The Brat's New Roller Skates

Rebecca Molson was the only daughter to Edwin and Olivia Molson. They owned the Molson Mercantile on Main St. in their small Kansas town. Mommy and Daddy gave her everything she wanted, and nothing she didn't, like discipline. Rebecca was spoiled rotten, and her tantrums were known throughout the town, as well as her shrill, whining voice.

But the people of this village were kindly enough toward Becky, her selfish shenanigans eliciting a pang of pity rather than anger. Also, they didn't want to be on the bad side of the Molsons, as it could get very expensive to go shopping at the only general store in town. So, most people just smiled and let her have her way, and tried to stay out of it the next time.

Becky was "helping" her daddy stock the candy shelves, while her mother was out of town visiting relatives. For every five items she put on the shelf, one went in her pocket, soon making her navy blue sailor suit bulge in the front. Her father was far too busy taking inventory to notice, and it was doubtful he would care if he did. She was daddy's little girl and she could do no wrong.

Becky was eighteen, with fair complexion and quite petite. Her honey blond curls were tied into bouncy ringlets above her ears with baby blue ribbon. She was wearing her mother's makeup, because she wasn't allowed to when her mother was home.

She had found the perfect red lipstick at the bottom of a drawer, some blue eye shadow, and some blush. Luckily, she knew what she was doing, because she looked just like a little woman now. Except for that silly navy-blue sailor suit.

"Punkin', I've got something for you," her father called from behind her.

Becky quickly stuffed more candy in her pocket, then went to investigate.

"Jeepers, new roller-skates!" She jumped up and down and hugged her father, never thanking him.

As she put them on, he told her, "You can go outside and give them a try, but make sure you're back for dinner, 'kay sugar'."

"Yes daddy, goodbye," she said as she skated out the door.

Becky had skates before, but these were new and it was sometimes hard to maneuver. "Move It, Get Out Of The Way, and Watch Were You Are Going," rolled out of her mouth as loud as the rolling of her metal skates down the long wooden sidewalk, past the library.

She saw her "friend", Emily White reading a book inside. Becky smirked to herself, and made a slow, wide turn back and clumped in noisily.

Emily was reading Treasure Island, and was fantasizing about being Long John Silver's cabin boy. She had imagined herself dressing up like a boy, and getting the job. On the first night out to sea, she showed him her true identity.

He was just about to show her another use for his wooden leg when Emily heard metal rolling nearer, then a loud SLAP on the wooden table in front of her. She knew who it was, and tried to keep reading.

"Hi, Emily," Becky mugged. "You're always readin', why don't you come out to play?" Her snotty whine could be heard on the other side of the hushed library.

Emily calmly put down her book and exhaled deeply. Then with quiet reserve raised her head up with the best smile she could come up with under extreme pressure.

"Hello Becky," she tried to look relaxed as their eyes met, and almost laughed at the spot on the tip of her nose, an angry red zit. "I'm studying for a test." Emily tried to sound excited.

Almost not hearing her, Becky interrupted, "Whatchya doin' this summer?" If she had been chewing gum, she would have popped it. She was that annoying.

"I'm going to my Aunt and Uncle's farm in the country. I'm studying so I won't be bored there. I'm taking a test there with me." This time she sounded sincere.

"Fine! I have plenty of other friends!" Both knew instantly this was not true. Becky treated most girls, or anybody else for that matter, as more of a rival than a friend. "Oooh, I hate you Emily White!" She gritted her teeth angrily and skated loudly out of the quiet library.

"I'm sorry I won't be here to play with you!" Emily called out after her, grinning with relief.

As Becky rolled away, she saw someone else to annoy. A huge older black man was stacking crates in the dead end alley behind the store. She skated clumsily towards him and hit a rock.

Becky careened out of control and headed toward the loading dock, just feet from him. When she hit the railing, her head was forced between two bars with a ringing, SCHWING!

Because her slightly overlarge ears forbade any backward movement, she tried to push harder by putting her feet against the dock. Her head slipped down as her legs went too far to be able to back up. Now she was really stuck.

"Hey, you! Come here and help me."

Miles tried his hardest not to hear her. He didn't believe in demons usually, but Becky Molson did tend get underneath one's skin with a pitchfork.

"I said help me," she sounded annoyed.

"Oh hello, Miss Becky. It sure is a pleasure to see you this fine afternoon." Miles always tried to be polite around white people. They sent him to WWI.

Hell, they did it once, they're bound to do it again soon, he confided to himself. But the war taught him a great many things. One of them was patience.

Miles went over to see what he could do. He went behind her to consider the possibilities.

Damn, now that's an ass. Becky's white frilled panties hugged tightly to the plumpest, tightest ass he'd ever seen. The war also taught him to love an fine ass, that was for sure.

Miles noticed the stolen candy in her pockets, but ruled out blackmail for what he was thinking about doing, because he would need her full cooperation not a begrudging one. He shook his head sadly as he dismissed the fleeting opportunity.

Within a moment of his decision, a large moving van blocked the alley. Miles heard the driver tell someone he was going to lunch, and would be back in an hour. Suddenly, Miles remembered that Mr. Molson would be too busy with inventory to come back here, for a while at least, not till checking out. Plans were a hatchin'.

He walked around to her face, with a mischievous grin, and squatted down in front of her. "Miss Becky, I'm afraid the only way out of this, is with a lot of grease. A special kind of grease I don't quite have, yet." He knew it was a bullshit line, but he also knew she was quite gullible. "Maybe if you help me get my grease, we could get you out of this fence right quick." He gave it a pull.

"What do I have to do?" She sounded like she was bending down to say that.

All Miles wanted to do was help this girl, and himself, and she lowered herself to receive his help? With the a grit of a trench man, he swallowed his backhand. She deserved to be taught a good lesson in humility. He stood up.

"Now Miss Becky, I do believe you owe me an apology, I'm trying to help you." He looked down at her, his zipper inches from her face.

Becky looked up into Miles' kindly face. His arms hung quietly at his side as if he was waiting for something important. She might be spoiled, but she eventually understood.

"I'm sorry...Miles, was it? Any help you could give me, would be greatly... appreciated." It sounded like she had never said those words before.

"Thank you, Miss Becky. It would be a pleasure to help you. Now it might hurt a bit, but there's some serious magic that has to be done." He remembered the magician that came through town a week ago, everyone was still talking about him.

"Magic?" Becky was so excited, her blond ringlets danced. "Ooh, can I be the magicians assistant? After he pulled a ring out of my ear, he let me be his assistant. Then later, he gave me a pearl necklace from his magic wand." She posed like the Queen herself.

Is she really that gullible? He didn't believe the story he'd heard about Becky and the magician's magic "wand". They really need to start teaching sex in schools, he thought. No wonder I'm having an easy time of it.

"Why Miss Becky, I'm sure you made a lovely assistant," he soothed.

"What may I assist you with, sir?" She said in her best magician's assistant voice.

He calmly, but quickly found a reasonable excuse as to why his cock was going to be in her ass.

"Well alright Miss Becky, this might hurt a bit, but I've got a grease gun that needs primin'. With your assistance, we'll get it ready to deliver the grease." He almost laughed out loud at that one himself, "But if you try your hardest to forget the pain, you may like it."

"Whatever, just hurry please." Becky was sounding annoyed again.

Miles walked behind her to where his lunch was, and pulled out a tub of butter that was for his cornbread. He sat the tub of butter on her ass, and pulled down her panties.

"What are you doing?" She sounded a little worried, but curious.

Miles greased up a finger and pushed it into her tight pink asshole. "Just getting you ready for the gun, heh, heh." He unzipped his pants, and heaved out a true Alabama King Snake.

Nearly a foot of solid black cock, stood out from two big, hairy balls. He pushed more of his finger in, then said, "Tell me how it feels, so I do it right, okay?" He knew what he was doing, but he thought it would make her feel more like a real assistant.

"It feels good, what is it?"

"My finger," he said.

"Your finger? Eeww...can you put another one in?" She asked with a sigh.

He gave her another finger as he dipped his other hand in the butter. Miles had been rock hard ever since he saw her perfect white butt, now he was coating it's flared hood with the grease.

"Get ready girl, here comes the gun," he said as he took aim. He lunged forward until his fat head was well into her pucker. Becky shuddered violently.

"Oh my goodness, that hurts...a little. Umm, it feels better, yeah. Ooh, it's feeling real good now." She leaned forward against the bars as his snake slithered into her hole.

Miles never met a woman who didn't like anal sex once they tried it, if you could talk them into it, that is. His cannon was very steadily gaining ground into her tight, pink no-mans-land. He pulled out a little, then stuffed it in up to his nuts.

"Oh sweet Jesus!" Becky blurted.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, sweet thing." Miles started working it in a little quicker, making sure she felt every inch.

"Ooh, ooh, ooh, yeah! Mmm...I like that a lot!"

With her cries of affection for his cock, Miles started giving it to her good. Becky was still loving it. He remembered every sneer, and every time she got him in trouble for something she did. Faster and harder, he kept pumping his strong hips against her plump white ass.

"Oh my god, what's happening? What's that wonderful feeling?! I'm flying, and...a little dizzy...aaahhhh!" Becky was experiencing her first orgasm with wide eyed, innocent wonder.

"You're priming the pump right girl, good job!" Miles didn't want to cum in her, but he was fucking her so right, it was hard to stop. But eventually he pulled out before he went too far.

Becky sagged against the bars with a happy whine. "Wow, that was fun," she sounded satisfied.

Miles stepped up in front of her, stroking his gun.

"Why do you have your telephone out?" She asked innocently.

"My telephone?" Miles followed her eyes to his slick cock. "Who told you it was a telephone?" He asked.

"Pastor White, he said I can talk to Jesus anytime I want to on his telephone." She sounded like someone who had indeed spoken to God.

Pastor White! That old devil, he laughed to himself. "What do you talk about?" He hid his smile.

"I ask him for the things I want." She said this as if she's gotten everything she ever asked for, which she did.

"Does he reply?"

"Pastor White says the answer is in the white, salty stuff that comes out." She nodded seriously.

He would, that rascal. "What does Jesus tell you, Becky?" Miles stifled a snicker, he was gonna love this.

"I'm not really sure, but I'm not hungry afterwards. Pastor says that's "the answer", that I'm not hungry afterwards. But I think he means it as a spiritual metaphor, or something," she titled her head vacantly.

"You can talk to Jesus on my phone if you want, but he may not hear you." I sure will though, Miles laughed to himself. "The grease is stuck way down in these things," he patted his bloated, hairy balls, "and I need you to suck it out with all your might."

"What's all over your gun, it's kinda yellow?" Becky asked with a gleam in her eyes, her ringlets dangled before her ears.

"Why, that's butter Miss Becky." He said truthfully.

"Ooh, I love butter! It's my favorite thing next to candy." She said with a sweet smile.

"Then you'll love this. Are you ready?" Miles stepped closer and brought his throbbing monster closer to Becky's parted lips.

"Yes." Becky was very ready as she opened her mouth to accept Miles' juicy cock. She took long slow licks over the head, like she was licking a lollipop.

Pastor White probably encouraged her to do that, Miles thought. Then before he knew it, Becky was swallowing him whole, with a suction that he hasn't felt in years. Her lips moved down his cock like an inch worm. Spreading wide open, gaining ground, then closing to allow her throat to catch up. She curled her lips back and withdrew.

"You've done this before, haven't you Becky?" He asked her with a slight shock.

"Tons of times, Pastor says I'm the best telephone operator, I get through every time," she said with genuine pride. "I can still ask Jesus for things, right? It kinda helps me concentrate."

"You can talk to him all you want girl, now open...ahh." He moaned as she tried to reach Jesus.

Becky brought her delicate hands to the sides of Mile's long black cock. She stiffened her fingers until they touched at the fingertips, then continued her conversation. It looked like she was praying. I want...>

This incredible mouth was taking him back. She sucks cock just like...Marie. He smiled when he remembered Marie.

Miles Johnson had just turned eighteen, when his country sent him to the slaughterhouse of war torn Europe. But he was strong, brave, and very quick. He was the only black man to play for his High School football team.

Their side had just gone over the top the day before, and he and his black regiment were part of the replacements. During the night he heard desperate moaning and pleading in the barren no- mans-land. He asked his Captain what it was.

"That's our boys out their son, there's nothing we can do for them," he said with deep sadness.

Before Miles knew what he was doing, he jumped up and started running, just missing machine gun fire. He ran several yards and found someone wounded in a fox hole that was dangerously close to filling up with water. It was raining and the ground was slick, but he picked up the soldier, and ran back stealthily. The man he saved was his Captain's younger brother.

The next day Miles was given a weekend furlough. But it was just Sunday, and he still had to survive the week. He was starting to think he wouldn't get there, when most of his buddies from boot camp were killed by Thursday.

Miles saw things that he wanted to forget. Decaying bodies lined the bottom of the trench like so much human carpet, and the stench of death filled his nose everyday.

Friday evening arrived, thankfully, and he went to Paris in his dress uniform. Miles knew that weekend passes were few and far between, and it was incredible that he got one. He hoped that the love of a good woman could silence the bombs and the mind bending terror he had survived. But he would settle for a professional.

As he prowled the lively city he saw a woman leaning against a lamp post. She was tall and shapely, and wore black high heels with worn fishnet stockings. A tight, black silk skirt and a very revealing, off-the-shoulder white blouse clung to her like a thousand men. Her cleavage was bared provocatively to the night.

As Miles got closer, she bent her right knee up, and rested a very long heel on the lamp post. She was smoking a clove cigarette, sort of. It hung out of her cherry red mouth, glowing like a beacon from the drag of her tasty cigarette. She wore her dark brown hair bobbed, and tucked behind an ear. A black beret was lazily pulled down over one eye.

Miles stood in front of the very gorgeous lady of the evening. Her big brown eyes wanted to do business of course, but they were kind. She wore heavy mascara over light blue eye shadow. Except for some rouge and a mole on her cheek, her face was pale from the night.

"Allo?" She asked sweetly, as she exhaled her smoke through pursed lips.

"Hi there miss, I was wonderin' if you might know were a fella could have a good time?" It sounded like this was his first time, it was. Miles was a bright young country boy, trying to become a man.

"'Ow good a time?" Her English was broken by a heavy French accent.

"The best kind, I hope." He took a step towards her.

She looked deeply into his eyes and glanced at the nearby alley. "Five francs for a quic-kie, twen-ty for the entire evening." Her breath smelled sweetly of red wine and cloves.

Hell, I got the whole evening. Where else I got to go, back? Not without losing my cherry good, Miles thought quickly. "The whole evening, maybe two." He sounded stronger already. She looked so easy to talk to. She also looked like a good listener.

"Follow me, ami." She walked quickly across the quiet dimly lit side street as her heels clicked loudly on the worn cobble-stones.

Miles noticed her bottom. Full and tight, it swayed from side to side as she walked. She turned slightly back to him, snapped her fingers, and waved for him to come. She took a drag of her smoke.

Hypnotized, Miles followed her dancing bottom. It wiggled so much it looked like hell in a balloon. They entered the foyer of her small apartment building, and started creaking up time worn stairs. It was sort of smelly, and kinda dirty.

It's good to be back, he thought with fleeting melancholy. Her derriere swivelled tightly, as she slowly walked up the stairs in front of him. He focused on the hem of her tight black dress, hoping to see something he'd never seen before.

As the young woman reached the top, she quickly turned right and down the hallway to the end. Her doorway was clean, and almost pretty. She opened it quickly and went inside.

It was sparsely furnished, but books lined the walls as well as paintings and photographs. There was a comfortable looking chair, a night stand with a candle in an over-waxed Chianti bottle, and a neatly made queen sized bed.

She lit the candle, then removed her beret and turned towards him to take his coat and hat. Miles closed the door quietly. When he turned towards her a moment later, she was naked except for her black boustier, garter and fishnets, and high heels.

The beautiful stranger moved towards Miles to undo his tie and unbutton his shirt. She uttered her first words in minutes. She wanted to get to the point without any hurt feelings.

"My name is Marie," she said with a congenial smile. She did love her work and felt it was important to the morale of the men. Especially those who don't really belong here. This soldier was black, a first for her.

Marie overheard one of the G.I.'s talking about the first all Negro regiment. Zis must be especially hard for 'im to fight for a country zat spat on 'im, she thought of course in French. What a brave soul.

"I'm Miles, ma'am." He almost stuttered.

"I am Marie, you are Miles." She pushed her pouty lips against his before he could say another word. Marie touched her fingers to the back of his head and pulled him towards her. She kissed him deeply and wove her tongue with his.

After a moaning minute she felt down to see the results of her years of practice. Her soft hands found the hottest, biggest, hardest cock she'd ever felt. Marie thrilled as she felt it's power. She pushed him up against the wall and rubbed her naked leg against his panted leg.