Chapter One

 

A pornographic movie played. Seated on a gray metal chair, Cora Ziegler plunged her middle finger into the molten pit of her pussy and demanded another orgasm. Unnoticed, a man entered and stood behind her amused. Cora breathed heavy satisfaction as the balding actor on the television screen forced the naked blonde girl toward his hairy legs and drew her to his exposed appendage. With large hands, the actor stretched the actress's neck and plunged his knurled dick into her mouth. To increase the viewer's excitement, he pinched her nostrils and pushed in deep to his testicles. The actresses' thin arms flailed, her eyes rounded, her throat bulged, and she retched. Brown bile squeezed from around his length and drained on the floor. "Choke, bitch," crowed the actor as the eavesdropper's hand settled onto Cora's thigh.

"Let me help," said the eavesdropper; not handsome, but a powerful and confident man. As a senior, he played linebacker for the Buffington high school football team and later protected the middle at Williams College. He played fast with Buffington girls and insistent with Williams College coeds. He had first met Cora when his band performed for the spring cotillion crowd in City Center Pavilion. Willie Peters, a nerdy nice guy with an unblemished reputation, a target for bullies, had brought the freshman coed to the dance as his date.

Attracted to the petite girl and envious of Willie, Harry had persuaded a band member to lace the couple's punch with Vodka. So that; by the time the band stopped playing, and the recorded music started, Willie was puking in the boy's bathroom and Cora was vulnerable and available and drunk.

Cora jumped at the intruder's touch. Her body stiffened and her pussy blew juice like the fizz from a shaken soda can. Cora's head turned, and there stood Harry Mallard, the man always on her mind.

"Hello, Cora," said Harry. "Long time... Why are you here?"

"Your parents hired me to house sit," Cora trembled. She had always trembled in his presence. Cora's mind flew to that night at the dance. She had dressed in a pink sleeveless evening gown. Willie had dressed in a rented black tuxedo, and Harry had dressed, like his band, in purple. The song Blue Velvet spun on the compact disk player and a flood of delirious fun even watered the wallflowers. Harry pulled her to the darkened dance floor and gathered her in his arms. The bulge of Harry's pants covered erection pressed inner thighs. Stunned, "please, Harry, I'm dizzy," she pleaded.

Harry ignored Cora's plea. "Name, baby?" he asked instead.

"Please, I can't dance," she slurred.

Harry's dark eyes tilted and his left hand found a place on the brazier under-wire of Cora's left breast. Low on her backside, Harry's experienced right hand fingered a seductive suggestion on her bottom. Harry imposed a dance step. "You will dance with me," he said.

"But, Harry..."

"But nothing; you are a natural follower. Which says you can dance; and your nipples, poking cherry bombs through your bra cups, says, you're one horny little slut."

"Please, Harry, let's sit." Cora began, but dared not go further as an unconscionable scorching arose in her body.

"Nonsense; your pussy is probably already juicing. Can you imagine how it will juice when I'm finished, later?"

"I am not like Rachel Sheppard, Harry." Cora's lips quivered. Rachel was a freckled face girl with little tits and a submissive disposition. "Harry spanked my butt and made me dance, naked, in Shasta Park. I wet myself." Rachel had told her one day at the Student Union. If the story was true, Cora suspected she too was not much different from Rachel.

"I plan to make you leak," Harry boasted. "You want fucked, baby?"

"Please stop," Cora struggled, "everyone will hear."

But Harry ignored everyone, extended his right trigger finger and refused leniency. "Listen, girl; tell me your name, not what I can or cannot do! I do what I want. Why does a hot chick like you date a wimp like, Willie Peters anyway?"

Perspiration blossomed beneath Cora's arms and her voice sounded vacant. "Momma allowed me to come to the dance with Willie," offered Cora.

Expecting more than Momma allowed, Harry bumped Cora's chest, "and?" He asked.

"My name is Cora, Cora Ziegler."

"And...?" Harry's left hand fell from her breast and joined his right on her bottom. He forced her into another box step.

"I'm a good girl," Cora said, hoping her claim true but suspecting the claim false.

At Cora's attempted courage, Harry squeezed a rump cheek. "Jesus, little Cora, don't pass out now." With hurricane speed, he bent and kissed her lips.

Cora's knees weakened.

Harry exited the box turn and dragged her across the floor. "Come on," he ordered, "I'm taking you home."

Spasms wrenched Cora's stomach. She stumbled, and an unintentional hiccup escaped her lips. "I don't want to leave."

"We're leaving."

Harry added kisses, held her so tight her breath failed, and hauled her toward the exit door. By then Cora was beyond resistance. Her head had fallen to his shoulder, and the heat between her legs smelled like female arousal. Harry's insistence added spice to her excitement? "Where is Willie?" she asked.

Out into the night, across the parking lot, and into the backseat of his hotrod Chevy, Harry Mallard towed her. "Willie went home and I need a little pussy," he answered.

"No, Harry," she should have said, but the fragrance of passion filled her mind; and as she settled onto the Chevy's back seat, Cora expected to give Harry everything he wanted.

Like a slurping pig, Harry slobbered spit into Cora's ear canal and licked up the residue. His fingertips roamed like a centipede under her dress. His lips invaded her mouth and sucked her tongue like a vacuum cleaner. Harry mauled her breasts.

"Kiss back or I'll spank your ass, Cunt-Jump," Harry threatened. "You can kiss, can't you?"

Cora whined like a puppy dog. Her legs spread without intention and she kissed him hard as Harry drew circles on the vortex of her silk panties. "Christ, you are a wet little twist," he shammed.

Cora moaned.

Harry fingered her female cleft. "Take them off," he ordered.

"What?"

"Loose the panties. I want to get at your snatch."

Cora's head hung. Cora's flesh tingled. "I can't," she objected. "They are underneath my stocking suspenders. Please, I can't."

Harry opened the passenger back door. "Get out Cunt-Jump."

"But Harry..."

"Remove the dress. I'll take care of the panties."

From the car roof, a dome light bathed Cora in yellow. "People will see."

"So what," Harry laughed. "People love fine tail..."

Cora imagined Rachael dancing for Harry. "Oh, god," she begged. "Please, be nice."

Harry pushed her across the seat. "I am nice. Instead of ripping the dress and tearing the panties, I'm giving you a chance to hide who you are from your mother."

"Okay, I'll do it," Cora implored; but shut the door-shut off the light and let me stay in the car. Please, Harry?"

"Na, it's too late, now." Harry clasped her bodice.

Cora panicked. Cora catapulted from the car door. She raised and pulled, shimmied until the gown lay bunched on the blacktop; grabbed it and threw the dress into the car. Cora lunged.

"Whoa..." Harry blocked from the open door. "Slow down, I want to see what I get for my trouble."

"Please-Harry," Cora explained. "The garters... I can't get... Please, don't let people see me." And then, just like Rachel Sheppard, her body shook and little yellow droplets of freight splashed on the pavement.

"Pee puss," Harry chuckled.

"Please, let me in," Cora wept. "Please, Harry?"

"Tell you what," Harry cautioned; "because I am a nice guy, grip the car roof. I'll get rid of the panties."

Quicker than a blink, Cora complied. "Thank you," she whimpered.

Harry removed a classic Buck Jones pocketknife from his thigh pocket and opened the blade. He looked Cora over: pink nail polish, pink under-wire brazier, frilly pink panties and a pink girdle with long pink stocking keeps; pink stilettos and white stockings. "Close your eyes and don't move unless you want cut," Harry said.

"Hurry," Cora insisted.

"Spread your legs."

"Cut," Cora answered as the switchblade touched skin. And after the first cut, goose pimples swam in perspiration. And by the end of the last cut, Cora's nipples had grown hard and stout and heavy with desire. Her panties lay in shreds.

Harry pulled the strapless bra from her jugs and pushed the cups to her waist. "Goddamn," he whistled, "no wonder the guys call them torpedo tits."

"Don't do this, Harry. You've got other girls, I've never had sex!"

Harry drove his middle finger up her pussy and at the obstruction reversed. "No shit," he exclaimed. "A virgin-no shit!" Harry leaned forward, flipped out his tongue and licked her split.

Cora squealed.

Harry buried his nose in syrup.

Cora danced. Cora pranced. Her pussy itched, and her flesh fluttered. Her eyes flew open, and her legs shook. "Stop, Harry...! It's dirty! Don't lick there."

"Spread your fucking legs and hold tight to the car roof or you'll get worse."

Cora winced; her goose pimples turned to gander flesh, and she trembled. "Easy, Harry," she begged.

"Sure, baby-easy." Harry shrugged. "Hold tight while I lubricate your cherry. Then you may crawl back into the car."

Cora complied. With her legs spread wide and her hands tightened, Harry reestablished his tongue and blew hot air on her clitoris. "Oh, God," she sobbed. "A... a... ah... ah, please" Cora moaned. Cora climaxed so hard, she collapsed to the blacktop.

Harry chuckled again; he jerked her up, jerked her into the car and was, at once, unexpectedly entangled in her arms. Cora smothered him with kisses. "Hold me, Harry," she cried. "Please hold me. I'm so dirty."

"Stupid cow," he said. "Stop the lovey-dovey." Harry opened his trousers, freed his cock and squeezed Cora's fingers around its flesh. "Stroke..."

"Huh."

"Stroke..."

Cora had never touched a penis, not in her life. "I'm a good girl," she said." "Don't make me do this."

With his face to her face, Harry attacked. "Do as you're told. You are not a good girl, Cora; you're a slut, my little Cunt-Jump. Either beat me off and save your pussy, or don't and your pussy gets fucked. Right...?"

Cora nodded. In her blood stream a perverted fire reignited. It licked her loins and burnt her flesh, scorched her pussy. Cora's nipples flared. Harry had named her and Cunt-Jump she had become.

"Hand job or fucked?" demanded Harry.

In her hand, the soft hardness of his cock stole her will and the beat of her heart throbbed faster than the pulse of her pussy. From the depths of her being, a rush of recognition clarified her position. Harry will rape me if I don't comply, she thought. Maybe Harry should fuck her; do every dirty thing she had ever dreamt or wanted to try? "Whatever you want, Harry." Cora stroked.

"Now you're talking." Harry's tongue licked the salty tears from her cheeks. "Tell me what, Cunt-Jump."

"Anything," Cora said.

Harry prized weeping girls. He coveted their horror as each drop of self-esteem dripped away. "Tell me what you want."

"To masturbate you, Harry..."

"Not good enough Cora; not masturbate, use another word. Sluts know better words."

And Cora knew better words. Had she not become Harry's agreeable piece, a pliable babbling dog biscuit? "Let me get you off, Harry. Please, let me jerk you. I need too! I want to whack you off, so bad. Please, Harry!"

"Get on with it Cunt-Jump," grouched Harry. "I don't have all night,"

Cora's hand flexed. Her arm moved. "Like this?" she asked.

"Sure, where shall I spray, Cora; tits or face?"

"Tits," Cora shouted. Why not tits? Why not get her big fat torpedo tits sprayed? All the boys at school wanted to have fun with her tits.

Half measures never satisfied Harry, though. Harry wanted it all. "Ask me Cora; you know the drill. Ask."

Intuitively Cora knew. "Please, Harry cum on my tits; cum on my tits, I want your hot cum on my big fat tits."

"Lean back and hold your tits," Harry ordered. From the car seat he arose and straddled Cora's chest. He gripped his dick, waggled it at her wide hazel eyes, grazed it across her full red lips, pointed it at her sweat drenched blond hair, and rooted it in the valley of her mountainous terrain. As if Cora's tits were the bun and his cock the hot dog, Harry imagined all the sauce she might eat. "Ask me to cum all over your beautiful torpedo tits," he said.

Not a moment passed. "Please, Harry, cum all over my beautiful torpedo tits, please!"

"Please," had barely escaped Cora's lips when the first viscous string of Harry's warm curdled cum cream exploded from his cock splashed onto the hot flesh of her breasts. He squeezed off dribbles and pushed it into her mouth. "Clean," Harry laughed. "Then I'll take you home."

Cora remained naked as Harry started the car. She remained naked as he drove to her house, naked as the car pulled to the curb and naked as she stood on the sidewalk. Cora was naked as Harry threw out her clothes. "Who are you, Cora?" he yelled as she gathered her severed panties and wrinkled pink party dress.

"I am your Cunt-Jump, Harry," she shrieked as Harry drove away. Then she staggered toward the porch, eased open the front door and crept into the house. Will Momma be awake, she wondered? Sometimes her Mother sat in the living room waiting for Cora's return.