Shamed: A Classic of 1960s Erotica
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Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: Shamed is the story of Trish Lovejoy, a spoiled young woman who has grown up with a wealth of material possessions. Fired with idealism, Trish ignores her parent's warning and moves from her Park Avenue home to live among and to help the less fortunate whom she considers the "real" people of the world. And once there, her great beauty and arrogance make her an alluring and natural target for the desperate and criminal that such an environment so often produces. Trish meets the greediest of political bosses, a man who turns the noblest of motives to his own power-hungry advantage. She meets an activist who does not know where his own actions will lead him, but only feels that he has been wrongfully hurt and wants to exact his revenge on society. She meets those who ache desperately for the next crumb of bread life will toss their way, and those who strive desperately for any form of recognition as simple human beings. Trish also meets sex in its rawest form, especially when a group of men take her captive to try to teach her a lesson and destroy her haughty ways by forcing her into sex she finds degrading and shameful. Trish learns a lot about sex and a lot about life in general, and emerges from her experiences a much more mature person and a complete woman instead of an spoiled girl.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler Editions,
eBookwise Release Date: October 2008
3 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [186 KB]
Reading time: 117-164 min.
"They ought to be strung up to the nearest lamp post!" The president of the country club had a low boiling point when it came to college students. "Burning a bank! Defying authority! Fornicating in public!" His voice rose shrill and outraged as he barked out the accusations against college dissenters. "What do they want?" he asked no one in particular.
"Someone to listen to them!" Trish Lovejoy retorted, her eyes blazing. She pushed her way through the group of obsequious sheep who would have agreed with any position taken by President Fowler. They stared aghast at Trish. The mother and father of the impulsive eightteen-year-old girl tried vainly to stop her. Now they could only watch and listen with extreme disapproval. And trepidation. The party was being held on the lawn in back of their Park Avenue residence. The town house had recently been acquired by Trish's father, a johnny-come-lately to the ranks of the millionaires. And as one of the nouveau riche, it was extremely important to Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy that he receive approval and acceptance from families who had enjoyed wealth and position when he was just another hustler with an ambitious wife. He had sent Trish to the most expensive college in the country. To his horror, she had returned for the summer, a revolutionary who could no longer accept the values of a society that she branded corrupt and phony. Both parents had begged Trish to stifle her alien and dangerous views during the lawn party. And she had promised. Now she broke that promise.
But the president didn't seem to mind the stand taken by the girl. He looked approvingly back at Trish. He especially approved of the chestnut-colored hair that hung loosely down to a waist so narrow he could have encircled it with both hands. The watery pale eyes of the president focussed on the swelling breasts which the restrictions beneath the blouse couldn't conceal or distort. There was no doubt that the breasts of the girl were large and well-developed with spear-shaped nipples that almost pierced through her blouse. The hips of the girl flared out dramatically and fused into a pair of curvaceous ass cheeks that were breath-takingly apparent beneath the pair of skin-tight hot pants. But the lips of the girl held the president's eyes with unabashed admiration and curiosity. And finally, lust. The flesh of the girl's red, full, perfectly shaped lips appeared to have a texture identical to velvet. And without any conscious effort from the girl, her lips radiated images of fellatio; the deliciously soft lips enveloping a cock so turgid the bone strained to burst through the flesh. A montage of female lips-on-cock images shuttered through the mind of the president until a unique sensation oozed out of the pit of his genitals. His penis stirred, and then charged stiffly upward. All of this happened in only a few seconds despite the gray, balding head, the widening girth, the ruddy complexion of the dedicated drinker, and the look of anxiety etched into his flabby face from all of his many fears; the fear of impotency, of growing old, of losing his position. But now, in the presence of this young girl, he felt young again; young and confident. And horny.
President Fowler stretched out his hand. "The young and beautiful daughter of our host and hostess. Charmed," he murmured with an easy smile.
Trish hesitated, and then shook hands with the president. Her first instinct had been to recoil and refuse the hand of friendship from a man who symbolized everything that was rotten and corrupt. But then Trish remembered that a man's hands revealed much of his character.
And she was fair-minded enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. The flesh on the bulky hands of the president was soft, but just beneath the surface there was plenty of hard bone. On one finger there was a diamond ring worth more than the average worker earned in an entire year. The hand of the president confirmed his character as far as Trish was concerned; soft, stubborn and clinging blindly to gaudy ornaments which blazoned his wealth and position.
Trish was about to withdraw her hand when the president, in a most discreet manner, touched the center of her palm with the tip of his forefinger. Then he waggled the fingertip back and forth in a way that could have only one meaning; he wanted sex. One of his weak eyes fluttered down in a conspiratorial wink.
Blood flushed into Trish's face until it turned crimson. Sparks flew out of her eyes and she had great difficulty in choking off the words that struggled to roar out of her mouth. Words like "dirty old man," "sex fiend," and an even more biting indictment, "establishment degenerate." Trish constrained these epithets. Instead she returned to the earlier question posed by the president; the question regarding rioting college students and the meaning behind their wrath.
Trish yanked her hand from the president's grasp, and her pretty nose wrinkled as though the older man didn't smell too good. She spat out her answer. "Students want a better world in which to live. They demand a better world. And they're going to get it even if they have to tear down the old, rotten world which still tolerates wars, hunger, neglect. A world that worships phony gods such as status in country clubs!"
Fowler looked dismayed. The girl was attacking the important role of country clubs in the country's cultural environment. And the country club was his bread and butter, his entire life. The man's thin lips snapped tightly down over his dentures. His penis softened and slid back to its normally wrinkled and pitifully small condition. "You can't mean what you're saying," he blustered. "You're old enough to know right from wrong, young lady!"
More people started to gather around the girl and the president. On the edge of the throng, Trish's father ran an agitated hand over his carefully styled hair that was supposed to impart a carefree appearance to his normally harried-looking face. "She's stabbing us in the back," he moaned to his wife. "My own daughter, a thankless viper."
Trish's mother looked equally as distressed. Mrs. Lovejoy was wearing a Parisian original that had been purchased especially for the lawn party. But she was the sort of female who could make a five-thousand-dollar creation look like a bargain basement special. Despite the hours of preparation, she still looked like hell. Trish was the one with the natural beauty and flair that could fit easily into high society. But she was throwing it all away on a bunch of freaky revolutionaries with crazy ideas. The thought enraged her, and she grabbed hold of her husband's hand. Together they charged through the gaggle of people that surrounded the president and Trish. Emerging into the center of the crowd, Trish's father pantingly informed the president, "You'll never win an argument with my daughter. She's the great ail-American put-on."
The president looked blank. "What d'you mean by that?" he snapped.
Trish's mother laughed nervously. "Our daughter talks revolution out of one side of her mouth. Yet she insists on buying five-hundred-dollar original dresses. In fact, she's the best dressed revolutionary in America. She drives to all of the meetings in the family Rolls."
Laughter bounced over the crowd. Most of the others had revolutionary sons and daughters to contend with also. By laughing at Trish, they were trying to laugh away their own fears and worries. And to further placate the president, Trish's father announced that he was making an unusually large contribution to the golf fund.
The president's anger receded. Now that he was convinced that Trish was just another normal but mixed-up college kid, the desire for her body flushed back into his blood again. Or, to be more specific, the image of Trish's mouth over his cock returned to stroke his penis into another erection. The tingle of his enlarging cock bone made the president's face glow, and his lips parted to form another toothy grin.
And aglow with anticipation of a young girl's mouth on his cock, the president raised his hands in what he considered a most magnificent gesture. "Peace," he smiled to Trish's parents. "Children will be children." Still, Trish had given him a few bad moments with her put-on. Rationalizing, the president decided that it was only fair to get a stomach-churning blow job off the girl. And sizing up the situation, he came to the conclusion that Trish's own parents would gladly assist him in such a worthwhile goal.
And to make certain he'd receive the necessary cooperation from Mr. and Mrs. Lovejoy, the president slipped a comradely arm over the shoulder of Trish's father. "That matter of your permanent status in the club is coming up next meeting," he informed the man. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're accepted."
Trish's father turned white. The president had offered his support in such a vague way that his acceptance in the club was not a foregone conclusion. He decided to be perfectly frank with the president. "It means a good deal to me to be accepted," he said.
Fowler winked. "I'll help you. You'll help me. Cooperation is the name of the game, isn't it?"
The other man looked puzzled. "But how can I help you? Just name it. I'll do anything for your help."
The president beamed. "I was merely talking in abstract terms. Don't worry about your election into the club now. Let's enjoy this wonderful party. I feel great, and I want to stay that way." As the president spoke, he opened the jacket of his suit and exposed the fly area of his pants. Trish's parents couldn't help but notice the bulge between the legs of the president. By now the protrusion was as large as a man's doubled fist. Trish didn't notice. Her eyes were boring into the face of the aging man who symbolized everything she stood against.
But Trish's mother was too astute a woman not to understand the president's intent immediately. She shot a meaningful glance at her husband, who nodded. He, too, understood. The president had designs on their daughter, Trish. To be more specific, the president was on fire to fuck Trish. He already had a bone on. And when he unbuttoned his coat, he was purposely exposing his lust. The president's idea of cooperation was assistance in helping him screw Trish.
Despite the fact that not a word was uttered regarding the president's sexual needs, the communications between the man and Trish's parents were vivid and unmistakably clear. And from the look on the president's face, it was also plain that he was delivering an ultimatum. Either he fucked Trish, or else he'd blackball her father from joining the country club.
Trish's parents held a silent but spirited conversation regarding the president's ultimatum. They knew each other well enough to communicate with their eyes, hands, and complicated body language. Neither parent believed for a moment that Trish was still a virgin. They'd heard about promiscuous college students, and especially the acid parties thrown by the freak-outs. And they knew Trish consorted openly with the longhairs and the freaks that attended her university. Both of her parents came to a swift and unanimous conclusion. If their daughter was giving her cunt away for free to the longhairs and the freaks, she might as well give the president a piece of her ass. At least she'd be helping her parents. Membership in the country club was vital for both business and social reasons. And raising Trish to become a Park Avenue socialite was going to take more money than earlier anticipated. By agreeing to the president's ultimatum, they were actually helping Trish. And when this rationalization was agreed upon, both man and wife nodded to the president in a way that could have only one meaning. "Yes," they said in their silent but crystal-clear way, "you may fuck our daughter provided you secure our membership in the country club."
The president quickly nodded in agreement. And now that the terms were mutually acceptable, it was up to the man and his wife to deliver their daughter's naked body to the lecherous old president.
Trish's father placed an arm around her shoulder. "Darling," he said to Trish, "why don't you show the president around our humble home?" And before Trish could object, he quickly added, "I'm sure the president respects your opinions regarding our rebellious college students."
"Peace," the president murmured.
Trish's father continued, "And I think you respect the views of the president."
Trish's mother put in quickly, "Our daughter is extremely fair-minded."
The president rubbed his hands together. "I'm all for a stroll around your lovely grounds and home. It will give me a chance to understand the views of the young people." He asked Trish. "Or are you afraid of a little open debate where our respective ideas can be exchanged openly and honestly?"
The three older people had backed Trish into a corner. Now she had to escort the president around the grounds of her parents' mansion. "I'm not afraid to debate my views with you or anyone else," she informed the president in a curt voice. She could have been mistaken about the actual meaning of his handshake. But she'd be on her guard when she escorted the old man around the place. At any rate, there were plenty of room-to-room telephones. If Fowler made any advances towards her, she'd be able to phone her parents.
The president took hold of Trish's arm. "Good," he breathed with relief. "I'd like to really understand why you young people are so riled up and go around burning down buildings." They proceeded to walk away.
"Take your time," Trish's father called after the retreating couple.
"Don't come back until you've seen everything," her mother sang out at the president.
The president called over his shoulder, "I have every intention of inspecting every nook and cranny of your lovely property."
"It's all yours to enjoy," the couple replied in unison.
And so, with a smile, a nod, and a firm grip on Trish's arm, the president guided the young girl away from the crowd on the lawn.
"I'm supposed to be leading you," Trish said, annoyed at the clawlike hands in the flesh of her arm.
But the president steered Trish back to the house. "I was hoping we could discuss the generation gap in the privacy of your library. That is," he added slyly, "if you're not afraid to hear my side of the issue."
Trish looked up at the aging man at her side. His face was flushed, his eyes were aglow. He seemed to be genuinely excited at the prospect of talking to her. The man was sincere, Trish decided. And if she could only win him over, the wealthy and influential country club leader could do a lot of good for youth groups. Most of youth's rage stemmed from one salient factor: the indifference of the older generation.
In the book-lined library, the president sat down in an easy chair opposite Trish. He was going to have to go slow, he decided. The girl was sincere in her desire to help others less fortunate. And this was the theme that the president seized upon. He, too, wanted to help young people but didn't know how to go about it. "My own youth was rather sordid, filled with struggle and hardships. Would it bore you if I were to tell you of my own humble beginnings? Then, perhaps, you'd understand how sincere I am about helping young people."
Trish started to warm to the man. All of her own fears and hesitations about his character began to vaporize. "I want to know about your youth!" Trish said sincerely and emphatically. "I just knew that, underneath it all, you were on our side."
The president stood up and then sat down beside Trish on the couch. He took hold of her hand. "I need your encouragement and support," he said.
Trish squeezed his hand. "You've got it," she said quickly. "Feel free to tell me everything."
Fowler smiled sadly. "I'm afraid I'd only shock you. You see, I started life in an orphanage. A most sordid place, I can assure you."
"Nothing you can say will shock me," Trish assured him.
The older man nestled closer against Trish, and could feel her full and shapely thighs beneath her tight-fitting hot-pants outfit. The pants fitted Trish so tightly they appeared to have been painted over her skin. The president's eyes followed the lines of her waist, her hips, her legs. The crotch of the pants hugged the flesh so firmly that he could make out the slit of the girl's cunt. Erotic images sprang full bloom into the mind of the president. The images of Trish's cunt flashed on and off in sharp and detailed focus. In one image, the cunt was a large one with a forest of brownish cunt hairs framing the love valley. The outer lips were thick and red and glistened for the feel of a man's tongue. In another image, Trish's cunt was tight, hairless, and yet athrob for the feel of cock and tongue. To tongue and lap the tight, hairless cunt of a virgin had been an exciting thought for many years now. In fact, when the president had to have intercourse with his own gray-haired and sexually unappetizing wife, he closed his eyes and conjured up the image of a virgin's tight, hairless cunt. In that way he was able to achieve an erection with his wife. But it had never really been a satisfactory experience for him. In fact, more often than not, he faked his orgasm. His wife usually blew her cunt and was too wet to detect his fakery. But he couldn't fool himself. He hadn't really blown his nuts for years. But now, in the privacy of the library, and alone with a tender and curvaceous eightteen-year-old girl, the president resolved that he wouldn't leave the room until he cracked his nuts.
And this resolve was only strengthened when Trish kept squeezing his hand. "Tell me all about your life in the orphanage," she urged. "I always felt there was a more tender side to your character."
Beads of sweat pimpled the face of the man. The shaft of his cock kept throbbing for attention from the girl. But he was smart enough to play it cool. There were ways to win a eightteen-year-old girl to his prick. But he didn't dare frighten her away by being too abrupt and unmannerly in his demands. The president's plan was to make Trish beg for his stiff prick. And now he sighed aloud. "If you promise not to be shocked, I'll try and describe the sordidness of my youth."
Trish smiled. "Nothing you can say can possibly shock me. I do want to try and understand you." She added, "Trust me."
The president now boldly took Trish's hand and held it between his own two clammy hands. "And I'm asking you to trust me," he said. Ever so slightly, he maneuvered the palm of Trish's hand down over the bulge in his crotch. Finally he felt the skin of the girl's hand contact the tip of his protrusion. Bolts of electricity streaked through the president. He shuddered to think of the excitement in store for him when he actually exposed the flesh of his cock and felt her hand drop over the head and shaft when they were unencumbered by clothes.
Trish's mind was so absorbed by the hope of finally understanding someone like the president that she was completely unaware of her hand and the object it was in contact with. The object was the fly of the president's pants. Beneath the fly was his cockhead. And that cock-head was sensitive enough to absorb the vibrations from the warm and sensuous hand of the young girl. He started to speak in a voice that sounded strangled and unnatural. It took every ounce of his willpower to restrain his compulsion to rape the girl. But he was a proud enough man to want her cunt served up on a platter by her own volition. "When I was fourteen years old," he told Trish, "I found out that the orphanage had rather special duties for me. To make a long story short, it was a place where wealthy old women came and hired boys to have sexual relations with them." His eyes darted sharply over Trish's face in order to gauge her reaction. "Do you understand what I mean?" he asked.
Trish blushed as she nodded. "Of course I do," she said and sounded sympathetic. "It even happens at our college. Wealthy old women hang around the campus in order to entice some youngster still in his teens."
"I still feel degraded when I think about it," Fowler continued. By now he had managed to work the palm of Trish's hand down over his pants where the penile shaft was concealed. That shaft was now so rigid and pulsating for action that his nuts felt heavy with boiling cock cream. It was an alien but wonderful sensation for him, since it had been many years since he'd last experienced a satisfying climax. First, he decided, he'd blow in Trish's mouth. Then, if he could get another hard-on, he'd blast her cunt.
Trinity's voice was filled with warmth and affection for the man. "I know how you feel. But get it out of your system. You'll feel much better."
Slowly, cautiously, the president wrapped Trish's fingers around the penile shaft of his cock. Then he squeezed her fingers against his cock. The sensation was so exquisite it brought tears to the man's eyes. But Trish was too charged with emotion to be fully aware of the location of her hand and the havoc it was creating in the mind of the gray-haired man. Her mind and sensitivities were almost entirely consumed by images of the president's youth in an orphanage. "One day a woman came to the orphanage," the president said. "She was over sixty-five years old, and she paid to take me home for the weekend. In her home, I had to sleep with her. To be specific, I had to fuck her." He quickly asked, "Am I shocking you?"
Trish was sensitive enough to feel humiliated for the president. The thought of a lustful, insensitive old woman forcing herself on a fourteen-year-old virgin boy nauseated her. "I'm beginning to understand you," Trish murmured quietly. Her face was crimson but she forced herself to say, "Please continue. And be explicit. It's the only way I'll get to really understand."
The president felt confident enough to press her fingers down hard over his cock. "Thank you," he replied. "To do the woman justice, she was quite handsome despite her age. Her hair was gray, but it was neatly cut and quite stylish. As I recall, she had a blueish tint to her hair which made it exude an aura of sex. And as I remember, she was quite tall, with a figure that still had all the curves in the right places. She was wealthy enough to spend a lot of time in the best beauty parlors. But they couldn't erase her wrinkles or lessen her age, which was getting close to seventy. Still, she craved cock. And that cock had to belong to a young boy."
As the president spoke, he did not for a single instance remove his eyes from Trish. Every word he spoke was selected and modulated to stimulate her passions. And when he thought he detected enough passion in her face and eyes, he'd make an open move to pump a mouth-fuck into her. But at the moment her face remained impassive and he was unable to determine whether he was exciting her or not. He decided to restrain himself a bit longer and continue with the recital of the incident that had robbed him of his virginity. "She lived in one of those beautiful homes with a long, curving staircase. After we had dinner, she asked if I'd help her up the stairs. She had undressed for dinner and was just wearing a robe. I soon found out that there wasn't a thing under the robe. I placed one arm around her waist and she leaned on my shoulder. Slowly we made it up the stairs, but I could feel her tits press up against my shoulder, and my one hand could feel the curve of her naked ass beneath the robe. This proximity of a naked female naturally had its effect on a young and impressionable boy. Despite the differences in ages, I soon had a hard-on. The woman's old eyes fastened themselves on the bulge in my pants. And by the time we reached the top of the steps, she made her move. A move to get to my prick and seduce me."
Trish asked a bit shyly, "Didn't you feel any natural instinct against having relations with a woman old enough to be your grandmother?"
"No," the president replied with emphasis. "I did not. In fact, the thought of screwing a woman old enough to be my grandmother excited me."
Trish felt she understood. "You were taken advantage of by a member of a different generation. Now you're distrustful of all people of different generations. And now that you're older, you're distrustful of younger people. Right or wrong?" Trish asked.
The president frowned. He didn't seem to be exciting Trish's libido at all. But he plunged on with the narrative of his first youthful seduction. And he tried to be as explicit as possible.
"As I was saying," he said, ignoring Trish's question, "the old woman was hot after my nuts. At the top of the steps, she pretended to drop her handkerchief. Instinctively, I dropped to my knees and picked it up. But when I was on my knees the old woman let her robe open and gave me a good look at her naked body. This was the first time in my entire life I'd ever seen a naked female body, and I can assure you I was tremendously excited despite the differences in age.
"When she saw the excitement in my face and cock, she slowly let the entire robe slip off her shoulders. And there she stood, very naked and making no attempt to conceal her lust for my prick. She smiled invitingly like an old coquette and let me ravish her naked body with my eyes. To do her justice, she wasn't badly stacked. She was a rather tall woman, and all of her curves were in proportion. Her tits sagged, of course, and so did the flesh on her ass. Her belly curved, and her arms and legs, although shapely, were slightly bony. She had a profusion of gray hair around her cunt, which was thick-lipped and slightly parted. Her navel was quite large and wrinkled in an erotic way. Then, like a model, she turned around and showed off her ass, which was still curvy with plenty of meat. Gray hairs jutted out of her rectum, and she reached back and pulled on one of them to show me how firmly they were embedded in her asshole. Then she flicked one of her cheeks aside to give me a good look between the ass cheeks and into the actual rectum.
"When she turned around, she took a step forward and stood with her cunt staring me in the face I was still on my knees, and seemed paralyzed. I couldn't seem to move. All I wanted to do was stare at her naked body. But when she stood with her cunt only a fraction of an inch away from my mouth, a strange impulse shook my entire body. No, it was more than an impulse. It was a compulsion. And that compulsion forced me to press my mouth against her hairy cunt. The old woman read my thoughts with approval. She wanted her cunt sucked, and by a boy. Discarding what remained of her reserve, she grabbed hold of my head and shoved my mouth up tight to her cunt.
"At first, I didn't know what to do. All I could feel were hairs biting into my face and eyes and mouth. Then she carefully maneuvered her cunt in such a way that I was soon tasting a sliver of flesh that seemed to be growing out of the cunt. This piece of cunt flesh resembled a miniature prick. At any rate, I noisily sucked the thing into my mouth and proceeded to eat it. She threw back her head and yelled, 'That's right, son. Eat your mommy's cunt, bite it, chew it, lap it.' And while she was hurling these obscenities at me, she gyrated her hips like a stripper and slammed her cunt back and forth against my mouth. Her female cock was thrust in and out of my mouth, which she was using in the very same way a man uses a woman's cunt.
"This, too, excited me. And while she was pumping a fuck into my mouth, I yanked out my own swollen prick and began to stroke it. By fourteen, I was already an experienced masturbator. Her eyes really lit up when she saw me jacking off. "That's right, honey son,' she called out encouragingly. 'Jack yourself off while you eat your mommy's cunt.'
"She soon approached a grinding climax. Staccato-like bursts of cunt, hairs and belly were slammed back and forth in my face as she raced towards her big blow. Cock juices were also boiling within me and surging towards the head of my cock. Finally her clawlike fingers dug into my head as she wrenched at my face in an effort to fuse my tongue deep within her throbbing cunt. And at that moment, my adolescent cock cream, which was hotter than an atomic blast, jetted out the head of my turgid prick. She continued to rock back and forth for several minutes while she was discharging every drop of her come. My nuts continued to pump cream out of my cock for an even longer period. Finally, with her face flushed, she looked triumphantly down at me. 'You're a real treasure,' she gurgled. 'Now come into the bedroom and give your mommy a real fuck like a dutiful son.'"
The president stopped talking and slyly scrutinized Trish's face. This time the young girl's face was nicely flushed, and there was a strange look in her eyes. The president felt that, at last, he had succeeded in exciting her. The time had come for him to put the pressure on Trish and induce her to go down on his cock that was straining agitatedly up against his pants. The president's hands boldly took Trish's fingers and pressed them against the crotch of his pants. A million mosquito-like impulses stung the president to unzip and expose his swollen prick, which hadn't been in such a state of agitation for many years. His goal of all those years was to be realized; the soft and lovely mouth of a eighteen-year-old girl was going to engulf the entire reddish-colored prick, shaft and head alike.
But as the president's fleshy and awkward fingers fumbled for his zipper, Trish spoke, and he hesitated for another moment. "Of course, I really understand you, now," Trish said emphatically. "I really know what you want, and what you must have if you are going to have any inner peace."
"You do?" the president said happily, a bit surprised.
Trish continued with her analysis. "You were seduced by an older woman at quite a tender age. From the very beginning you were attracted to older women. That's why you married one."
At mention of the president's wife, his cock began to sag a bit. She was older than the president, and completely sexless. He had married her for money and no other reason. He hadn't had sexual relations with her for years. And she watched him too closely to permit him a sexual release with other women who were more desirable. This afternoon she had been unable to attend the lawn party, and it would be the president's only chance to attain sexual relief. If he didn't make it now with Trish, he wouldn't make it again for a long time to come. This realization sledgehammered the president into action. "Darling," he said breathlessly, "forget about my wife. At one time in my life I was attracted to older women. Now that I'm old, I want a young girl to fuck. A girl like you!" And with this announcement, he unzipped his fly and let his cock bone shoot out into the somewhat coolish air of the library. Exposed, and with the realization that Trish was eyeing the fleshy appendage, the president struggled to prevent a premature ejaculation. "Make me happy," he begged of the girl. "Suck my cock. Please, please, make me blow in your mouth."
For a moment Trish was speechless as well as paralyzed. She had really believed in his sincerity. And while he had used the most explicit and descriptive language in recounting his seduction by the older woman, Trish was used to hearing such language on campus. It really had no effect on her, or others of her generation. Four-letter expletives were part of the language and accepted by her generation. Now she realized the old man thought he was getting her excited with his earthy description of the seduction. This was another area where her generation and the older one differed radically. But the realization that the socially prominent president of the very exclusive country club thought she was promiscuous and an easy lay filled her with such shame and humiliation that she could only struggle ineffectively to express herself. Finally she was able to scream, "Hypocrite!" at the old man and leap to her feet.
Trish lunged towards the door. But panic and desperation stung Fowler into leaping to his feet and reaching out for the girl. He managed to grab hold of her before she escaped from the library. And as they struggled near the door, the president snapped it locked. When Trish broke momentarily out of his grasp, he wasn't in the least perturbed. He was much stronger than the girl, and he stood in front of the door. She wasn't going to go any place until she sucked his cock. And the excitement of the struggle had also pumped blood into his prick, which was still athrob for the girl's mouth or cunt. Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over the bookcase, the president was surprised at the way he looked. His gray hair was disheveled, his puffy face was flushed. And yet he looked youthful, alive, and for the first time in many years really charged with purpose and a will to attain his goal. That goal was a young girl's mouth over his prick. And he was going to realize that goal before he left the room.
On the opposite side of the table, Trish tried to reason with the lust-maddened old man. "I won't tell," she said in a shaky voice. "Let me out of here and we'll forget it ever happened."
The president pounded his fist down on the table. "Damn your sweet cunt!" he shouted insanely. "I'm not letting you out of here until you service my prick. He grabbed hold of the shaft with one hand. "Look at it!" he ordered in a strangled voice. "Look how stiff it is. And red. For the first time in years, I can feel the cock juices filling up my nuts. Don't you know how much it means for me to feel my cock in your mouth? And even if I blow in your mouth, I know I can get another bone on to service your cunt."
When Trish remained silent, his voice rose, even more angry and crazy-sounding. "Damnit! You college kids are fucking all over the campus every day of the week. Why is it so hard for you to give me one small fuck? That's all I ask. Why?" his voice wailed, and that voice was stuffed with all the self-pity he had always felt for himself for most of his life.
"But I'm not promiscuous!" Trish yelled back at him. "For the most part, college kids aren't promiscuous. They do a lot of talking, but they don't do it. Most girls my age are just like me. They want someone special to fuck."
"I'm the president of the country club," the old man retorted. "I'm special!"
Trish spat back at him. "You're a selfish, self-centered old man. All you do is think of yourself. Try to help others less fortunate, and you'll get all the satisfaction you'll ever want or need."
"To hell with helping others!" Fowler said scornfully. "I need a blow job by a young girl."
"That's all in your mind," Trish tried to reason with him.
For answer, the president propelled himself over the top of the table and managed to grab hold of Trish around her waist. Man and girl plummeted to the floor, where Trish was pinioned by the sheer bulk of the other's bulky body. "Let me go!" Trish screamed. "I'll never give in. Never!"
Trish's resistance only seemed to fire the old man with increased passion. His fingers dug into the skin-tight hot pants and proceeded to peel them down. If he could get to her cunt and lap it, he kept reasoning, he'd melt away her resistance. The memory of his long-ago seduction by the old woman kept spurring him on. Her excited screams when he mounted her cunt and swallowed her hot, bitter-sweet cunt juices still rang in his ears.
Trish hammered her fists unceasingly over the old man's face and head. But he was more determined than ever to expose her pussy. After he tongued her cunt for a while, she'd return the favor. Of that he was certain. And that's why he kept ripping away at her clothes. Despite Trish's constantly flailing arms and legs, the fists in his eyes and face, the president drove relentlessly towards his goal. Finally, with a groaning tug, he pulled down the hot pants to reveal the creamy, naked flesh of the young girl, which spilled out before the excited eyes of the old man. "Get away from there!" Trish screamed as the president pushed his face between her legs. The space in that area was now exposed, and the president's tongue strained to lap the cunt of the young girl.
Trish was now naked from the waist down, and her cunt was very much exposed to the president's rapacious lust. He managed to wedge his face between the girl's legs and wrap each one around his neck. To his excited delight, the girl was already maturely developed in this region. Although the hair on her head was chestnut-colored, the cunt hairs were jet-black. The erotic contrast of colors excited the old man almost beyond endurance. Saliva already bubbled out around the corners of his lips, and the blood was pounding so loudly and agitatedly in his temples that he was afraid he'd rupture a blood vessel. But he had to taste the young girl's cunt or go out of his mind. And even better, he had to feel her velvety soft lips engulf his hot and sweating prick.
Every time he managed to get his tongue within striking distance of Trish's cunt, the energetic and equally determined girl twisted her body aside and Fowler's mouth rammed down against the floor carpet. Once he hit the floor with such a thud that blood started to trickle out of his mouth and mingle with the saliva. But the taste of blood made him all the more determined to lap the girl's cunt.
The president had become the leader in the Park Avenue community because he had the ability to analyze a situation and then take immediate action. He possessed a sharp and quick mind. And now Trish discovered the extent of this sharpness and quickness of mind. As long as Trish's legs were free, she'd be able to squirm and kick the president's tongue off her cunt. But if those same shapely legs were unable to move, he'd be able to plunge his tongue deep into the cunt despite her screams and protestations.
And now that he understood the situation and had quickly formulated a plan, the president acted-quickly, resolutely, boldly. He grabbed the ankles of the girl, pulled them down to the floor, and held onto them like a pair of clamps. Her freedom of movement was greatly restricted, and she was now completely unable to deny him her female cunt treasure. Without easing his grasp on her legs for a single instant, the president pushed his face up between the girl's legs, which were now spread apart in the shape of a letter V. The girl's screams were muffled under the beating and pounding of his heart. Finally the tip of her moist, black cunt hairs tickled the cheeks of his face, and he opened his mouth as wide as possible. For many years he had been denied the taste of female cunt, for his wife had been a firm believer in old-fashioned man-on-top sex without the slightest deviation. "Cunt," he breathed. "A young girl's cunt. And it's all mine!"
Cunnilingus had been often discussed on campus between Trish and her friends. But it was an act that she had never personally engaged in. She was being perfectly honest with the president when she told him that she could only perform sex with a very special person. And now Trish felt degraded; as degraded as filth.
Trish was no longer making any noise. There wasn't any point, and the effort was only tiring her. The library was in a fairly isolated wing of her parent's mansion. And all of the servants were occupied with the lawn party. Screaming, she decided, wouldn't save her. She had been saving her cunt for a very special person. Now the sight of the sight of the craven old fool with his mouth almost against the slit almost made her heave. She felt no passion for him, no lust, no desire. Only revulsion. And when his slobbering mouth at last made contact with her genitals, she held her head backwards in an effort to stave off an attack of vomiting. Then she heard another voice calling for her. She propped herself up on her elbows. "In here," she screamed out now. "In the library. Hurry on. Break in the door. Get help. I'm being raped!"
At the sound of the other man's voice, the president pulled his already moistened mouth away from her pussy and looked up with a startled expression on his face. "Who is it?" he demanded to know. Certainly it wasn't the girl's parents. The intruder had to be one of her freaky college friends.
Trish didn't reply to the president's question. She ignored him completely. Instead, her eyes were fastened to the door. On the other side of the door, a friend of hers named Acid Head was pounding and shoving and rattling the doorknob. The president leaped to his feet as the pounding grew louder, more insistent, and the door appeared to be giving way under the determined onslaught. Finally the lock broke, the door flew open, and an outlandish-looking creature stumbled into the room.
Acid Head was an apt name for the newcomer. He was tall as a professional basketball player. His face was emaciated-looking, and he had the appearance of an acid tripper who had just returned from dreamsville and was angry with the ugliness of reality. He was wearing a band around his long hair, and a beard all but concealed his face. His raglike clothes looked slept in, and the fact that he needed a bath became immediately apparent to the president who, for the first time in his life, was speechless. Finally he breathed, "Who in hell are you?"
Acid Head ignored the question. Hatred blazed out of his face. A glance at Trish and another distasteful look at the president told him about all he needed to know.. In a slow drawl, he asked Trish, "He try to fuck you against your will?"
"Yes," Trish replied. She had leaped to her feet and pulled up her pants.
"Ain't that just like the old hypocrites from the hung-up generation?" Acid Head asked. "Preachin' law and order out of one side of their mouths, and tryin' to taste a young girl's cunt out of the other side."
The president's cock bone had quickly collapsed, and he now was about to tuck it back into his pants.
"Leave your prick alone!" Acid Head ordered.
Fowler froze. His cock was still very much exposed. "What did you say?" he asked indignantly.
Acid Head withdrew a switchblade from his pocket. In a louder, more emphatic voice, the freakout replied. "I said to leave your prick alone." Then he started to walk over to the president with the knife held firmly in his hand. His intent became quickly apparent to both Trish and the president. "Gonna cut it off," he finally said, and was smiling now. But there was no mirth in his smile. There wasn't a doubt of the sincerity of his intentions. "Cut off your fat, Establishment prick!"
Fowler started to back away. "No," he cried out in a distressed voice. And his distress quickly flared into an inferno of terror. "No!"
But Acid Head kept moving relentlessly towards the president. And when the older man was trapped in a corner, the freaky intruder grabbed hold of Fowler's cock and raised his knife.