Suzie Gets Even free porn video

If stories of heavy sex and incest turn you off then stop reading right now. Suzie Gets Even by Jenny Leeds Chapter 1 Jack glanced sidelong at Suzie as they rode the service elevator down to the street. She looked subdued. He guessed she was taking old man Bellows' death pretty hard. It surprised him--he would've thought she'd be glad. After all, the guy had been keeping her a slave, and he'd done--that other thing--to her. The elevator doors opened. She staggered when she picked up her huge suitcase with both hands. He took it from her and was rewarded by a blue flash of gratitude in her eyes. She held his hand as they emerged to the busy street. It was a bright spring day, the kind of day that made you even happier to be alive than usual. Her heels clicked on the pavement beside him. She was no bigger than a minute. Even in her pumps she was four inches shorter than his own five-eleven. A breeze ruffled his hair, and a moment later he saw it flirt with the hem of her dress, lift it, let it fall again. He watched her legs unobtrusively, hoping to glimpse more. He had a hard-on that just wouldn't quit. To take his mind off it he said, "It's not too far, only about ten minutes walk." Suzie nodded, lips pale under her makeup. With sudden insight he realized it wasn't grief that was making her so quiet. It was anxiety. Well, no wonder. The poor kid was only fourteen. No matter how bad the old man had treated her, now she was out on the street with no place to live and no one to take care of her. She must be scared to death. He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. The "master," as she called him--it graveled Jack whenever he heard her say it, like a trained puppy dog--had died of a heart attack on an airplane only last night, and within hours the lawyers had appeared on the scene to inventory the penthouse and let the household servants go. It must be rough on her. Unlike the cook and Jack, Suzie was a live- in. At least the lawyers had been considerate enough to give them all checks for three months pay "in lieu of notice." He'd almost laughed out loud when he heard her tell the guy how much Bellows had been paying her off the books, as if he'd been paying her anything. The lawyer accepted her bald statement without blinking an eye. He must've thought Bellows was paying her in cash for services above and beyond the call of the usual maidservant. Not for the first time, Jack wondered if Bellows had made her do anything more than the hand jobs she'd told him about. Probably not. Bellows was pretty old, at least forty or fifty. He held her back on the curb to let a taxi go by. God, he couldn't believe his luck. Bellows was dead, and he had her all to himself. She was just a kid; she had no place to go; she had to depend on him. He pushed the thought away. His cock was so hard he thought his jeans would rip. When they got to his apartment he'd ask her to model for him. Painting took so much concentration he was able to forget about sex, though when he stepped back and looked at the finished pictures, they were so fundamentally erotic, no matter what the subject, that he saw he hadn't forgotten it at all, just mutated his lust into color and light and shadow. He had wanted to paint her ever since he first saw her, more than a year ago, when he hired on as the gardener for Bellows' penthouse garden twenty-one stories above the street. He used to watch her through the picture windows as he worked, cute as a button in her brief maid's uniform, a lace cap perched on her head, busy-busy- busy, cheerfully swatting at dust, vacuuming energetically. The opportunity to talk to her never came up. His work was outside; hers, inside; and the most he could manage was a casual greeting and a smile now and then. Until three days ago. He stayed past the noon hour to finish trimming some hedges, shirtless in the warm sun. It was Saturday, the Chinese cook's day off, and Bellows was out of town on a business trip. Suzie came out to the garden wearing only a brief bathing suit, hardly more than a couple of handkerchiefs, but he liked it that even when she thought she was alone she was too modest to sunbathe in the nude, though that suit didn't leave much room for imagination. Stepping behind a potted tree, he watched her spread out a flowered cotton mattress and lie down in the sun, alluring little bottom barely covered. In a moment he saw her reach lazily behind and pull the knot that fastened her halter, so she would tan without lines. He walked quietly up behind her and said, "Hi." She jumped, so startled she sat up forgetting her top. It fell to her lap, exposing pert young tits. Instant hard-on. He didn't have the decency to look away. He couldn't have looked away if you paid him money. He watched her turn red and cover herself hastily. They talked awhile, she got some cold beer for them, and he worked around to telling her he was an artist. She didn't believe him at first; she thought he was giving her some kind of a snow job to be able to get her naked. He told her Bellows had bought two of his paintings. They were probably somewhere in the apartment: she could look at the signature if she wanted. He remembered the day Bellows bought his "fornication" picture. That was when he was still painting in oils. The picture had worked out well, a fair- sized canvas covered with naked masses of writhing men and women entwined, men and women copulating, men and men, women and women. He had achieved a kind of hypnotic effect. Your eye was led from figure to figure until it tangled in the seething huddle of naked humanity. Like most of his paintings, its sensuality was overwhelming, not so much because of the eroticism of the subject, but because the utter realism of the figures and the cool precision of his brush strokes contrasted so sharply with the earthiness of the depiction. Right then and there Bellows had commissioned a painting. And hadn't *that* been weird! What the man wanted was a picture of his own erection. It was so bizarre it was exciting. Jack agreed to do it for a sum that would pay his four months back rent in full, and they got to work. Bellows took off his clothes and stood there manipulating his bung- starter right in front of him, eyes glazed, imagining God only knew what fantasies, until he was hard. Every time he began to get limp--which wasn't often; Jack figured the episode was a turn-on for him--he repeated the process. It was a turn-on for Jack, too. He got enormously aroused by the sight of the stiff meat. A couple of times he put down his palette and went up close to peer at the organ, pretending there was some detail he couldn't see. Once he touched it, holding it between thumb and forefinger to move it as if to catch the light better. It was hot, and so hard it trembled. Only by exercising rigid self-control was he able to prevent himself from stroking it, from pulling the man off. But he didn't dare make a move. Bellows would think he was a queer. That night Jack had to jerk off twice in a row to be able to get any sleep, and then again in the morning before going back to finish the painting. During the session he came close to giving in to his urges, but fear of being found out kept him from disgracing himself. It was confusing. He liked women, he enjoyed their company, and, when he could sweet-talk them into it, their bodies. He'd had two major girl friends in the two years since he was eighteen and a very satisfactory sex life. Without undue conceit he knew he was good-looking enough to please most girls; and surreptitious comparison with other men in urinals assured him he had nothing to be ashamed of in terms of size. Then why did he keep thinking about men? Ever since the orphanage, when little Franky Doe had furtively pushed his bed near Jack's in the dark, and had reached out to touch him. Jack had responded, knowing it was a terrible sin, and they had worked on each other's meat for a blissful heart- pounding minute until they shot all over their hands. In the morning the matron saw Franky's bed next to Jack's, had Franky transferred to another floor, and sternly lectured Jack on the sins of the flesh, leaving him shaking and in tears. In after years he was exposed to other experiences. Once in a men's room in the railroad station he became slowly aware that the man next to him was masturbating, and was promptly unable to piss. He watched out of the corner of his eye until spurts of liquid jumped from the straining organ. When the pumping stopped, the man zipped up his fly and left without flushing. Jack stepped sideways to stand in front of the vacated urinal, staring fascinated at the mottled white globs of semen in the water. The same men's room had booths with holes drilled in their partitions. Graffiti specified what they were for, and one day, overcome by a suffocating sense of prurience, seeing a man's mouth through the hole, he poked his cock in, terrified by what he was doing but helpless to stop until the ecstasy of ejaculation. The instant his balls were drained by that sucking mouth guilt crashed in. Suppose the man had seen his face? He'd recognize him on the street, perhaps come up to him and say something. Oh, God, he'd never do it again. But he had, two or three times more, until his terror of being queer got the better of him and he made himself stay away. When he masturbated he fantasized about men, not women. At first he told himself the reason it was so exciting was only because men were forbidden. He definitely wasn't gay. Then he had to go through a stage of believing that he was homosexual after all, and was heartsick for weeks. An intimate encounter with a pretty redhead showed him different, and he resigned himself to the knowledge that he was bisexual, after all, and according to Kinsey, not all that unusual. It was okay for him to have become excited painting Bellows' picture, and reassuring to find himself so attracted to Suzie, although he felt like a dirty old man when she told him she was only fourteen. *Fifteen,* she said, and then admitted her birthday was still a week off. When he described the paintings to her, she said, "Oh, I know the ones you mean. They're in Master's bedroom." She let it slip that she recognized the man's cock, so he figured she couldn't be as innocent as she looked. He put his arm around her and held her so he could strip down her bikini bottoms. At the juncture of her thighs, denuded of pubic hair, dangled a penis; hanging below it were rosy balls. She was a boy, not a girl! A boy with tits. His mouth dropped open. A wave of lust so stupefying as to deprive him of any semblance of morality swept over him. When she tried to jump up he held her down and yanked off his pants so that he, too, was naked in the open air. Driven only by animal instinct he put her on hands and knees, pinky-brown rosette exposed to the sun. It was free of hair and looked so clean that his inhibitions went overboard and he licked it inside and out before raping her. God, she had been tight. If he hadn't used his tongue to get her wet he'd have torn her up. After it was over she cried as though her heart would break. Having come, he was bitterly ashamed of raping the poor thing; he tried to comfort her, but she continued to cry. At one point he lost patience. "Why've you got tits if you don't want to be fucked?" and was crushed once more to hear her halting explanation. The "master" had bought her two years before and had forced her to undergo a doctor's treatment with a new drug called protogen that had caused her body to change. "Her" body. It was strange to think "her" when the evidence of masculinity was staring him in the face, but he could no more think of her as "him" than Botticelli's Venus. Apart from the prick and balls she was totally feminine, like a girl with one of those pink rubber things, what were they called, dildos, that's right, like a girl wearing a strap- on dildo. It was arousing in the extreme, but didn't detract from her femininity. Listening to her broken lamentations, it came to him that she wasn't weeping so much about the rape, as that he had discovered her secret, that now he must think of her as a freak. He reassured her. He didn't think she was "awful," he thought she was exciting and gorgeous. He put his arms around her. She sniffled, but rested her head against his chest and let him hold her. Later, sitting gingerly after getting dressed, she admitted he had caused her to ejaculate. It gratified him. He asked her if Bellows made her have sex with him. She said yes, but it turned out she only had to jerk him off with her hand from time to time. It sounded fantastic, but he had to believe her, she was so innocent. And tight. She had never been used that way, he was sure. She had been a virgin. They slept together in Suzie's room that night. Chiang, the cook, arrived the next morning to find Jack in the penthouse and Suzie blushing pink. He made some fairly ribald comments--but since he didn't know Suzie was a boy, Jack didn't care. They had spent every waking and sleeping moment together during the next two days, dreading Bellows' return. He wanted to take her away, but she reminded him she was Bellows' property, that he was rich and powerful and could make life unbearable for them. They could be together in the afternoons, she pointed out gently, as if she were the one who was twenty and he fourteen, and maybe some day they could ask the "master" to let her go. He liked very young boys, it seemed, and when she was older he might free her. This morning the lawyers showed up with the news of Bellows' death. Jack had to conceal an unseemly exultation. "I used to live here." Suzie's high, pure voice brought him to the present. They were almost home, cutting through Hilbert Park. "What?" "In this park." She gestured. "When I first ran away from home I used to sleep on these benches." "Rough." "It wasn't so bad. It was this time of year, so it wasn't too cold. But I sure was hungry. And I didn't have a bath in two weeks." Jack tried to picture her as a dirty-faced little boy just turned thirteen, instead of an attractive young lady almost fifteen. "You never told me why you ran away." She blushed. "Daddy came in bed with me." "Your father? What did he do?" "Nothing. I mean, I moved over thinking he was drunk and mistook my room for his. My mom was passed out on the living room couch ..." "So? Maybe he did just get mixed up." "He--touched me. He put his hand in my pajamas." Her face was scarlet. "Oh." "I jumped up and tried to wake up my mom, but she was dead to the world, so I spent the rest of the night sleeping on the floor next to her. In the morning I stole money from her purse for bus fare and got out of there." And then spent two weeks starving in the streets. A man had offered the child a meal, a shower, and a guest room to sleep in. Trusting, he had gone with him, only to wake up the next morning with a bad taste in his mouth from knockout drops that had been slipped into a glass of milk, chained naked to a bed, on display for Mr. Bellows, to whom he was sold. Jack asked her about her life "B.G."--Before Girl. As she related the circumstances of her life at home, he pieced together a picture of a slender boy, smaller than his schoolmates, sensitive to their taunts --"They called me 'Sis,' " she complained reproachfully--but on the whole cheerful and outgoing. His mother drank a lot, usually passing out by eight in the evening. His father was a domestic tyrant, who paid little attention to his son, at least until the boy's pubic hair began to come in. The man was president of a bank, and the home they lived in was comfortable. Jack had been raised in an orphanage. Listening to Suzie, it was hard to understand what the kid had to gripe about. Okay, so his mother was a lush. Big deal. She kept the house clean and always had dinner on the table. Father was a petty despot, but his discipline didn't seem to encompass brutality. Jack could see that Suzie wasn't sure what the man had tried to do on that fateful night, but whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than being enslaved and dosed with a drug that altered his body. On the whole, the little boy had it good. It must have been the gentle upbringing they gave him that made his parents' faults seem unbearable. A more worldly-wise child would have known better. Whatever the reasons, Jack was glad about the outcome. He knew he shouldn't be. He should be sorry for the kid. But what the hell, the damage had been done--the drug was permanent, Suzie said, the process couldn't be reversed-- and the excitement of knowing that the pretty young girl by his side harbored a prick and balls under her skirt was breathtaking. "Here we are, home sweet home." He guided her up the front stoop of a decaying brownstone tenement building. By the time they reached the top floor he was panting with the weight of her suitcase. He grinned at her. "What've you got in here, gold bars?" "I *wish,"* she twinkled. As he opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter, he had a sudden view of the place through her eyes. When Jack had answered the ad for a studio apartment he thought it was an artist's studio. It turned out that "studio" meant "one room" to landlords. The one nice thing about it was it was fairly large; it spanned the building from front to back, a kind of a loft. He'd never noticed just how mean and messy he'd let it get. After all, he used it as a place to paint in; the fact that he lived there too seemed inconsequential. Canvases leaned in windrows against every wall. His easel stood next to an enamel-topped table covered with paper sacks of pigment--he had given up oils and was now grinding his own colors with water and egg yolk in an ancient technique called egg tempera. Crumpled paper towels, multi- hued with the wipings of paint brushes and palette, littered the floor, which itself was bespattered with paint from his unconscious habit of flicking excess color off his brush. His day-bed was unmade, had been unmade for months, and the sheets were grimy. How could he have let things get this way? He just never paid attention to his surroundings when he was working, but this was pretty gross. He'd seen how neat she was in Bellows's apartment. What must she think? Her eyes were wide with dismay as they moved about the room. She turned to him. "Jack?" "Yeah, I know," he said. "Pretty messy, huh?" "Would you mind if I straightened up a little?" "Nah, listen, relax, I'll do it." "Please. Let me. You're so nice to invite me to stay here until I find a place, it's the least I can do." Find a place. It terrified him. He pictured her renting an apartment on her own, getting a job as a waitress or something, being independent, maybe meeting someone else, maybe, innocent as she was, being hustled by some sweet- talking greasy little pansy who would abuse her. "Don't worry about it, you can stay as long as you like, you don't have to do anything." "But I want to. Please. You go out and--" She had opened the little refrigerator in the kitchen-in-the-closet, and was looking, nose wrinkled, at its contents: a quart of stale milk, a jar of olives, and half a head of rotten lettuce. "- -get us something for lunch, bread and cold cuts, like that. Don't forget mustard and mayonnaise and something to drink. Milk," she added briskly, "and soda and, let's see, eggs and bacon and coffee and ham and butter and English muffins-- I'll make you eggs Benedict tomorrow--and something for dinner tonight." She was very grown-up and earnest. He said, "I give up. Okay. But don't worry about dinner. I'll take you out to Flakey's." She looked her disapproval. "You have to save money until you get a job." "What are you, my mother?" "Shoo, now, and take your time." By the time he got back, the floor had been swept clear of debris, the bed made, and the pile of moldy dishes in the sink washed and put away. A glance to the side told him she had scrubbed the bathroom until it shone. His work table had been cleared of pigments, palette and brushes, and was covered with a tablecloth and place settings. He must have looked anxious, because she said, "Don't worry, I didn't touch anything. Your stuff is over there. You can put it back after lunch." It took her only about two minutes, it seemed, to make special ham-and- Swiss sandwiches, dipped in egg and milk and fried over the stove. A fresh salad, beer for him and milk for her, completed the meal. "Where did you learn to cook like that?" "From Chiang. I used to help him in the kitchen when my housework was done. Did you like the croques?" "Crocks? Those sandwiches? They were great." "I'm glad." After a moment Jack said, "I guess I should be sorry about Bellows, but I wasn't looking forward to him coming back. It's nice that we can be alone together here." Her cheeks were pink, eyelashes lowered modestly. She nodded. An awkward silence fell over them. He sneaked a look at the bed, then saw she had caught his stealthy glance. The color in her cheeks deepened as she looked away. Her chair scraped the wooden floor when she rose suddenly to clear the table. Still not looking at him she stacked the dishes in the sink and began to wash them. He watched her cute behind, remembering what was under her dress, getting hotter by the minute. He got up and stood close behind her. She gave a little start when he put his arms around her waist, but didn't pull away even when he pressed the bulge in his pants against her bottom. He brushed her hair away from her neck and nuzzled her gently. She stopped washing the dishes and yielded to his embrace. In a moment she turned in his arms, hesitated, demurely let her pelvis sway against him. There was something hard at the join of her legs. His heart jumped. "You're turned on." "I can't help it," she whispered. "What do you expect when you hold me like that? Anyway, you are too." "I want to see." She stifled a surprised shriek as he reached under her dress and tugged her panties down to her knees. They were pink nylon lace. "Jack." Her voice held reproof and her face was red. Nevertheless she put her knees together, wiggled the panties completely down, and stepped out of them. Her dress was held out in front like a tent. Wondering how far he could go, Jack said, "Let's see." "Wh--? Oh." Bravely she said, "You think you have me in your power, don't you?" but her eyes were timid. Since it was exactly what he had been thinking, Jack said, "No! But go ahead, lift up your dress a little." He grinned, "I'll show you if you show me." She lifted her hem above her stocking tops. "Higher." "You're so mean. Oh, all right." "It's beautiful!" Rooted in hairless pubes, her cock was rigid, with faint blue veins under the white skin, rosy head glimmering with tumescence. Jack clasped it in his fingers. It was hot to the touch. A fine vibration buzzed along the shaft, and before his eyes the little slit in the tip gaped and emitted a sticky drop of fluid. She had been circumcised. It fascinated him. It looked neat and somehow feminine. She stood blushing, compliantly holding her skirt up while he fondled her rosy balls. At last she murmured, "No fair. You said if I show you, you'd show me." He laughed. "Let's both get naked, all right?" Something in her expression made him ask, "Don't you want to?" She looked down. "I know it's crazy, we did it before, but I'm shy. It's different now." "It'll be all right." "I know, I'm just being silly. I really want to. A lot." She dropped her skirt hem and turned her back to him. "Would you undo me?" He fumbled at the little hook at the back of her neck and tugged the zipper down. She said, "Now you," and before he could react, unbuckled his belt and zipped down his fly. Her eyes were sparkling. "Hey!" Laughing, he stripped off his clothes. Her eyes got wide. "It's so big! I forgot how big. You're so *sexy."* She took off her dress. Her saucy breasts swayed as she twisted to unfasten her garters and strip down her stockings. Jack choked, "You're the one that's sexy." He held her close and felt her arms go sweetly around his neck. Her cock prodded his thigh; his pushed into her soft belly. She smelled young and clean, as fresh as flowers in spring. She was trembling. He put a knuckle under her chin to raise her face, and kissed her half-parted lips. He let his tongue slip between them; it was met by hers. He was desperately conscious of her erection against him. His heart began to pound. There didn't seem to be enough air to breathe. Would she let him do it, the thing he had so secretly dreamed of doing for so long? Would she lose her respect for him? Caught up in a lust too profound to admit of conventional moral strictures, too lost in depravity to resist the shameful perverse compulsion, Jack broke the kiss, grasped her cock, and led her by it to the day-bed. He sat on the edge of the bed holding her standing between his knees. Her prick was staring him in the face. He croaked, "Did anyone ever kiss you ... there?" Suzie was silent so long he thought he'd lost her. He heard her let out a shaky breath. "N-no." "Would you like me to?" "Oh-h." Her voice caught. "I-I'd love it, it's so intimate. But--" "What?" "Do you mean just kiss it, or ...?" "Make you come." Jack thought he might die of shame. "But-- What should I do? Should I pull out before ...?" "No. I want to t-taste it. Taste you. I never did it before." "I'd be yours forever." He took the organ in his mouth. Suzie flinched, but he held her hips steady as he pushed his head slowly forward, savoring the faintly-alkaline liquid that leaked from the orifice in the tip, and the odor and flavor of the flexible penile skin, unique to the genitals, like no other part of the body. The head was rubbery in the lush embrace of his tongue. He heard her sigh. The trembling of her body increased until she was quivering in his grasp like some small animal overcome with terror. Her penis was so stiff that fine fibrillations pulsed with every beat of her heart. Her hips jerked forward, sending the organ farther into his mouth. The head poked against the back of his throat. It made him gag. His stomach turned over; for a moment he thought he was going to throw up. He controlled the spasm and set about sucking her cock in a steady sensuous rhythm, tongue slurping over its length, lips wrapped lovingly around it on every stroke. He hoped his teeth weren't scraping too hard. She was moaning; her body writhed helplessly in his grip. With a broken sob she bent forward, bracing her shaking arms on his shoulders. Her tits rested on his head. His jaws began to ache with the strain of holding them open so wide; his lips burned with the friction of their motion; but he was lost in the ecstasy of the unspeakable perversion of this act. He had revealed his true nature to her. If she ever called him a cocksucker he wouldn't be able to deny it, it was true. He couldn't help himself. It was the most exciting thing he'd ever done. Too soon, his lips felt the prick jump. There was a squirt, an indescribably erotic taste, a tang like the liquid was full of life. She cried out. A rhythmic pulsing began, surges of slippery fluid filling his mouth and striking the back of his throat so he had to swallow, once, twice, three times, an enormous amount. He remembered Suzie telling him the drug the doctor used on her was originally designed to increase men's sex drive; the development of female characteristics was an unlooked-for side effect. He continued to suck her prick long after it had begun to soften, compressing his lips on each up-stroke to milk it of every last drop of semen, laving it with his tongue to clean it. At last, when it was a squirmy limpness in his mouth, stretching as he pulled at it, she whimpered, "No more. It's too sensitive now." He released her. He couldn't face her; he sat looking at the floor. His face was fiery, lips swollen. The taste of her sperm coated the tissues of his mouth and throat. What must she think! "Oh, Jack, it was wonderful. You're so wonderful to me." She sat down next to him, panting. He let himself look at her. "W-was it okay?" "It was neat. I loved it. It was the most fabulous thing ever. Oh, I feel so warm and relaxed and wonderful. Wait, where are you going? I want to do it too." "I thought, well, once you were satisfied you wouldn't ..." "Oh, I do, I do! Besides, I can have another, you know. I probably would, just doing it to you, it would be so exciting." The doctor's treatment. God, was she insatiable? "Can I--" His throat seized and he had to start over. "Can I put it in you instead?" "I'd love it. It makes me feel like you can do anything you want to me. When you leave your--stuff--in me back there it's kind of like saying you own me." She hesitated. "Could you--? I mean, you're so big, could you do like before to make me wet?" Jack couldn't speak. He nodded. She knelt on the bed, ass presented to him, cock dangling between her legs.. He pushed his face between her buttocks, her young smell arousing him enormously, and lavished the asshole with semen-coated tongue, feeling unspeakably degenerate, stiffened it finally, and plunged it inside. The taste was slightly bitter, but there was a hint of perfume. He reached under her and held her prick. He reamed her thoroughly. Her cock came alive in his hand, growing stiff though it had only been a couple of minutes since she ejaculated. In a moment she wriggled and sank down to lie flat on the bed. With a provocative look over her shoulder she said, "Come to me, darling." The words had a self-consciously grown-up sound. "Do it to me, I can't wait." She pulled her cheeks apart and opened her legs. He climbed on her. Her cool fingers reached back to grasp his organ and guide it to her hole. He pushed. His stiff shaft shoved so deep between her cheeks he thought it must be in, but as her anus spasmed reflexively against his flaring cock-head, opening slightly, he realized penetration had only begun. Her face, turned on its side against the mattress, had a strained introspective expression. He sensed she was concentrating on relaxing her asshole. It quavered, loosening and tightening. He drew back a little until it distended slightly, lunged forward sharply, and felt the head of his prick force it open. She yelped, caught her breath and smiled shakily. "Go ahead, I--*unh!*--I want you to. Make me yours." The sphincter muscle quaked, squeezing his cock-head, relaxed again. He pushed. The head slid forward until the muscle clamped down on the neck. She groaned, "You're in me. It's wonderful. You're so hot and hard and--so *big."* Her pelvis angled upward like a cat in heat. She jerked it towards him, causing his prick to penetrate still further, deeper, until his balls pushed against her crotch. She grunted. "It feels like you're in so far you're pressing against my lungs," she whispered thinly. A tear trickled from the corner of her eye, leaving a glistening trail across her nose as it dripped to the sheet. "Are you all right?" Jack husked. "It's just ... you're *huge.* Let me catch my breath." He held still, luxuriating in the tightness of the warm sheath enveloping his member, clenched strongly about its base. Her asshole continued to quake, contracting with such force that Jack could well understand the stories he'd heard about two people getting locked together during the act of love. "Lift up a little." He burrowed under her with his hands to cup a breast and grasp her penis. It was limp again, from the strain of accepting him, he guessed; the balls lax in their sack of skin. The waist was narrow and fragile. Her tits were not large, she probably wore a B-cup, but were appropriate to a teen-ager; firm and bouncy, tipped with stiff erect nipples. She gasped. There was a sudden warm wetness in his hand. Her penis was still flaccid, but it had emitted a flow of semen nevertheless. He never knew you could come with a limp dick. He started pumping back and forth. Each time he pushed up her the breath was expelled from her lungs in an explosive gasp; when he pulled back she moaned sensuously. She sobbed, "You're rubbing something inside me. You're going to make me come again. Oh yes, do it to me!" Her hips moved in a counterrhythm to his strokes, sphincter muscle clenching regularly. Fingers clawing the mattress, she cried out and spasmed. It sent him over the edge. He didn't see her eyes roll back into her head as he rammed full-length up her and pumped successive jets of sperm into her his cock pulsed deliciously milked by her asshole and CAME and CAME and *CAME* spurting fiercely in her until the jets became drools squeezed from his penis by her muscle. Then it was over. Awareness of his surroundings came back to him. He shuddered. His breath rasped hoarsely as he slumped on Suzie, writhing a little with leftover passion, feeling her ass knead his softening organ, gradually expelling it. She stirred under him. "Oh Jack," she sighed. "I think I fainted. You made me ... come so hard." "Me too," he said next to her ear, and tried to remember if he had ever had so violent an ejaculation before. They lay quietly until his prick was finally ejected. He rolled off on his back holding her against him. After a while she said thoughtfully, "Next time, I want to kiss your thing, but if I do you won't be able to come inside me back there." Chapter 2 Posing for Jack excited Suzie enormously. He had to stand naked in front of the man, letting him see everything. He spent half the time reciting the times table to himself to prevent his weenie from getting stiff. It wasn't as tedious as Jack said it would be, partly because he was young and healthy and didn't tire easily. It was fun, though having to stand still when he was full of energy was troublesome. Kind of scary, though. Suppose somebody came in? Or--well, Jack made him stand close to the window, for the light, he said, and suppose someone in another apartment building had a telescope and was looking at him? He would die, just die. Another thing that worried him was when the painting was finished Jack might want to show it, and then everybody would know. When they saw him they would snicker at the boy wearing girl's clothes, the boy with breasts. Well, it wasn't his fault. Master had made him do it. Way back when he was a kid, just barely turned thirteen. Never mind that after the first shock of being forced to wear dresses, he had begun to like it; and when, no matter how loud or shrill he screamed, Master had stuck it in him, he had discovered the ecstasy of squirting with that big thing in him; and when Dr. Goody's injections had caused his tits to grow, he liked having them. Never mind all that. The fact was he didn't have any say in the matter; it was all the master's doing. People shouldn't blame him. Actually, when he thought about it, they hadn't. All those who knew-- Pierre, the beauty-salon man; Chiang, the Chinese cook and his friends; Dr. Goody; and of course, Jack--had taken his condition as a matter of course. In fact, they'd been aroused by it. Even that doorman and the delivery boy, who had jointly discovered his true gender, hadn't laughed. The rats raped him instead. It was humiliating and painful, but it didn't hurt as much as laughter would have. Suzie had come a long way in two years, but he continued to have mixed feelings about his condition. He loved it; he knew that he shouldn't. He hated it; nevertheless his new body enchanted him. He was scandalized at having breasts; but delighted in stroking them and tugging at the nipples: he could bring himself off that way. He was ashamed to have sex with men, but its very perversion, its excruciating forbiddenness, excited him beyond all measure. He'd started to tell Jack the truth about what the master made him do, but when he saw his stricken look, he changed it to just touching. Now Jack thought he was innocent when they met--and the funny thing was he actually felt that way, seeing himself through Jack's eyes. He wondered if his constant appetite for sex with Jack, his willingness to do anything with him, might end up making Jack suspicious, but he couldn't help it: Dr. Goody's protogen made his need for sexual relief all but desperate. The drug had originally been designed to stimulate men's sexuality. The doctor explained that it worked by increasing the adrenal glands' output of male hormones by tenfold or more, and then focusing their effect, together with the testicles' normal output, on the production of sperm, to cause a sharp augmentation of sexual desire and potency. To that extent it worked perfectly. Unfortunately, the adrenals also produce female hormones. These were increased too, to levels normal for women, and since the male hormones were restricted to genital effects and were no longer available for use in governing the rest of the body, such as bringing about the growth of body and facial hair, large muscles, height and strength, and all, the estrogen took over. Experiments showed that the drug would cause men to become feminine in appearance. Their breasts would grow, waists become slender, their voices elevated. The younger the man, the more pronounced the effect would be, but catastrophic at any age. Mutrix Laboratories was still farming the product out to researchers like Dr. Goody, but so far the mechanism by which testosterone's influence was confined to the genitals was not understood. No one had yet succeeded in creating a partial block. It seemed to be all or nothing. Since the drug was not a hormone, instead causing the body itself to reorganize its processes, its effects were permanent and irreversible. Suzie was barely in puberty when he was treated. The closest his body had come to maturity was a sparse growth of pubic hair. No peach fuzz on his face, no underarm hair. The spurt of liquid that came from his penis when his master violated him that first time was still clear, not whitish. The protogen had deep and radical results. He developed like an adolescent girl. His pelvis widened; his breasts formed; his voice, far from deepening, retained the purity of childhood. Since in his natural state he had been undersized and delicate for a boy, with long lashes and full lips, protogen transformed him into a beauty. He began to have recurrent wet dreams. When he woke in the mornings his nightgown had slippery stains in several spots. During the day almost anything--or nothing at all--could set him off, and in an instant he would have an unexpected ejaculation in his panties. When the master used him he would end up exhausted by the frequency and violence of his orgasms. He'd been frightened to death at first, and in a rage at his fate. It was all his parents' fault. If his mom hadn't been passed-out drunk every evening; if his dad hadn't tried to do whatever-it-was to him ... If he hadn't been forced to run away. He was normally a good-natured child, forgiving and cheerful, but he saw their betrayal of him as unpardonable. He had long since vowed revenge. He'd get back at them. Somehow. Someday. He meant to keep that promise. There was one compensation. As a boy he had been less than successful, small and open to bullying by almost everyone. As a girl, however, he was stunning. Of course the trouble was, he *wasn't* a girl. It was all right, well, more or less, during the time the master owned him. He had been safe. A slave, yes, with no rights, only privileges accorded to him by an owner who became increasingly pleased with him; but the good thing about slavery was that, like any valuable piece of property, the master took care of him. He didn't have to worry about earning money or making a living or getting along in a competitive, uncaring world. In a dress, at that. Now the master was dead and his safety was gone. Jack was his only refuge. Suzie was no longer enslaved, but he was as trapped as ever. He didn't know how to make a living, and although the generous check in his purse would be enough to keep him for a time, he was afraid to go out into the world again, this time in skirts. He wouldn't know how to be. He needed a protector. Tentatively he'd considered renting an apartment on his own, but he knew he could never do it. Mentioning it to Jack had been mere bravado. What if Jack got tired of him and took him up on it? It was a terrifying thought. He couldn't bear it. He'd get on his knees and cry and beg to be allowed to stay. Suzie had little experience in relationships. He was a peculiar mixture of child and adult, deprived for two important years of formal schooling and the opportunity to develop social skills with his peers; but thoroughly accomplished in housekeeping and cooking, and the last two years had been spent in the company of grown-ups. His master began taking him out to dinner parties, not as a slave or maid but as a protegee. Suzie didn't know anything about politics or art or business or any of the things his master's friends talked about, but he found that just listening raptly and sometimes repeating back what was said, in different words, was enough to make people attribute more knowledge to him than he had, and because he was a good listener, made him well liked even by women. Without quite knowing it he had achieved poise and social graces beyond his tender years. But that was no help in his present situation. He had to learn to make Jack love him. How did you do it? Jack was wonderful, so strong and handsome and dominant it caused Suzie to feel protected just to look at him. And he admired him as an artist. Although he knew next to nothing about art, he believed Jack's talent for painting was enormous. He'd looked at all the scores of paintings and was staggered by their precision and the powerful emotions they roused in him. When he first saw the apartment its squalor shocked him and he wondered about the man. However, the messy housekeeping turned out to be a result of Jack's single-minded concentration on painting, because his personal cleanliness was exceptional. Jack hadn't minded getting dirty in his gardening work for the master, and if a painting needed a spot of color somewhere he wasn't above wiping it on with his thumb; but when he finished work he bathed carefully and methodically. He made sure his hair was trimmed regularly, shaved closely every morning, cleaned under his fingernails--altogether at odds with the condition of the apartment when he first brought Suzie home. It was fun watching him after a shower. He would dry himself deliberately, paying thoughtful attention to each part of his hairy body. When he was toweled off he would sit on the edge of the tub, cross one leg over the other, and carefully dry between each toesie. Then he'd check each nail to see if it needed clipping. The first time Suzie saw him go through this routine he burst out laughing. Jack looked up and smiled innocently. Suzie knew he was just as bad. By the time he was through with his morning enemas--douches, he liked to call them, especially because he used the long curved nozzle--and sweetened his rectum by injecting foam, and bathed in bubbles, and had brushed his hair and put on cosmetics, he had taken a good deal longer than Jack in the bathroom, and couldn't blame him if he got impatient. Once Jack had got tired of waiting and had come in to piss in the toilet right next to the tub. Suzie watched, glad of the bath foam that concealed his sudden erection. He was embarrassed at his arousal. But anything about Jack turned him on. He was profoundly in love with him. During the time they lived together Suzie had come to appreciate his good nature and the way he took care of him, as well as the heart-stopping excitement of having sex with him. By now he was sure he would be lost without him. He had enough self-perception to wonder if part of his ardor was just fear of being alone. In the end he decided the reason for being in love didn't matter, only the fact of it. How did people hold on to the people they loved? He had no experience. He was apprehensive and frustrated. If only there were someone to talk to, someone who could teach him what to do to win Jack's love. All he could think of was to do the kinds of things that made the master happy--keep house and be responsive in bed. That last was no trouble. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion he was too demanding, that his desire for Jack's prick might be a little excessive. He would do everything he could. He'd made a start. In the last week he managed to get the apartment spotless, scouring the walls and floor and finding a place for everything, including his dresses. That part wasn't too hard. The only things in the closet, apart from a pile of dirty laundry on the floor--now washed and folded neatly away in the bureau- - had been a woolen peacoat and a couple of pairs of blue jeans. He found a speckled rock to hold the closet door shut, because it was missing its latch. He bought an inexpensive butcher's tray to hold Jack's pigments and other painting paraphernalia so at mealtimes they could be lifted off and the table set. Jack seemed pleased by the changes. He kept complimenting him on things that were child's play for somebody who knew how to keep house. It made him feel motherly toward him at times. Men were so helpless. Only at times. When Jack took him in his arms Suzie melted. Jack was in charge. And when he--heat rose in Suzie's cheeks--exposed that enormous rigid cock and put him down on the bed ... Oh-oh. A warm feeling in his genitals brought him back to the present. Jack's eyes were fastened on his midsection, where his peepee thing was lifting and swelling. He put his paintbrush in water and made a sound of mock exasperation. "You're gonna spoil the picture, you know. What are you thinking about?" "Nothing." "Nothing, huh? Anybody ever tell you you're insatiable? Oh, well, I guess it's up to me to make it go away." Butterflies palpitated in Suzie's stomach as Jack advanced on him. Something pipelike was outlined along the inside of the man's thigh. "Eek. Don't. What are you doing? Put me down! Oh Jack ..." "Relax. I'm gonna do a little something to make you feel better." "Wait, take these off. I want to do it too." He watched Jack strip off his clothes. His prick was huge, bulbous head still three-quarters covered by a foreskin stretched so tight it was shiny. A long leak of pre-come depended from the orifice in the tip. His balls dangled as big as hen's eggs in the hairy skin sack that carried them. Suzie's heart pounded. He reached entreatingly for the stiff pole. "Let me kiss it," he gasped. "You don't have to do it to me if you don't want--I know I'll come just by having it in my mouth." "I want to." "You do?" "Yes." Jack clambered over him wrong end to. "I thought--last time--you might be doing it just to make me not feel so shy." He grasped the prick. It was hot and meaty, veined along the shaft. The leak dripped sticky on him. Jack's voice came from between his legs. "I liked it. I never did it before, but it was nice." Suzie's prick was surrounded by wet warmth. To his chagrin he cried out and ejaculated on the spot. He had been so aroused by posing that his gonads had taken over despite his good intentions. Also, although he was diffident about Jack sucking him off--after all, it was his job to service the man, not the other way around--it was enormously exciting. The ecstasy of his discharge made the room darken before his eyes, but through it all, somewhere in the back of his mind was a touch of embarrassment about the quantity of fluid gushing from his cock. He knew it was abnormal. He heard Jack swallow several times, and hoped he wasn't turned off. It didn't look that way. Jack's giant organ was steaming, thumping against his lips. As soon as he regained control of himself, Suzie tilted his chin to suck the man's balls one by one, nose full of his sexy odor, tongue lavishing that marvelous taste. Oh gosh, he was getting stimulated all over again. His own peepee thing was beginning to stand up. He heard Jack make a muffled surprised noise, and there was a sudden return of suction. He took the huge prick into his mouth as far as it would go, pushing the back of his throat against it, wishing he could encompass its entire length. A thought occurred to him. He pretended he was eating a sausage and tried to swallow it. He almost succeeded--the head got past the entrance to his throat before it clamped down reflexively. He couldn't breathe, but did his best to quell his instinctive panic and let it stay there as long as he could, wrapping his tongue and lips around the imprisoned shaft. Just before he had to pull his head back and gasp for air he felt the first hot spurt of his lover's semen down his throat. He choked and sneezed sperm into his nose as the prick squirted it in. It was like Jack had fucked his nose, which was so outrageous a thought that he had another ejaculation instantly and they were coming together receiving semen as rapidly as he could swallow releasing it through his jumping penis coming back in from him to Jack to him to Jack a closed circuit ... Jack collapsed on him. His prick slackened in his mouth, the heavy balls settled opulent on his nose. Blissfully he savored the organs with his senses of smell, taste, and touch, savoring also the delicious drained feeling of his own balls. He could have stayed under Jack forever; he was disappointed when the man moved, pulling his genitals out of his mouth. Jack turned and lay beside him and put his arm around his shoulders in a forceful hug. Suzie snuggled against him. "Who's insatiable now?" he said contentedly. Jack said, "It doesn't do anything but get better, does it?" "I know." A bus roared down in the street. Suzie could almost smell the diesel fumes. A siren went by. The city was exciting, he guessed, but it sure was noisy. In the master's penthouse he had been sheltered from all the bustle, and at home in Chardsville the streets had been quiet and tree-shaded. He watched the play of light on the ceiling until an empty feeling in his stomach made him aware that it was lunchtime. He groaned and clambered off the bed. "Where you going?" "To make lunch." "You sure look cute with your whatsit all uncovered at the tip like that. It makes you look excited even when you're soft." "Silly." "I like sucking you off. I always wanted to do that but I was afraid people would think I was queer. It's nice to be able to do private things together, isn't it?" Why did he feel like crying? "It's wonderful. I've never been so happy." He fried some bacon and sliced their last tomato, reminding himself to do some marketing later. He was still inhibited about going outdoors in a dress- -he kept thinking his skirt would blow up or something and people would find out about him--but he was getting bolder every day. Soon he might not think anything of it. At the table Jack said, "This is so great." "Jack, it's only a sandwich and beer." "I know, but I'm not used to it." Suzie smiled. "What do they call bacon, lettuce, and tomato on toast, a 'BLT-Down?' " He didn't respond, instead said abruptly, "Suzie? You still thinking of moving into your own place?" "Well ..." And now Suzie reacted purely from instinct. He had no practice in manipulating others--indeed, it seemed others had always taken advantage of him instead--but something deep within told him not to blurt out his desperate need to stay with Jack. "I saw an apartment for rent on my way back from the market. It's real close. We could see each other lots." "We can see each other without you moving out." "I can't impose on you forever, you know." "Impose on me! It's the other way around. You done so much around here I should be paying you." "I love it. I like to clean house. It's fun." Jack was beginning to look nervous. Suzie wasn't sure what it meant. Was he afraid he'd stay, or afraid he wouldn't? Jack's expression reminded him of his own panic when he thought about leaving. Jack said, "Fine. You can stay and have all the fun you want." "Do you want me to stay?" "Yeah." Jack was silent a moment before bursting out, "I love you. I wouldn't know what to do without you." He caught his breath. "You love me? You never said so." "Yeah, well, I do." "Oh, Jack," he said softly, "I love you too." "Yeah? So do you wanna stay?" Suzie saw entreaty in his gaze. His stomach fluttered. Jack wanted him! He tried to sound undecided. "Only if you let me pay my share." He took the lawyer's check from his purse and handed it to Jack, fully aware he was putting himself in the man's hands. "You keep that. It's too much, anyway. I never had so much money before and don't know what to do with it." "Wait a minute, this is all the money you have in the world." "It's my share of expenses until I get a job." Jack looked stupefied. "What if I run away with it or something?" "You wouldn't." "You really trust me, don't you? I never met anybody like you before." Suzie could see thoughts race behind his eyes. Jack said slowly, "I been thinking about this. We get along together pretty good, don't we? I mean not just in bed." His color deepened. "But that's good too. I mean, just, well, a guy and a girl," he said incoherently. "So what if we kind of like--" He stopped. Suzie said, "What?" Jack's mouth opened and closed twice before he spoke. "Get married." Chapter 3 Her eyes got big as saucers. She stared as if she had never seen him before. "What?" Jack couldn't keep a note of bashfulness out of his voice. "Married. We could get married. If you wanted." "Muh. Married! But we're both--" "So what? You said you loved me, didn't you? And I love you. When people are in love they get married. We got as much right as anybody." "Would they-- I mean, I didn't know two boys could--" "Who's gonna know?" "Oh. But-- Anyway, I'm not old enough. I'm only fifteen. You have to be eighteen, I think." "So maybe we won't get a license. I got a friend who could marry us. He told me about it once. He sent away for a mail- order parson's degree or whatever for a tax dodge, but it makes him a real preacher. At least the Internal Revenue thinks so. He says he can really marry people." Suzie was looking down at the table, lashes hiding her thoughts. Feeling desperate, Jack went on, "We'd be like any married couple, wedding certificate and all. Only the state wouldn't get its ten bucks." Still not looking at him she said softly, "Yes." He held his breath. "What?" She turned pink. "Yes. I'll marry you." Jack lurched across the table to hug her. The milk carton spilled. Ignoring it, he got up and knelt by her chair and took her hand. "Really?" "Yes." She gave him that direct look of hers. Her eyes were shimmering with tears. "I'm so happy. I'll be the best wife you ever had. I promise. But you have to love me forever." "I will. Forever and ever." Jack's throat had a frog in it. He put his arms around her and held her tight, head on her soft bosom. Her heart was beating as hard as his. Jack wanted to call Alf Rsznwsky, the mail-order preacher, and have him marry them that afternoon, but Suzie got a wistful look and asked if they could have a real wedding with witnesses and best man and bridesmaids and all. Just a little ceremony, she said, she'd like to invite Chiang and another friend of hers named Pierre, and Jack could have some of his friends over too. He didn't really see the point, but he guessed she was entitled. They set the date for the weekend so their friends wouldn't have to take off work. Jack invited Bob and Connie Moultrie, who seemed pleased to have him join them in the ranks of married people, especially Connie, who had been needling him about his single state and kept trying to fix him up with girls from her office. When he told her Suzie was new in town and hadn't had a chance to make friends with other girls, she offered to act as matron of honor. Suzie was thrilled. At one point he caught her looking worried. "What's the matter?" "I was just thinking. Suzanne isn't my real name. Will the ceremony be, um, well, binding? But I'd be embarrassed for anybody to hear. They'd know about me." "I never thought of that. I don't even know your real name." She said shyly, "Jerry. Gerard Myers, after my grandfather. When the master bought me he named me Suzanne Bellows." "Bellows, huh? He gave you his name like you was some kind of pet, didn't he?" He asked Alf about it, who laughed and said any name was all right. He said he wasn't marrying names, he was marrying people. The marriage would be legal--the state's jurisdiction was more or less limited to legal consequences following the union, anyway--witnessed, and though unsanctioned because they didn't have a marriage license, it would be incontestable. Unless somebody sought an annulment on account of Suzie's age. It made him realize the seriousness of the step they were taking. It wasn't a lark, it was real. A real marriage. Jack began to have second thoughts. What he'd told Suzie was mostly only a way to persuade her to stay. He hoped she'd think their marriage would mean something. Now it turned out it would. They'd really be married. Whoa. Marrying a guy was crazy. What would people say if they knew? They'd think he was a faggot. Besides, he wouldn't be able to have children. Jack had been orphaned at an early age, and by some kind of inverted reasoning it had made him decide to have a large family when he grew up. Or maybe it was just being raised in a dormitory with two dozen other kids. He'd have to give up that idea if they got married. Maybe they could just live together. He could probably talk her into it, he thought. But if they did just keep living together, if there was no commitment, she might leave him someday. She had already been looking at apartments. He couldn't stand to think of being separated from her. He guessed that was what love was all about. It turned out to be a nice wedding. There weren't many people, just Alf and Bob and Connie and Suzie's guests, but that was good, because the apartment was so small. He was glad to see Chiang again. He had a new job as a chef in a fancy restaurant uptown, no more rich men, he said, it made him mad when they didn't come home to dinner and he had to throw all his work away. Pierre was obviously gay, but humorous and pleasant. Jack got bashful when Pierre gave him the eye once or twice. He was pretty sure he was only teasing, but it made him nervous. Alf, a photographer in real life, brought a camera so they'd have a record of the happy event. Bob kept shaking Jack's hand and trying to kiss the bride, both before and after the ceremony, while Connie looked on with amusement. She and Suzie got along like a house afire. She came early and made Jack leave so she could help Suzie dress. Jack went out grinning at Suzie's panic and wondering how she would manage to keep her secret. She wore white, though it wasn't a gown, only a summer frock. Pierre, whose fondness for Suzie was unmistakable, "loaned" her a veil and flowered headband--he said, "You have to return it to me on your golden wedding anniversary"- -and gave her a blue garter, so she had something borrowed and something blue. She was breathtaking. Her slender figure was glorious under her dress. Jack could see she wasn't wearing a bra--the outline of her nipples showed through the material. Her eyes shone through the veil and her cheeks had a radiant flush. Her lips were full and rosy. They trembled during the ceremony. Alf Rsznwsky was old-fashioned. Jack had to promise to "love, honor, and cherish," but Suzie was made to say "love, honor, and obey." Jack slipped a gold ring on her finger, thinking it looked too plain, and wishing he had bought a diamond engagement ring, though they were all much too expensive. Someday. When his paintings really began to sell. She looked happy with it anyway. A suspicious shimmer heightened the blue of her eyes when she looked at him. He kissed her hard. There was a flurry of congratulations and kiss-the-brides. Jack noticed that Suzie bent forward at the waist to be kissed. It looked awkward, and he guessed suddenly that she was erect and didn't want anyone to feel it. Alf said, "Mrs. Landon, it's time to sign the certificate." Their eyes turned to her. She looked blank. Bob Moultrie started laughing and the rest followed suit. "Oh! That's me." She blushed furiously. Later, when the last guest had gone, she told Jack that was the moment when the whole thing came home to her with a crash. She wasn't just a child named Suzie Bellows or Jerry Myers any more, she was somebody's wife. Mrs. John Landon. Suzie Landon. "My heart was in my mouth," she said. "I knew then that I was yours for always. Mrs. Landon! It sounds so beautiful." "Yeah." He took her in his arms and held her before slipping his hand down to her ass. He pressed against her, letting her feel his boner, and discovered he was right, she was hard too. "This is our wedding night, isn't it? Why don't we take all these things off?" "I guess I have to, don't I? You're my lord and master now, and I promised to obey." He thought he would come in his pants. She turned her back to him. "Would you unhook me, dear?" With shaking hands he managed to tug down the zipper and let the dress slide to the floor, leaving her standing in stockings and lace bikini panties. The ruffled blue garter was around one stocking top, pretty, but superfluous because of the garter belt. She leaned back against him; he reached around to her front and held her breasts, hearing her small sigh. She trembled. In a moment he let one hand rove down the delicious swell of her belly and slip beneath the waistband of her underpants to caress her smooth pubic area before clasping the stiff prick. It was very hard and hot in his fingers. "Did I ever tell you what a turn-on it is for you to be all shaved and bare down there?" "Is it?" Her voice quavered. "It is for me too. It makes me feel sexy. But you know what? I'm