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Subject: {ASSM} Wicked People? {Varkel} (bF+ bM+ bm bf oral anal pedo first) [7/9]
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Date: Wed, 07 Nov 2007 09:10:04 -0500
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Wicked People?

a Novelette by Varkel
Fall, 2007



Chapter 7: _Sammy and the Law_



The cop, holding Sammy's shoulder, guided him downstairs and into an 
empty viewing room, where he released the boy, locked the door and 
checked every corner, even behind the couches to be sure the room was 
empty.

He took out a notebook.  "All right, kid.  What's your name?"

"Sammy."

"Sammy what?"

"Sammy Canfield."

"What's your relation to the Strump broad?"

"The what?"

"Are you any relation to Leila Strump?"

"Relation?  No.  She's my friend."

The cop grinned.  "Friendly enough to give you a hard-on.  Where do you
live?"

"I guess in grandma's house -- when I'm in Cleveland."

"Leila's your grandma?"

"Huh?  I said we were no relation."

"So you did.  What are you doing in a mortuary anyway?"

"My mother brought me to my grandma's viewing."

The matter-of-fact statement gave the policeman pause.  He went on more
patiently to elicit the grandmother's name and the mother's use of Leila
as a babysitter.  At last he said scornfully, "And you don't know 
anything about the murder, right?"

"You mean of Leila's husband?"

The cop stiffened, eyes glowing.  "Tell me what you know."

Sammy shrugged.  "Just what Mr. Dreaver told me."

Those details were quickly related.

The cop's lip curled.  "Why would he tell you something like that?"

"I guess to keep me quiet."

"How would that work?"

"He wanted me to be afraid of Ms. Strump."

"Quiet about what?"

Sammy shook his head.  "I can't talk about that."

The cop grinned.  "Which one of them was playing with your dick?"

Sammy bit his lip and dropped his eyes.

"Not too hard to guess, is it?" sneered the cop.  "When we came 
upstairs, you jumped away from Leila with a hard-on."

He caught the boy's shoulder to hold him in place and reached down to 
ruffle the front of the boy's short pants.  "Huh!  When did you zip it 
up?"

"When I put my pants on."

The cop backed away and studied the boy sharply.  He gaze raked up and 
down and the sneer departed to be replaced by an odd expression that 
reminded Sammy of anticipation.  The man licked his lips.

"What do your friends in the school yard say about cops, Sammy -- that 
we're mean?"

"I don't go to school, Mr. Panelli.  Mamma teaches me at home."

"You don't have any buddies?"

"No, sir.  Just Uncle Bern."

The man seemed to shiver.  His eyes lingered on Sammy's physical beauty.
"In that case you probably don't know much about a lot of important 
things."

The boy almost smiled, wondering how he could know what he didn't know.

"I'll first tell you what's most important.  I'm a police officer."

"I know that," said Sammy tartly.  "Your nametag says you are Detective
Panelli.  Why did the other policeman call you Pudge?"

"It's my nickname.  The second thing you need to learn is that you don't
ever reveal whatever happens between you and a police officer.  Do you 
understand that?  I mean, it's the foundation of our civilization."

"Yes, sir.  It sounds important."

"It sure is!  If you blab about what we say or do, you would injure 
society.  It's crucial that the general population have confidence in 
law enforcement."

"I understand, sir.  I know how to keep secrets."

"Good!  Now, Sammy, I'm a detective and I have to inspect you.  I want 
you to undress and place your clothes on that chair."

Sammy looked over his shoulder at the indicated chair.  Then he calmly 
took off his clothes, soon standing naked before Panelli's awe-struck 
gaze.

"Christ!" the man exclaimed.  "This is more than I expected!"

Sammy blinked.  "Is there something wrong with me?"

"No, kid, nothing at all, but I have to make sure, you know.  I've been
... ah, you might say, _studying_ young boys for a long time, almost 
since I was one myself.  I'll admit I'm not sure what to make of you.  
Except for that cock you look like a girl, even naked, which conflicts 
me because I absolutely despise perverts who molest young girls.  But 
what a cock!  It looks two, maybe three inches on _soft_."

His hand went to his groin and adjusted the lie of his uniform.  "I need
to do some things that you might not understand, Sammy.  It's standard 
police procedure, and as such it's quite confidential."

"Yes, sir.  I don't want to harm society."

"That's the ticket, kid.  Now scoot onto that table and lie face up."

After Sammy did so, Panelli approached and began to inspect the boy's 
flesh, starting with the raised nipples.

"These could belong to a girl who just turned eleven," he said, 
distracted.

"I'm twelve and a boy."

"Yeah, kid, I know, but there's something more here than meets the eye.
A thorough examination is in order."

Starting at the boy's feet, Panelli toyed with the toes, ran hands up 
hairless calves, finally fondling girlish-looking thighs of remarkable 
softness.  As the disturbance joggled his genitals the boy sprouted a 
six-inch stiffie of moderate thickness.

"Jesus!" Panelli exclaimed.

"Is something wrong, sir?"

"It's getting complicated, kid.  I'll actually have to taste you."

Sammy recognized the game but remained passive aside from a faint grin 
of anticipation for the inevitable blowjob.

Panelli slavered the boy's flesh, starting with his chest and raised 
nipples, then licking up the soft flesh of his legs.

"This is the most important part," he said, before fitting his lips 
around the pinkish cock head.

Sammy lay quietly, choosing not to express the thrill spreading in his 
midsection from the man's bobbing and slurping mouth.  He had seen 
enough television to find such service incredible.  Despite two orgasms
already in the last three hours, the novelty of getting sucked off by a
uniformed cop soon produced a third.  He spewed generously into the 
mouth of the law. 

Panelli swirled the contents of his mouth, swallowed and licked the few
escaped drops off his lips.  "Very good, Sammy.  You passed that like a
pro."  His eyes narrowed.  "Exactly like a pro.  I wonder ...  Okay.  
There's one last test I have to make.  If you relax completely, you'll 
hardly notice.  Roll over."

Sammy did so, knowing what to expect.  He grasped his own buttocks and 
exposed the pink rose.  This man was a police officer, so he obviously 
couldn't be wicked.

Although Sammy's exquisite thighs and perky cheeks appeared to be 
entirely feminine, the taste in Panelli's mouth confirmed the boy's 
gender.  Pulling from his pocket a tube of lubrication used twice daily
for masturbation, the man pushed down his trousers and shorts.  His cock
was no larger than Sammy's.

"Turn and slide your legs off the table," he said while lubing his 
member.  "Lean over it."

Sammy did so, anticipating Uncle Bern's fullness, but Panelli's shallow
penetration disappointed him.  By contrast the cop had no complaint.  He
experienced the most magnificent boy fuck of his life, soon spewing 
ecstatically, his body pressed to the lad's soft flesh.

After catching his breath, he said, "It all checks out, Sammy.  You're 
no longer a suspect."

"I'm glad to hear that, Detective Panelli," Sammy said, standing up.  "I
haven't done anything wicked."

"Get your clothes on.  I almost forgot.  What was it the Strump broad 
did to you?"

"Broad?"

"You know who I mean.  What'd she do?"

"I can't talk about that."

"Uh-huh.  And I don't suppose you'd care to tell me who's been fucking 
you up the ass lately."

Sammy blinked and said nothing.

Panelli sniffed.  "Pretty obvious _some_body has!"

The lad shook his head.  "I can't talk about any of that."

The man nodded slowly and said approvingly, "Maybe you do know how to 
keep a secret."

"Oh, yes, sir."

When Panelli had helped with Sammy's necktie, he unlocked the door.  
"You say your mother's coming back to pick you up?"

"Yes, sir."

"Let's go see if she's here yet.  Remember to keep your ass puckered."

After a moment Sammy thought he understood the reference and responded,
"It won't run out."  But awareness that the officer didn't put it so far
up as Uncle Bern reduced his certainty.

Panelli chuckled.  "I gave you a pretty good shot, kid.  It might.  
Let's stop by the john so you can fart it out."

The man oversaw the operation while blocking the toilet door to assure 
their privacy.  Returning up the hall toward the foyer, he asked, "You 
all set now?"

"I guess.  Thank you, sir."

"Have you decided what you'll tell your mother?"

Sammy considered and shook his head.  "Mamma won't believe it about Ms.
Strump."

The cop chuckled.  "You'd be surprised what women will believe!"


* * *


"It's cool and raining today," said Adelaide when Sammy went to her room
after his shower and a late breakfast.  "Put these on under your short 
pants."

The additional clothing proved to be a set of heavy black stockings that
came up to his thigh and a curious contraption of straps and clips that
went around his hips.  His mother stood him naked before her, ignoring 
the substantial dangling cock, to adjust the assembly of straps.  Nudity
before her did not disturb him.  He detected no tell-tale odor, and such
exposure to females was becoming customary.

"What is this thing?"

"A garter belt," she answered, "and stockings that belonged to me when I
was about your age.  Fortunately I remembered where she saved my teenage
clothing."

"Girl's clothes?"

"They're black.  Anyone can wear black.  And no one will see the garter
belt after you pull your underpants over the straps.  I'm sorry, Sammy,
that I've been too busy to buy you some more clothing."

When he was dressed, she tied his necktie.  He looked at the clock, now
showing noon.  "I thought you said the burial was at eleven."

"It had to be postponed, Sammy, because of the ... trouble at the 
mortuary.  That's why I had to go back out last night.  Mother's body 
was moved to another funeral home."

"What happened to Mrs. Strump?"

"She had a bail hearing this morning, I believe.  You saw the police 
arrest her, didn't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You must tell me all about it sometime soon.  For now go on out so I 
can finish dressing.  Stay downstairs and don't get dirty.  We'll leave
in a few minutes."


* * *


In the funeral procession Sammy and his mother shared a limousine with 
the same uncle and aunt who had accompanied them last night.  The adults
all wore formal black, which reminded Sammy of the two other funerals he
had attended.

"What kind of church did Grandma go to?" he asked his mother.

"She didn't attend church, dear.  We're having a graveside ceremony.  
Uncle Carl here is giving the eulogy."

"The you--  What's that?"

Adelaide opened her mouth to explain but the man said, "A bucket of 
whitewash."

"Carl!" she cried with a following sigh.  "Do you plan to embarrass the
family after all?"

"Never.  It shall be whitewash by omission."

Sammy blinked.  "I don't understand."

"We'll discuss it later, dear."

Despite the gray drizzle a crowd had gathered under a large flock of 
umbrellas.  Sammy asked, "Why can't we wait until it quits raining?"

His mother answered, "You don't postpone burials for rain."

"Why not?  Isn't it a better reason than Mrs. Strump's arrest?"

Uncle Carl grinned.  "The lad has a point."

His aunt sniffed.  "The real reason is the vultures might miss 
something."

Sammy gaped at her.  "Vultures?"

"The hopeful heirs.  Carl, do you know any of these people?"

"By type, at least."

"The great majority seems to be men.  I can't believe your mother knew 
so many!"

The man chuckled oddly.  "I can't tell if you are sympathetic or 
envious."

The woman smiled teasingly.  "Neither can I."

Sammy looked wonderingly at his mother, who winked and patted his cheek.

When he exited the limousine, someone handed him a large open umbrella.
He held it also over Adelaide, who took that arm.  The crowd had left an
avenue for them to approach a large, square tent, which he studied with
interest.  It had been erected thoughtfully in line with the breeze.  
Its windward side was draped and the other three open.  The catafalque 
with its massed flowers stood against the draped side.  A large, 
tarpaulin-covered mound rose behind the drape.  After a moment he 
realized that it was the dirt excavated from the grave.

Mother, son and aunt were seated on the front row of folding chairs 
while many others from the gaggle of limousines filed in beside and 
behind them.  He saw Sherry arrive.  She glared at him, eyes narrowed as
if in envy, though he could discern no reason for it.

Uncle Carl stood before the bier, flanked by another man on either side.
One of them passed him a cordless microphone.  He flipped a switch on 
it, causing a loud snap.  Sammy looked hastily over his shoulder and 
spotted two outdoor speakers hung in the rear corners of the tent.

Adelaide's hand fell on his knee and she whispered, "Don't gawk, dear."

Aside from the occasional cough, the crowd was silent.  Rain drummed 
softly on the tent.  Uncle Carl glanced at something in his other hand.
His voice was suddenly very loud.

"We are gathered here today to bury Geraldine Amelia Harmon Pauly, my 
mother.  Six of us owe her the debt of life directly and many others 
indirectly.  The largest number owes her the joy of her personality, 
which may be why so many are here."

He paused to look around the crowd.  Oddly to Sammy, many people chose 
that moment to cough or clear their throats.

"Geraldine Harmon was born to unknown parents in Chicago in 1931.  
Raised in an orphanage, at 19 she so struck Averill Pauly with her 
youthful beauty that he married her, writing in his diary on the wedding
night that he meant to play Pygmalion.  He mentioned this ambition 
again, seven years later, and wondered if Pygmalion ever regretted his 
success.  By that time Geraldine was a highly acclaimed Cleveland 
hostess, known for her wit, her culture, her beauty and her 'obdurate 
generosity.'  That was Averill's description of her, applied when he 
discovered she had obtained subscriptions from many of the finest 
gentlemen, sufficient to found a home for destitute women -- which 
continues to support such women to this day.  A year later in 1958, when
Averill died, Geraldine Pauly's native generosity became fully apparent.
For the rest of her youth she contributed unstintingly to the friends 
who needed her, and they were legion, and for the rest of her life she 
funded charities that support women.

"Yet she did not fail in managing the fortune Averill left her.  It has
grown despite her extensive philanthropy.  And she did not fail in 
managing the growth of her children, all of whom today ..."

Sammy had noticed a rivulet of water creeping among the wood chips 
sprinkled underfoot.  It crept toward his aunt's shoe, wending left then
right, but always drawing closer.  One chip floated in the center of it,
spinning, a small black beetle crouched upon it.  Whenever that chip 
bounced off another, the beetle twitched but never quite obtained the 
courage to leap away.  Sammy leaned forward to watch in fascination.  
When the chip, riding the crest of the rivulet, was an inch from her 
shoe, the aunt moved her foot.  Sammy looked up quickly to find her 
grinning at him.  With her foot out of the way he put his own in the 
path of the water and was rewarded by sight of the beetle scampering 
over it to escape.  The aunt sighed and patted his knee.

Compared to the beetle's adventure, the rest of the ceremony was 
anticlimactic.


* * *


The debate began as soon as their limousine pulled away from the 
cemetery curb.  Adelaide demanded in a low but fierce voice, "Why in the
world did you have to mention Mamma's 'great circle of masculine 
admiration?'"

Uncle Carl began, "Well, it was only --"

But his wife interrupted.  "Do you deny she had one even as an old 
woman?"

Adelaide glared.  "Certainly not in the same manner!  And then you had 
to mention those incidents in the summerhouse."

"I merely alluded to them as the summer of spice.  You were just a 
little kid, Addy, but I recall them well."

"Didn't the _Tattler_ write them up?" asked the aunt.

"They even sneaked in a photographer," said the uncle.  "It's part of 
the record."

"Yes," declared Adelaide, "but not the most savory part!  How could you,
Carl?"

"Because every one of the surviving participants was here today."

"How do you know that?"

"I was _facing_ the crowd, you know."

"But how could you recognize all of them?"

Uncle Carl smirked.  "Didn't you know the summerhouse had an attic and a
knothole in the ceiling?"

"Good heavens!"

Sammy listened closely, hoping to hear what the uncle, presumably then a
mere boy, saw through the knothole, but learned nothing further.  He had
questions of his own about the uncle's speech but the adults were too 
exercised to hear them.  That condition worsened after their arrival at
Grandma's mansion, where other adults joined in.  He soon gave up and 
went upstairs.

Sherry saw him pass and followed him into his room.  "How did you get on
the front row?" she demanded.  "She was as much my grandma as yours."

Sammy shook his head.  "No, she wasn't.  She was only your 
step-grandma."

Her eyes widened.  "Who told you that?"

"My mother."

"She doesn't like me, does she?"

"She said some of the Morgans are wicked people."

"Wicked!"

Sammy nodded gravely.  "But I don't think you are."

"Gee, thanks!"

"Did you understand about Pygmalion?"

"Huh?"  She was puzzled only a moment.  "You mean in the eulogy."

"What's a eulogy?"

"A speech about somebody else -- Uncle Carl's speech at Grandma's 
burial."

"Oh.  But did you?"

"Not really, but I liked the rest of what he said.  Mamma told me he 
wanted to remind everyone Grandma was a freethinker and did what she 
liked -- without actually spelling it out."

"Spelling what out?"

"That she slept with most of the wealthy men in Cleveland."

"'Slept?'"

"You know: _fucked_."  Sherry snickered.  "You did know, didn't you, 
that Uncle Carl, her first kid, was born ten months after Averill Pauly
died?"

"You mean he's not our grandpa?"

"Not anybody's grandpa -- at least with our grandma."

"That's news to me!"  He shook his head and began to remove his short 
pants suit.  Sherry watched frankly and gaped when the garter straps 
were exposed.  When he removed his undershorts, she burst into laughter.

He smiled.  "I know: girls' clothes.  Because these stockings are loose
at the top."

As he straightened she whirled upon him and grasped his shoulders.  
"That's ri_dic_ulous!"

He blinked.  "What is?"

"Your big dick hanging under a garter belt."  Her laughter resumed.

He shook his head.  "It was Mamma's idea, because it was cold and damp."

"What a mamma's boy!"

"Well, I _am_!"

"God, you don't know anything!"  But her laughter choked off as he 
fumbled behind his back for the belt hooks.  "Wait a minute."

His eyebrows rose.  "What?"

"It looks ... kind of ..."  Her hand dropped to enclose his cock.  Her 
fingers straightened, allowing the head to loll in her palm.  She said 
in wonder, "That looks kind of hot, Sammy."

The black straps of the garter belt, still connected to the black hose 
tops, framed his genitals.  He saw nothing stimulating, but the tongue 
licking her lips was suggestive.  "If you like it so much, suck it."

"Oh, god!" she cried resignedly.  Making a face, she dropped suddenly to
her knees before him and slurped the dangling organ into her mouth, but
her eyes widened and she expelled it immediately.  "Gack, I'm going to 
puke!"  She spat on the floor.

"What's the matter?"

"Piss!  You're full of piss."  She made awful faces, scrubbing her mouth
with the back of her hand.

He shook his head.  "No, I'm not.  I peed just before I came upstairs."

"It's _terrible_, Sammy!  Oh god, I can't believe I tasted piss!"  She 
fell back to a seat on the floor, her mouth working.

He said thoughtfully, "Women taste of it too ... at first."

She studied him.  "How can you stand it?"

He shrugged.  "You only notice it at first."  His cock twitched erect.
"Come on, Sherry.  Try it again."

She backed away from him and rose to her feet.

He asked, "Where are you going?"

"For a coke to get this taste of my mouth."

He sighed as she departed, and changed into his usual shorts, T-shirt 
and sneakers.  He met her coming back on the stairs.  "That was a quick
coke."

"Mamma gave me a taste of her drink."  She grinned.  "A martini.  I 
think it was worse than your piss."

"Then it's not the taste that bothers you."

She stared at him.  When he continued past her, she turned and followed
him into the downstairs hall.

"What are you looking for, Sammy?" she asked, voice dropping to a 
whisper as they cautiously edged into their late grandmother's bedroom.

The large space was sweetly redolent of perfume, salves and powder.  
Sherry rounded the large bed and entered the bathroom behind him.

"I need something slick," he finally replied.  "I could use Crisco from
the kitchen, but grown-ups are always in there."

"Why do you need something slick?"

"Because I need to come."

"You what?"

"Because you won't suck on me.  I'm going to teach you how to do it with
your hand."

"You mean ..."

"Like I did yesterday."

"I'll get messy!" she complained.

"It's only fair, Sherry.  Every time I lick on you I have to whack off."

"Because you hurt me yesterday, Sammy.  I'm still sore."

"I give you pleasure.  It's only right that you return the favor."

The girl sulked as he rummaged in the medicine cabinet.

"Bingo!" he exclaimed, presenting to her a jar of cold cream.  "My mom 
uses this, and I know it's slick."

"Your mom whacks you off?"

"No."  But Sammy paused briefly to wonder why she hadn't.

After returning to his bedroom on the third floor, they both stripped 
naked and climbed onto the bed.

"Lick on me first," Sherry insisted, "since you don't mind the taste."

Exasperated, Sammy groused, "I wish you were older.  It's not much fun 
playing with a kid."

Despite the complaint, he pushed the girl's legs apart and began to lick
around the almost hairless pussy.  He took pride in the effort, knowing
from yesterday that he would cause this partner, however young, to go 
out of control.

She did so after a few minutes, moaning loudly, pulling at his hair then
crying out and squeezing his head with her cool thighs.  Sammy was 
quickly upon the girl, penetrating her fully with his man-sized cock.

"Don't!" she cried, thrusting powerfully at his shoulders.  "It hurts!"

He sighed, pulled out of her and rolled onto his back.

"That was mean, Sammy!"

"I'm sorry.  I wish you weren't a kid."

"Now I'm hurting more than before."

"If you would only suck on me!"

"No!  Piss is so nasty!"

"Then do it by hand."

"Can't you do yourself like before?"

"You like touching it, Sherry.  Why not make me come?"

"Because it's messy!"

"I'll show you how."

Sherry scowled but protested no further.  He smeared the turgid member 
with slick cold cream then took her hand to enclose it.  "You just run 
your fist up and down, squeezing a bit at the top.  Try it."

Diffidently she obeyed.

He pulled her into a one arm embrace, his free hand toying with a 
pubescent breast.  After a moment he advised, "It's working!"

Soon he bucked and spewed as copiously as a more mature boy, splashing 
his chest and her fist.

"Eeuw!" she exclaimed, holding her wet hand aloft to examine its pearly
coating.

He caught his cock and pumped it a few times while grinning at her.  
"Taste it."

"I certainly will not!"

"It doesn't look like piss -- nor taste like it either."

"Oh, _you've_ tasted it then!"

Sammy blinked.  He recalled tasting his own via Helen's kiss but only 
Uncle Bern's directly.  The "twink" had interrupted them before he could
taste it from boy on the plane.

"Not even the cop's!" he breathed.

Though Sherry reacted to his words, her curiosity was already committed.
She licked her palm and smacked her lips, eyes locked on his.

"See?" he said.

"You're right," she admitted grudgingly, leaning down and licking the 
splash on his chest.  "It's kind of ... interesting."

"'Interesting?'"

"It's a bit like walnuts.  Do you always squirt so much?"

"When I have to do without."

"Since you whacked off yesterday?"

"Since the cop -- since last night."

"What about a cop?"

He looked away.  "Can't talk about that."

"Why not?"  She cocked her head and regarded him intently.  "Something 
happened last night, didn't it?  Something at the funeral home.  We had
to visit grandma late -- at a different place, Mamma said."

He studied her and shrugged.  "I don't guess it would hurt anything.  
They arrested Mrs. Strump for murdering her husband."

"They _what_!  Good god!  How do you know?"

"I was right there."

"Right where?"

"With Mrs. Strump."

"You mean she was talking with your mother?"

"No.  Just Mrs. Strump and me."

"And _I_."

"Okay, she and I."

"Who's Mrs. Strump?"

"She owns the funeral home where they took Grandma first."

"A grown woman?  What were you doing with her by yourself?"

He shook his head.  "I can't talk about that."

She thought it over and grinned slowly.  "What a load of bananas!"

He blinked.  "'Bananas?'"

"Tell me what really happened."

"I can't."

"Aw, go ahead.  Keep making it up."

"'Making it up?'  Do you think I'm lying?"

"You're just a kid, even if you do have big dick."

He glared at her.  "Everybody knows you can't talk about fucking."

"'Fucking?'"  She laughed.  "Is that what you say you did with Mrs. 
Strump?"

His glare increased.  "Why are you so ... so ..."

"Aggravating?"  She shook her head, still chuckling.  "Just because I 
don't believe every wild thing you say?"

He took a deep breath, considering his options, aware that she might yet
be cajoled to suck him.  He mused, "You don't know Mrs. Strump or the 
cops.  If you'll promise not to tell anybody --"

She interrupted positively, "I never rat."

"You never what?"

"I won't tell anyone.  Cross my heart."

He grinned.  "Cross your tit."

"Don't change the subject.  At least not yet.  What did you do at --  
Wow!  Did they show you where they fix up dead people?"

He blinked.  "That must be in the basement.  The door was locked."

"So where did Mrs. Strump take you?"

"In her office.  And a little sitting room next door.  Upstairs.  I went
exploring and she invited me in."

"Like the spider to the fly, huh?"

He chuckled.  "Well, she did _eat_ me."

The girl's eyes widened.  "You mean ..."

"She sucked me off and swallowed every drop."

"There you go again.  You _wish_ she did."

He shook his head.  "I don't lie.  She really did.  And she took the 
whole thing in her mouth."

Obviously incredulous, Sherry cocked her head.  "How old was she -- old
as your mother?"

"Oh, lots older."

"Hmph!  What was she wearing?"

"Huh?"

"Her clothes.  How was she dressed?"

"I didn't pay any atten--  Oh.  She wore a dress and a corset."

"A corset!"

"Under the dress.  I thumped her belly."  As he spoke he demonstrated 
upon the girl.  "And no underpants.  She had straps to hold up her 
stockings like the ones I just took off."

"How did you happen to see that?"

"She lifted up her skirt so I could fist her."

"'_Fist_?'"

He formed fingers and thumb to a point.  "Put my hand in her pussy.  
What do _you_ call it?"

"You put your hand ...  You mean your fingers."

"The whole hand."

The girl's face was a mask of wonder.  "Don't be silly, Sammy.  It won't
fit!"

"Maybe not in your little girl one, but it sure fits in grown women."

"My god!  What did she say about that?"

"She said to pull up towards her navel and then she said she was 
coming."

"Oh, my god!  That's so ... so ..."  She flung back on extended arms, 
her mouth working indecisively.

He grinned proudly and formed the hand into a fist.  "I thought about it
afterwards.  It's smaller than a baby.  I don't see why you're surprised
some women like it."

"Oh, god," she repeated weakly, shaking her head.  "What happened with 
the cops?"

"That was really strange.  Mamma was looking for me so Deaver came to 
take me back downstairs.  He told me --"

"'Deaver?'"

"A man that worked in the place.  He warned me not to tell anything on 
Leila -- Leila Strump, that she was a killer.  He said she knocked her 
husband down, burned him up in the basement and scattered his ashes in 
the garden."

The girl's eyes widened and she chuckled derisively.  "He was putting 
you on."

"'Putting me --'  Sherry, sometimes you say things that make no sense at
all."

"I mean he was teasing you."

"That's what I thought.  Mamma and the others had to go off somewhere 
and left me with Leila.  She ordered pizza for us.  Then the cops 
charged in and arrested her for murdering her husband.  They were going
to search the garden for his bones.  It was hardly an hour after Deaver
told me.  You could almost believe he told the cops too."

"Did he?"

"I don't think so.  He said he really needed that job."

"So the cops arrested her.  What'd they do with you?"

"One called 'Pudge' took me down to a waiting room.  I don't think I 
should tell you about that."

"Why not?  Mamma says the cops can be very dangerous.  She told me all 
about her interrogation.  They tried to make her lie."

It was Sammy's turn to show disbelief.  "You're joking!  Interrogation 
about what?"

The girl shrugged.  "About some coke they found in her purse."

Sammy blinked in astonishment.  "It's against the law to have a coke in
your purse?"

"Huh?  Co_caine_, Sammy!  What did _Pudge_ say?"

Sammy chuckled.  "He said something funny -- that I probably didn't know
about a lot of important things."

"You don't.  What was funny about that?"

"I wondered how I could know what I didn't know."

"You're weird, Sammy!  What did that lead to?"

"He said the foundation of our civilization is you don't ever tell what
happens between you and a cop."

Her eyes widened.  "He really said that?"

"Yes.  Because if you do it injures society.  No one would have 
confidence in the law."

"Oh, boy, what a load of crap!"  Her expression was intent.  "Then what
did he _do_?"

"A standard police procedure."

"_He_ called it that, I bet!"

"Well, yes."

"What did he do that was so standard?"

"He made me strip naked and lie down on the table.  Then he felt me all
over.  He didn't say what he was looking for."

"Looking for your dick!"

Sammy grinned.  "I knew what he wanted.  As soon as it got hard he 
sucked me off."  His grin became a frown.  "I never saw them do that on
the television cop shows."

She barked a laugh.  "I'll bet you didn't!  Did he decide you were 
innocent then?"

"Not until he fucked me."

Now her eyes rounded enormously.  "Up the ass?"

"Yeah.  That's when he said I was no longer a suspect and took me to the
restroom to fart out his juice."

"Holy shit!"

"Not really.  I only pissed."

She laughed but shook her head dolefully.  "God, Sammy, you poor kid!"

"What's the matter?"

"You've been raped, that's what!  Oh god, Sammy!"

She swarmed upon him, caught his head in her arms and pulled it against
her hard chest.  He started to protest but the proximity of a swollen 
nipple distracted him.  He sucked it into his lips and stroked it with 
his tongue.

"Ooo!" she cried with a shiver but thrust his head away.  "Sammy!  We've
got to go tell the family."

He regarded her incredulously.  "That I sucked your nipple?"

"That you were raped, you dumb-fuck!"

"What do you mean, raped?  You mean getting fucked up the ass?  I kind 
of like that."

Her mouth fell open.  "But, Sammy, that cop shot you the worst line I 
ever heard about.  It's all bullshit.  Don't tell anyone indeed!  It's 
_against the law_ for him to do what he did to you!"

"It is?"  He blinked.  "Isn't that how men play with each other?"

She shook her head in awe.  "God, Sammy, you're in worse shape than I 
thought."

"Oh, yeah?  What do you think of this shape?"  He scooted his hips 
forward, bouncing the cock that had re-erected as he recalled last 
night.

"I like that shape," she admitted, eyeing it.  "You mean you don't want
to tell anybody?"

"What I want is for you to do something sweet to it."

"Suck it?"  She took a breath.  Her tongue touched her lower lip 
speculatively.  "Will you tell me what it feels like up your ass?"

He grinned.  "I could show you a lot easier."

"Oh, Sammy, that's scary."  Taking a deeper breath, she bent to his 
groin.  Her mouth felt good around his cock, especially considering her
reluctance.  Victorious, he clasped her head in his hands and moved it 
faster.  She endured that briefly before pulling back.  "You'll mess up
my hair!"

"That's easy to fix."

"Besides, I can still taste the cold cream."

"I've got a better idea anyway."

"What better idea?"

"More cold cream."

"Huh?"

He slathered himself thoroughly, caught her hips and turned her on her 
belly.

"What are you doing?" she demanded fiercely.

"Showing you," he answered, crouching over her buttocks.

"No, Sammy, not my asshole!"

Strong as he, she hitched herself away, glaring at him over her 
shoulder.

"Why not?  I kind of liked it when it was done to me."

"How many times was it done to you?"

"Twice."

"And how many times did you do it?"

"Hmm.  Once."

"With a girl?"

"No.  A man.  He didn't want to do it either, but he'd just done it to 
me."

She stared at him.  "God, Sammy!  I thought your mother was the 
religious type."

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Who'd believe she lets you do something like that?"

"Well, she doesn't."  He grinned.  "She doesn't know we're naked 
together or I licked your pussy and busted your cherry and you sucked my 
dick."

She licked her lips.  "We've done most of it, haven't we?"

"Almost all."

She bit her lip.  "Will it hurt up my ass?"

"It didn't up mine.  It feels very peculiar at first.  You have to relax
and let it in."

"A grown man fucked you?"

"Two of them."  He started to tell her the first was his uncle but 
remembered barely in time.  "They both had fatter dicks than mine."

She took a very deep breath.  "I've shit thicker than yours, so it can't
be too bad.  All right, Sammy, but go slow, will you?"

She rolled her buttocks up to him.  He parted her cheeks with one hand,
positioned himself carefully with the other and pushed gently.  The 
slick organ met initial resistance but popped through a seeming ring, 
leaving the head well lodged within her buttocks.

"Oh!" she breathed.

"That didn't hurt!" he declared confidently.

"You're right, but it feels so peculiar!"

He pushed into her fully.  "Like shit going backwards?"

"Yeah.  God, Sammy!  I wish you had two dicks."

He chuckled.  "I saw some more in Grandma's drawer."

"But I'm glad you don't right now; I'm still sore.  Yeah, I saw them 
too.  She must've really liked them, to keep models beside her bed."

Holding her hips, he was pumping in and out of her slowly.  He felt a 
strange undulation in the flesh and cocking his head, saw her fingers 
moving swiftly above her pussy.

"Oh God, Sammy, this is so hot!"  She began to squeak whenever his hips
thudded against her buttocks at full penetration.

A few minutes later, as he ejaculated into her entrails, he concluded 
that girls were the best, however you fucked them.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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