get into it, but even the roughest of them—like Fantastic Freddie Faylor and Kevin the Druid—bored her to tears. The closest she’d gotten so far was a few weeks ago, when Brian Orndorf and Paul Blair had play-raped her on Orndorf’s kangaroo-skin throw rug. They’d let her fight back a little, and she’d gotten to take some shots, but all it left her with in the end was an unfulfilled spark between her legs.
But after hauling the ashes of close to thirty of these well-muscled morons in the last month, she felt she deserved at least one orgasm for her trouble. Men are all a bunch of pussies, she dismissed. Won’t try anything knew ‘cos it might bruise their macho egos.
When they’d first gotten back to the HoJo room, Dare’s roomie, Slapjack Culligan, was pouring drinks. “Hey, Cullie, look at the prize I found,” Dare bragged, dragging off a black t-shirt bearing a silver stallion. Culligan, in a leather vest, chaps, and Texas shitkicker boots, gave a whistle. Melinda nodded a cordial hello, then winced when Dare climbed out of his jeans, sporting a limp penis drooping like a dead lizard, a big dead lizard. It was bigger limp than most men were hard. Then he downed a gin and tonic like a shot, poured another, and did it again. Jesus, Melinda thought. Drink much?
“Get outa them panties, hon. Show the boys what you got.”
Melinda shrugged, did it, and flung the panties on the bed. Slick Dare gaped at her obvious lack of pubic hair, then Slapjack chuckled and commented in his hick Texas drawl, “Ain’t you heard the rule, honey? No hair, no Dare.”
“Well,” Dare jumped in, “I usually dig a plot of hair that’d knock your Aunt Connie’s socks off, but— Woooo! —this piece of fuck pie is so hot, the Wonder Boy can make an exception.”
Piece of fuck pie, Melinda thought. We’ll see about that. She assumed this Slapjack cracker would be part of the ride, but that was no big deal. Threesomes, foursomes, room somes—she didn’t care so long as she got what she wanted. It would be nice, though, for some diversity tonight, and just as she’d thought it— What the hell? —she turned at the sound of bedsprings.
Slick Dare was jumping up and down on the bed, and he was—
Oh for Christ’s sake!
— he was wearing Melinda’s red panties.
A ludicrous sight if there ever was one: big, tan, muscled, and blond, here was Slick Dare the Wonder Boy, the adopted son of a rich midwest doctor, jumping up and down on HoJo mattress wearing women’s underwear. The half-hard dick poked out above the waistband—like a sea slug or something—and Dare, with each trampoline-like jump shouted: “Wooo! Wooo! Wooo!”
Melinda could only stare in disbelief. This was not the kind of diversity she had in mind. “He gets a little silly after he drinks,” Slapjack whispered. “Have fun.” Then he left.
««—»»
And now, later…
Dare’s penis fairly burrowed into her. Nine and a half inches; the asshole had actually put a ruler to it as proof. It was big, all right, but Melinda was an accommodating gal. He was fucking her nearly to sleep, the motel bedsprings squeaking annoyingly, his groin slapping. Every so often, his cock would slip out and she’d have to reach down and guide it back in. It felt like an oiled Italian sausage. A half hour later the scene hadn’t changed. These assholes would drink all night, so it took them forever to come. Dare humped and humped and humped, steady as a piston in an engine cylinder and about as exciting as a bowl of unflavored yogurt.
Eventually her thoughts drifted to Captain Straker. I hope he’s having more fun than me…
««—»»
“That’s it, sweetcakes! Tongue that great big honey-hole for Ghoula! Lick that clit like a lollipop!”
The physical act of the Fabulous Ghoula sitting on Straker’s face made him feel as though his entire head were being engulfed by some huge, pallid sea slug. He lay stiff on the motel bed, paralyzed, his
But after hauling the ashes of close to thirty of these well-muscled morons in the last month, she felt she deserved at least one orgasm for her trouble. Men are all a bunch of pussies, she dismissed. Won’t try anything knew ‘cos it might bruise their macho egos.
When they’d first gotten back to the HoJo room, Dare’s roomie, Slapjack Culligan, was pouring drinks. “Hey, Cullie, look at the prize I found,” Dare bragged, dragging off a black t-shirt bearing a silver stallion. Culligan, in a leather vest, chaps, and Texas shitkicker boots, gave a whistle. Melinda nodded a cordial hello, then winced when Dare climbed out of his jeans, sporting a limp penis drooping like a dead lizard, a big dead lizard. It was bigger limp than most men were hard. Then he downed a gin and tonic like a shot, poured another, and did it again. Jesus, Melinda thought. Drink much?
“Get outa them panties, hon. Show the boys what you got.”
Melinda shrugged, did it, and flung the panties on the bed. Slick Dare gaped at her obvious lack of pubic hair, then Slapjack chuckled and commented in his hick Texas drawl, “Ain’t you heard the rule, honey? No hair, no Dare.”
“Well,” Dare jumped in, “I usually dig a plot of hair that’d knock your Aunt Connie’s socks off, but— Woooo! —this piece of fuck pie is so hot, the Wonder Boy can make an exception.”
Piece of fuck pie, Melinda thought. We’ll see about that. She assumed this Slapjack cracker would be part of the ride, but that was no big deal. Threesomes, foursomes, room somes—she didn’t care so long as she got what she wanted. It would be nice, though, for some diversity tonight, and just as she’d thought it— What the hell? —she turned at the sound of bedsprings.
Slick Dare was jumping up and down on the bed, and he was—
Oh for Christ’s sake!
— he was wearing Melinda’s red panties.
A ludicrous sight if there ever was one: big, tan, muscled, and blond, here was Slick Dare the Wonder Boy, the adopted son of a rich midwest doctor, jumping up and down on HoJo mattress wearing women’s underwear. The half-hard dick poked out above the waistband—like a sea slug or something—and Dare, with each trampoline-like jump shouted: “Wooo! Wooo! Wooo!”
Melinda could only stare in disbelief. This was not the kind of diversity she had in mind. “He gets a little silly after he drinks,” Slapjack whispered. “Have fun.” Then he left.
««—»»
And now, later…
Dare’s penis fairly burrowed into her. Nine and a half inches; the asshole had actually put a ruler to it as proof. It was big, all right, but Melinda was an accommodating gal. He was fucking her nearly to sleep, the motel bedsprings squeaking annoyingly, his groin slapping. Every so often, his cock would slip out and she’d have to reach down and guide it back in. It felt like an oiled Italian sausage. A half hour later the scene hadn’t changed. These assholes would drink all night, so it took them forever to come. Dare humped and humped and humped, steady as a piston in an engine cylinder and about as exciting as a bowl of unflavored yogurt.
Eventually her thoughts drifted to Captain Straker. I hope he’s having more fun than me…
««—»»
“That’s it, sweetcakes! Tongue that great big honey-hole for Ghoula! Lick that clit like a lollipop!”
The physical act of the Fabulous Ghoula sitting on Straker’s face made him feel as though his entire head were being engulfed by some huge, pallid sea slug. He lay stiff on the motel bed, paralyzed, his
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