Loading...“Mother, I’m too fat to go clothes shopping! I need to lose ten pounds first, please?” Angelica was in full teenage whining mood, again. This was normal for the girl but in contrast to many parents who would have been driven mad by it, her mother smiled serenely and disagreed.
“Dear, you are perfect size 12. I know that in all those silly magazines your friends share everyone should be a size 3 or smaller, but on your skeleton that would be emaciated. Now stop trying to come up with excuses. We’re going to buy you a party outfit and you’re going to wear it to your graduation party at the Moose Lodge with all the rest of your class.”
“I don’t want to go to the Moose Lodge party. I want to go to one of my friend’s party’s. Mother, can’t you understand? I’m eighteen, after all.”
“And you don’t have a job and you still live at home so you still go where you’re sent and do what you’re told. House rules, Angie, and you know them as well as I do. Besides, in spite of what your dreams, all of your friends will be at the party as well. No one is having an alternate party, you can be sure of that. Your grandparents all attended the traditional party, your father and I both attended the party and so will you. The subject is now closed. Get in the car.”
Mrs. Redpath picked up her keys, slung her purse over shoulder and held open the door in a way that promised that while she was being civil about the entire thing now, incivility was a definite option. Angelica sighed and got in the car. The next day at school Angie and her best friend Sylvia Anderson were commiserating. “My parents were adamant,” Sylvia pouted. “I wasn’t even allowed to negotiate. All I wanted was to have a dozen of us over for a barbecue and maybe some dancing but you’d think I was planning a drunken orgy. The only way we’re going to avoid going to that dumb Moose Lodge party will be to run away from home.”
“Mother took me clothes shopping for the party,” Angie replied morosely, “and you wouldn’t believe what she decided I should wear. She hasn’t chosen my clothes since I was 12 but she marched me into this shop over in Colbyville I’d never seen before, talked to the owner and then told me to put on what that woman pulled off the rack. My God, it’s nearly skin-tight, cut to the waist in front and almost shows my butt-crack in the back! Once they got done pinning and tucking . . . it looks like it was put on with an airbrush. What is Mother thinking?”
Sylvia’s jaw dropped. “You, too? I was poured into a jumpsuit. I have to wear a push-up bra under it and totter around in heels so high I’ll probably get a nosebleed. I thought it was only my mother who’d lost her mind, but it sounds like yours is just as bad. Has there been some change in the water supply or something?”
As graduation approached, similar stories circulated among the girls in the small senior class. Something had definitely affected the normally staid mothers of the little town, something that dumbfounded their daughters. The Moose Lodge was known as a place for the community’s adults to gather. Most weekend nights the parking lot would be full and polka music would be echoing across the fields that surrounded it. Youth who were raised on iPods and MP-3 players cringed at the idea that their parents still listened to the Yowpers and bounced around a dance hall to the strains of an oompah band or, worse yet, accordions. What that hokey place could possibly have in common with outrageously sexy outfits baffled everyone. What in the world was going on?
Naturally, the boys were completely oblivious to the girls’ distress. Their end-of-year concerns revolved around jobs, the military or, in the case of one of them, college. Springsview, unlike many towns its size seemed unusually able to hang on to its young people. Farms weren’t locked into the kind of commodity crops that forced others to expand or die. Instead, they concentrated on specialties that allowed families to continue farming the same land their forbearers had owned for generations while remaining profitable. Businesses didn’t succumb to giant box stores in the next town because the residents wouldn’t shop outside of town unless they had to. Besides, there were always places for ambitious youngsters to prosper without moving to the big city. It was an anomaly that puzzled state officials but one that was appreciated. To the boys of the Class of ’09, it was normal. The town took care of its own. It always had and they didn’t see any reason why that should change.
The girls had a different take on things. “We just have to get out of here,” Kirsten Van Daam was holding forth in the cafeteria on her favorite subject. “Springsview is stuck in the past. Women all get married and have babies while the men work. This isn’t what’s supposed to happen in today’s America. We need to have careers, too. I mean, Angie, look at your mother. No matter who’s fighting whom, once she gets them together they’re friends again an hour later. She’s a genius who could have made a fortune as a negotiator or an arbitration attorney. But what is she instead? A pretty mother of three kids with a husband who does everything she says. That is just so . . . so . . . June Cleaver!”
Angelica had to admit that Kirsten had a point. Her mother ruled her household and all the ones around her with a warm, loving, but very firm hand. If there was a matriarch in Springsview, it was her mother, Evelyn Redpath. Yet somehow it didn’t seem wrong to the girl. Perhaps that was the glue that held Springsview together, this band of confident, unswerving women who all went to church together, mid-wifed each other, supported each other and managed their extremely contented husbands. How did they do it, now that she came to think about it?
That night she raised the question. “Mom, why didn’t you go to college? You’re one of the smartest people I know. You should have been a lawyer or something.”
Evelyn looked up from the desktop where she was settling the family accounts. “Why didn’t I go to college? Angie, I’m not a natural academic. For people who are, like Kirsten, four years in the university is an excellent idea. However, books and research never interested me all that much. I’d rather just live quietly here in Springsview and be as helpful as I can to my neighbors. That seemed like a perfectly satisfying life when I was your age and it still does, now. Wouldn’t it appeal to you?”
Angelica had been expecting an answer more like “there wasn’t the money, then” or “your grandfather felt that college was for boys.” Having her wise, witty mother say upfront that she hadn’t gone to college because she didn’t want to, required a few minutes to process.
“You didn’t want to go to college?”
“No. I wanted to marry your father and have you, Tony and Edward. That’s what I wanted and that’s what I did. I was much more certain of myself then than you are. You see, my mother ailing when I was eighteen. I needed to take her place in the community as early as I could. Fortunately, she recovered fully but by then I had essentially replaced her, letting her and Daddy do the traveling they dreamed of. That reminds me. They called this morning from Lisbon and want me to wish you a very happy graduation. Have you decided what you want as a graduation present?” The sudden change of subject threw Angie off her line of thought and reminded her that she hadn’t given the question any consideration. This was understandable, as she had spent so much time and emotional energy trying to get out of the traditional party. Since it was now clear that she, and all of her friends, would be going to the Moose Lodge whether they wanted to or not, it was time think seriously about just what she should ask for.
All the girls that the teachers called “Kirsten’s posse” were sitting under a large sycamore on the lawn in front of their red stone high school. The day was warm enough that socks and shoes were shed until the next period and a few discrete buttons had been unfastened. This last may have been due to the subject matter under discussion. It was certainly raising Angelica’s temperature! “So, Friday night we all meet at the swimming hole on Sylvia’s farm for a chocolate swim. Agreed?” Kirsten, as usual, was dominating the conversation.
The responding agreements came in but a few were hesitant. Talking about skinny-dipping after dark was one thing but actually planning to be naked in the water with boys was another one completely. There was sure to be splashing and ducking and that much hands-on contact might just lead to other things that not all of the girls were sure they were ready for.
Sylvia tried to put a brave face on things and challenged Kirsten. “Have you decided who you’re going to give your first blowjob to, now that you can swallow a banana whole?”
Kirsten stuck her nose in the air. “My first blowjob was Eliot Campbell after he threw that winning pass at the homecoming game. This one will be at least my twentieth. Who’s going to get yours?”
Sylvia backed down immediately. It was true that they’d all dared each other into learning to swallow a whole banana. After all, they had become convinced that the day would doubtless arrive when they’d either want or need to get a date off without sacrificing their virginity. Sylvia however, had yet to get up the nerve to put the skill to practical use. Finding that her friend and role model was already an accomplished fellatrix left her feeling chastened and slightly left out.
“I haven’t decided,” she stammered, “but I’ll definitely know when the time comes.” Angelica kept quiet. The day before her mother had caught her in the kitchen with a peeled Chiquita slipping down her throat. She’d gulped desperately and then gasped for air while trying to imagine some excuse for what she was obviously doing. She feared the worst but, to her surprise, Evelyn had given her a big hug and kissed her soundly on the cheek. “My little girl is growing up, I see. That wasn’t a very big banana but you took it down very nicely. I remember doing the very same thing at your age and I think it’s something that every girl should know how to do. Now, just remember that when the time comes it is very bad manners to choke or spit his semen out. If you want to please him enough that you’re going to deep throat him, you should want to please him enough to swallow. It’s only a tablespoon or so, after all.” And with that Evelyn had bounced out the door with the egg basket in hand headed for the hen house. Angelica goggled. Her mother approved of oral sex. That was as hard to accept as the day she’d realized the fact that her parents had had at least enough sex to produce three children. Obviously, that was something that parents did, otherwise they wouldn’t be parents but the image of her mother on her knees in front of her father sucking and licking astonished, just astonished. After all, this was her mother!
“Oh Kirsten, you’re such a slut.” Heather Bocker’s voice brought Angie back to the present. “And the best part is that you’re proud of it!” “Got it in one,” was the saucy response, “and I’m going to be the best piece of tail at college, too. You watch!”
Friday night found Angie and Heather in a battered pickup bouncing down a dirt road at the back of the Anderson farm. Their goal was where the local stream widened into a wide, calm pool that at this time of the year was about six feet deep. Neither of them was speaking. Instead, they were chewing on their lower lips trying to come up with something to say, but without success. When they arrived at the pond, music was playing on Elliot’s car radio and there was giggling and whispered chatter from below the bank. Both girls breathed deeply and climbed out to work their way down to the bushes that surrounded the pool.
“Hey, you’re finally here!” Dalton Corby’s shy smile shone in the moonlight. “Come on in. The water’s warmer than we expected. It’s really nice,” and with that he surface dove flashing his white buttocks for a second in the process.
Angelica crouched down in the bushes to strip and tuck her clothes into the bag she’d brought along for the purpose. Wrapping a large towel around herself, she slipped down next to the water’s edge and then in the blink of an eye hung it over a protruding branch and jumped in. When she surfaced, she noticed that most of the group was still divided by sex with the boys splashing and horsing around while the girls kept well down in the water with only their heads visible. A few quick strokes brought her over into the girls’ area.
“Where’s Kirsten?” she asked Sylvia. “Has she started handing out blowjobs, yet?”
“Maybe more than that,” was the giggled answer. “She and Elliot disappeared just before you two rolled up. How long does it take to get your cherry popped, I wonder?”
“Jeez, I hope they brought some rubbers along. Getting knocked up could put a real damper on her career plans.”
Just then there was a splash next to her and Dalton surfaced. “Uh—hi, Angie.”
She waited a moment for him to continue but when nothing more was forthcoming, she smiled in reply, “Hi to you, too, Dalt. Have you been diving down and perving all the girl’s butts? I know you’ve been too deep to be ogling our boobs.”
Dalton blushed so hard that his face looked darker in the sliver light. “I . . . I’m just diving. I like slipping along the bottom.”
Angie made a sudden decision and stepped forward. “Is that because the mud feels sexy?” she whispered hoarsely into his ear. Dalton was a favorite of hers. He lived down the road from their farm and was known as the local eccentric artist. Not that he was seriously odd or an outsider of any sort but he was shy. His prowess as a distance runner qualified him as an athlete and ‘regular guy’, but mostly he stayed in his jury-rigged studio in the hayloft and turned out landscapes and wildlife studies that were the talk of the county.
Angie reached under the water to slide her fingers down his belly. Her mother approved of oral sex, did she? Then maybe it was time to put that banana practice to work. “Why don’t you rub my ass a little, Dalton, and I’ll make you feel better than some slimy old mud.” As she whispered, her hand wrapped itself around his ‘package’, a good-sized one, by the feel of it.
Dalton goggled in response. “Angie, I don’t have any condoms! I didn’t think . . .”
“Just feel me up, Dalton; no one has ever done that. And we don’t need condoms, not for what I’ve got planned.” She bit down on his earlobe and smiled in satisfaction at the combination of gasp and moan it elicited.
Then it was her turn to moan as long, slender fingers wrapped around each buttock and pulled her close. Dalton began to stiffen under her fingers and he reached up to grab her hair and to pull her face around for a deep probing kiss.
“Psst! Hey, you two, go find a shadow. You’re right out in the moonlight.” Sylvia’s whisper was urgent. The couple looked up but instead of seeing an eager audience discovered that most of the rest of the group was engaged the way they were.
Just then, Sylvia squeaked as Arthur Conroy, the sole unattached male in the group came up behind her, pinned her arms at her sides and palmed a generous breast with each hand. That takes care of her, Angie thought, and returned her attention to Dalton
The kisses were torrid, a word she had just learned the month before from a novel she’d borrowed from Heather. Either such things were instinctive or she and Dalton had been reading the same steamy paperbacks. They sucked each other lower lips, dueled with their tongues and clutched and squeezed at each other’s anatomy with increasing passion and ferocity.
Soon Angie was panting and a hot, heavy pressure began to spread out from below her belly. I’d better get down on him quick before I can’t resist letting him have me!
“Get me over into the shallows, Dalton,” Angie murmured, “before I pull you up onto the bank. I just need your cock out of the water.”
Dalton backed up until he was sitting on a large boulder that protruded above the surface of the pool and leaned back onto his arms in response to Angie’s pressure on his chest. She slithered up his thighs, looked up with a wink and began to flick her tongue on the frenulum on the underside of his helmet. After a few minutes of that, long, slathering licks ran up and down the shaft, just like the ones on the video the girls had all watched one pajama party. It had been very instructional. Angie wondered who’d brought it and where they got it. After the last few days’ revelations, she wasn’t sure she really wanted to find out.
Dalton’s heavy breathing and low murmurs told her it was time to go for the gold. A deep breath, a huge swallow and he went all the way in. Angie was amazed to find that her nose was pressed into his pubic hair with far less effort than she’d feared. This is easy! She thought and began to bob her head. Bob, inhale, bob, exhale. She could do that but she found that she had to hold Dalton’s thighs down. He kept trying to thrust upwards into her face and spoiling her rhythm.
Suddenly he groaned and she felt warmth explode down her throat as he shot his load into her. She stayed there as the twitching declined until she had to withdraw and gasp for air. She’d done it and, from the response of her partner, done it pretty well, thank-you very much. The next thing she knew, she was pulled clear of the water up onto his chest and kissed again, hot and heavily.
“Angie, I don’t know what made you do that but . . . but . . . thank-you . . . thank-you, so much. I’ll remember that for the rest of my life.”
Angelica smiled secretly to herself. She’d done it, she really had. Now she could date as wildly as she wanted and still be a virgin on her wedding night . . . if she wanted to be, that is.
At lunch Monday, the girls were doing their best innocent poker faces when Kirsten walked in and sat down with a very faraway look. She chewed her food absently, staring off into space without a word. Just about the time Angie was about to wave a hand in front of her face, she put her fork down and turned to her friends.
“Guys, we’re being set up. I can feel it in my bones. Something is going on but I don’t know what.”
“What do you mean?” Now all the girls were talking at once.
“Saturday morning,” Kirsten began, “I came out for breakfast. Okay, I was late but that’s nothing new on Saturday, yanno? I was pouring milk on my cereal when Mother came into the kitchen, looked me in the eye, and grinned. Then she poured me a glass of orange juice and handed me a pill. She told me to take it. She told me to take it twice, so I did. When I asked what that was all about, she grinned and told me it was a ‘morning after’ pill. I was just—just stupefied, I guess. Before I could ask why she gave me that she burst out laughing and said that all I had to do was go look in a mirror. Any grown woman would know in an instant what I’d done, and that it was about time—about time? I thought we were sneaking around to go get it on with the boys and . . .”
“Our mothers are taking it all in, just like they did with our first steps, our first words, our first training bras and everything else.” Angelica said, putting two and two together. “I’m beginning to have real questions about this party at the Moose Lodge. Yesterday I even called my aunt Betty and asked her point blank about it and she point blank told me I’d find out when I got there. Uh, is anyone getting fed birth control pills?”
The girls looked from one to another but all the responses were negative. No one had gotten that far. Heather timidly raised her voice, “I have heard that those things can reduce your libido. Do you suppose that might be why none of our mothers has even mentioned them? I mean, I thought it was because we were supposed to just say no until marriage. Aren’t we?”
The next period bell rang but what was taught in the following class was completely missed or totally forgotten.
Caps and gowns turned back in, and diplomas put away, it was now time for the party. Angie had originally feared that it wouldn’t be cool enough for her and her friends, but that feeling had been replaced with a more general anxiety. What was going to happen? Fitting into the dress had been easier than she expected but the fact that she was going to go braless was another ratchet up in the worry quotient. She carefully made up her face, took one last look in the mirror with still no answer to whether she should flaunt herself or collapse in panic and came out of her room. She froze. Evelyn was also dressed up for the party but in a completely different manner. She wore a simple caftan but what a caftan! The bias cut material clung to her mature curves, the neckline, though narrow, plunged to her navel and there was a slit up one side almost to her hip.
Stepping forward to her trembling daughter, Evelyn took out a spray bottle and shot a squirt up each nostril. Then she handed to Angelica. “Here darling, do just what I did. You have no idea how much better it will make the evening. And in case you were wondering, it isn’t anything illegal or harmful. Come on, now, sniff!”
Then they climbed into the car and headed for the Moose Lodge.
For a mid-June night, it seemed remarkably warm in the car to Angelica. It became even warmer when movement in the front seat turned out to be her mother laying a ringed hand on her father’s leg as he drove, caressing his thigh. At the next stoplight, Mr. Redpath returned the gesture and went even further sliding his fingers along his wife’s skin where the slit in her caftan revealed tempting pink flesh. Angie was dimly aware that she should be aghast at such displays of intimacy in her presence but instead of a blush flaming her face, the heat seemed to be concentrating lower down. Warmth began to spread out from her lower belly down her thighs and up her torso. She had a vague feeling that the sensations were just like the ones that Dalton had produced back at the creek. Her knees slowly fell apart of their own volition.
When the car came to a stop in the Lodge parking lot, Angie took a few moments to surface from a daydream that featured Leonardo Di Caprio in a vague but prominent way. Her door was open, held by her beaming father. Her mother clung to his arm in a way Angie had never seen before. She had even wrapped a bare thigh around his leg in a very provocative manner. “Come along, Angie,” she murmured. “It’s time to go in.”
Whatever Angie imagined the inside of the Moose Lodge to be was wrong. She’d already come to suspect that the polka music was a cover-up before she called her aunt but she still thought that probably the Lodge was a hall, maybe with a bar at one end and a large open space. It was not. Instead, the Springsview Moose Lodge closely resembled an upper class British gentleman’s club. Thick carpets covered polished hardwood floors, with upholstered loveseats with ottomans and end tables taking up most of the space. There was a large, unused fireplace in one corner. Tonight dozens of ice-filled champagne buckets sat next to tables with more dozens of glasses scattered around within easy reach of almost anywhere one could sit.
Her mother and father exchanged a hot kiss and then separated with Evelyn taking her daughter’s arm and leading her to where Kirsten’s tall, rugged-looking father sat comfortably sipping a glass of bubbly. “Darling, why don’t you sit right here and keep Harold company for a while, at least until the games begin? And have some champagne while you’re at it.”
A champagne flute appeared in Angie’s right hand as she found herself tucked very snugly against Harold Van Daam’s right side. Then his arm encircled her with a palm cupping the underside of her unsupported breast. She opened her mouth to gasp, if not protest, and found his lips pressed against hers instead and his tongue exploring, tickling her cheeks, and running around the back of her gums. The heat in her crotch was now feverish and she could feel the moisture slicking her labia. Protest? She returned the kisses passionately, letting the champagne go flat, unheeded.
When the kiss finally broke Angie came up panting with one breast was exposed, its nipple standing tall and stiff. She looked down at it and then at her new partner’s crotch where his hard erection bulged. “Can we find somewhere private?” she breathed quietly, heedless of any observers.
“Absolutely not,” the answer was a chuckle. “Nothing is private here—besides, here’s your mother. I do think it’s time for the games to begin.”
“Games?” What was everyone talking about?
“Roulette, my dearest girl,” Evelyn helped her daughter to her feet. “We’re going to play roulette.”
“But . . . but I didn’t bring any money!”
Evelyn gave a throaty chortle. “The stakes in this game aren’t money, Angie. Come along and I’ll show you.”
As the entire gathering began to move towards the double doors in the back of the lodge, Angelica noticed something strange for the first time. While she and her classmates were dressed in different but very sexy outfits, the older women were all wearing some sort of caftan and all the caftans were cut in a way that concealed the bodies underneath them while emphasizing the curves they concealed. If anyone had wanted to make an entire town full of women look as suggestive as possible, nothing could match what was being worn.
The rear doors opened to reveal a broad staircase that descended into the hill behind the lodge. At the bottom, a very large room had been dug out from the hill and, to Angelica and her friends’ astonishment, it was filled with huge, flat wheels. Music played in the room and a smoky-voiced alto sang of the pleasures of the flesh to a slow, throbbing, sultry rhythm that seemed to go directly to her pelvis. Angie found herself unconsciously thrusting her hips to the beat.
Evelyn turned to her daughter. “Take the dress off, dear, and give it to Harold. But let him pull down your panties.” As she spoke, the older woman grasped the zipper pull on her caftan, undid the garment and slipped it off her shoulders. To Angie’s dazed surprise, her mother was completely nude, moisturized and shaved bare below.
“Come on, Angie, this is no time for shyness. We need to be naked.”
With trembling hands, Angelica undid the clasp at the nape of her neck to let her dress slide from her nubile body, handed it over to Mr. Van Daam then raised both arms over her head waiting to be stripped completely. The music grew louder and Angie felt a serious need growing between her thighs.
Kirsten’s father ran warm hands over Angie’s soft, yielding breasts and gently twisted the nipples. She groaned quietly. Then those naughty palms slid down her sides and over her hips until they encountered the bikini panties. Rather than sliding them off, the older man simply grasped the elastic, snapped it easily and threw them carelessly aside.
“One’s first man really should be older and experienced just as a boy’s first woman should be. Come along, Angie, you’ve been a girl for long enough.” Evelyn took her daughter’s arm and led her over to one of the wheels.
They weren’t really roulette wheels in the usual sense but they were decorated in alternating red and black. Each colored wedge was padded and sported different combinations of pillows and bolsters. Angie was taken to a black section with nothing but a modest cushion in the center.
“Sit on the pillow, dear, and lay back. It will position that cute little pussy just perfectly. Now raise your arms over your head . . . farther . . . yes!”
Angie felt pads surround her wrists and heard a quiet click as they closed around her. Her mother pushed her feet apart and back just a bit until the same thing happened to her ankles. She was pinned down, helpless and completely exposed. The idea was exciting. She saw her mother kneel in against a large, wedge-shaped cushion and bend forward putting her wrists and ankles into tethers identical to the ones that held her daughter.
“I’m going to give the gentlemen a choice tonight,” she winked. “You can wait until later to find whether you enjoy being buggered.”
The music grew louder. The room felt hotter. Angie looked down between her knees to see Harold Van Daam standing there, naked, his manhood at attention and covered in purple latex. He smiled at her and then, instead of kneeling down, grasped an upright handle at the edge of the wheel. All the men who had lined up on one of the women did the same and together they gave a mighty shove and the wheel spun. Angelica looked up to see the ceiling whirling around over her. When she looked back down man after man flashed past her pinioned feet. The stakes in this game aren’t for money. she remembered her mother’s words. My goodness, this game is being played for pussy! Or, she reconsidered it could be for cock . . . depending on your viewpoint. I wonder who is going to get me!
The spinning and clicking of the wheel slowed, the men waiting at the women’s feet grew more distinct. At last, with a final click the wheel stopped and Angie saw that she’d won or been won by, Erwin Anderson. Mr. Anderson was a great, hard-muscled slab of a man whose chest and arms told better than words his devotion to the draft horses with which he farmed. As he knelt between her thighs, those massive hands looked alarming but, as he gently and carefully stroked her sex, felt heavenly. Angie hummed and quivered as Erwin slowly spread her labia and carefully inserted one large index finger. He stroked the upper surface of her vagina, pushing more forcefully when he encountered the spongy tissue of her G-spot. Pushing there and stroking her clitoris with his thumb Anderson soon had his prize squeaking as her arousal grew until with a yelp she cried out her ecstasy to the world.
“Excellent, Angie,” Mr. Anderson murmured. “Now for the next step.” He released her ankles from the wheel and set them onto his shoulders, inched forward just enough and began to run the head of his phallus up and down her nether lips.
“Please?” Angie’s need was unbearable now, and she pleaded for release. Erwin smiled quietly and with a smooth push was inside her. She felt a sudden stretching and knew in an instant that she wasn’t a girl any more. Now she was a woman! A fuzzy thought surfaced in her heated brain that she was relieved but then he leaned forward on his elbows over her and began to piston in and out to the sensual beat of the music. She stopped thinking of anything and her whole world became nothing but bucking against his thrusts. The beat went on. Angie began to climb the heights of orgasm and once again it broke over her in waves bringing tears of joy. Under the man’s remorseless driving the young woman finally reached the state where all the climaxes rolled into one, all sense of time fading away.
A bell chimed at the edge of her consciousness and Anderson withdrew returning her ankles to their tethers. She looked up at him vacantly and saw all the men grab the handles again and send the women spinning towards another random lusty male.
“Wonderfully done, my dear,” came her mother’s soft voice in her ear, “now keep that up. The night is long and there are many men out to—sample our wares, if you will.”
All that Angie knew was the whirling ceiling above her and the slippery wetness in her crotch. Many men, she thought dreamily, I like the sound of that. When the room stopped spinning, she looked down to see Elliot Campbell. He looked happy and satisfied and, to her dismay, completely spent. Oh dear, that would never do! She wanted more, she needed more and then Elliot winked. He leaned down and put his mouth full on her juicy, slippery labia and, with gentle suction, started to lick. Just as before, everything was in time to the music that throbbed through the room. The only other sounds were the slaps of flesh on flesh and the grunts and moans from everyone’s pleasure.
Angie had no idea how long the evening wore on. There would be a chime, the room would spin and one of her classmates or neighbors would mount her. None of them hurried to climax, though in the case of the senior class, that was more likely because they had already done so and were coming back for seconds or possibly thirds. Nothing in Angelica’s education had prepared her for the variations among men. Different girths, different lengths, different kisses . . . she could but take them all, helpless as she was. Romance novels never mentioned anything like this, not matter how steamy they had seemed.
Finally, when the wheel came to rest, she saw Dalton Corby between her thighs. A soft voice overrode the music, “Will the senior classmen please all remove their condoms? This is the last dance and we want you to enjoy your lady bareback.”
Dalton looked startled. He looked down at his latex-clad, engorged manhood and then up at Angie.
“Do it, Dalton,” she panted, “if I’m going to have anyone’s baby, I want yours!”
Dalton smiled slowly and peeled off the encumbrance. Placing a knee behind each cheek and taking her head in his hands, he entered her tongue and cock together. Angie grunted, then moaned and as he started to thrust to a new and more rapid tune, to mew. The beat was faster, her lover more urgent and the orgasms more intense. She tried to suck on his tongue or his lips but the electric spasms destroyed her control and all she could do was buck and thrust in return. Then he came. She felt the same seed that a week before had gone down her throat jet into her, each wiggler racing for her womb.
“Yes, Dalton! Yes! Oh God, oh God, Dalton, yes!”
Sunday morning found Evelyn and Angelica at breakfast. Father and the brothers were already out in the greenhouses making their rounds of the ornamental plants and exotic houseplants that kept the family in comfortable straits and the two women sat, albeit a bit gingerly and on pillows, over their coffee.
“Yes, dear, of course you needed that pill. However much your hindbrain is beating out ‘baby, baby, baby’, now is not the time, not yet. You need a suitable husband and father for your children first. However much we appreciate passion, economics still raises its ugly head.” Mrs. Redpath sipped her steaming brew and sighed appreciatively.
“Then why did all the boys get told to take off their condoms? They could have left them on. I know Elliot had at least one orgasm before he got to me because he had to eat me while he recovered. It seems a little silly to have this mass impregnation and then stop them all.” Angie was irritated at being made to prevent whatever pregnancy might have resulted from the previous night’s coupling. She really wanted Dalton’s baby, but couldn’t explain why.
“Oh, that’s just the way we’ve done things for the senior class for years. I don’t know who came up with the idea but we still do. Of course, we always made sure that the final fuck a girl had on grad night was with the guy she wanted to marry before the morning after pill came out. It’s made Roulette much more sporting, that little pill. Anyway, you’re not really ready for marriage. Heavens, girl, you don’t even have a steady boyfriend!”
Angie thought that over. Her mother was technically right. All through high school, she had played the field to the hilt. If there was any time during the last four years that she’d go out with the same boy twice, it must have been an accident. Still, there was no doubt in her mind who she wanted. Every hormone in her body was screaming his name but the frontal lobes of her brain somehow managed to stay in control.
“I know who I want. I really do. But if you’re going to bring money in to the equation . . . you’re starting to worry me. Mom, I think I’m in love with Dalton Corby.”
Evelyn smiled warmly at her daughter. “Such a wonderful young man and, I’m happy to be able to report, such a virile one, too. When you’re ready to surrender your backside, girl, be advised that he can pound you into the mattress that way. I know. I found out!”
“Mom, artists don’t make any money! Why are you so happy I love Dalton?”
“Don’t make any money?” Ms. Redpath arched an eyebrow most disapprovingly at the statement, “Angelica Lee Redpath, you really need to pay more attention to what goes on around you. In October and November of last year, Dalton signed contracts with two galleries to carry his work, one in Vail, Colorado and the other in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. Since Christmas, he’s sold over twenty-five thousand dollars worth of his art and the tourist season in Wisconsin is just beginning. He’d have a gallery in New York selling his wares, as well, but they told him that rural and wildlife scenes wouldn’t sell in Greenwich Village and that he needed different subject matter. If you want Dalton, my love, you’re going to have to go after him. You know how reserved he normally is. I’ll admit, under the influence of our “aerosol foreplay”, he’s a different man altogether but usually he’s quite shy.”
Monday, the first day of summer and the first weekday of her legal and sexual adulthood, Angelica Redpath drove the old pickup under a big tree and parked. Calmly she crossed the grass to the base of the new wooden stairs that climbed the outside of the old barn to the loft. At the top, she opened the door and stepped inside, smiling lovingly at the startled figure that looked back at her. She unzipped her caftan, stepped out seductively nude, and tossed it over the back of a chair.
“Hello Dalton,” she said, “I’ve come to model for you.”