Read Story: SEASON 1 EPISODE 5

The walk up the steps seemed to put a little fresh vigor into me, though, and by the time I’d taken off my shirt and jeans I didn’t feel like going to sleep just yet. I had my radio along, so I turned it on and looked round the dial for some good music. At first all I could find were hillbilly broadcasts and late-night preachers, but finally I picked up the signal of a southern station that believed in the boogie.

I sat on the edge of the bed in my undies, jiggling my feet in time with the music. It was an infectious beat, and I found my fingers snapping, too. In a moment I was on my feet, stepping out and back as I caught the musical pattern and put my body into key with it. I like to dance. It makes me feel good and sexy all over, to throw myself into the rip of a song, to let it control the way I move, to surrender my conscious will and let the drive of the rhythm carry me along. I don’t even need a partner when the music is right.

And the music was right. That Tennessee DJ was picking some really obnoxious records this evening, one after another.

I moved, making up my own steps as I followed the beats of the songs. My hips swayed, my legs kicked, I swooped low and stood tiptoe high, turning round and round on my toes like a disco ballerina. The music seemed to throb and reverberate in the marrow of my bones, and I danced as if I were on display in a window, rather than in the privacy of my room. It was good and I was good. I felt sexy and beautiful and graceful as a young deer.

One song blended into another and still I danced. The commercials and patter between tunes passed me by unnoticed. I must have danced even while the DJ talked. After a while I didn’t even need the music he played. I was humming and clicking my fingers and patting my thighs and hips, and making my own songs and my own accompaniment.

Warmth began to fill me from top to bottom. I felt at peace, in love and harmony with everybody and everything. It was the way I always felt on a dance floor, and guys who led me from a disco to the bushes never had any reason to complain afterwards.

The shifting of my hips, the kicking of my legs — sure, they were having an effect on my cunt. I could feel myself getting damper there, not only from my menses, but from a burgeoning stimulation that was sharp and to the point. Dancing, even dancing solo in a narrow space, was making me horny, and a menstrual horny was the most insatiable kind there was.

Before I knew it I was standing in one place, doing deep knee bends just like in gym class. I broke them up with quarter and half turns, and I cupped my tits through the thin yellow nylon of the bra cups. The nipples were hard and hot inside stiff as pebbles, and I rolled my fingers on the points they poked into the fabric of the brassiere. I pinched them till tears came into my eyes and I sighed in hot little bubbles of breath. My hair was all disordered, some of it dangling in moist strands across my face, and I combed it back with one hand, at the same time touching the little droplets of sweat on my cheeks and temples.

My neck was damp, too, all around the base, and my sweating palms were making the bra cups wet as well. Especially round my nipples, where the dampness was allowing my brown areolas to show through the nylon. Still dancing in my chosen place, I unhooked the bra clasps and wiggled out of it. My tits shook beautifully, zestfully, and I made them jump and bounce in delight.

I put a hand on the crotchstrip of my panties. A tingly shudder spread through me, vibrating at the base of my front teeth. Inside my cunt was that tampon, just like a tiny finger inserted for permanent stimulation, and I squeezed my thighs together that I might feel it even more vividly.

“Mmmmm!” I warbled triumphantly, my voice husky and feline. I backed towards the bed. My legs touched it, and I just let myself fall, flopping onto the soft mattress. It was a country bed, soft and cushiony as a cloud, and I felt as if I were sinking endlessly into its comforting surface.

I slid farther back, lying full-length on the bed. I split my legs their widest, making an indescribably delicious pain-pleasure radiate from the slice of my cunt, and I held my legs apart till I couldn’t stand it. I closed them then, massaging with my thighs, raising one above the other, squirming like someone trying to keep from pissing. My panties were stuck to the wetness of my gash and when I touched them, stroking the slitted opening through the nylon, the moisture seemed to increase. I could almost hear a squish as I fondled my swampy cunt.

I rolled over, onto my tummy, and I shoved my twat against the mattress, grinding with my hips as though I rode atop the fattest, thickest, longest, hardest cock in all the world. Reaching behind me I cupped the cheeks of my ass and twisted them forcefully, till fresh tears budded in the corners of my eyes and I whimpered in little cries of exquisite pain.

Fingers slid into the crack of my butt and stroked my flesh through the sopping cotton. My knees shook, my toes quivered. With one finger I poked at my asshole, shoving as if I meant to insert the finger and the intervening panty layer, too. It wasn’t a serous attempt to finger-fuck my ass — I only wanted the lovely darting feel of it, the knowledge that I could do it if I wanted to.

My tits were hard lumps of flesh now, capped by fiery pointing nipples, and I raised my hands so I could manipulate them. I sighed, very loud, it seemed to me and my roaring ears, and I squeezed all the harder, till it felt as if my tits were about to burst like abused balloons. But I wasn’t abusing my brown-nippled balloons. Not at all. I was loving the hell out of them, and it was certainly no abuse.

I humped against the mattress for what seemed an eternity while the seeds of a dynamite come were planted in me. I wasn’t ready for these seeds to flower and blossom yet. Not just yet. I rolled over again, lying on my back once more, and I abandoned my tits long enough to wiggle my butt free of the white panties which encased my yearning crotch.

I twirled them in the air on the toes of my left foot, then gave a kicking toss that sent them flying across the room. The exercise made my snatch feel hotter and juicier, and I wondered if I could bring myself off, all the way off, without leaving a hideous mess on Aunt Susan’s spare bed.

Oh, fuck Aunt Susan and her spare bed! If it stains the sheets, then it stains the mother-fucking sheets!

I grabbed a big handful of my coppery, glistening beaver, and I squeezed it firmly. Spurts of heated excitement shot through me irresistibly, and I opened my mouth in a thrilled cry that was about a quarter-tone sharper than the falsetto wail of the black shouter on my radio at the moment. Sing your heart out, baby, I told him silently. If you were here right now, I’d squeeze your nuts just this way, and I’d give your big black prick a twist that’d put you into my fucking key!

I sampled the music with one ear, trying to summon a mental image of the singer. His voice was rich and black, oozing with hot sex, and I could almost feel his ebony body on my creamy frame, his long dark cock wriggling in my pink slit as he fought to give me a dose of his seed. We’d move in time with his music, the two of us, fucking to a syncopated, elusive rhythm that came right out of the hot southern earth and the stinking city ghettoes on a trail that had begun in the steamy jungles, where life was life and fucking was out of sight. Where cocks rammed cunts in time with the throb of the messenger drums, and witch doctors chanted evil spells while the lions and tigers roared through the night. My hips jerked and wiggled in an approximation of that jungle boogie, and I tried to embrace my imaginary black lover.

The fantasy faded in and out. I’d never fucked a black guy — I don’t really like black guys, not on a one-to-one basis.

I covered my snatch with my hand again, the grip even more powerful, the ball of my finger joints pressed down hard upon the slitted opening. I felt the string of my tampon catch between my fingers, and I nearly jerked it right out of my streaming hole.

My fingertips strummed the furry curve of my pubes, making the clitty inside dance and jiggle in happiness. The radio was playing still another song by now, one with a slow, offbeat rhythm, and I tried to match the drum strokes pat for pat.

My toes wiggled with the music and I went pit-a-pat-pit-pat on the hillock of my cunt. The hair forest was damp and so was I, everywhere, and I found myself making little chattering sounds as my fever built and peaked.

Lee Kinloch, I thought again, recalling Aunt Susan’s platonic friend. How would he be in the sack? Honestly? Guys my age, the only kind of guys I’d fucked around with so far, were interesting, and they did fun things to me and with me, but there was a distressing sameness about it. That had been bothering me ever since my little visit with Lilly the other night.

Guys would eat my pussy, they’d suck my tits, they’d feel me from head to toe and rub their naked bodies against mine, but their main interest was in getting a herd cock shoved as far up my cunt as it would go, then humping up and down, in and out, back and forth, till their nuts let go and they dumped a gallon of jism in my snatch. And that was okay. I’d enjoyed fucking ever since the very first time, else I’d not have kept on doing it. But I had a feeling it might be possible to find something more than those basic acts and reactions in sex.

With a more mature man, perhaps. Someone like Lee. He might be a real tiger between the sheets. Why not? He was a man, not a boy proving himself on a girl’s body. A man to make me feel like a woman instead of a girl who knew the score. A real, fully grown woman.

The image titillated me, Lee Kinloch between my legs. His shaggy head bobbed in my mind’s eye as he drank at my seething twat, and I could almost feel his tongue on my puffy gash, with long, slow, careful swipes that turned me on and sent me screaming into the clouds before he’d really begun to do me.

With him sex could be an adventure, a challenge, not just a contest to see if I could enjoy a nice come before my partner lost control and shot his load inside me. Oh, Lee, I thought, you have to be a dynamite lover! Appearances couldn’t be that deceiving. And if he was only half as good as I knew he must be, he’d be out-fucking-rageous! And if Aunt Susan wanted nothing more than his mind, Goddamned if I’d let the most interesting part of him go to waste.

I strummed harder, playing my cunt like a ukulele. The song on the radio had changed its beat, doubling up on the rhythm, and the musicians were all cooking. I had to work furiously to keep up, and I couldn’t, but by then I was involved in musical improvisations of my own, and my tits heaved with the big gasping sighs that rolled from my lips.

“Is something wrong, Pam?” a voice wondered. A female voice. Who else’s? There were only the two of us in the Goddamned house. Oh, shit, I thought, not even bothering to let go of my cunt. Not again.

Aunt Susan rattled my doorknob. “Are you all right, dear?” she wanted to know. The handle turned. Was she going to come in on me?

I struggled to catch my breath. “I’m okay,” I said.

Aunt Susan pushed the door open a hair aria looked around it. What must she think of me now? I was lying naked, clutching my pussy with one hot little hand, and my nipples were sticking out a mile. Or could she see anything? She wasn’t wearing her glasses. In fact, she appeared to be dressed for bed, and her mousy hair was down, hanging on her shoulders. If she hadn’t been so painfully plain, she might have been almost appealing with her hair untied.

“Are you sure?” She seemed uncertain. “I heard you calling out.”

“It’s my period,” I said, “and I’m just having a little trouble with it. Nothing to worry about. Honest.”

“Do you always go to bed naked?” She’d finally noticed.

“Uh-huh,” I said absently.

“Well,” she said, “if I can be of any help…”

She could only be of help right now if she called her good-looking friend and told him to get his ass out to the old farmhouse for a little screwing. “‘S okay,” I panted, feeling dangerously warm as my hand lay relaxed on my cunny.

“Well, good night, then,” Aunt Sue said, “and if you do need some help or company or anything, holler.” She closed the door and I heard her slippers patting on the floor.

As soon as she was gone, I tightened the clasp of my fist and I humped my cunt upward into that clutching grip. Keep it low, I warned myself. Don’t yelp so loud or she’ll be back. And if Aunt Susan got flustered when asked if she was living with a guy, what would she do seeing ire breaking in my visitor’s bed?

I squeezed and fondled, not caring how loud the radio was or what was playing. My hand twisted and jerked on the hairy thrust of my cunt-mound and I rolled on the bed, letting my body move as it wished. One of my fingers lay right along the crease of my slit, pushing at the gashed fish, thumping on the end of my inserted tampon, and I shook in abandon, knowing that the time was nearly here.

My come hit me splendidly, knocking me first in the gut and then spreading through my body like a fire out of control. I moaned and sighed with the joy of it, turning my head to let the big soft pillow muffle my cries of release, and I clutched my gash as it dripped a thin, hot mixture of cream and blood. I could smell it, the heady, cunty aroma of a menstrual come, and I wished I could smear my fucking face in it, that I could be the slut I felt in my delight.

The fever began to pass, slowly but not slowly enough, and I purred in dismay to feel myself coming to earth once more. Well, my raw cunt was certainly not ready for more of the same, and I had a growing sense of weariness in the marrow of my bones. Maybe I’d close my eyes for a few moments, then snap to and diddle some more. Wouldn’t that be nifty? Just for a few minutes. Not to sleep, not to dream — just a bit of time-out. Just a bit…