index


Message-ID: <38967asstr$1035695405@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: punchinello@pulperotica.com (Punchinello)
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit
NNTP-Posting-Date: 26 Oct 2002 23:30:41 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Fugitive, Hide Thy Face (F, exh, FM) Pulp story!
Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 01:10:05 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Fugitive, Hide Thy Face

Smilin' Sam Ewer was on the lam and in need of a helping hand to stay one step 
ahead of the law.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. If you are offended by sexually explicit
material or are under the age of 18, stop reading now. This material cannot be
reproduced for commercial purposes without the consent of the author.

Fugitive, Hide Thy Face

(F, exh, FM)

Find more pulp at http://www.pulperotica.com

By: Punchinello
punchinello@pulperotica.com

Alabama, 1932

Smilin' Sam Ewer was the second best prison escape artist in Alabama. If you 
asked him, he'd readily admit the very best was Jed Jackson, but Jed was laid up 
in the prison infirmary with a bullet in his leg. His loss, because--in all the 
confusion and back-slapping over Jed's foiled escape--Smilin' Sam found the 
opportunity to take his leave of Birmingham Penitentiary.

No doubt about it; Sam owed Jed a big debt. But paying that debt was a good long 
ways off, Sam reckoned, because it looked like he was home free. Since he had 
made good his escape the day before, he still hadn't seen a police car cruising 
the roads looking for him.

Of course, now he owed another man a debt too, because now Sam was freshly 
scrubbed, shaved, and dressed in dungarees and a new cap--courtesy of an unknown 
workman who had left his door unlocked when he went to work early that morning. 
Sam had seen the man leave his house without saying goodbye to anyone, hiding as 
he was in the man's bushes all night. Then he saw there wasn't a peep from the 
house for a long while after the man left. So Sam had let himself in, cleaned 
up, made a sandwich out of items from the man's brand new icebox, and made off 
down the road apace. He even slicked his hair back with a little of Mr. Earl's 
Premium Hair Pomade.

It was only when Sam had got down the road quite a ways that he heard a car 
approaching from behind him at a terrific speed. He knew right away that was a 
police car, probably on its way somewhere to join up with a whole lot of other 
police cars, where all the police officers in those police cars would think up 
their strategy for finding and catching Smilin' Sam Ewer.

Sam ducked off the road and into a thicket of trees that would screen him from 
the road. He hoped the policemen hadn't seen him yet, because he would have 
looked as guilty as whore in church the way he made off the road. He stumbled 
across a trail that must have led down towards some kind of river, because he 
could hear the sound of rushing waters up ahead. Fatefully, he would decide 
later, he followed it.

The trail wound down, back a ways and back again, like a switchback railroad, 
down the hillside toward the rushing water. In none too long, Sam came upon a 
little river that rushed down a rocky rapids into a little swimming hole, where 
a swinging rope hung out over the water and little pier was set out in it for 
fishing. Wary as a wanted man should be, Sam held back a minute in the shadow of 
the trees and found himself thankful that he did--for not far off, among the 
rocks where the water rushed down there was the figure of a woman--unmistakably a 
woman--wading in the rushing water.

He moved quickly and stealthily through the trees, always watching the woman, 
until he was as close as he could get without being seen. And what a sight she 
was--Sam's prick started stiffening in his pants immediately.

She was in her late twenties, he reckoned, tall for a female, dark-haired and 
good-looking, with nice big titties that showed through her little pale yellow 
sundress; it was wet all through, and she wasn't wearing a brassiere. She also 
didn't seem to be wearing panties that Sam could tell, since her nice round ass 
show through pretty clear too when she turned around. She kept her hands down in 
front of her, and Sam wished she would raise her arms a little so he could get a 
glimpse of dark bush through that pretty little dress, all wet as it was.

And raise her arms she did, only she raised the dress with it! She raise the hem 
of her dress right up to her heavy titties and cupped them and squeezed them 
gently as she showed off her hairy bush to her secret admirer.

Sam stroked his growing prick slowly as he watched the beautiful girl unbutton 
the top few buttons on the front of her dress and let out those nice big 
woofers. The sunlight shined on the wet flesh of the girl's titties as she 
rubbed and squeezed them, slowly lying back on a big rock and letting the water 
flow all around her.

Sam unbuttoned his dungarees and let them down a little so he could whip out his 
prick. He was thankful he hadn't bothered to steal the workman's underpants now. 
They would have only gotten in his way as he jacked his dick watching the 
beautiful girl. She unbuttoned the bottom couple of buttons on her dress so she 
could spread her white thighs wide and open her pussy to the sun and wind and 
water. Goddamn, what a sight!

She laid her head back and brushed the hair away from her face with one hand 
while she stroked her bare thighs with the other. Sam jacked his stiffening dick 
with a quick rhythm, imagining himself sliding his big cock into her wet, pink 
pussy and urging her on. "Come on, baby. Fuck it, baby. Fuck it good."

The girl squeezed her titty now, pinching the nipple hard and mouthing a little 
moan. Her other hand caressed her belly and slid down into her wet, black 
thatch. She pried open her pussy lips with a gasp, feeling the cool water swirl 
around her pink little pussy hole. Sam slowed down a second, stroking his aching 
cock with a nice even rhythm and a strong squeeze like a tight, young pussy.
Now he could hear her moaning. She groaned loudly as she bucked her hips, 
splashing in the water violently and stroking her pussy roughly with both hands. 
"Mmmm! Mmmm! Uhn! Yeah!" she groaned. "Oh! Unh! UNH! YEAH!"

Sam couldn't take it any longer. He spewed jism all over the ground and his 
hand, sticky white come clinging to his finger and cock head. Meanwhile, the 
pretty little thing fucking herself in the river came over just as hard, moaning 
like a 10-cent whore. "Honey! Oh, honey! Give it to me hard! Love me hard, 
honey! Oh, Oh, OH! YEAH!"

Sam cleaned himself up with some leaves as he watched the young woman crawl out 
of the river, closing her sundress, but not bothering to button it. She lay back 
on the grassy bank to let it dry on her slender body. It lay open and clinging. 
He could still see the long, slender line of her pale thigh, the little swell of 
her belly, the creamy curve of her bare breasts. He massaged his dick slowly, 
drinking in the sight like a thirsty man in the desert sun.

The girl lay there a long minute, slowly stroking her hair, her belly, her 
thigh. Then she got up and walked up over the hill, maybe toward a house, Sam 
guessed. He watched her bare ass move under the wet cotton as she walked--rumpa 
bumpa bumpa bump. It was just about enough to make him hard again. He knew he 
had to take a shot at this hot little honey, maybe ravish her tender, young body 
if she wasn't too hostile. Hell, he'd do just about anything to suck on those 
big titties.


 
Smilin' Sam Ewer smoothed his hair and approached the door of the house. The 
woman had been inside about ten minutes, he figured; plenty of time to freshen 
up a little, but maybe not enough to be fully clothed. A half-naked woman was 
half-won, he reckoned.

She came to the door, her dark hair still wet but brushed out now and falling 
all around her shoulders. She wore another little dress, pale blue this time, 
and still didn't look to be wearing anything underneath. She looked wary, kind 
of timid like a mouse, eyes wide and all, but with a hard mouth.

"What you want?" she asked.

"Ah, well, madam, as a weary traveler and a man of no particular means, I 
happened on this lovely house and wondered to myself if there might be some work 
that I might do for a pleasant afternoon that could earn me a meal." Sam offered 
his trademark charming smile.

"What kind of work?" Her eyes narrowed. She brushed back her hair, shifting her 
dress and opening the neckline, revealing that long, smooth neck.

"Whatever work might put a meal in my belly, ma'am. Perhaps a pile of firewood 
is in need of being chopped or a fence needs to be painted--"

"We ain't got a fence, stud, look around." She had a leaner look about her now, 
more relaxed.

"Well, perhaps your husband needs some help with some chore."

"My husband ain't around. And he ain't going to be around." She pulled at her 
neckline, opening it further.

Sam glanced down at the deep cleavage, but only for a moment. "Well, perhaps I 
could come in and sit a spell waitin' for him," Sam offered with a smile. "And 
meanwhile you could put a pot of beans on--"

"I know who you are. And I got some work for you." She stroked her neck, seeming 
to stare straight through him, and played with the front of her dress.

Sam swallowed hard. "Well, I don't rightly know how that could be, ma'am. I'm 
sure we've never met before, but if you have some work a fella could do--"

"Sam Ewer," the woman said, shutting him up instantly. "Now hush up and come 
inside." With that, she turned and went inside, hip swaying, bare feet padding 
on the painted wood floor. Sam stepped inside with the only barest hint of 
reservation. He was not a man known for his horse sense.

"My husband is a low-down snake and the weakest man in the county."

"That so?" Her attitude had shifted now. The dark-haired beauty passed by the 
kitchen table to the icebox, brushing her hair back, working those hips the way 
Sam had seen earlier.

"But he had a little money when I married him. Now he's got nothin'; nothin' but 
a fancy gold watch." She pulled a piece of ice out of the icebox and pressed it 
to her lips.

"Sorry to hear. Uh, how is it exactly that you know me, Mrs....uh..."

"Clary, Mr. Ewer, Selma Clary." She leaned back against the sink, sucking on the 
ice, stroking her throat with the ice.

"Selma Clary, ain't that nice?" Sam stood in the doorway to the parlor, unsure 
what to do with his hands.

"Mr. Ewer? Sam? I heard all about you on the radio this mornin'. They said you 
escaped the prison house and was lurking around these parts. They said you was a 
dangerous man."

"Oh, now Mrs. Clary," Sam said, smilin' that winning smile, "Desperate, yes, but 
dangerous, no. I never hurt a man, woman, nor child in my life."

"Where are my manners?" she said to herself, rubbing the ice along her bottom 
lip. "Mr. Ewer, would you like somethin' to suck on?"

"Wh--, wh--, well, I-- I-- Now, ma'am. Well, yes. Yes I would."

Selma bent over and opened the icebox. The sight of her round ass through the 
thin fabric of her pale blue dress riding high on her thighs nearly made his 
dick leap out of his pants. "Mr. Ewer?" she said, pulling out another piece. 
"Did you see me earlier? Down in the river?"

"Well," said Sam, "I must say-- I must tell you-- Yes. Yes, I did, ma'am."

Selma put the ice to his lips. "And did you like what you saw?"

"Oh yes, ma'am." She backed him up against a big wooden chest sitting on a side 
table in the kitchen.

She was very close, speaking softly, big eyes transfixing his, full lips 
pouting. "My husband can't satisfy me, Sam. That weak little pussywillow 
couldn't satisfy a real woman; not in a year, a whole calendar year. I hate 
him."

"Is that so?" Sam decided to ride this train wherever it was going. "Well, 
sometimes opportunity can come knockin' when you least expect it." He wanted to 
put his hands on her, caress her hips, her middle, her heart-shaped ass.
"Yes, Sam, I believe it can." Selma opened the front of her dress a little, 
exposing the curve of her big breasts. "You like to love a woman up, Sam? Love 
her good?"

Sam quit smiling. "I believe I do. And I believe I'm damn good at it."
"I like it rough, Sam; real rough. And my man won't give it to me rough. He's no 
man at all. Do you think you could give it to me rough, Sam? Rough like a son of 
a bitch?" She played with the front of her dress, just keeping those big titties 
under cover, nipples poking at the fabric.

"Well, Selma, I don't know. A woman like you oughta be treated nice--"

"I don't want nice, Sam. And if a man who just escaped from prison can't fuck a 
woman rough and right, I might go out of my head wonderin' who can." She smiled 
wickedly. "You a man, Sam? A real man?" She pulled open her dress, showing off 
her big titties at last. The red nipples were hard and puckered.

"You little wayward wretch." Sam grabbed her ass and pulled her to him, kissed 
her hard with an open mouth. She pushed him away with a challenging look, and he 
grabbed her back again, scratching at her dress, pulling it off her shoulders. 
"You want it rough? You want it hard and rough?" He tore at her dress, popping 
the remaining buttons, splitting it open.

She wore panties underneath, plain white cotton panties, but they didn't last. 
He snatched at them, stretched the waistband with the crack of broken elastic. 
They came loose then, and he pushed them down over her hips, but they were still 
tight on her. Selma laughed derisively at his attempts to strip her, batted at 
his head. Her tits shook in his face. Sam grabbed her roughly, pushing her onto 
the kitchen table. He grabbed her panties again and rolled them down her thighs, 
exposing her bush. Off came her panties altogether, down her calves and feet, a 
little bundle of rolled fabric, caught on her heel for a moment like he was 
tying her up, but then kicking onto the floor.

"Get up," he growled. He pulled her off the table.

"Weakling," she spat. He smacked her across the face, not hard enough to bruise, 
but hard enough to get her attention. She laughed.

Sam jerked Selma up and dragged her across the front room and into the bedroom. 
The big bed lay open and unmade. He threw her down on it, and she fell with a 
squeal, her big titties bouncing.

"You do like to play rough," he said, grabbing her tits, weighing them in his 
hands.

"It'll take more than that, Sam," she replied. "You got it in you?" He smirked 
and squeezed her tits thumbing the big nipples, licking.

Selma squirmed. "Mmm, yeah," she responded. "Rougher, stud. Use me hard."

"Slut," Sam growled, and he tore away the rest of her tattered dress and tossed 
it aside. This got her panting, her tits heaving, resting back on her elbows, 
legs splayed, dark hair tousled about her face. "You want it bad don't you?"

"I need it rough, Sam. I'm a bad girl and I need a rough fucking. My no-good 
husband ain't got the guts. I'm getting' rid of him. A girl's got to be 
satisfied."

Sam started to unbutton his shirt, then stopped and came to the edge of the bed. 
"You do it. Unbutton my shirt."

"Yes, sir," Selma said quietly, gazing up at him with a fiery dare in her dark 
eyes. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands inside it, across his muscular 
chest and kissed his belly. Then she pulled at his dungarees, opening the fly, 
pushing them down. He took her by the hair and pulled her head back, making her 
gasp.

"Whip it out, Selma. Whip out my pecker for you." She reached into his pants and 
pulled out his stiffening dick, a meaty tool almost ready for man's work. "Are 
you ready for it, slut?"

"I still don't think you're man enough," she began. But he threw her back on the 
bed and pushed down his dungarees and kicked them off. Naked and bold, he 
pounced on her, pinning her arms with his, pinning her legs with his.

"I'm gonna fuck you till you scream, you little whore. You want it bad, don't 
you?"

"Yes," she whimpered. "Rough. My husband's a goddamn simp. He can't satisfy a 
woman like me."

He jammed his hand between her legs, into the wet hole below her dark bush. "You 
like that?"

"Yes," she confessed breathlessly.

He pushed a finger in, two fingers, working them in and out quickly, roughly. 
Selma gasped, moaned hotly. "Mmmm, yes. Oh, yeah. Oh, oh, yeah." Sam grabbed one 
tit with the other hand squeezing it, twisting the nipple. "Oh fuck. Oh goddamn, 
Sam. Yeah." He twisted harder, rubbed her pussy harder, the hot slit oozing 
juices over his hand. He left off with her tit and grabbed her hair again, 
pulling her one way and then the other, making her tits shake, as he pounded her 
pussy with his other hand. "F-- fuck, fffuck," she muttered.

The he smacked her pussy, spanking it, making her gasp, groan, and squirm, 
trying to get away. "Oh fuck! Oh you fucking bastard!" He plunged his fingers 
inside again, fucking her with this hand, the pussy juices pouring. "Fuck! Fuck! 
FUCK!" she squealed. "Make me come! Make me fucking come! Oh you fucking 
bastard! I'm coming! Oh, I'm coming!"

Sam backed away, letting her fall back on the bed. Then he pushed her legs apart 
with a huff, pulled her to him, and poised his cock at the entrance to her pink 
man-trap. Selma panted heavily, tits heaving, eager. Slowly, he stabbed into 
her, feeling the delicious tightness of her juicy slit, then pulled slowly out 
again.

"You hungry for cock, Selma? You hungry for cock in your pussy?" And he pushed 
into her savagely.

"Oh JESUS!" she cried. "Oh God up in heaven! Oh, fuck me!" He rocked back and 
forth, pulling out to the tip of his big prick and plunging forward again, deep 
into her, splitting her open, making her groan.

She rocked against him also, meeting his thrusts with eager hips, her tits 
bouncing, huffing and puffing, with barely-contained moans of pleasure. "God-- 
Goddamn! Of fuck!" she cried. "Fuck me, Sam Ewer. Fuck me hard!"

Sam slammed his meat into her again and again, grinding his hips against her, 
slapping his balls against her asshole. He grunted and groaned himself, eager 
for a final release.

But first, he pulled her up, turned around and sat himself on the edge of the 
bed, Selma perched on his lap. They bounced this way some more, her tits in his 
face, getting licked and bitten and nipped as she moaned, head back, dark hair 
brushing his knees.

"Oh fuck me! Oh, oh, fuck me! Hard! Harder!" She fairly screamed it now, panting 
hotly, bouncing on his lap as his thrust up inside her, gravity pulling her down 
to meet his rigid tool.

"That's it! I'm coming!" Selma squealed. "I'm coming hard! Fuck me! Fuck me! 
Fuck me! Oh! OH! OHH! Yes! YES! Ahhh! AHHHHH!" She screamed incoherently now, 
willing and wanton. Sam pulled her hard down onto him, tensed his body as the 
semen boiled up in his balls. With her dying moans, his coming shot up and into 
her, spurting inside her juicy twat, filling her fuck-hole with his milky come 
with a heavy grunt. Then he pushed her off him, onto the bed again, exhausted, 
his cock still trailing come that stuck to her belly.

After a few minutes, he left her, naked and bruised, lying on the bed as he went 
into the bathroom. He found her husband's razor and whatnot and gave himself a 
shave. She came in near the end, still naked, stroked his cock, and helped him 
finish his shave. Then she took a washcloth and washed his cock and balls, 
cleaning them of her dirty, sticky pussy juices. "You did it," she said, kissing 
his limp pecker. "You said you would fuck me to a screaming pleasure and you 
did." He smirked at her.

He found some of her husband's clothes that fit him and put them on. Then went 
into the kitchen. She followed him, putting on a cotton robe but not bothering 
to close it. He watched her tits swing as she pulled out the pans to make him 
some eggs.

He wandered around, looking at the things on the walls, looking for valuables, 
and the big chest on the side table caught his eye. He started to open it, but 
Selma stopped him.

"My husband's things," she said. "I got to get rid of them."

"Ain't he comin' home?"

"Not no more he ain't"

Sam smiled. "Then he ain't gonna miss ‘em."

But she stopped him again. "Your eggs are on the table. I'll give you the only 
thing he's got worth keepin'." She opened the chest and rummaged through it 
while he sat down. Then she came to him, rubbed up against him, bare tit in his 
face.

"His watch. Fancy, ain't it?"

"Whoo-ee," Sam smiled. "That's a nice one. I never seen a watch so nice as that, 
I reckon."

"He had money when I met him," she said, "but he drank it or pissed it away by 
now."

"Well, thank you, Selma. This is very meaningful to me," he grinned.

"Oh I got something more for you before you go," she grinned slyly, her dark 
hair falling about her shoulders, framing her flashing eyes.

It didn't take him long to finish his eggs and cola, not with Selma standing 
near, stroking his hair, brushing her tits against him. At last, he rose and 
picked up the little sack she had prepared; more food to last him. "That last 
little thing more?" he asked with a grin.

Selma went down on her knees then, opened his trousers. "I hope you like it." 
His cock was already half-stiff. It didn't take her long to get his pants down 
around this thighs, his cock rigid as an iron rod. She licked it slowly, up and 
down its full length, licked his hairy balls. She squeeze his ass too, kneading 
his buttocks like bread dough as she nuzzled his dick and rubbed her bare 
titties against his legs.

"Ohh, yeah," he moaned. "Mmmmm, that's nice." Selma at last took his prick in 
her soft, wet mouth, tongue lolling around it, gently pleasuring him completely. 
She went up and down, sucking the tip, then taking it all down her throat, then 
back up to the tip. She licked down the shaft again to his balls and took his 
sack in her mouth, tonguing his balls, sucking rhythmically. Then back up his 
shaft again to tease the tip.

Sam groaned incoherently and tousled her hair, the feeling of her soft tongue 
swirling around the head of his hard-on making the come boil up in his balls 
again. He held her head still, moving his hips, thrilled by the way she squeezed 
his ass, and fucked her pretty face, sliding his dick in and out of her red 
mouth, slowly, then faster, then faster still, feeling the tight pucker as she 
sucked hard, taking the full length of him in her mouth.

At last, Sam groaned a guttural, animal groan and stiffened, his cock plunged 
fully down Selma's throat, and shot a hot wad of come deep into her gullet. She 
swallowed his dick-wad automatically, head held in place, eagerly sucking more 
come out of his balls and down her throat.

He let her go and pulled his red cock out of her mouth, come strands stringing 
along until she licked them up. He went to the sink and splashed a little water 
on his dick. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, pressing those big, soft 
titties against his back, nuzzling his ear.

"You want me to help you get rid of those things?" he asked, jerking a thumb 
over his shoulder at the chest.

"Don't worry," Selma said. "I already arranged it...when I heard about you 
escapin' on the radio."

"Happy to be an inspiration," Sam smiled.

Sam gave her a kiss and picked up the sack and the watch. He went off down the 
road with a new spring in his misbegotten step and song in his miserable heart, 
smiling that trademark charming smile.

Selma went back into the bedroom and dropped the robe on the floor. Naked and 
still filthy with his come on her belly and mouth, she slipped on the ragged 
dress again. Then she went to the doorway and, summoning up a little courage, 
violently banged her head against the jamb, right beside her eye, sending 
herself reeling. She sat on the bed for a few minutes before going into the 
kitchen to the telephone.


 
When the police arrived, the shiner was bruising up nicely, a sickly yellow with 
a dark center ringing her eye. They examined it intently, along with the 
tattered dress that kept coming open, and--of course--the big chest in the kitchen 
where the killer had stuffed the remains of John Clary, Selma's husband, three 
holes shot in his back.

She told them about the rape, the degradation of taking his manhood in her 
mouth, the beating that left her with a black eye. And--of course--she told them 
how the desperate fugitive had coldly murdered her husband with his own gun when 
he returned home and stuffed him in the chest while he finished degrading her, 
even forcing her to make him a plate of eggs. And, the last wicked straw, he 
stole her dear husband's gold watch.

The fugitive wasn't far down the road, she was sure. They could surely catch him 
before nightfall in her husband's clothes, carrying that fancy watch. The 
policemen were understanding, especially when she showed them the strands of 
hair he had pulled out, the bruises on her knees, the bite marks on her big 
tits.

They promised they would shoot the no-good son of a bitch on sight.

Fugitive, Hide Thy Face

By: Punchinello

Find more pulp at http://www.pulperotica.com

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}|
|Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org>      |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+