Cock of Ages Ch. 11

I was on fire. Not only was I naturally attracted to her, but she was probably a time-traveler, too, and the intrigue of the thing was just too much to bear much restraint. I gave her the fucking of her life, stopping only once in a while to plaster my face against her swollen pussy and lick her out for a few minutes before I slid my cock inside once again. I kept at it for almost an hour before I finally splashed my sperm deep in her spasming cunt. But I didn't slow down. I kept pounding away after my orgasm and ended up fucking her near to unconsciousness. She finally passed out cold after I gave her her eleventh major orgasm, injecting her with a second load of my wrigglies.

I kissed her on the cheek and headed for the bathroom . . . where I carefully searched her stuff.

It looked pretty typical, for a 1963 toilette. All fairly standard cosmetics, high end basics from France and New York. Pepsodent. Nothing out of the ordinary.

I found it on the vanity, actually, among her hair things. The smallest little thing. A loose pile of change on a ceramic tray . . . with a 1964 penny in it. A very tarnished penny.

Did I bust her then? Of course not. I pocketed the offending coin as I considered my options. That was some quality ass, and as far as I knew she didn't know I was from down-stream, either. I wanted a return ticket as soon as possible – besides, I actually liked her. I cuddled with her a while, got her to sleepily promise another date, then slipped from her room about one in the morning. As far as she new, I was just some random handsome rich guy who could fuck like a satyr.

As I walked back to my own room, I had a thought and made a detour to Cromwell's. He had a standard room, not a luxury suite like my own, back in the dim recesses of the building. I knocked on his door and waited for him to answer, blearily.

"Problem, Boss?" he asked, in character.

"Might be," I agreed, coming in uninvited. If he was going to stay in character, so was I. "Anyone else working this burg right now?"

He looked confused. "What do you mean?"

"From the Project," I said, patiently, "or any other project, for that matter."

"Huh? No, not that I'm aware of. They usually send you a bulletin in your mission briefing."

"Then yes, there is a problem." I thumbed the anachronistic penny at him, and he caught it automatically. It took him a moment of study to appreciate the significance of it, but then he looked unhappy.

"Where in hell did you get this?"

"Off of that brunette's nightstand. Also caught her in a couple of casual mis-steps. The kind that a down-stream girl might make, I'd guess."

"It's possible that the military . . . or maybe a corporation back home . . ."

"That's what I'm thinking," I said, evenly. "But I thought it worthy of note. Why don't you make some inquiries?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "I'll send it up tonight. Should have word by morning."

"Great. See you at breakfast."

With nothing else I could do about it, I tried to put it out of my mind as I made my way back to my room. Instead I considered my date, the curve of her back, the smell of her hair, the fire in her loins . . .

When I got to my room, someone was waiting for me. Lori.

You may or may not remember the blonde faux Southern belle from the Tiki Club. She was pacing patiently outside of my door, purse in hand, all dolled up. She looked pissed, but as soon as she saw me she plastered a happy smile on her face.

"Hello, Mr. Winthrop," she said, smoothly and with a trace of nervousness. "Or is it Winslow, today?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I demanded, crossly.

"I waited at the bar all night for you," she said without being pouty about it. "When you didn't show up, I figured something might have happened to you. So I found out where you were staying, and I thought I'd drop by to check on you."

"You're the whore from the bar," I said, feigning sudden recognition.

"Lori, Mr. Winthrop. But if you want to call me a whore, that's not a problem," she said, submissively. "I told you I was willing to do anything."

"You . . . stalked me back to my hotel at one thirty in the morning . . . just to suck my cock for me?" I asked.

"If that's what you want, Mr. Winthrop," she answered, eyes downcast. "Or anything else. I just want to prove myself."

"How the hell did you get passed security?" I demanded as I unlocked my suite. "Isn't the hotel detective around?"

She blushed, deeply. "I convinced him to let me wait for you," she said, looking away.

"On your fucking knees, no doubt," I growled. "You sucked him off, didn't you?"

"Y-yeah," she admitted, shamed-facedly. "It was a small price to pay for the chance . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, rich man's wife. God, you must hate Tampa," I said, opening the door and flicking on the light. I stopped and stared at her. "Well, you gonna come in? My cock isn't going to suck itself."

"Yessir," she said, following me in after glancing up and down the hallway.

"Drink?"

"That would be pleasant, thank you," she said, politely. "Shall I fix them?"

"Rum and cokes," I decided. "Yeah, bar's over there." I flopped down on the ornate and largely uncomfortable sofa while she dropped her purse and busied herself making drinks. "You know, I've been out tonight," I said, after taking my shoes off."

"I figured," Lori answered. "You've gotten to be quite a hit at the Tiki Club, and when you didn't show tonight, it had to be because . . ."

"Yeah, I was fucking," I said, bluntly. "GREAT piece of ass, too. Quality. Ivy League ass. You just don't find much of that."

"I hope it was pleasant," Lori said evenly as she popped ice cubes into the glasses. In 1963, only the luxury suites had refrigerators.

"Damn fine," I agreed, dreamily. "Of course, my cock is all sticky now." I studied her as she handed me my drink. "Hope you don't mind." Lori took a quick swallow of her drink.

"No, I don't mind," she said, loftily. I was impressed. She really did want to be the lucky winner. "I've . . . tasted it before."

"And it tastes magnificent, too," I chortled. "You realize I'll want my slut of a wife to eat pussy?"

Another swallow. "Of course, darling. Any good wife would do that for her husband."

I laughed, wryly. "Don't I wish! Okay, hon, go ahead and take it out and suck it. I'm just gonna kick back and enjoy," I added, loosening my shirt.

She tried to maintain her grace as she smoothed out her skirt and squatted between my knees, looking up at me with fake adoration. This was eating at her, I knew, and I couldn't help but enjoy it. She pulled down my zipper sensuously and peeled back my boxers – I lifted up to help her out, being a gentleman – and let my well-used dick flop out into her palm.

She cooed over it, stroking it gently while she made approving noises. Her hands were gentle and firm – she knew her way around a cock, no doubt about it – and she delicately blew on my business, which was still damp from Teresa's juices.

"Such a big boy," Lori whispered as she bent and took the shaft between her lips. Her tongue went immediately to work even as she gagged a bit on Teresa's pungent aroma. That didn't stop Lori, though, and she proceeded to lick every last centimeter of my cock and balls clean. She was very good.

"So why do you want out of Tampa so badly?" I asked, conversationally, as she began to bob her pretty blonde head. It isn't usually fair to try to talk to a girl while she's blowing you, but this wasn't about fair. She came to me portraying an eager slut. I wanted to know her story. She paused, taking me only briefly out of her mouth.

"My family is here," she said, while her hand continued to stroke the shaft. "Dad and three older brothers. Three older, unmarried brothers," she said, bitterly.

I shrugged. "Everyone has family issues," I said. "I don't see the problem."

She stared me evenly in the eye. Dangerous territory, I could tell. "I cook for them. I do their laundry. They spend all day at the garage, and then come home and expect the house to be perfect, dinner on the table, the whole works."

"Doesn't seem so bad," I said, as she returned to tonguing me. She looked at me again, still absently sucking, then lifted off again.

"Last Christmas eve," she reported in a monotone, "they got drunk. They wanted to dance. I was the only girl there. Dad passed out, so my brothers danced with me. I didn't want to, but it was Christmas. Everyone got drunk, including me. They had such a good time that they bent me over the kitchen table and took turns raping me." She sucked a few more strokes. "After that, every chance they get me alone, I get fucked. Or I have to suck them off. At this point I either have to leave, or I'm going to kill them all."

"Didn't you tell your Dad?"

"I tried. Once he knew I wasn't a virgin any more, he didn't see any reason why he shouldn't get in on the fun." She continued sucking.

She made a compelling argument.

One of the most shocking things about my job is just how rampant such scenes are. The further back you go, the more you see this kind of thing. On one stint in the 1920s, as the guest of a Pennsylvania oil tycoon, I witnessed six of his servants in his Chicago mansion visiting the quarters of the nineteen-year-old maid in one night, one after another. Quite against her will. Among them were two of her brothers, an uncle, and her father. My host was amused by it, even encouraged it.

SOP is not to get involved, so I didn't, but that doesn't mean I like it. It's one thing to trick a chick out of her panties in a bar, or seduce a horny housewife from her virtue while Hubby's away. It's quite another to prey on younger female relatives, girls who literally can't escape. Even a duct-tape job is less scarring to a woman, I've found. Lori had a hard-edged bitterness about her that could easily be explained by such abuse.

"So being a rich man's whore is preferable to that?"

"Hell yes," she said, adamantly. "No matter how depraved you might be, Mr. Winthrop, even if you dumped me out in the gutter I'd be in a better situation. I don't mind s-sex, Mr. Winthrop – I didn't lose my virginity on that table – but they're my goddamn brothers and father, my goddamn family! No girl should have to . . . get fucked in the ass by her Daddy while he's drunk, calling you your dead Mama's name. No one." She went back to fellating me, a tear in her eye.

OK, I felt sorry for her. Sue me. Just because I'm a professional rapist doesn't mean I'm without feelings. Sure, I used women – but not like that. I didn't use them up. And that's where Lori was heading, and fast. I didn't doubt she would eventually kill herself or her family or both, but it wasn't a pretty picture. In the same position, I might do just about anything to get out of town, too. What I offered her was hope, in a twisted sort of way. A false hope, since no marriage would ever take place.

"You seem distracted," she noted a moment later. Indeed, my cock was softening just a bit. "Did I . . .?"

"Keep sucking," I ordered. "It's late, and I've already fucked three or four times today. You won't be getting an easy one, but you just tend to your knittin', it'll come." She looked relieved, and dove back to work.

I tried to clear my head of things and focus on my id, where she was doing some very good work. Soon all thoughts of incestual gang rape left my head as her soft, spongy lips sipped strongly on my shaft. I could feel the head banging the back of her throat. "All right, you little whore," I said, grabbing the back of her head. "Here comes the reward . . . drink it down," I ordered, while she made gasping sucking noises as she attempted to accommodate my copious load. When she was done I kept her there until I started to feel her tongue move around, cleaning the head of the sticky residue.

"Ahhhhhhh," I sighed. "That hit the spot. Better than a night cap."

"That was satisfactory, then?" she asked, anxiously. "You can fuck me, too, if you like."

"Maybe later," I said with a groan. "How would you like a job?"

"I thought I was trying out for one?"

"I meant a real paying-right-now job. Call it . . . an assistant. Just for a few weeks, of course, I can't hang out down here forever. But it occurs to me that it might be helpful to have someone around to help me with some business I'm conducting. Someone who knows when to keep her fucking mouth shut . . . and when to open it. Can you spare a few weeks?"

"I don't know . . ." she said, worried about something.

"I'll pay you five hundred a week, cash," I added.

"A thousand dollars would get me to Miami, at least," she figured. "Maybe even Atlanta. Or New Orleans."

"Whatever. It might even get you a wedding. It will certainly get you out of your family's house. But first things first. Can you do it?"

"I'd be happy to!"

"I'd want to have you available to me, sexually, whenever I wanted."

"Not a problem," she said, fervently. "Fuck me sideways, for all I care!"

"I'm sure we'll get to that point. You'd have to answer the phone, run some errands, don't ask any fucking questions about my business."

"I'm utterly reliable," she vowed.

"And . . . I've still got to do this marriage thing. There's a lot more to it than you know, and there are some pretty odd reasons I have to do it this way, but the fact is, I need to fuck more women. Part of your job will be to line some up."

"You want me . . . to find more women for you to fuck?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah, that'd be helpful. You know this town better than I do. You know where the loose women hang out. Line me up as many as you can."

"That's—" she began, doubtfully.

"Can you do it, or can't you?" I barked.

"Do they all have to be . . . pretty?"

"Try to keep the number of ugly ones to a minimum – and no real professional whores. I can call a service and get serviced, if I want to pay money for cunt. Other than that, they can be anyone with a vagina. Feel free to spread the rumor that I'm looking to wed. Lay it on thick. I don't give a damn what you tell them, just get me plenty of pussy. I'll even pay you a ten dollar commission."

It was a lot for her poor brain to take in, but the money cinched it. I could tell by the gleam in her eye. "I'll do it," she said, finally. "I'll start first thing in the morning."

"Hell with that," I snorted. "Get naked and get your ass in bed. You'll start now. I'm feeling like a little midnight sodomy, Lori."

She nodded, the gleam leaving her eye, and went obediently to the big bed, leaving a trail of clothing behind her.