It was less than two minutes before Pauline felt the delicious, irresistible pull of orgasm approach.
What am I doing?
The question echoed through the corridors of her fevered mind, little more than a whisper of her conscience, a tiny shard left of the person that had been before this animalistic, uncontrollable urge had overcome her.
This wasn’t who Pauline Kennedy was.
Not at all.
Pauline wasn’t the type to tamper with herself down there under any circumstances. She has always thought the act to be vulgar, unladylike. She knew well what people thought of her, and she had, in her darker moments, contemplated taking the low road, like so many other girls at her school, and giving the boys something to focus on other than her admittedly less-than-winning personality.
She just couldn’t bring herself to do it.
But wasn’t that what she had just done?
When all the pride and dignified celibacy was cast aside in one night of drunken revelry, wasn’t that just what she had done?
Deep in the quiet corner of her mind, far from the bravado she owned as her own - a shield against the jungle of high-school life - Pauline had simply wanted to be loved.
John had been her first.
She liked him, she really did, but she was under no illusions that his amorous advances had been fuelled more by alcoholic consumption that by anything approaching actual affection.
This time, she had thought, things may be different. John was sort of popular, well known and well liked, and Pauline had to admit to having had a thing for him for well over a year.
Still, she hadn’t meant to let her guard down.
Most of the girls at school had sucked and fucked their way through half the jocks and jokers of this shithole town before they were even fifteen, taking on all comers. A cock was a cock, whether the man attached to it was black, white, married or decrepit. These shameless girls had no problem accommodating men of every shape and size, and they revelled in it.
And Pauline...
She was reviled for speaking her mind, being herself, and jettisoning her peers, and all the fakery and self-absorption that came with them.
Now here she was, as sexually awakened as a lioness in heat, and the man who had awakened her was off searching for his obnoxious, dumbfuck friend.
How could she have been so dumb?
The girl on the screen has no such worries. No, she offered those well-hung black men all her holes, and they took them, willingly and hungrily.
Pauline had never had that much power, or that much popularity.
Hell, she’d been shocked that a guy as handsome as John, and from her own class no less, would ever look at her, never mind take her upstairs by the hand and let her claim his virginity, and he hers.
It had seemed almost...romantic.
In the bright, all-exposing light of day, though, she was nobody’s fool.
There was no romance to be found in this little tale. No happy ending under starry skies.
She knew that John was only spending his time with her now to alleviate his guilt, and she figured that he was fair game. If she was good enough to put his dick in when drunk, then she would allow his conscience to force his hand, or rather, his cock, into keeping the thing going as long as possible.
It was a new experience, and one she so desired to hold onto for as long as she could.
I’m a pity-fuck at best, she thought ruefully.
She thought of John now, picturing the look of disgust on his face as he’d left the room to go to Sam’s house. She’d bared her tits for him, and instead of getting hard and hopping on-board, he’d grimaced, turned tail and run.
Fucking homo.
Fuck him.
In truth, she knew the game was up.
Problem was, she was horny.
Not just horny, but burning alive horny.
No sooner was he out the door and walking down the street, than she was on his laptop and searching desperately for something to get her off.
And that was ok.
That was normal.
What wasn’t normal, the little voice inside her head whispered, was lying back on his bed, watching hard-core porn with the sound turned all the way up, and her pussy exposed for the whole wide world to see.
What should also be of concern, was that John’s father was sat downstairs watching television, and were he to take a step anywhere near the hallway down there, he’d hear what was going on upstairs.
Let him hear me, she thought, rubbing her clit with renewed ferocity as, onscreen, a huge black cock throbbed in the girl’s asshole.
Let him come upstairs, she panted like a manic beast as yet another huge black guy, this one hung like a donkey, spurted jet after jet of hot, stringy jism into the willing whore’s mouth. Behind her, another man lined himself up to insert his dick into the hole of his choice.
Pauline moaned aloud, her sex throbbing, her juiced fingers slipping between the slick folds of her labia. She writhed on the bed, squeezing her enormous tits through her shirt with one hand while she worked her swollen cunt with the other.
She pictured John’s dad down there.
Imagined what his cock looked like.
Imagined sucking it till he came apart in her mouth.
The orgasm hit hard and fast.
Pauline screamed as her legs buckled and her juices flowed, the intensity of her release overwhelming her senses, leaving her little more than flesh and sex. When all too soon, it was over, she pulled her sex-slimed fingers from her hole, and licked them clean.
She was purring like a cat as she lapped at her own juices, when the bedroom door opened with a creak.
“What the hell’s going on in here!?” John’s father shouted; eyes wide as full moons.
Pauline looked up at him, smiled, spread her legs, and with both hands, pulled apart the lips of her sodden pussy.
“Come get it, Daddy...” she purred.
CHAPTER 7
Approaching the Stevens’ front porch, John felt his stomach shrink.
Turn back.
No.
You have to go through with this.
His brief encounter with Jake and Beth had shook him more than he was willing to admit, and now, getting closer and closer to the immaculate white door of his friend, Sam’s, property, he felt a needling, incessant dread scrape away at his reason.
Something was very wrong, here.
If asked, John couldn’t have pinpointed what it was that had him so eager to turn tail and run, and maybe find another way to look into the wellbeing of his best friend, but deep inside, in a quiet desolate part of him, he sensed it.
On any given day, Sam’s mom and dad would be running to the door to greet him, all smiles and warm welcomes and offers of ice cream and coffee and Mrs Steven’s special soufflé, but on approaching the garden, opening the iron gate and making his way slowly up the rose-lined path, he felt only a lingering, indefinable fear.
Still, he continued on.
Looking to the windows, he was perplexed to see the blinds were closed. The bright sunlight of the day reflecting back into the garden, unwanted.
John climbed the four steps onto the porch and stood before the door, he reached out with a weak hand and rang the bell
He waited a moment.
Nothing.
He pressed the bell again, holding it longer this time. Its clear ring cut through the thick summer air like candlelight through the dark
Still no answer.
Taking a deep breath, John bent forward and opened the letterbox.
He peered inside.
The front hallway was deserted, not a sound came from within, neither from a television or from an inhabitant. Even Howie, the family dog, was nowhere to be seen, and that in itself went against everything John knew about this normally comforting and loving environment.
Not one day in all the years John had walked the garden path and rang that chiming bell, had Howie not been there to
meet him with claws scraping against the door’s interior and joyful barks filling the air.
The happy family home was now as quiet as the crypt.
Gathering his rapidly fraying nerves, John shouted through the letter box, keeping his voice as light as he could, “Mr Stevens? Mrs Stevens? Sam, you in there?”
Nothing.
Only the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock that dominated the hallway, and the sound of bee’s buzzing amidst the flowers to his rear, touched his ears.
John stepped back, frowning.
He felt eyes on him.
Cold, unkind.
Without thinking, he turned to his left, where the living room was situated
As he did so, the blinds twitched.
It had been swift, but it was unmistakable.
They had moved.
And for a moment, they had been opened.
Someone was watching him from inside.
It was too dark, and the slits in the now closed metal blinds too small were to make out whoever had been silently watching him as he stood there, but he ventured a guess that it had to be either Mr or Mrs Stevens. Sam, if he were able, would surely have waved out to him and made a beeline for the door. It would be wide open and his buddy would be stood there grinning that goofy grin of his, beckoning John into the family’s lovely home.
The same could be said of Sam’s parents.
Yet here he was, stood before the door, pressing the doorbell once again with visibly shaking hands, and wishing to Christ he was anywhere but here. He could still feel those eyes on him, watching from someplace inside the shadowed house.
Cold, unkind eyes.
Get out of here. Just turn around, and go. You’re not welcome here.
John’s own thoughts shock him just as much as the strange behaviour of whoever was prowling inside.
He took a step back from the porch, never taking his eyes off the window. Still sensing the dark figure stood there, watching and waiting.
“What are you doing here?” the voice came from behind him. John’s heart thundered, he spun around, terror biting on his nerves, to face the man who’d spoken.
Standing by the foot of the porch stairs, Mr Stevens stared up at him, his eyes narrowed and his lips clenched in a thin line.
In his hands, he held a pair of garden shears. The long blades glinted in the afternoon light.
John gulped, his mouth moved but the fright had rendered him temporarily unable to communicate.
“I asked you what you’re doing here?” Mr Stevens asked again. His tone was like ice. Not a trace of his usual warmth.
John finally composed himself, “I-I came to see Sam.”
“Why do you want to see Sam?” Mr Stevens asked, in that deadened voice.
His eyes seemed to bore into John.
If looks could kill, John thought.
“I just wanted to check in on him, Mr Stevens. See if he’s okay. I was worried.”
“Why were you worried?”
“You know...because of yesterday, at the restaurant. He seemed really ill.”
“He’s absolutely fine.”
“Is he? Could I see him?”
“He’s resting.”
“I tried to call the hospital last night, they said...”
Mr Stevens leaned forward, and though he was four steps below John, he felt like the man was towering over him. John recoiled instinctively from the man’s obvious wrath. Sam’s father was a large man, packing a few extra pounds and a little out of shape, given his age, but he could still inflict damage, and John was no fighter.
What the fuck is going on here?
I’ve known this man all my life!
Mr Stevens looked over John’s shoulder, towards the window. Reluctant to let Mr Stevens out of his line of vision, John couldn’t help but follow his eyes.
He saw the blinds were open again.
Dark eyes peered out from the gloom.
John felt sick with fear.
“Maybe I should go...”
“Maybe you should, John, but first...” Mr Stevens stepped onto the stairway, and slowly ascended, his hard leather boots bending the wooden planks beneath his feet. He stood over John, at least a foot higher, and leaned into his face till their noses were almost touching.
John could smell the sour whiskey on his breath.
Mr Stevens never drank.
The man bared his teeth, “First, I think you should know something.”
“Yes, sir?” John asked, his growing terror betraying him.
Mr Stevens smiled.
He looked like a shark.
“If you ever come back here, John, I’m going to take these shears,” he raised the garden tool and snipped its blades closed for effect. “And I’m going to cut your tiny little prick off, right at the root.”
John feared his legs would give out. The twin blades flashed before his eyes, inches from his face.
“I-I’m sorry. I’ll...”
“Then I’m going to squeeze them up your asshole and start snipping.”
Mr Stevens’ eyes danced with madness, “Now fuck off.” he spat.
John pushed by the man he’d known and trusted all his life, and ran as fast as he could.
He never stopped until his lungs were on fire.
Pauline lay back on the bed, her pussy sore and raw. John’s dad was still inside her, but since shooting his load, he’d gone soft.
Not that his cock had been that big anyway.
Now, though, it cozied up inside her snatch like a little worm, good for nothing and worth even less.
She giggled a little as she thought about the fuck they’d had.
He’d been a bad little daddy, and had shot his load within minutes. It made her feel good to know that she could make a man bust a nut so quickly.
For a fat girl, she sure had game.
It amused Pauline to know that John’s father, despite his over-eagerness to dip his dick inside her, had not been...taken.
It made the whole deal that much sweeter.
At the end of the day, the old fucker was simply a pig.
A horny, sleazy, filthy old pig.
That got Pauline wet all over again.
If only his dick would harden. She could go for another ride on the fuck-a-go-round.
Not much chance of that happening, she mused.
The old bastard was panting like his heart was about to burst.
“Okay, John’s dad, get off me...” she gasped, pushing him over, using her strength to roll him aside.
He did as he was told; got up from the bed and gingerly pulled on his slacks.
Pauline laughed as his flaccid member swung like a miniscule pendulum.
Red faced and ashamed, he struggled into his clothing and made for the door.
He opened the door, stopped, and turned to her, “Please. Keep this quiet.”
Pauline reached between her legs and inserted her fingers into herself. With a pluck, she flicked his semen from her pussy. It clung to the covers like a white slug.
“You’d better get cleaning this place up, then.” she said.
“You won’t say anything to anyone?”
“I’ll think about it.”
The old pervert looked like he had more to say, but thought better of it. Without another word, he turned and made for the staircase. Pauline listened as he descended, then turned to the laptop.
In the time that they had been rutting, the porno had finished, and John’s laptop had gone into energy-savings mode.
In the black screen, she saw herself reflected back.
Pauline paused, looking deep into her own eyes, and could see nothing of herself.
Of the girl she once was.
Moment by moment, she could feel the person she had been slide away, piece by little piece.
I’m losing my soul.
Whatever they’ve done to me, I’m losing my soul.
No matter how hard she tried, Pauline just couldn’t give a shit.
/> CHAPTER 8
Slim sat by her father’s side. Across from them, Preston was perched on the edge of the garish, red, plastic seat, scanning the restaurant like a hawk looking for prey. Behind him, the companies mascot – a huge, grinning clown garbed in nightmarish makeup that stank of war paint – loomed large. A testament to the surface sheen and, Slim thought, to the somewhat sinister murk that corporations such as these seemed to all hide, just behind the curtains.
Eat this shit or I’ll fucking kill you! the tall plastic mascot seemed to warn.
Slim turned from its hollow gaze, and focused on her brother.
“What’re you doing?” she asked, amused.
“I’m looking for Macy. She said she was coming here
tonight, with her girlfriends.”
Macy and Preston had been ‘going steady’ for a while now. She was a nice girl, and seemed to have a good heart, which was more than she could say regarding his previous sweethearts. Slim was glad her brother had found someone with an iota of decency and kindness that he could enjoy his time with. It was becoming harder and harder these days to find good people out there. Even in a small town, the rot of the outside world managed to find its way in. The great machine of modernity, and all the filth and fury that came in its wake, could only be held at bay for so long.
This burger joint is testament to that, she mused.
Rot.
Slim couldn’t quite believe she was actually sat in this place.
Meg would be shocked. Shocked and appalled.
It had been the right move, though.
When Dad had shouted upstairs, breaking the chains of the awful nightmare she’d been having, Slim had been thoroughly shook up. Even now, she could still hear her mother’s last words in the back of her mind, an inner haunting that had nothing to do with ghosts.
And when her dad had come upstairs looking for her, and had stepped into her room, she had felt like the world’s biggest bitch.
She had looked at him, stood there, doing his best to be a good father, and hold strong, while his own world crumbled around him. Mom’s death had crushed him with just as much merciless force as it had her, and the reverberations of the loss still rang through his being, as clear as day.
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