Hernandez Villie - More love to come

Although the bedpost could have provided support for his venture, the skinny hairy man was too drunk to notice. He balanced on one leg and regarded the sock his arch-enemy of the moment curled enticingly around his toes. He grabbed for it, missed, grabbed again, finally managed to pull it up at least as far as his ankle, took that for a victory, put his foot back on the floor just in time to avoid a fall. He remembered the voluptuous girl on the bed, frowned at her, began the search for his other sock.

Judy Burton returned his frown with a smile, thought: You skinny fuck, just put the money on the dresser and get the hell out of here. The man ignored her telepathic message, continued rummaging around the room for his sock. Judy took a pull on her stale bourbon and soda. The money, she thought, just leave the money. The man had gotten everything he wanted, and more, the bruises on her thighs were testimony. Now it was her turn. She had to have that money, it was well that mattered.

Judy tried to forget the bruises on her legs, the tiny stinging welts on her back, the throbbing ache in her pussy. She tried, but she could not. She was still too new at this business, had not yet hardened her mind and body to the brutal mistreatment she was expected to take. In the course of just a few months every part of her had been violated, but she had never complained. She had no one to complain to, no one who would care.

Yes, she thought, this one had outdone them all. He looked so harmless now, so comical and silly, crawling drunkenly around her room, but just a few moments before he had been anything but funny. Judy's pain came roaring back as she remembered his gouging fingernails and rock-hard fists she had been astounded that someone so skinny could hit so hard and finally the savage penetration of his prick, without warning, a sudden, ripping spear in her still-dry and unprepared cunt. He could have at least waited until she was ready, could have fingered and toyed with her gently to get the juices flowing, but that was what happened when you made love, and love was not a part of this man's constitution. This man, or any man.

Judy wondered how anyone had ever come up with the phrase "making love". What this man had done, what all men did, they did out of hate and lust love was nowhere to be found. When he had taken her nipple between his teeth and bitten so hard that blood had begun to flow; was that love? When he had brought his open hand, then his fists, crashing down on her body and face, was that love? And when he had entered her, tearing at her tight, tender flesh, forcing himself further and further in even though she had begged him to stop, to wait until she was ready; was that love?

No, Judy thought, there was no love in this business. "Making love" indeed!

The aching in her pussy continued while the john went on looking for his sock. He bad crawled under the bed, was bumping his head and swearing, causing little earthquakes in the mattress. Judy wished that he would leave, hoped that he wasn't so drunk that he would forget what he paid for and ask for more. She knew she would not have to submit to him again, even if he asked for it, even if he demanded, but she hated the thought of having to argue, having to force him to leave, or having to call Slackjaws to throw him out. Probably, though, she wouldn't have to worry most of these johns were good for one brief go-around and nothing more, and there was nothing to indicate that this one was any different.

Tom, at least, had been better than that, even if he was a skunk in every other respect.

Tom. Before she had met Tom, Judy had been exactly like thousands of other eighteen-year-old girls, full in the body but hopelessly naive, dreaming her dreams of escape, trusting everyone, waiting for the man who would change her life in a day. Tom had changed her life, all right, but in a way that she never would have imagined. Tom had done this to her, Tom and that other skunk, Jay Snyder. She hated both of them.

Tom was always in her mind, even now, even while this puny trick stood in front of her with his prick caught in his zipper. No matter where she went, no matter what she did, it was Tom, always Tom who occupied her thoughts.

Her mind raced back to the little run-down theater in Bisbee, Arizona, the shabby marquee, the noise of hundreds of screaming brats waiting to get in for the Saturday matinee, the copper miners and cowboys who always stared at her as they bought their tickets, then made crude, back-slapping jokes as they walked away. She had hated that theater, had worked there only to make enough money so that she could get out of Bisbee and go to college in Tucson. She had been an excellent student in high school, had won a scholarship to the University of Arizona, but the scholarship was not enough to pay for everything, and her parents were unable to help her. So she had worked at the theater, hating it ("How many?" "Three, please." "Three dollars; show starts in ten minutes."), and had waited impatiently for the summer to end.

The U of A, she knew, was a rich boys' party school. She had been to Tucson, had seen the Cadillacs and Alfa Romeos and Ferraris parked outside the fraternity houses, had watched in amazement as trucks delivered cases of liquor to the back doors. On the campus she had stared at the tanned, blond boys and handsome bearded professors, so different than the grubby sons of miners she had known all her life. Once she got to Tucson, she thought, everything would be different. She would get to know those beautiful rich boys, those intelligent worldly men. She would

But she had never gone to Tucson. Instead, Tom had appeared. She had not been in the habit of looking at her theater customers as they bought their tickets, but something in Tom's voice had made her look up. She had never seen anything like him before, not even in Tucson. He was tall, well over six feet five, not muscular, but big-boned and strong-looking. He had bright red hair, very long she had never seen a man with long hair before and a flaming red beard. His eyes were bright blue and incredibly clear, and his fingers long and slender. Immediately she had imagined those fingers moving along her back, up her thighs, around her nipples, all over her already-flaming body. All she could do was stare at him. She was in love.

"Aren't you going to give me my ticket?" Tom had said, smiling. He was used to this reaction from women, counted on it, in fact.

Judy stepped out of her trance. "Sorry," she said. "I thought you were someone I knew." She handed him his ticket and change, feeling the tingle down her back as their hands touched, ever so briefly.

"Sure," said Tom, and smiled again. He took his ticket and walked into the theater, not bothering to look back. He knew she was his if he wanted her.

There was a war epic playing, a long one, and Judy knew it would be at least three hours before she saw him again. She wondered, hoping against hope, if he had noticed her, if he would come talk to her when the movie was over. She had never seen such a man, had never felt such marvelous feelings of anticipation in her body.

And Tom had come to her, just as she had hoped. He had walked right up to the ticket booth, smiled at her, and asked her if she would be free when the show was over. Would she be free! For this man she would be more than free, she already knew that she would do anything he asked of her.

Tom had an old Dodge panel truck. Judy was disappointed when she saw it, beaten-up as it was, with chipped paint and rusted chrome and cracked tail-lights, but her disappointment changed to astonishment when she stepped inside. The back of the panel truck had been set up as living quarters, and it was as lush as any apartment she'd ever seen, even those that belonged to the rich students in Tucson. There was a stereo set, complete with headphones, and a small bar. The walls were paneled in rich dark woods and covered with beautiful bright-colored paintings. There was thick pile carpet on the floor, and on the bed ("a king-sized bed in a panel truck!" Judy thought) was a luxuriant fur bedspread. Judy ran her fingers through the fur, felt her body begin to tingle again.