga Volume One

The man, above her, slid his knees back until he was lying flat on her face. He began fucking, furiously, jerking in and out of her gaping mouth, using her desperately working lips exactly as a cunt. She gasped with the fury of his pounding prick, writhing beneath him, struggling for breath, but needing to cum herself; then, her hands moved down between her own widespread legs. Yes! Oh, God, yes! That's it! I'll cum, now!

Into the seething moistness of her voracious pussy, she thrust three fingers, jabbing them in, savagely, and finger-fucking them in and out to the established rhythm of her obscene sucking of the cock locked tightly in her mouth. God! It felt good!

Her other hand moved to her clitoris, and together, they worked there, substituting for the cock she had been denied by the perverse actions of the vile man who was fucking into her mouth so fast and furious.

His body stiffened, suddenly, and she felt his cock expand in her mouth as he shoved it in even further and stopped dead, his prick spewing his hot, white sperm into the depths of her throat. Desperately, to keep from choking she swallowed, the warm viscous liquid going down as quickly as he shot it into her.

… And, then, the climax was there for her, its magnificent convulsions overcoming her, taking her under into an undertow of terrific power, shooting her to the surface, finally, as she gasped for breath, afraid that she would drown, and she was aware that it was his cum in her mouth that had seemed to gag her, cut off her… make her feel that she was drowning.

Dottie lay under him, still swallowing desperately to keep from choking, feeling the deflation of his cock as it grew softer, more spongy in her mouth each moment, until, finally, it slipped wetly out of her lips and rested on her face. She used her hands to push him from off her, struggling to sit up, at the same time.

"Oh, baby… that was good…!" he groaned.

She made up her mind, this time, in a lightning second.

"All right… you got what you came for… you can clear out, now!" she said, firmly.

He laughed a short, hard laugh. "That's what you think! I'm staying here all night!"

Calmly, she sat up on the edge of the bed and reached into the drawer of the bedside stand. Her hand came up holding her husband's P-38. She stood to her feet and said, "Get dressed… and get the hell out of my house… or by all that's holy… I'll shoot!"

The salesman's eyes widened in sudden terror at her obviously serious threat. "Christ! D-Don't point that thing… a-at m-me!"

"Move!" she ordered, her voice, steely.

She hadn't thought she could do it, but she surprised herself, her confidence supreme, as she watched the frightened man come off the bed and begin to get dressed, hastily.

When he had finished, she motioned him out of the room, keeping the deadly pistol aimed at him, constantly. He paused at the door, cleared his throat and began, "Look… I–I…"

"Out!" she snapped.

He went out the front door, his face grim… frightened. He knew better than to argue. She held all the cards.

Locking the front door of her home, securely, she fled back to her bedroom and flung herself onto the bed, drained, completely, her emotional reaction, now, to her ordeal allowed full reign, as great sobs wracked her body and scalding tears washed over her face. She couldn't believe that it had happened. It was too bizarre… impossible.

A strange thought flitted through her mind: after all this… my first time with him in his motel… his fight with Gabe… and this… tonight… I don't even know that monster's name!

Perhaps it was just as well she didn't know his name. The name would haunt her. As it was… it would only be his face… and the memory of his lewd sex act with her that she would remember.

Oh, dear God! Charity!

She sat bolt upright, her eyes darting to the connecting bathroom door. A fleeting memory was there. The door had been closed, but when she came back into the bedroom after shooing the salesman out of her house… and out of her life, it had been ajar, slightly. God! Had Charity seen her? Had she watched through the crack in the bathroom door? Oh, God, please… don't let it be so!

… Of course, she would never know. She would never know, unless Charity indicated by word or action that she had been an observer of her unnatural actions with a strange man.

Dear God… What have I done…? What have I done?

Some of the soreness was soaked away in the hot bath, and Donnie felt better, both physically and mentally. He relaxed in his room, getting dressed, finally, and going into the kitchen to forage for some food.

Charity heard him rummaging around and went in to help him. Together, they put some sandwiches on the table, along with a quart of milk and some cookies. Don wolfed down his food, talking now to his sister, as he chewed huge mouthfuls.

"That's out of sight… you getting the lead in the musical!" he told her. "Sorry, I laid it on you… when you first told me about it…" She glowed, happy that her brother had complimented her.

"Thanks, Donnie… it's real groovy… and it's a good show they chose this year…"

They chatted on about groups, festivals and school happenings. It was nice, Charity reflected, to be able to talk to Donnie. He could be nice some of the time, and he seemed to be working at being extra polite to her.

Dad had not been home, all day, she remembered and asked her brother, "Where's Dad…?"

"Who cares…!" he said, offhandedly; then, "Probably stoned somewhere!"

"I'm worried about him!"

"Don't!" he snapped. "It's not worth it!"

"He's still our father!" she pouted.

Donnie snorted. "Not much of a father!" He was sarcastic, disdainful. He arose from the table. "I'm splitting… got to take care of some business."

"Girl type business?" Charity kidded.

"Yeah!" he said, grimly. "Girl type?"

It was just getting dark when he left the house, mounted his motor bike and roared off down the street. He stopped, on his way across town to change the twenty dollar bill for two tens.

He parked his cycle in front of Marcy Lunceford's house, ambled up the front walk and rang the doorbell. Her mother come to the door, eyed him up and down and barked, "Yes?"

"May I talk to Marcy?" he asked politely.

"And who are you?"

"Don," he told her. "Just tell her Don wants to see her."

Mrs. Lunceford, again, looked him over from his boots to his middling-long hair. She must have found something distasteful in the way he looked, for she turned away, saying, "I'll call her… She'll see you, I suppose, if she's not busy!" She closed the door in his face.

"She'll see me!" Don assured the intricately carved portal.

The door was re-opened in a few moments. It was Marcy. Don lounged on the porch railing; he did not go to her. She was forced to walk over to him. He held the bills in his hand.

"I brought you your blood money!" he gritted.

"Groovy! Give it to me!"

He flung the bills to the floor at her feet.

"Pick them up… whore!"

Hers was a bitter laugh. "Wake up, Don… smell the coffee! If it gives you a thing… try the same label out on your mother!"

Don shot off the porch railing. He grabbed her by the shoulders. "That's a God damned lie!" he grated into her face. "You little bitch… I ought to give you some of what I got this afternoon!"

Calmly, she shrugged free of his grasp. "You wouldn't dare! Jack and his boys are just waiting for a chance to cut you up!" It was a bare-faced threat.

He backed away from her. There would be no point in running into something he knew he couldn't handle… yet.

"All right… lay it on me… you know so damned much! How do you know… that… about my mom…?"