Peter Jensen - The blackmailed mother book I

"Oh, God, Stan… what are you doing to me… what are you doing… oh God, my belly… my cunt… I'm cuuuuuummmiinnnnggggg tooooooo…!"

Her cries tumbled from her mouth as their bodies became one. Her ankles locked high on his back and her hips twisted upwards, clenching hungrily at both finger and cock as she crazily pulled his ejaculating cock deeper into her womb. Jennifer screamed incoherently as her own orgasmic juices whirlpooled together with his white hot cum and overflowed her vagina, running down over his hands cupping her buttocks, and her whole lower body and her breasts heaved and rolled in lewd convulsions of animal climax.

Then Jennifer Carmel, involved in her first sexual escapade in the debauched, orgiastic and shameless fashion of group participation, felt completely void of all normal emotions. No words could describe the creeping satiation which started in her cunt and spread out like a warm blanket, paralyzing and deadening her nerves and marrow in both directions until she couldn't feel her toes or the nipples on her breasts. Her legs unwound and dropped lifeless from the young boy's waist, as he fell forward, pinning her heavily to the rug as he slipped his finger from her still tightly clinging rectum with a slight hissing sound. His cock deflated rapidly, now trickling out the last of his virile sperm into her flooded vagina.

Jennifer sighed dreamily. It was over. She was now a woman in a very literal, important sense. She'd discovered the joys of a man and woman together, lost in their nether world of sensuality, and she could never return to her naive virginal ways. And, as she'd fearfully suspected only that morning, she really didn't miss the physical proof of her innocence, her hymen. She'd traded it for a much better, more fully satisfying part of life.

Yet, as they lay there, and the fog of licentiousness and drugs lifted slightly, she heard the writhings and moanings of the other high school students in the dim shadows around her, and she could make out her best friend, Tamera, now kneeling over the naked loins of her boyfriend, Vic, her position changed to where she was letting him fuck her upwards, his penis stroking her lathered cunt which was splayed wide above him. She was burying her face against his, her beautiful, young body a curving bundle of jerking nerves. And Jennifer allowed some of her more sane reactions to drift over her torpid brain, infiltrate with the torture of shame and confusion. The revelation of what she'd allowed a boy she hardly even knew to do to her – she'd not only forsaken her vow of premarital chastity, but had not even allowed her womanly gift to be accepted by a person who would appreciate the emotions with which it was offered – hit her with intense mortification. Yet she had the horrible premonition that even in the light of day, that tomorrow, she wouldn't really be sorry… and that she'd let Stan have her again and again. Her mindless words she'd poured out when he'd been fucking her half senseless a few short minutes ago were the truth and she'd liked everything he'd done to her. She blushed back her tears and tried to compose herself as Stan raised up and grinned at her.

"Well, baby, that's one little virgin hole gone. There's still a couple more, eh, Jennie baby?"

She didn't understand what he meant and her face showed it. He grinned wider. "There's your little ass-hole yet to break in… and that cute little mouth," he chuckled. He withdrew his deflated cock which slipped from her vagina with a wet, popping sound and rolled on his side. "Yeah, next time I think I'll fuck your face."

Nausea rippled through Jennifer at the inconceivable notion of his sperm filling her mouth, bloating her cheeks, cascading down into her stomach. But she forced a smile on her lips, for she knew that sooner or later he'd have his way. She pouted impishly as she reached down and took his soft penis between her fingers and felt its wetness. "Was… was I good, Stan? Did I please you?"

"For a beginner, you were okay," he said in an off-hand way. No use swelling her head, he thought; she might get conceited ideas, and she had to always be aware that her little cunt was now his, and she must be driven to be better each time, to devote herself completely to him. "From now on, you get the job of keeping my balls empty."

"You… mean I'm your girl?"

He shrugged. "As much as any girl is," he replied nonchalantly.

"Are… are you going to take me home now?" she whispered.

His laugh was an evil bark. "Are you kidding? The night's still young. Hell, baby, the party's only beginning."

"I… I need a rest," Jennifer admitted. "I… that is, it was my first time… I'm not used to it. I hurt a little bit. Please, don't do anything to me for a little while."

"Sure, baby," he answered magnanimously. But it wasn't just because of Jennifer he was being kind. He needed a rest as well before he could get another hard-on tonight. She'd milked him with a passion the more experienced little bitches had lost, even though she wasn't as skilled. But, she would be soon, he gloated; she had that natural talent of fucking which only took a little direction and discipline to make into the finest piece of ass in the whole school. In a little while, his balls would be tight with more sperm and his cock would enervate into new lusty life. After a while…

Club Royale was just outside the city limits of Rapier City, therefore under the Laxer County administration. Its history was long and shameful, starting from when a widow named Monique Kores opened its Colonial style doors in 1909. The local trade even then was good, for Monique Kores only kept the finest and cleanest girls to be fucked. That is, within the concept of that day and age.

Then there was a brief history of being a road-house, with the girls taking second place to the running of very bad liquor. During Prohibition, it was often harder to cage a drink than it was to find a willing girl… As so often happened in the late Twenties, the speak-easy existence attracted a cartel of gangsters, and by the time of Repeal, Club Royale – then known as Foxtail's – was a integral part of a chain of such hootch outlets, and it remained in the hands of the underworld ever since. During the War the girls, and the still considerable quantity of illegal alcohol served unknown over the bar, was supplemented by gambling. The third floor bedrooms were converted into sectional areas devoted to crap tables, poker, and roulette, with a bank of slot machines along one wall. But the motto of the club didn't change: never give the sucker an even break. Between posted house percentages and the unposted rigging of the games, winners were extremely scarce. Still, it attracted the sports for miles around; they may be crooked, but they were the only games in town.

Sam Zeigler became owner and manager of the club during the Swinging Sixties, a perfect cover and operations base for his other gangland business. He didn't like to brag about it – after all, if you are, you don't have to prove it – but he was the area crime boss, with a series of lieutenants and henchmen set up on an Army scale. The numbers racket was his, the women and dope traffic were his; even burglaries were cleared through him first, or the independent thief soon found more heat than all of the cops could put on him.

Zeigler was also shrewd enough to change the club to suit the times. Now it was the Scandalous Seventies, and the emancipation of women more complete than even the original Carrie Nation would have dreamed or approved of. The result was that his second floor prostitution operation took a steady nose-dive, while his bar and dinner business and the gambling above showed rising profits. Even the locals who didn't gamble or really have much of any other vices, liked the now re-named and refurbished Club Royale. It was posh and subdued on the main floor… and there was always that hint of mystery and wickedness from being so close to the rumored gangland overlords. But nothing could happen in so sumptuous and subdued atmosphere… Or could it?