hardness welling in his loins as he stood, naked, by the bed. His arms was around Sandy's slender waist, and she, too, seemed almost ready to go out of her mind herself as she watched the man's hardened cock fuck in and out of her best friend's cunt. Suddenly she yelled, 'Fuck her good, Neil! Stick it all the way up. She loves it!'
Chris knew she was rapidly nearing the first orgasm she'd ever really had, and she wanted more, more! This was incredible… she'd never experienced anything like this in all her life! She was dazed by the flashing colors that seemed to explode across her brain, by the high-voltage blasts of electric passion shooting through her body like blast from a shotgun. Suddenly, this was the way she wanted it… wicked and perverted, the filthier and more lurid the better! 'Oh! That's it! Oh, yes, baby, fuck me!'
Her wildly gyrating buttocks swung from side to side in an uncontrollable savage passion as his powerful brown arms – muscles bunched and rippling under the tawny skin – pulled her writhing ass harder and harder against his nearly-bursting, lust-inflamed prick.
'Oh! Oh! Oh! Aaaaa! I'm cumming,' Chris suddenly screamed. Neil didn't slow his powerfully deep strokes for even a second; instead, he rammed each long probe to the hilt, straining his loins forward so that not even a millimeter was left outside the naked white girl's sucking cunt. Her body arched, her nakedly gleaming white ass went high in the air as she pushed up and back against her brown lover. She shrieked like an animal gone mad as her orgasm continued to build in intensity. The impaled young girl convulsed, quivering all over as her orgasmic juices flooded his cock and testicles, flowing wetly out of her tightly clenched young cuntal lips down her smooth inner thighs.
Neil knew this was the end; he couldn't hold back the painful tide in his loins any longer. His long fingers bit into the soft fleshy cheeks of her buttocks as he felt the pain intensify in his balls. His strokes grew more and more vicious, faster and faster… deeper and deeper.
'Ooooohhh… ooohhhhh… oooohhhh!' Chris punctuated his every thrust with a soulful cry, grinding her upturned ass back against his brown loins. Then, with a loud, relieved grunt, the wildly throbbing cock exploded inside the impaled hips of the wildly drugged young girl, filling her belly with his hot torrents of cum, shooting it far, far up into her open and receptive womb. Again and again and again his long, rigidly pulsating rod emptied itself with spasmodic jerks up into her wetly clasping and sucking hole. Then, after a seeming eternity… with a pained grunt, his already deflating cock slipped from her tightly clenching cuntal grip, and she fell forward on her face, still shivering and squirming lewdly from his frenzied assault… the only sound in the room was the gasing wheeze hissing out of Chris' naked chest as she fought to regain her breath, and a low groan from the shamelessly aroused Sandy as her hand closed over the long, throbbing length of Jose's cock and began to caress it lovingly.
A broad, revengeful smirk burst out over Margaret Sorenson's tear-streaked face as she peered out from behind her living room lace curtain to see two squad cars pulling up to the curb outside of her apartment building. And perfect timing, too, for only five minutes before she'd watched, from her fire escape perch, Roger collecting the money from two Mexican men after the other men had left in a scurry, leaving behind them a lust-ridden scene of empty liquor bottles and stained mattresses. If her guess was right, Roger should be paying those two nymphomaniac whores about now, sneered Margaret, her arms crossed over her heaving bosom, heavy with sorrow and misgivings of an ended love affair.
She stepped back into the shadows and pulled her bathrobe tight around her body, a streak of the flooding street lights playing over her blonde hair. A deep, breathy sigh broke from her chest in a pained tingle of hate and love. It was over with now – the illusions, the hopes, the confusion of loving someone who never cared except for what he could get, she reassured herself. Sandor had never liked Roger anyway; he would turn over in his grave if he knew how she'd let her landlord control her life for the past month. Ordering her to… to have oral love with him, she remembered with a pang of self-loathing, and never returning the affection. And opening her mail, that had to be against the law, too.
The curtain dropped from her clutching fingers and the lonely widow padded for the kitchen for a glass of sherry.
Turning toward the shadows, she stared for a silent moment at the black box lurking in the darkness and reached down to turn the knob, a habit born of loneliness. No, she changed her mind. Johnny Carson was already over with, but there would always be tomorrow night and the night after that, and the night after that. There would be many tomorrows until she left for Sweden, she realized.
Roger would have used her until she was old and poor. It was better this way, she sighed, opening the cupboard door and reaching for the sherry bottle.
A scuffle in the street below and the angry murmur of a man in bonds made Margaret raise her head, set down the bottle and shuffle to the window. There below, in the street below she saw the police bodily throw a man into the backseat of the squad car, two young looking girls, one crying, the other stoic and stumbling, joined the other policeman in a waiting car.
Sardonically, Margaret raised her hand to salute the scene below, waving good-bye to the end of her troubles.
CHAPTER TEN
Three days later Chris O'Brien stood waiting and staring mesmerically at the Friday afternoon traffic snarling its way down Geary Street. She'd told the cab driver to pull up to the curb and honk, and hopefully he would have enough patience to do that. Her suitcases were too heavy to carry down the long hallways of the apartment building by herself, and she needed to save her strength for the plane ride back to Detroit.
The smile was gone from her young face, replaced with grim regret and adolescent look of a girl hungry for reassuring affection. After the past two days of hassling with the law, being thrown into the San Francisco County Jail with the whores, drug pushers, and child beaters, she would need some love from the people back in Detroit who loved her, even though she was a tempestuous girl, head strong and too wily for anyone to advise, yet too moral to play the evil games of the city and go unscathed.
But Sandy could do that. It didn't seem to bother her when the police broke into Roger's apartment after the orgy. Oh God, she swallowed hard, blinking back the tears at the remembrance of her wanton actions. She'd been a whore, nothing but a common tramp! Hopefully her parent's would never find out about it.
Chris remembered the eery expression that had broken over Sandy's pixie face when the two girls were hurdled out to the waiting squad cars. It was as if she were relieved; a child finally punished for stealing the cookies. That smile, that vacuous, expressionless smirk had made up Chris' mind… this city living was not for her; she would rather forget her pride, her independent resolutions, and go back to start over – like Monopoly, you have to start at go; you can't pick your spot on the board and think it home. It takes time to build up a comfortable lifestyle, and crime was not her hour glass.
Chris watched the yellow cab snaking and honking its way through the tight traffic, pulling up to the curb and honking. She thrust open the window and waved for the cab driver to come up to help her with her luggage.
In minutes the heavy door clicked shut behind her; the last time she would listen to that familiar click of the latch. It saddened her that Sandy was not there to hug her best friend good-bye, but maybe that was just as well. They hadn't much in common anymore, and although Chris still dearly loved her friend as if she were a sister, they had clearly chosen separate paths. Sandy was probably standing at a bus stop somewhere in the city looking for tricks. Just as well, sighed Chris. It would keep her in clothes, dope, and kicks. That's what mattered to Sandy – that and men. But she'd have plenty of them now – her fill. How many? Ten? Twenty a day?
Sure, she has a job, thought Chris ruefully, lifting her portfolio and setting in in the crackling plastic of the back seat, but what about her future? All that talent… wasted. All she has is a lifetime of remorse. That was nothing to be envious of.
