her spine, blowing on her asshole, kissing, sucking and shooting his tongue into it. Meanwhile, Cynthia kept dunking her head into the water and devouring his swollen cock. But it wasn't until Jay realized that all he had to do was hold her head down, that he really got charged up over her suck-off. And on Cynthia's next dive he reached down and pressed his hand on the back of her head, stuffing her mouth and throat with his cock until she choked, then holding her head under the water so she couldn't breathe. It gave him wild thoughts of absolute power over her. Her life was now in his hands not to mention the sensations in her mouth as she gagged, choked and gasped for air. However, he let her go before she panicked and in so doing kept the fire alive in her cunt… even built it up a little.
Cynthia pinned his head against the wall of the tub by sitting on his face – his nose buried in her crack – while she caught her breath. The scare he had given her was a thrill now, but she didn't want a repeat performance, so she released the stopper on the tub. And while she waited for the water to run out, she pressed the fleshy pillows of her ass against his face with all the strength she had, and wiggled, choking off his air supply and eating up the sensation his chin and nose played on her cunt and asshole.
She lost interest in that when the water dropped and she was staring into the eye of his cock. She swooped down on it, capturing it again and letting it move back and forth into the heat of her throat. Jay's tongue was already busy reaming the walls of her drooling cunt and her whole mind could concentrate on getting that lump of ice cream through the straw. Her ravaging tongue wetly painted the length of his cock, tickling its tip and then at his balls, swooping it in, releasing it, capturing it again, her fingers tapping, tickling at his asshole, while a tongue of fire lashed inside her cunt.
The first taste of oozing cream sent her into her second orgasm, knowing now that she would have it all. Her head bobbed in vigorous cadence on his frenzied cock; her throat getting the first spray of juice, then another and another, as she swallowed furiously, trying to keep up with the gushing geyser.
Jay spiraled his tongue into the warmth of her honey-pot, reached overhead and gripped her buttocks, pulling her down on his face as hard as he could. The best shot was always his second, he thought. It lasted longer, hurt longer, and drained his balls of all their come; and the relief when it was over was exhausting – momentarily – then invigorating.
Both bodies squirmed and jerked until the last drop of passion was out. But Cynthia continued to suck his cock anyway, making sure she had it all. Then they separated, grinning and feeling silly inside.
Jay felt great and wanted to get out of the house before any of his seven other brothers and sisters saw him. His actions with Cynthia were one thing, but his real personality was locked inside his head. He was twenty-one now, but all the sex he had ever known was with his sister and he wanted desperately to spread his seed far and wide.
By nine-thirty Jay was tucked off in a corner booth with three of his buddies. All of them were a few years older than he, but with the same general frustrations… no money, no goal in life, no girls.
'The damn newspapers and magazines drive me nuts,' said Ed Cramer, sitting on the outside next to Jay. He had average looks, light hair, medium build and a low IQ. 'Everybody our age is supposed to be on dope and getting laid. Where'd I go wrong?'
'Ya gotta have bread,' Jay stated his philosophy. The ham and cheese sandwich, which was all he had for dinner, didn't satisfy the pangs of hunger and influenced his thinking. The beers only increased his appetite and reminded him that he only had three dollars left until payday. Day after tomorrow.
'Bullshit!' the sharp tongue of Tom Dunn rang out. Tom sat on the end, opposite Ed Cramer, for a very good reason; it was closer to the bar and he was developing a problem with alcohol. A tall, very thin character, with thick glasses and a long pointed nose, it was natural that they nicknamed him Ichabod Crane. And Tom didn't disillusion himself about his looks. 'We don't get any ass because we don't go about it in an intelligent manner.'
In the corner, next to Tom, a short, fat, boyish figure became alert and nodded approval to Tom's statement. Not that Charles Krauss knew what Tom was leading to, he just wanted to hear more about it.
'I've said it before and I'll say it again,' Tom continued, a bit smug in his attitude to let them know he was of superior intelligence. 'We've got nothing going for us… no money, no car, no looks…'
'Speak for yourself,' Jay cut in.
'The orangutan over there calls the rest of the world ugly,' Tom snapped back at him. 'What's the use? I've been trying to get you guys to start a social club for years now and you just sit on your fat asses and moan about not getting laid. You expect a broad to come in this piss-stenched bar, walk over to the table and ask you for a hump.' He got up from the booth to get another beer and said over his shoulder, 'Even then you'd probably want her to do it in the fuckin' booth!'
Jay and Ed sat motionless, but Charles was fidgeting, anxious for Tom to return. He started talking before Tom reached the booth: 'We can use my uncle's store!'
'Huh?' Tom responded.
'My uncle has an empty store over a bowling alley that he can't rent. Too noisy. He said I could use it any time I wanted to. And it even has a three-room apartment behind it.'
'Where is this place?'
'In Maspeth… on Old Fresh Pond Road.'
'Yeh,' Jay cut in, 'we can all rent bicycles from Avis to get there.'
'The bus on Palmetto Street goes right past the place,' Charles answered. But Jay began to laugh at his own joke and paid no attention.
'Screw him,' Tom said, dismissing Jay's presence. He knew the bowling alley Charles was talking about and it wasn't very far by bus. 'When can we see the place?'
'Any time. I've even got a set of keys at home.'
'Okay, Tom, now we have a store for our club,' Ed said sarcastically. 'How are you going to get broads?'
Silence.
'I mean, let's face it,' Ed said, less sarcastic now, 'if you can't get a girl to go out with you, how can you get them to come to the club?'
Tom Dunn just stared at him with contempt. He wasn't prepared to answer any questions… not yet, anyway. This whole idea was dreamed up on the spot, but he couldn't let them know he was bluffing. If they lost respect for his intelligence he was lost, since he didn't have anything else to feed his ego. And besides, he decided, the idea was developing into an interesting situation. So he instinctively hid behind an air of superiority and let the silence work to his advantage, giving Ed a slight, tolerant grin.
'It's all based on my theory of pyramiding reactions…'
'We gonna build pyramids?' Jay couldn't resist the pun. And everyone but Tom laughed. However, the groping for an answer was over. Tom realized he'd be able to elaborate on his 'theory' to the satisfaction of his associates.
'… which, for the benefit of you imbeciles, I'll spell out in simple terms.' He stood up and walked briskly to the bar, received a bottle of beer from the short German bartender, who just added the charge to his weekly bill.
Seated once again, he began talking as he poured the beer. 'There are four of us starting the club. Four male chauvinist pigs. We will do all the basic work in putting the store into shape and consequently be the officers. We will carefully select two or three other guys as members. However, I insist on having the final say on who joins the club.'
'Then, quite simply, we all bring one female to our first meeting.'
'Well, we're right back at the beginning.' Jay said it for them all.
This time Tom smiled, seeming to be getting a little mellow. He finished the beer in his glass, poured the balance of the bottle and announced softly, 'I knew you were going to say that, because your brains are in your ass. However, my plan is so simple that even a dumb shit like you can get a girl to bring to the meetings.'
With that he drained the glass and returned to the bar with the empty bottle, got another and returned to the booth. Charles asked him to wait a minute while he ran to the bar and bought three draft beers. He was excited by Tom's presentation and sure his idol had a carefully worked-out plan that couldn't fail.
They settled quickly and waited for Tom to reveal his plan. Signs of intoxication were creeping into his speech and manners, but they were accustomed to this. They didn't pronounce him drunk until he passed out. Even then he might wake up in fifteen minutes and be completely coherent again.
The noise in the bar was getting louder, as the Friday-night crowd reached its peak. Mostly men, old-timers
