Barry Lassidy

Her barking stud

Chapter 1

It was a hot, muggy Sunday, and thirteen-year old Jan felt out of sorts with the world. Her mother had phoned that she would be delayed with «Aunt Nina» and wouldn't be home until Monday morning-if then. Jan knew her mother was shacked up with me guy in a motel some place, and the fact that Momma was getting fucked and she wasn't added to her lousy mood. Also, Santa Cruz Shirley and Irish Deirdre had gotten up that morning, eaten a big breakfast and left the dishes for her to do, and had left without even a thank-you suck for the orgy they'd had over the weekend, first with the paper boy and then just among the three of them … two women and the delightfully sexual teenager.

They'd sucked endlessly, and then fucked each other with every dildo in her mother's collection-all of which needed cleaning before the old woman arrived home-and had done about anything and everything broads can do to broads to make them come. But now, on Sunday morning, Jan wanted something she couldn't name. She didn't want to fuck herself with any of the dildoes, nor did she want to use the hairbrush handle that had been what excited the fancy-fucking Davis the night he'd been peeking in her window. And she sure as hell didn't want to use just her finger. That seemed almost childish, now that she had discovered the real pleasure to be had from a good, stout fuck.

It hardly seemed possible, she thought, that it had been just a little over a week ago when she got her first real fuck from Davis. Then the next night she had been fucked by Robbie Lester, the three-balled banjo player, and she'd gotten screwed or sucked by every male and female at the party at Ma Kidder's Bar, known throughout the village of Los Patos as an infamous sex palace. She'd been fucked in the cunt, in the ass, in the mouth, and had had her pussy sucked, all within the space a very few hours. Then, after a week spent with her finger and her mother's dildos whenever she had a chance, she'd had a wild time with Irish Deirdre and Santa Cruz Shirley.

Now the let-down was upon her. She had no further plans for fucking with the fine crowd of people at Ma Kidder's Bar and Infamous Sex Palace, and she was in that state every youngster of her age and experience is bound to encounter at some early point in their fucking careers-she didn't know where her next screw was coming from.

«Shit!» she said disgustedly, borrowing Irish Deirdre's favourite word. «That's what this whole fucking mess is. Shit!»

She flopped on the couch and tried to interest herself in some antiseptic television, but the screen didn't hold her attention for more than a moment. Nor did woman's magazine that pretended cocks and cunts didn't exist, and the highest that a woman could aspire to was a well-waxed kitchen floor.

She rejected the idea of calling Davis, mostly out of fear that he would refuse to fuck her, and the rejection would be more than she could bear. Right then she needed some moral support … in the form of a stout cock shoved up her pussy.

She stood up and damned near stumbled over her pet boxer, Meat, who was sleeping on the floor.

«Get out of the way, you fucking son of a bitch,» she snapped, and after a moment, she grinned. «Calling you a son of a bitch isn't an insult, is it, Meat, old friend? You're a son of a bitch, no matter how you cut it.»

Meat opened his eyes and regarded her balefully for interrupting his nap. He didn't move or acknowledge her presence in any way.