No Controlling Legal Authority Ch. 22

She wiggled her butt, so he could reach her and felt his fingers teasing her lips in a blind, feverish quest for her opening. She pulled up her knees, pushing her butt back toward his hand, and she could feel his wrist pressing into the crack of her ass. His fingers flirted maddeningly with her lips for a second or two, and then, he entered her.

"Oh, God, yes, Caleb, fingerfuck me while I suck your cock for you," she moaned loudly and scrambled to her knees to crouch by his side.

She knelt over the boy like a priestess in a satanic ritual and brought his quivering, spewing cock to the hallowed circle of her lips. Her hand pumped his dick once, then again, and a rush of cum shot upward into the open cavern of her mouth. She pumped him again just as her mouth engulfed the flaming head, and she tasted the salty, sweet stickiness of his cum in her throat.

"Jeeeeeesuuuussss Chrrrrristtttttttttttttt," the shocked boy gasped in amazement when the warm, wet walls of her mouth surrounded his cock, sucking his cum from him with exquisitely tantalizing gulps and licks.

Her ass bobbled excitedly beside him, and he drove his stiff fingers into her wet hole with all the fervor his passion would permit. He plunged two fingers into her wiggling tunnel, and then, remembering her words, withdrew the two and returned with three, just to test the truthfulness of her boast.

"Mmmmmmm," she moaned with the boy's spewing cock deep in her throat and his rapidly learning fingers probing her weeping slot.

Orgasms are like yawns; they have a way of spreading and Diane found the beckoning suggestion of Caleb's climax too irresistible to ignore. She masturbated his dick and sucked the boy's cum, and her loins flamed to his probing with resurgent fires.

"Umph, umph," she gurgled as she gulped, swallowing the boy's sword and circling the base with her stretched lips. His cock swelled as she sucked him deep, and she felt the hot flood of his cum erupting in her throat.

Caleb jerked and writhed, and he put his hand on the back of her head, pressing down to bury himself in the gaping wet maw of her mouth. His fingers stroked and probed and, like an "A" student with total recall, he remembered her clit and sought the girl's throbbing little erection in the slippery pleats of her slit. He rolled her clit under the broad pad of his thumb while his three fingers spread and stretched her vagina.

"Go—d, G—od," she gasped, disarticulating the word with quick plunges of her mouth onto the upturned, spurting sword of the boy's lust.

Her fingers danced on his soggy shaft in the flickering instants she unsheathed him, but she could not endure his absence long, and so she left it to the fluttering of her lips and tongue and the gentle massage of her gulping throat to coax the final squirts of his virgin's cum into her mouth. Her buttocks wriggled, thrusting her wet hole onto his penetrating fingers, and when he found her clit and caressed it with heavy swipes of his thumb, her consciousness coalesced around the blinding eruption of her orgasm.

"Arugh," she gurgled, gargling cock and cum and the soft moaning sounds of her climax together in her throat and the loft went dark as rolling waves of pleasure blackened her vision. She shuddered and fell on her lover's uplifted sword like a Masada martyr and lay across his heaving belly in a stupor.

* * * "Caleb! For God's sake man, are you alright?" Moon Dog's voice was calling to him across the years, and he sounded perturbed.

"Yeah, I'm OK," he answered groggily, but he wiped his face with his hand as though sweeping cobwebs out of a corner.

"You're white as a sheet; maybe you ought to sit down for a minute or two," the older man suggested.

"No, no, I'm OK, really," he protested shaking his head weakly, but he was gasping like he was on the verge of hyperventilating.

"What's the problem, son, buck fever?" Moon Dog asked paternally, referring to that peculiar malady that sometimes afflicts deer hunters causing their trigger finger to malfunction at the moment of truth.

"Nothing's wrong," Caleb replied. "I was just lost in thought for a minute."

"Must have been some doozie of a thought you were lost in, son; you damn near stopped breathing on me."

"Just a memory, Dog; from a long time ago."

"The Thornberry girl again?" The old man's voice was level and calm, and he delivered the line as casually as he might if hazarding a guess about the afternoon's weather forecast, but he watched Caleb for signs of stress and they were plentiful.

"Who?" Caleb squeaked whipping his head toward Moon Dog and blinking in disbelief.

"You heard me."

"What the hell made you think of her, Dog; that's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard."

"Having the Judge send me to track you down three times in one summer after you ran away from home, and every time finding you up in Kentucky hanging around the Thornberry's house, for one thing, Caleb."

"That was twenty years ago, Dog," he protested again.

"Yeah, right; but who knows about all those times since then, when you'd disappear for a week or two and nobody could find you, and then you'd just show up back home without a word of explanation?"

"I had to get away, Dog; it wasn't easy growing up in that house."

"Maybe not, but where'd you go all those times?"

"Different places; nowhere special; I just went where ever my feet took me," Caleb lied.

"Yeah, well, buddy, you can feed that bullshit to somebody else; I always had a pretty good idea where you were and why, but you just got a little better at not getting caught, and I'm pretty sure it was your dick that was leadin' you around, not your feet."

"She was special, Dog," he admitted, averting his eyes to avoid looking at the older man.

"That's what I told the Judge, son. Sometimes a woman just marks a man, you know, with her scent, and from then on he can't get her out of his mind. If the scent's strong enough he'll do anything to get to her, climb mountains, swim rivers…"

"Run away from home?"

"Yeah, that too, son. But the Judge said you were just a kid and that you would outgrow it in time."

"And, you agreed with him?"

"Some, maybe; well, no, not really. You have a soft side to you, Caleb, that scent sticks to pretty easy, and things were tough for you, tougher than most, what with your mother going off like she did after Hiram died and doting on your sister like she was the only pup left in the litter."

He was close, Caleb thought, but he kept his silence because he didn't like to think much about those things. It hadn't just been Hiram's death; she, his mother, had been like that since the 'little princess' was born, ranting and raving at him about his imperfections and the perfection of girls, in general. He had been raised in an out of kilter world in which girls could do no wrong and he could do no right, and where affection was reserved to reward those who earned it, a class that never seemed to include him. He grew up believing that all girls, every one of them, made straight "A's" in school, and it wasn't until he got to law school and saw the grades posted on the wall that he realized that there were things he could do better than some girls did them. He had spent his life looking for acceptance but never quite finding it, until, that is, that summer afternoon when Diane Thornberry led him into the hayloft.

"Her scent's still on you, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is, Dog," the younger man sighed, and he remembered the agony of waiting for her in his room that night, sitting on the side of his bed with his stomach so knotted up he thought he would throw up and waiting and waiting. She had gotten turned around in the darkness and couldn't find her way to his room in the servant's quarters. His mother had moved his things there after the cook quit in a huff on account of one of her demeaning, name-calling, hissy fits about nothing, telling Caleb, after he took up for the woman, "If you like them so much you can just live with them." Of course, that had happened during the years between the Thornberry visits, and by the time Diane had come back, his mother's tirades had run off all the remaining help and any potential replacements, and he had practically the entire third floor to himself. When she finally found him and came to his bed, softly, on her bare feet, he had been overwhelmed and failed her at first, but she was patient and skilled beyond her years, and so, long before the sun had risen, he crossed the threshold into manhood and she had shown him the acceptance that his soul had craved for all those many years.

"Some men'll tell you that's a curse, Caleb; having the memory of one woman stick with you like that forever, like you were under some kind of spell, but you know what I think?"

"What?" he replied cautiously.

"Most of the ones that think that way would give up an arm just to have known one woman in their lifetime who could mean that much to them."

"Ya think?" he answered skeptically.

"Yeah, I do, and I think something else, too."

"What's that?"

"You have a honey in here," he said motioning toward the door to Number Six with his thumb, "whose scent's so strong she could make you forget all the others in under five minutes."

"Yeah, I know; I read your report. Maybe that's what I'm afraid of."

"What's to fear, Luke Skywalker? The Force is with you. Either you knock on the door and find out or you live in ignorance for the rest of your life."

"Luke Skywalker?" Caleb grinned. "You are one cool old dude, Obi Wan Kenobi, you know that?"

"Sure, I know it; I just keep my modest side turned out, that's all," Moon Dog grinned back. "You ready?"

"I guess so."

"Let's do it, then," he said, and with that he knocked loudly on the door.