Thock! I absentmindedly took a sip from one of the drinks and spat it out on the rug. Wrong drink.
A burst of applause flooded into the room and I glanced over to see a pompous little dictator parading down the aisle
of an auditorium to the applause of formally dressed spics, or chinks, or gooks or greasies.
'Drink,' I heard a voice say.
Osterflood had gotten now to his knees and was reaching out an arm toward my tray. His eyes were unfocused and glittering. . - .
I raised my free hand and Gina took from the tray a glass and handed it to Osterflood and he downed it at a gulp.
Holding the third drink in my free hand, I sighed. Osterflood had taken the wrong drink.
While Gina reached down to take another swig from hers, I returned to Sugar Ray and Al Capone and poured two more drinks. I marched back again with my tray of three and stood just beside and behind Gina.
'You're trying to kill me,' Osterflood said looking up at us from his knees. 'You shit-filled monster, you're trying to kill me:' He was staring at us glassy-eyed.
Gina looked down at him, her large brown eyes radiant and curious, and for the first time she smiled, slightly.
'Bad trip?' she asked quietly.
'I see it all now,' Osterflood shouted at us. 'You're the killer!' He began shaking his head and trembling. 'Now I see, now I see! It's you!' The 'Thock!' that caught him across the face surprised both him and me, and he fell forward with a crash.
`Yes, yes, whip me, I deserve it,' he groaned. 'Hit me again.'
Gina looked down at him, the soft smile still on her face, and sweat running now from her forehead, chin and both heaving breasts.
She raised the belt slowly till her arm was perpendicular above her head and then dropped it in a lazy arc snapping the belt at only half-force across his back. Osterflood writhed nevertheless, and Gina's soft smile became a sneer.
I put my tray full of drinks on the couch and came over behind Gina, reached my arms around and enclosed at last in my hands those two marvelous mounds. They were hot and sweaty and firm and I grunted with pleasure. As I squeezed and pinched, and sucked at the salty sweat of her neck, I felt Gina lean back again and 'whack' across Osterflood's buttocks, and after a short pause another heaving motion and 'whock!' and Osterflood and I both grunted, although presumably for different reasons. Then Gina turned to me and we were two hot mouths endlessly exploring each other's watery, snake-bulging wombs. Although my hands had removed her leather skirt and were around her bulging buttocks and digging into everything they could, my world was soon composed of mouths, huge caverns of tongue-tangled flow of motion endlessly plunging and being plunged, biting and being bitten, rising and sinking, filling and emptying, and I felt something scratching at my leg.
'A drink,' Osterflood was saying. 'A drink, you fucking killer. One last drink.'
Reluctantly, I tore my hands away from Gina and dreamwalked over to the couch and got him the desired drink.
I straight-lined and she broke her mouth from mine and arched her head away from mine and said shrilly 'Suck me, suck me,' and cupped her breasts out toward me.
I lowered my open mouth on to one and as I tongued and sucked and nibbled she moaned 'I'm a woman! I'm a woman!'
'I know, I know,' I said as I moved from one mound of hot, salty honey to the next. She squeezed my head against her.
'Hard, harder,' she moaned.
I opened my mouth so wide I was afraid I'd never get it closed again and had a surrealistic vision of going through the rest of my life like a gaping fish and I drew all of 'one breast into my mouth as far as I could while I squeezed her other with both my hands pinching the nipple hard. Groaning, she pressed me tighter, shuddered, and began to pump her pelvis against me hard, and it flowed out of me at last, a molten roll of white womb- wetting foam, her fold opening and closing upon it swallowing with its honeyed tongues, her golden bowls rolling with my roll, filling where I rose, parting with my plunge, delirious, writhing, moaning, groaning done.
Or mostly done. I un-swallowed her breast and managed to half-close my mouth and drew her warm soft body to mine and we churned at half-speed with each other, still enjoying the feel of it, my chin in her hair now, her lips and tongue idly tasting of the sweat of my chest and Osterflood was talking about dying dying dying and someone else was saying we could get there faster in a Ford.
We sat there for two or three minutes, Osterflood grunting, his face twisted occasionally into a horrible grin and the canned hilarious laughter blasting out at us from the television set like slop thrown out a tenement window.
Then I lifted Gina off me and walked over and collapsed into a sprawled sitting position on the couch wondering vaguely what time it was Agatha Christie time and how the great, clean, graceful murder, without fuss, emotion or violence, done with dignity, grace and aesthetic bliss was ever going to end. The handsome, silly husband was trying to explain to his pretty, silly wife why it was necessary to tell their teen-age daughter about the facts of life.
'If I thought it was bees, she can think it is bees,' the woman said and the actors paused to let the machine roar away its bubbled laughter.
Gina stood again now over Osterflood, the belt still in her hand - she hadn't released it from her hand since her first blow twenty minutes before. Osterflood was on his back, arcing slightly, his feet toward the couch. He was grinning moronically, his eyes bulging and his cock stiff.
'I never meant to . .'
he was muttering. `Nice boys nice girls . . . mistake . , . I'm sick, I'm sick . . . dying . . . see that now .. NEVER AGAIN … be a good boy, Mommy, beat me BEAT ME.'
Gina stepped over him with one leg so she straddled his head and shoulders and faced his feet. She leaned forward a few inches and let a gob of spit fall on to his belly.'
'Now, Joanie, there's something I must tell you tonight,' the husband was saying.
'Sure, Dad, but make it quick, Jack's coming with his motorcycle.'
Gina, smiling a child's soft smile, raised her arm and swept it down thock! the belt tearing across his thighs. Again she raised it fascinating to watch the coil of her wet flesh, semen streaking the inside of her spread thighs, the breasts trembling as she hesitated at the top of the arc - and then whack! across his belly and extended rod. He screamed and vaulted his back, the grin still there, laughter from the television set spitting into the room like froth from a mad dog.
Osterflood's moans and mumbles were mostly incoherent now, and Gina rose and struck twice more with all her force, he now totally vaulting his back as if raising his stomach and thighs to embrace the hissing belt.
'Teen-agers today are so violent,' the silly woman said to a silly woman friend as they walked their dogs.
Gina came back toward the couch, large eyes smiling at me, and took into her warm mouth my now boneless meat and sucked and chewed at it with good appetite. I smiled and stared stupidly at the image of two men on the screen, unearnest, silly men, talking earnestly about the horsepower of their earnest cars and of drag racing against their son's earnest motorcycles.
Gina, her head bent back now, breasts trembling, had cupped my balls and buttocks with her hands and was forcing my now bulging, slimy, hot-tipped cock deeper into her mouth, pressing with her hands to force me deeper deeper plunging, a lady sword-swallower arching ever back deep to the throat moaning working me deeper, then out, gasping blowing licking open and down down again swallow whole the great worn weapon of the much beloved foe down #161;fascinating, will my whole body be sucked up into her like a cartoon ghost by a vacuum cleaner? down, her finger now in my anus, then she pulling me out of her mouth breathing me, tonguing me, sliding a long hard kiss along the length of me and then in again deep deeper . . . and up for air.
She twisted herself on to her back beside me on the couch, spread her legs, and, curving her head back again, directed me back into her mouth and to the base of her throat. The last thing I heard before her slimy thighs closed around my ears was the roar of motorcycles from the screen.
Gina was awash with semen and sweat and her own love juices and she used my head like a giant penis and pressed at her openings, squeezing with her thighs, writhing for something to enter her, burying me in the silken
