Renegade 19

by Lou Cameron

  He pulled her right knee across the hammock and hooked it over the far side with her high button shoe flailing wildly a long way from the dirt floor. Naturally her skirt had been forced up above her hips by the forced split across the hammock. She caught on to his full intent and whimpered as well as she was able, while sucking his tongue. But he ignored her protest, if it was a protest, and since his shaft was already at full attention by now, all he had to do was thrust up with his hips once he’d pulled the elastic leg opening of her loose silk pantaloons aside, and…

  “No!” She gasped, twisting her lips from his as he entered her. But he soothed, “Yes indeed!” as he put both hands around to cup her buttocks in his palms and pull her on like a glove. A nice tight glove filled with whipped cream.

  She sobbed that he was a brute even as she hopped on her left foot to get into a more comfortable position with one knee hooked over each side rope of the hammock and spitted herself on him to the roots. He started bouncing his hips and the hammock bounced too as she fell weakly against his chest, sobbing, “You’re touching me, damn you!”

  “I noticed. It’d feel even better if we got you out of all those damned clothes.”

  He stopped, but noticed she was still bouncing the hammock as she protested, “That’s not what I came in here for, you bastard. I only wanted to ask you … Oh, my God, I’m coming!”

  That made two of them. As he held her close, kissing her as he ejaculated in her widespread groin, he was too polite to say that he knew damn well she’d come in here to come. Why the hell did a widow who knew how to move so swell with a man inside her have to carry on like a virgin?

  Apparently Sylvia had come to the same conclusion, now that she’d come. When they came up for air, she said, “It feels so silly doing it with my knickers on.”

  “Let’s get you out of all that stuff, then.”

  “Oh, Dick, I couldn’t. It’s broad daylight. What if someone comes?”

  “You’d look just as silly with your clothes on, and who needs to come in here but us? Be reasonable, honey, we’ve sparred around long enough.”

  She sighed and sat up to start undressing, with his help, with her thighs still spread and him still in her. As they got her skirt and blouse off over her head, he saw he’d been wrong about her wearing a corset. The tiny waist above the hem of her pantaloons measured less than twenty inches, which was surprising when you considered her chest measurement had to be close to forty. She leaned her big firm breasts against his chest as she asked, “How are we to get my knickers off without taking it out? I don’t want to let you go soft at a time like this! I suppose you know I’ve been gushing for you since first we met?”

  “The feeling was mutual. Ain’t it a bitch how much time grown people waste being shy? Get off on my left, between the hammock and the wall. I promise I won’t let you down.” He didn’t. As Sylvia finished peeling, with her back to the thatch, she saw his erection for the first time and gasped, “Oh, my God, was all that just in me? No wonder I came so unexpectedly!”

  “Hey, Sylvia, we agreed to cut the maidenly bullshit, okay? Hold it. I’ll get out and let you be on the bottom this time.”

  As he stood up to join her, Sylvia looked dubiously at the deep cup of the empty hammock and asked, “Would it work that way?”

  He followed her meaning. He took her in his arms again, held her now nude curves against his own naked flesh, and said, “You’re probably right. I’d break my spine trying to go old-fashioned in a saggy hammock. But where there’s a will there’s a way.”

  He reached down and fumbled it into place as he bent his knees. Sylvia stood on tiptoe to help, but asked, “Can anyone really do it standing up? Oh, I see they can!”

  It worked even better when she raised her legs to wrap them around his waist as he held her by the big soft buttocks that matched her hourglass upper story so well. But it was tiring as well as inspiring and they wound up on the dirt floor, pounding hard, and she didn’t object until she’d come again. Then, she naturally made a dumb remark about feeling beastly to be rutting in the dirt like an animal.

  He rolled her on her hands and knees politely to brush the red grains of jungle laterite from her naked back and fanny as he finished dog-style. She protested that this was most undignified, too, but she didn’t ask him to stop, and arched her spine for it all when he came in her again.

  As she crouched there like a ruddy piggy, as she put it, she pulsed warmly on his shaft as she murmured, “Well, I signed up for adventure, and I must say this is perishing unusual! Do you have any other obscene lovemaking left for me to endure, you brute?”

  He said, “Sure. Let me show you how you really do it in a hammock.”

  He helped her to her feet, sat her crossways in the hammock with the nearest rope under her tail bone and the other supporting the nape of her neck. She said, “This is silly. Where do you fit in, darling?”

  He spread her pale thighs wide, then stepped closer, and, still standing on his bare feet, put it in her again, saying, “We call this playing swing.”

  “Good God, you’re still hard and …what are you doing?” It was a dumb question. As he started to swing her a few inches each way, not moving his own hips but sliding her the full length of his inspiration each way, she closed her eyes, bit her lips, and forgot about asking dumb questions as he sort of jerked himself off with her, further inspired by the full view of her beautiful face and nude hourglass torso bobbing faster than he’d have ever managed to move his own hips.

  She spread her thighs wider, cupped a breast in each hand, and moaned, “Oh, God, I just died and went to heaven!” And he could tell by her internal contractions that she was climaxing yet again. He closed his eyes and grabbed for the hammock rope on either side of her head to lay half-atop her as he came in her again, kissing her as her long black hair came unpinned and fell down almost to sweep the dirt floor.

  He’d just satisfied them both for the moment and was coming up for air when another female voice gasped, “Oh!” and he looked up, feeling like a shit-eating dog, to see Phoebe standing in the doorway.

  Before he could say anything, his other girl had turned and flounced out of sight. Sylvia murmured dreamily, “Did you say something, darling?”

  “No, Phoebe just walked in on us. She must shock easy. She’s gone.”

  Sylvia stiffened and gasped, “Oh, my God! How will I ever explain to her? The poor little spinster knows nothing about a real woman’s needs!”

  He said, “Uh, I’d better explain to her. Hold the fort. I’ll be right back.”

  “You can’t talk to that poor little sparrow after she’s just seen you rutting like a stallion with me! My God, I don’t know how I’ll ever face her again myself!”

  He slowly withdrew from her as he soothed, “You’re not thinking, doll box. She saw me. She didn’t see you. You were on the bottom, so all she could see was the top of your head. We were smart enough to pile your things behind this hammock, see?”

  “Don’t be an ass! Who else is she going to think it could have been? It certainly wasn’t she, and Pat had flaming red hair! I’m the only dark brunette left.”

  “No, you’re not. We’re in an Indian village. Hear me, pretty squaw, I go now to make peace with white lady peeping Tom. You stay here. Keep-um wig-wam warm.”

  As she got it, Sylvia laughed hysterically and said, “By George, it just might work! I’m not about to stay here, though! Let me up so I can dress and think up a very ingenious excuse for not being otherwise in sight when that silly little thing popped in at us!”

  He didn’t argue. He wanted to head Phoebe off at the pass before she said something dumb to one of the others. He quickly dressed and went out looking for her. He found her talking to Bertie. He moved closer, nodded pleasantly to Bertie, and said, “Would you excuse us a moment, Bertie? I think Phoebe wants to cuss me out in private.”

  Phoebe stamped her foot, stared angrily at him through her slightly fogged glasses, and said, “We’ve
nothing more to say to each other, ever again, you perishing squaw man!”

  Bertie, ever the peace maker, said, “Come now, Phoebe, boys will be boys and all that. Our captain’s no doubt been cultivating the natives, eh what?”

  “I saw what he was doing to that damned Indian bitch. Which hut are you in, Bertie?”

  “Uh, that one over there. Why?”

  “Never mind. I want a word with you in private. Do you follow me, Dick?”

  “I’m not about to follow you kiddies. Never let it be said I’m not a good loser. Sorry, Phoebe. Lost my head.”

  “I’ve noticed you do that a lot, you bastard!” Phoebe snapped, taking the bewildered Bertie by the arm to lead him away to his doom.

  Captain Gringo grinned as he watched them duck inside Bertie’s hut. Bertie had said he kind of liked her, so all was well that ended well, and, while old Phoebe was a great little lay, so was Sylvia, and Sylvia was the best-looking thing in miles, hot damn!

  He ran into Sylvia near the hut the Indians had built for her. They’d been very generous in giving all eight members of the party individual quarters, but he supposed the saplings and thatch didn’t cost much. As he joined Sylvia he murmured, “She bought it. Let’s go back and see if we left anything out.”

  “God, no! With my luck, the next time she popped in I’d be on top!”

  “She won’t. I think she just shacked up with Bertie for the day.”

  “Phoebe? Shacked up? That’s silly, darling. I doubt that poor old dried-up Phoebe’s ever even kissed a man in her life!” He had no way of telling her how wrong she was without having two girls mad at him. So he just shrugged and said, “Well, they’re sure up to something in Bertie’s hut. Let’s go back to mine.”

  “Not until after dark at least, dear. They’re probably just gossiping and I don’t want to take that chance with my reputation. We both live in the same West End, after all. Haven’t I satisfied you enough to last you until dark at least?”

  He laughed, said he’d see her around the campus, and moved on to his own hut as she ducked into hers. He didn’t see Pat or Gaston anywhere. That seemed logical. Wilson and Jerome had either found squaws, each other, or just wanted to be out of the sun. It was getting pretty high.

  Decepciona was reclining in his hammock when he ducked under the low entrance. He laughed and said, “Now I have an Indian to show Phoebe. I don’t imagine she’ll be back, though. What can I do for you, Decepciona?”

  “I am here to do for you. Now that I see you are gentle, I am no longer afraid of your great size and funny-colored hair. Do you have yellow hair all over, Dick person?”

  “Uh, I’d love to show you, arid I hope I’m still man enough. But is there any way to lock these doors, ¿querida mia? It feels silly to have people popping in unexpectedly.”

  The Indian girl rolled out of the hammock, and as she took his hand he stared down at her compact brown nudity and decided he wasn’t as worn out as he’d thought. She said, “We can go for a walk in the trees if you like. Our chief has ordered that none of our people are to go near your horseless carriages. But you can go. And I can go as your guest, no? If you would rather make love in the fallen leaves, I am willing, but it is not comfortable and people make jokes when a girl comes back with black stains on her behind.”

  He said the parked cars sounded like a meat idea. So they went out to them and it was. They climbed into the backseat of Bertie’s steamer, since it was parked between the others and offered more privacy. The little Indian girl marveled at the luxurious feel of the padded leather seats as she rubbed her bare bottom on the backseat, experimentally, and lay back to spread her brown thighs and say, “I think I want you very much. You are very pretty.”

  He said she was pretty, too, as he quickly undressed, hung his duds over the back of the passenger seat, and got to his knees on the floorboards between Decepciona’s welcomingly spread knees. She moved her childish-looking hairless groin to meet him as she said, “Oh, you are yellow-haired all over, but I’m not sure we will fit.”

  They did. She stared at him wide-eyed in wonder as he slid into what only looked inexperienced on the outside. Inside, Decepciona was all woman, and he didn’t have to feel shitty about taking advantage of a trusting child of nature.

  Like most sensible so-called primitives, the Mosquitoes saw no point in depriving themselves of one of the few real pleasures life offered people who didn’t collect stamps or grow orchids in a green house. As she started moving skillfully, complimenting him on having the biggest dong she’d ever had in her up to now, it was obvious why the naked Indians felt no shame wandering around like that. By the time they grew up they’d probably laid every one of the opposite sex in the tribe. So it was no more embarrassing to walk around in front of old lovers than it would be for a married white couple to see each other naked in private, although some white women he’d met complained that their husbands had been a little silly about night shirts, come to think of it.

  He wondered why he was thinking at all as the sprightly little squaw slid her tight box skillfully up and down his shaft, doing most of the work. She was breathing faster but was still under control as she said, conversationally, “You do it well, querido. I enjoy it when a man takes his time in me. Is it all right if I let myself go now? Forgive me, I am trying to make it last for you, but your unusual penis makes me most hot and I am excited as a girl doing it for the first time!”

  He realized he’d been neglecting her, so he started pounding as he bent over to take her upper body in his arms and kissed her as she came in a series of hard bumps and grinds that inspired him to return the compliment. As they lay limply together, Decepciona opened her eyes to croon dreamily, “Oh, that is what you people call kissing, no? It felt very strange. Even a little dirty. But would you do it again?”

  He did, letting her start the action again because in truth he was a little soft from overwork. But he didn’t stay that way for long. For a girl who didn’t know much about kissing, she sure was learning to tongue nicely, suddenly, and you didn’t have to work to keep it up in Decepciona. You just had to hang on and let her screw like a mink.

  She came even faster the second time. He faked an orgasm to be polite. It still felt great in there, but, like these steam cars, he had only so much reserve fuel, and Sylvia had been great too.

  By the time Decepciona went limp in post climactic contentment, he was inspired enough again at least to keep moving gently. She purred, “Oh, you wish more? I am so happy you liked me so much. I like you very much, too. But could we not rest a few moments, querido? We have all day, you know.”

  She gave him one last promising grind as she added coyly, “The night, too. I can’t wait until you swing me in your hammock.”

  He laughed and sat up to hold her head against his shoulder. He hadn’t thought he’d invented that hammock position. But he hadn’t considered the coming night. Sylvia had promised to come back to his hammock too, and if she caught him playing swing with a real Indian squaw, oh boy!

  He was about to ask Decepciona how seriously she took going steady when all hell started breaking loose. The little squaw stiffened in his arms and gasped in fear as a heavy shell whistled down to explode in the not-too-distant distance!

  He rolled out of the steamer with Decepciona under one arm like a football as he ran for the nearest big tree, swung around to the far side, and flopped down atop her to shield her with his body as another shell shook the earth under them. The girl gasped, “What is happening? It sounds like the end of the world!”

  It did. The once-solid earth heaved in rippling shock waves under them as he lay naked atop her. Somehow, as the barrage went on a year or more, his penis found its way back inside her trembling vagina between her open trembling thighs. Neither of them noticed. They were too worried about staying alive to notice that they were screwing. He counted at least fifty shell bursts, big eight-inchers, from the sound of them. Then it got very quiet, save for the distant keening of a wailing wo
man.

  Decepciona said, “Let me up! I have to go see what happened to my village!”

  But he said, “Stay put. I know what happened to your village. The motherfuckers may play the old second-salvo trick.”

  “Second what?”

  “They stop the barrage to let the survivors get up and wander around looking for dead and wounded. Then, with everyone on their feet, another salvo slams down and … hey, have you noticed we seem to be making love again?”

  “Yes, it feels very nice, even on the ground. But I am worried about my people. ”

  “I am too. We can’t help ’em if we get killed, and we’ve got good cover here. Hmm, could you raise your knees a little?”

  She did, locking her ankles around his waist as she took him deeper. That seemed to make her lose interest in getting up for a while, so they were going at it hot and heavy when the second barrage started. It lasted even longer. At least a hundred eight-inchers screamed down through the forest canopy to deafen their ears and quiver the ground like jelly under them as they went on making love. It was no dumber a thing to be doing at a time like this than anything else they could think of, and he was as willing to die coming in the arms of a beautiful girl as he was anywhere else.

  When the shelling stopped, Decepciona giggled and said, “I don’t know if it was the fear or the fucking, but I have never come that well before!”

  He said, “Yeah, but we’d better get some clothes on. I have to, I mean. It should be safe to take a peek now.”

  He led her back to the steamer and put her back in the seat as he dressed quickly, saying, “You stay here. If I’m wrong and they lob a third salvo, I may never speak to you again.”