Danny Starr - Go Down Payments

The following day, while Florrie was still at work, Walter came to the apartment and found the two girls doing homework.

"You," he said to Eva. "Go around the corner to the movie house and tell the woman at the box office I said to let you go in."

"What's playing there?" Eva asked, shrinking away from him.

"I don't know," Walter shrugged. "Whatever it is, sit through it twice. They know me at that theater, so if you tell them I said to let you in, they'll do just that. Right now, I wanna have a talk with your sister."

Marge began shivering as Eva walked out. She knew Cousin Walter wanted much more than to merely talk.

"Sure, Cousin Walter," she nodded. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Just what did your mom tell you about your coming to live here?" he asked. He was almost stuttering, hemming and hawing, and Marge could see he was nervous. Well, she was no less nervous, and with a lot more reason. Being fourteen years old, she was not ready to psychoanalyze Walter's reasons for appearing a little unsteady.

"Mom told me everything," she finally admitted, shaking a little.

"Yeah, well I'm glad she was honest. So you and I can get right down to it without playing word games," he told her, a hand unsteadily reaching out and running up and down her body, feeling her full breasts through her blouse, then running down the length of her skirt, stopping once to press against the puffy mound between her thighs.

Marge felt like cringing, but summoned up all her courage and remained unmoving. As it was she was beginning to shake, and Walter could see the fear in her eyes.

Although he had enjoyed raping her mother, Walter was interested in trying to make the girl a willing victim to his perverted lusts. So he said, "Look, kid, you smell really nice. I guess you take a shower every day, huh?"

"Y-yes," Marge nodded.

"Look, you go ahead and get undressed… well… put on a bathrobe or something. I'm going to take my own shower. I'll be out in a couple of minutes. Stay relaxed. I don't want to hurt you. I'll make it as easy for you as I can, but you gotta cooperate. Now you strip down, put on a robe, and wait for me here in my bedroom while I take a shower."

He left her, going into the bathroom. Marge stared after him, feeling the panic starting to enlarge inside her. She was all set to run, to get out. But then she glanced across the hall into what was now her mother's bedroom, and she realized what would happen to her mother, and perhaps her sister, if she ran.

Stiltedly, she walked to the room she shared with Eva, and there, stripped down. Looking at her figure in the dressing table mirror, she was smart enough to know there was nothing unpleasant about her. Her breasts were white, high grapefruits, each tipped with a pink cherry. And each shimmering cherry tip was surrounded by a silver-dollar-sized circle of glistening strawberry syrup. Against the vanilla ice cream of her breasts, they stood out in vibrant contrast. Although she was no gymnast, Marge had managed to keep her young body vibrantly firm, and she could see the way her waist pinched in, the way a wide road suddenly narrows. And then the "road" widened again as her gaze moved down to the way her hips were starting to flare. In another year or two they would really be broad, just like her mother's. Without turning around, she knew her flat-fleshed buttocks were not quite as appetizing as those of her sister, but her ass would hardly drive away the eyes of staring men. Her thoughts had always woven fantasies about mysterious lovers desperate for her because she had such a lovely body. Now the "lover" had become an too real, and he was far from a mystery. Not that Cousin Walter was an ugly man. Far from it. In Marge's eyes he was handsome. But the lingering thought of what he was doing to her mother spoiled the illusion she could have built about him.

Going to what was now her closet, she opened it and took out her bathrobe. It was cotton, but when she used to put it on, her mind saw it as shimmering satin, gossamer and shining and see-through.

Trembling, she walked back into the bedroom, standing there in her bare feet, waiting. The mere thought of having Walter paw her like a huge bear made her stomach queasy. The longer he took, the more frightened she became.

Her back was to the bathroom door when she heard it open.

"Hey," he told her. "You can go lie down in the bed."

The sound of his voice sent shivering chills shooting through her, building the revulsion she was beginning to feel. She didn't turn around to look at him, afraid he was totally naked. She didn't want to look at his body, half-afraid the sight of his nudity would repel her even more, but half afraid it might fascinate her.

Walter, staring at her back, sensed her apprehension, but at this point he didn't give a flying fuck. All through the shower he had visualized what it would be like to sink his rod into the tight, virginal depths of the young blonde, and he had built a long, thick fencepost between his thighs. He was naked, just as Marge had feared. Hell! No use having to waste time undressing.

"Well," he told her, "we've come to that time. Before you get into bed, how about dropping that robe and giving me a good look at you."

Marge shuddered, terrified at the thought of exposing herself to this man who, until yesterday, had been a total stranger to her. Still, thinking of what he could do to her mother, she undressed quickly, letting the cotton robe slide down her shoulders to the floor. But she kept her back to him.

Walter stared at her shimmering golden hair. This would be the first time he'd make it with a natural blonde. All the others had been bottle jobs. His eyes took in the gentle slope of her youthful shoulders, watching the way the lamplight bounced off them, creating the impression of outlining them. He loved the pinched, almost wasp like indentation of her waistline. True, her hips were only now starting to develop, and her buttocks weren't quite as round and as full as they would one day be, but the crevice between them was no less enticing. But her intoxicating long legs were already well-shaped. Christ! The girl was a vision, a real vision, and Walter gulped, feeling his hard cock jerk, as if it could see what he saw, from its sightless eye.

"Well," he told her, "let's get into the sack."

He watched her half-turn as she hurried to slide under the covers. This gave him his first glimpse of her firm, rotund, pink-nippled breasts as they swayed and bobbled while she climbed into the bed. She hurriedly covered herself, and when he walked around to the other side of the bed, she turned away from him, and he first understood something was bothering her.

"What the hell is this?" he snapped, trying to keep his temper.

Marge turned her head and saw him standing there, naked, and instead of being frightened, she felt heat surging through her. His knuckled hands were on his hips as he stared at her, his thick, strong legs spread wide apart, making her eyes move to the apex between them. This was her first sight of the thick, heavy log, heavy veined, rigid and out thrusting. She watched the way it bobbled in the air, its purple head pointing at her. The sight of that magenta dome aroused her an the more, but at the same time she felt a sense of shame for allowing herself to be aroused. It seemed to her she should fight this terrible yearning she was developing. She forced her eyes to look up at his face. It was the first time she had seen him without his glasses, and she had to admit he looked even better.

"Please… Cousin Walter," she muttered. "I don't feel well."

Her tone of voice was totally unconvincing, and she had to shut her eyes to keep herself from looking at his throbbing cock. Even so, remembering what it had looked like set off burning sparks of wanton desire inside her.