by Tsaurah Litzky
(09/05/07)

I'm crouched on all fours under the kitchen table. I'm wearing the red dress, just like he told me, the short red dress, the one with the cheerleader skirt, and I don't have on any panties. He doesn't like it when I wear panties: When he wants to stick it in me, he doesn't want anything in his way.

The skirt falls to each side so my bare bottom sticks right up in the air. He tells me to always pay attention, to be ready when he gets home, and I am. I'm listening for his key in the door. When he comes in, I'm supposed to wag my butt like an eager doggie. He says the first thing he wants to see is my big hairy slit sticking out between my legs, like the hungry bitch I am. Now I hear him, hear his key turning in the lock. I hear the door open, then shut, and I hear him lock the door behind him.

Just knowing how near he is makes my love juice run out of me. I'm already shaking my ass, and I shake it more as I hear him enter the room. I can hear his heavy breathing. He's standing right behind me now. I'm not supposed to look at him. Instead I look at the laminated-pine kitchen cabinet, the toaster oven that sits on top of it, and the orange ceramic cookie jar that was my mother's that sits next to the toaster oven.

I feel a displacement of air behind me, a little wind, and I know he's bending down to look at me. I can smell him. I can smell his sweat stink, his Marlboro breath and the grease on his hands and clothes from the motor shop.

I know he's looking at my round white ass cheeks -- and the dark star of my anus between them. He's looking at the blonde curly hair growing down my crack and the frilly pink lips of my cunt. He likes to look and I so like it when he looks. I know it turns him on to look at my naughty parts.

He blows hot breath into my butt, and I feel the flick of his tongue like a little flame inside my ass, but just for an instant, and then he pulls back.

He tells me I taste like shit and I can tell by how mean and nasty his voice sounds exactly how much he wants me. I hear the sound of his zipper going down and I know he's pulling it out. Sometimes he calls it his thing or his Harley but mostly he calls it Big Boy. He grabs me by my sides and pulls me out from under the table. He slides that fat thing up and down my tail crack. I can't help pushing my stink hole at him. I want him in my butt, which is opening in anticipation, but he teases me with his thing, gliding it up and down until I'm panting like the crazy bitch I am. Finally he slides it between my thighs. The heaviness of it presses into me.

He says he's going to tear my insides out -- but I have to say I want it and only if I say I want it will he give it to me. "You could always say no," he says. He tries to scare me, telling me he could easily find someone else, and then he tells me that if I really want it, I have to tell him by barking like the silly doggie I am.

I like what he does to me, he makes me happy. I bark: arf, arf, arf.

He tells me to bark louder. I take more air into my lungs and keep at it, barking louder and louder until the whole room starts shaking around us. He grabs the hair at the nape of my neck, bends his head and bites me, hard, on my shoulder. His teeth break the skin. I can smell my blood mixing with our sex smells; now we smell like a whole pack of rutting dogs. He bites me again, hurting me. I don't care, because now he's sliding his thing into me, deep into my belly. It feels so good. At last, finally, he rips into me, splitting me open with that big bone I've been begging for.

I'm in bed but I can't sleep. He told me he might be late, real late; he was going to meet some old army buddy. He didn't give me any instructions for tonight so I just ate Planter's Peanuts from the can and watched wrestling on TV. I like how the wrestlers' bodies strain, the way their giant, bulging muscles move under their skin. It excites me. When the wrestling is over, I go to bed. I can smell him on the sheets. I'm so glad I didn't change them so I can just burrow into his smell.

I put out all the lights before I came in here. The house is so dark and quiet I can hear my heart beating, thrum, thrum, thrum. My hand finds its way between my legs: I want to make myself feel good. I turn on my back and spread my legs wide. I'm very wet from watching the big muscled men on TV, and from missing him. I put my middle finger inside my poon, then I slide another finger in, too, and then another.

I wrap my cunt around my fingers and pretend he's on top of me, inside me, bouncing up and down, his hard chest smacking against mine. My hips are jerking quicker and quicker. I'm so wild, I'm the wildest girl in town, and he's the one who tames me. I'm thinking about his big doggy-cock balls digging into me and I can see his face above me. He's chewing his lower lip like he does just before he's going to shoot. I'm almost there, I'm gonna come, I can feel the sweet pain knotting up inside me...but suddenly I hear the door slam and the next thing I hear is his voice. He's talking to someone. He's not alone.

"Wait till you see her," he says. "She's got a face like sweet sixteen and a big hungry hole. She'll do anything I say, anything."

"Anything?" says another man's voice, "Anything? That's a big order."

"She's a big girl," says my master and maybe I'm kidding myself but I think he sounds proud. "I thought she'd be waiting up for me," he says, "but maybe she's sleeping. Come into the kitchen. I'll get you a beer, then I'll get her up."

I hear them moving down the hall and then their voices from the kitchen. My hand is still between my legs, and I could finish myself off real easy, but I don't because it sounds like he has some fun planned. I take my hand out from between my legs, pull the sheet up to my neck, over my head, close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep.

It's not too long before he opens the door and snaps on the light.

"Wake up, wake up," he says. "Didn't you hear me come in? Come on, get up, get dressed. There's someone here I want you to meet." I act like I don't hear him. I don't move. I want him to come over and get me up. I want him to pull the covers off and see me naked.

"You got that sheet on your head like a corpse. What, you playing dead?" he says. And he does just what I want, in a couple of big steps: He crosses the room and yanks off the sheet.

I open my eyes and there he is with that coarse silver hair he keeps cropped close to his head like a helmet, his big black eyes like an owl, his nose like a beak. The muscle in the side of his cheek twitches -- I know he's glad to see me when he won't let himself smile. He's looking at my tits spread over my chest like pancakes. He reaches down and grabs one, pinches it.

"Hi," I say and smile up at him. "Hi yourself," he says. I love to watch the flash of his big white teeth. "Get up and get dressed," he says sharply. He takes my wrist, yanks me off the bed, and shoves me roughly towards the closet. "Get dressed," he orders. I open the closet door and pull out my red dress.

"Nah," he says, "not that one, the blue one, the one low in the front, you know."

I pull out my blue sundress. The top is cut so low you can almost see my belly button, but the skirt's long and full.

"Yeah, that one," he says. "And don't wear no bra, nothing." I step into the dress, pull the straps up over my shoulder. He comes up behind me and does up the zipper. Then he pulls out my only pair of high-heeled shoes, red pumps that are so tight on me I can barely walk in them (but I don't think I'll do much walking tonight). He throws them at me. "Put these on," he says. I do and then he looks me over, his eyes going up and down.

They linger between my titties and I think how he sometimes likes to put his thing there and rub it between them until he shoots all over my neck and my face.

"Ugly bitch," he says, "but at least you got tits. Now go into the bathroom, fix your hair, then come into the kitchen."

He turns on his heel and goes. I totter into the bathroom and look into the mirror. My hair is all tangled like a bird's nest. I get my hairbrush out of the medicine chest and my Prairie Rose lipstick too. I brush my hair till it's smooth and silky then I put the lipstick on. I want to look my best.

When I go in the kitchen, he's sitting at the kitchen table with a skinny guy, beer bottles in front of them on the gray Formica.

"Here she is," my master says. "This is my old friend Patsy. We were in the Gulf together."

To my surprise, Patsy stands up. He's tall, so thin, it looks like he's made of wire. His scruffy red hair is sticking out from under a green baseball cap.

He extends a hand. "Pleased to meet you, Ma'am," he says. His knobby Adam's apple bobs up and down as he speaks.

"Her name is Cora," my master tells him, and then he says to me, "Shake the man's hand." I put my hand in Patsy's; it's warm and damp.

My master gets another beer out of the fridge and puts it on the table in front of the empty chair.

"Sit, have a beer," he says to me. I'm not supposed to drink. He doesn't like it. I know he's just offering the beer to me to show Patsy he can be gracious. "I don't feel like a beer, thank you," I say. Then I sit down, and Patsy sits back down too.

"Patsy's a real gentleman," my master says. "Mother was a schoolteacher, he knows how to treat a woman just like I do. We used to go to every whore joint in Tarquiz when we were on leave, and dammed if he didn't have those twists down on their knees, begging for more."

"You're exaggerating," Patsy cuts in, and then, turning towards me, "You must know how he likes to dress a story up." Actually, I didn't know this about him; he never talks to me much.

"Patsy's been living in Louisville," my master says. "He's thinking about maybe moving down here, opening up a business. He's a mechanic like me. I told him I'd show him the lay of the land. 'My house is your house,' I told him, 'anything I have is yours'." He pauses and looks right at me so I know exactly what he means. I smile at him. I smile at Patsy. I lick my lips to show them my fat red tongue. I put my elbows on the table and bend forward so my boobies spill out of the top of my dress and they can see the brown tops of my nipples.

"Wow," says Patsy.

"What did I tell you?" says my master. "You call it," he says to Patsy. "Anything you want."

Patsy looks at me across the table. He seems a little shy, and doesn't say anything for a minute. Then, "Well, I'd like to dance with Miss Cora. You got any music?"

"Dance," my master snorts. "Dance? Now you're Sir Galahad? Sure, we got some CDs in the living room." My master gets up and leads the way. Patsy and I follow.

"You like to dance, Miss Cora?" he asks behind me.

"I love to dance," I answer.

There is a stack of CDs on the coffee table. Patsy holds one up. It's Elvis's Greatest Hits. "How about this?" he asks us.

"The King is my boy," says my master. He sits himself down in his armchair and clasps his hands behind his head like a king surveying his kingdom.

Patsy puts the CD into the player. Love Me Tender floats out into the room. Patsy holds out his arms and I step into them.

"This is I gotta see," says my master. He's unbuckling his belt.

Patsy puts his hand at the small of my back and pulls me close. I put an arm around his neck. My face nuzzles against him. He smells like Kentucky Fried and beer. He guides me in a simple two-step as we move to the begging notes of the song. His hand slides below my waist, cups the bottom of my ass, gives it a squeeze. He continues kneading my ass gently. Soon my cunt starts to contract, pulsing, opening. I nestle closer to him and he grips my bottom tighter. Through the thin fabric of his T- shirt I can feel the bristly hairs on his chest.

I sneak a glance over at my master in his chair. His meat is out; he is pulling on it with both hands. He likes what he sees.

I can feel Patsy's hard package pushing against my box. He bends and kisses my neck as he dances me back to the couch. He sits me down and pulls my breasts right out of my dress. They hang down nearly to my waist. He grabs one in each hand, pulls them, milks them like udders. He gets me so excited the cream starts to run out between my legs. He sniffs and smiles a little: he can smell how sweet my cream is. He takes his hands off my tits, unzips his pants and pulls his thing out. It's a long white skanky snake, not at all like my master's fat dark meat. The long snake points right at me.

"Suck it," he says, "suck it," his voice not soft at all. I take the one-eyed monster in my mouth; carefully covering my teeth with my lips like my master taught me, so as not to bite. It swells in my mouth, filling it.

I suck and suck, swallow hard so as not to gag. Patsy puts his hands on my titties again, milks them some more. I'm so excited now I'm gobbling Patsy up; I'm moving my hips, rocking towards him. I glance over Patsy's arm and see my master in the armchair. His hand is moving so fast between his legs all I can see is a blur. I've never seen him look so happy.

Patsy's rod is leaping in my mouth like he's about to shoot, and my throat is open to him. I'm ready to swallow everything he's got.

"I have to put it in you, I have to put it in you now," Patsy says. "Stand up."

I like how he's filling my mouth so much I don't want to let him go, but I do, and I stand up.

My master calls out to Patsy, "You having a good time, buddy?"

"Fine," Patsy answers. "I feel right at home. Now I'm going to lay down on the couch nice and easy," Patsy says, and he does. His thing sticks up out of his pants like a pole, "Take off my pants and shoes and socks, and climb right onto me," he says. I pull off his things and climb astride him. I spread myself with my fingers and guide him in. He fills me good, right to the top.

"Come on, Mama," Patsy says, "take it slow." His eyes are closed tight and his lips pursed together. It's as if he is trying to remember something, something from a dream long ago, but this doesn't stop him from keeping our rhythm. In the background Elvis sings, Are you lonesome tonight? Patsy moans, moves me faster.

"How you doing, buddy?" my master calls from the couch. "Isn't she a peach?"

"Just what I needed," Patsy gasps out. "Couldn't be better."

"Mind if I join in, old pal?" my master asks him.

"Course not," Patsy says, "come on."

My master gets up and walks towards us, carrying Big Boy in both hands like a big heavy gun. He takes one hand off it and slaps me hard on the ass.

"Good bitch," he says. "And now I'm going to give you your reward. While Patsy fucks you, I'm going to poke you in your back hole. But I'll only do it if you want it. Say you want it."

He smacks my bum again, harder this time.

"I want it," I tell him. "I do."

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