Roger Hornsby - The sex procurer

The girls couldn't really cry out when I slashed them with the pair of whips which I held, one in each hand. They were mute in their agony. I say agony because, by that time, all chance of ecstasy long had been devoured in a sweeping agony against which they couldn't even protest, so great was that pain. And I whipped them savagely, right and left, swinging my whips madly as I stepped from one to another. I cracked their tits and pussies and smashed their bellies and thighs. And I drew blood in a few places and was sorry the dogs couldn't see that.

But I went up and down the line as the cocks, sprinting towards their comes, increased their stroke speed to that apex of friction when, if at all possible, fire indeed would come, and I whipped the girls violently until the moment of swelling release. Then their cunts, their assholes, and their mouths, their throats were flooded with the sweeping surges of come that battered them with fiery swiftness. They gagged. Many of them gagged, unable to swallow; they were so taut in their agony that they couldn't breath sufficiently, hence were dependent on violent gasps occasionally in order to gain any air at all for their lungs. Hence when all that come hit their throats in mad torrents, they couldn't take it; and they gagged; choked and couldn't breathe at all.

It is very interesting to watch a broad's face turn black and blue. There is a certain strange quality about it. You actually think of the colors as rather exotic, and they might even be somewhat psychedelic. It is a most pleasurable sensation to observe, I assure you.

Oh, they didn't die. Don't worry about that. The human body has an amazing ability to survive through very difficult conditions. It goes on and on and on and on. So they managed to survive. When the dicks, having released those gigantic comes to assholes, cunts, and mouths, finally subsided and stopped their fucking, and I stopped beating them with my whips, the girls finally came to an end of their mania. They stopped thrashing about, managed to gain oxygen again, and finally opened their eyes.

Oh, such defeated eyes. You've never seen anything like them. Their eyes were full of surrender. The girls couldn't speak yet, still being somewhat breathless, all definitely being exhausted beyond comparison; but their eyes betokened their abject servility and brutal surrender. It would be a long time before they prided themselves again on being swingers.

It would be a long time indeed.

Well, there are so many experiences we can have. And yet we are searching, always searching. I traveled the country again after that, hitting the road and going from coast to coast, up and down the land, seeking and searching, getting my kicks whenever I felt like doing it. And yet I still wasn't satisfied. I still wanted something else. Let me tell you how I almost found it.

Her name was Janice and she was one of the most striking girls I've ever seen in my life. Everything about her was beautiful, and yet not terrifyingly so. She was beautiful, but you weren't frightened away by her beauty or put on your guard or angry because she was so damned beautiful. Rather she seemed pleasant in her beauty; it was that kind of beauty which attracts, never repels, intrigues, draws you closer and closer. It was the kind of beauty you even think you might want to come home to at night. Do you know the kind of beauty I mean?

Her hair was neither red nor blonde nor brown, but rather a lovely mixture of all three. It was neither short nor long, but perfect it seemed in length. It was neither elaborately coiffured nor merely done in a flip, but rather strangely lustrous and textured and done with a simple elegance which you might never seem to master or fathom.

And so it was with everything about her. For instance, her breasts were neither grotesque objects of weird excitement nor miniature spheres unworthy of mention. They were just right in that way that a girl's breasts have of being just right when you really care about her.

Oh-oh, did I make a slip? I said, "really care". Do I sound like a person who doesn't care about women? Have I accidentally, or on purpose, conveyed that impression to you? If so, it might be the right impression – until you come to talk about Janice. Then you've got to stop, because everything else goes out the window.

You see, I really cared for her. Don't ask me why. There are things in our lives over which we have no control. We go through a lifetime seeing the sham and fraud and superficiality all around us, and then a day comes when, suddenly, we see nothing but radiant beauty. We see innocence and beguilement and an absolutely irresistible substance which makes it impossible for us to go on in our cynical or callous or gravely realistic ways.

Such an instance in my life was my meeting with Janice.

Oh, it wasn't anything special. That is, I certainly didn't plan it. I just happened to see her, and of all places, on a beach. It was summer, and the girls were out in their bikinis, and I suppose I even was at the beach for the purpose of gathering a few of them for a bit of despoilation. That may have been in the back of my mind.

Then I saw Janice. She crossed my path enroute from a hamburger stand across a strip of sidewalk at the back of the beach near where I was parked and was eyeing the lush fragrant offerings the beach world can provide in its season. She wore a blue bikini, and I suppose its color attracted me before I realized I was staring at a girl who for some reason unknown to me, really attracted my attention in a manner never before encountered.

I liked everything I saw about her. I saw those lovely tits barely banded in that cloth which a bikini's cut makes most revealing as it accents the swell of a girl's breasts. And I liked the flush smooth flesh of her bare hips and which the bottom accents as well. I liked the range of her flanks where the cut of the bottom also reveals more flesh. And with it, I was attracted to her pert proud thighs as they came at me and then passed so that I saw their pleasant forward thrust in its full fleshliness as well as the rear view with its uptight pressuring thrust seen from behind.

And she smiled to me as she passed, smiled somewhat shyly and yet perhaps amusedly at the stare I gave her. She was already past before I realized that I had been frozen by her beauty, or whatever it was that attracted me to her, and that I hadn't even been able to respond to that lovely smile. And I watched her until she passed from view beyond a rise of the beach and down somewhere nearer the surf.

As a matter of reflex, I suppose, I left my car and went after her. Why did I pursue her? How do I know? We go through a lifetime on a track, building something within us that forces out the world, that drives us forward, unendingly forward, and then one day we happen upon a breach in our very armor and we see the world in a fragrant strange new light which leaves us bereft of protective covering and makes us prey to the elements that hound all men. Such a thing can happen to anybody.

I went over the rise in that beach and searched the environs until I located her. She was beside a child, a little boy of about two, and she was feeding him one of the hot-dogs she had carried from that refreshment stand. He was eating it, munching it as a little boy of his age would do. He was so very intent on the hot-dog.

And she was beautiful. Her entire interest was absorbed in feeding that little boy. She knelt before him and gave him the hot-dog to bite and wiped his mouth free of mustard with a napkin, and had eyes only for him. I felt certain she was his mother. And I was surprised to realize how young she appeared, surely not more than nineteen; and I was intrigued to go forward, to speak with her, to make her acquaintance.