The Dunwich Romance (12 page)

In plenary darkness, she re-opened Wilbur’s pants. She was vaguely aware of herself actually
panting
in anticipation of intercourse. Was she drooling as well? Wilbur, however, sat trembling to the bone, as of a puppy ashiver in bitter cold.

His pants were now opened and lowered just enough to grant Sary sufficient access. She could investigate nothing with her eyes but, indeed, her
hands
could investigate, couldn’t they?

And investigate they did.

What her fingers reached down and encompassed seemed, forthwith, unrepresentative of the penises she’d experienced, and as for her previous surmise—that Wilbur might be poorly bestowed—this idea held no longer held water. It was a bowed, ax-haft-wide appendage that her grasp had found, which felt tacky and queerly cool. At once, she thought of a fresh plucked goose neck. She ringed her thumb and forefinger, then felt upward to the appendage’s terminus. No aggregation of foreskin was discovered, nor was there anything semblant of a glans. It was turgid, yes, as of an erection, yet...did erections lack any manner of a fleshy domed crown? A licked pinky tip, next, examined the more or less stumplike conclusion of the organ, seeking to identify the urethral exit, but...

Thar en’t no pee-hole at the end’a his dick!

No. No evidence of any such seminal and urinary aperture.

Nevertheless, and her mystification notwithstanding, with one hand she proceeded to stroke the fleshy but strangely cool shaft, while her other hand delved lower, to cosset his testicles—

No testicles, nor any manner of what might be thought of as a scrotum, could be identified at the shaft’s basal root.

Wilbur,
she grimly realized,
en’t got no nuts...

Instinct impelled her to display no reaction, which came easier, at least, given the stark hardiness of her erotomancy. Unusual or not, Wilbur’s genital potential was about to be tested to every limit of thoroughness that Sary could muster. She meant to mount him now, by raising the apex of her thighs high enough to license coitus, and in preparing to do exactly that she opened her hands on his chest to push upward—

As if shocked, she flinched, then froze. Her eyes popped wide in the darkness.

When her opened palms had pressed against his shirt she felt anything but what she’d expected: the rapid squirming of a mass of...
things
...beneath the shirt fabric.

Things?
What
things?

What things could there be that
squirmed
beneath a man’s
shirt?
She’d only expected to feel the toned chest muscles of any hard-laboring man, and the indentations of ribs. Instead, Sary had felt something like an aggregation of thin snakes shifting under the fabric. And just as she had flinched, so had Wilbur, as if reacting to the fact of her discovery...

Her lips moved to voice query, but before she could utter as much—

Whoa!

—she flinched once more. One of her hands had lowered most errantly to the inside of his middle-thigh. Here again she felt something quite at odds with what she
should’ve
felt: something, too, like a snake, only in this case an individual snake much wider than the mass of far more slender things that seemed to wiggle en masse. Might it be a stout rope running down the inside of his pant leg? But that was nonsensical! Why would Wilbur place such a thing there? For a moment she entertained a notion equally ridiculous—that it was not a rope running down his leg at all, but a tail.

But only animals had tails, not men.

Even in the dark, she sensed his alarm. “Wilbur,” she began, “what’s that yew got under—”

“Shhh,” he whispered, and immediately engaged in a distraction potent enough even to quell her questions over such a seeming abnormality. The distraction was simply this:

His middle finger had gently slipped into her vagina, and its entrance brought with it the precursory penetration that she so craved. Gently, yes, but
deeply
as well, for Wilbur’s middle finger—she’d noticed shortly after meeting him—extended quite a bit longer than the middle fingers of most men. However, the
extent
of the penetration was not all that bid that initial overwhelming gust of ecstasy; it was also the tactic which was perpetrated. Wilbur deftly churned the finger amid the slippery channel in a configuration similar to a teepee, and this action only aggrandized her pleasures.

Gone, then, was all concern over any physiological incongruities that seemed to present themselves beneath his shirt and down his pant leg.

The most exotic sensations began to spiral upward from the seat of her womanhood, to her breasts and then to her brain.
More,
the thought beat like the very spasms of her groin.
More,
and with this, she raised her pelvis high, grabbed his erection, nudged its tip into her vulva, and—

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh...

—sat right down on it.

Where Wilbur’s finger had catalyzed her to near-frenzy, she now felt skewered and then summarily ushered into libidinal madness, for his genital shaft was double his finger’s length. She quivered in place, her nerves thrumming. She could not think in any level of cohesion but could only follow her craven instincts, instincts which demanded she be
plungered
by him.
I need him ta work my pussy like a dang well-pump!
the crude thought swept her.

The workings of the “well-pump,” however, would be short-lived.

Wilbur’s hips drew back once, then thrust forward, and just when she expected a session of hard, fast, and very deep penetration to commence—

“Aw, aw, Sary!” came the warbled gasp. Wilbur’s body went slack beneath her as though he’d collapsed to exhaustion. “I swar, I en’t never felt nuthin’ so sure-fire
good
in all my life...”

Sary’s mouth fell open, and she could’ve raged.
Fer pity’s sake! I been with men who come fast, but never THAT fast!
Indeed, the event she’d yearned so torridly for had ended in less time than it took to begin. A stroke and one-half, perhaps, of his penis in and out of her, and Wilbur had climaxed. She couldn’t very well berate him—it was his hospitality that had admitted her here—but still...

Of all the dag-blasted bum luck! What could be more mussed up!
She’d been led up to a pinnacle and then thrown right off into a mire of crushing disappointment. With Wilbur’s failure to engage in coitus for more than a second or two, Sary felt positively stolen from.

Her shoulders slumped at once.
Oh, well...

His big hands pressed against her bare hips, urging her off of his lap. “Dang, Sary,” he said almost breathless, “that thar be the dandiest.”

Sary stood up, tongue-tied for a response. All she could summon was, “Wal, that’s good,” after which followed the most awkward pause. She felt silly now, standing there naked, and not knowing what to do.

This awkwardness, though, ensued for a very short duration. Sary’s curiosity had no choice but to bolster, with the fact of a very very incontrovertible observation. She was now standing up; hence, her groin was no longer coupled to Wilbur’s.

She asked herself very slowly,
If I’m over heer, and Wilbur’s over thar...haow come my pussy feels like it still got a great big dick in it?

This was quite a momentous question to say the least.

She could still hear his heavy breathing in the almost non-existent light, and she knew she was standing several feet away from him now. Could she be mistaken? It didn’t seem possible, yet her conception of logic left her at a loss to do anything but make certain. She stooped, navigated her hand to where her sense of proximity told Wilbur to be sitting and, moreover, to where she believed his crotch was—

There.

There was his thigh, the heavy denim that it was clothed in more than apparent. Her hand slid higher, then. Had he already refastened his trousers?

No! Her fingers felt the opened fly.

Then she reached in to feel the evidence of his penis, but—

All her hand came away with was a length of some wet and very sheer film-like substance which, after a lingering inspection with her fingers, she could liken only to a foot-long sausage skin.

An
empty
foot-long sausage skin.

She stood in more bewilderment, blinking in the dark.
What in gad-zooks happened ta his DICK!?
Indeed, her hand should now be holding a limp penis but what it held instead was something she could only ponder of as a limp sleeve—in other words, a sleeve with no arm in it.

And if the “arm” was not in the “sleeve,” she made the only deduction she could via the evidence of what she felt between her legs.

Yes, the “arm” was now in her vaginal barrel...

There was no denying the sensation: something long and over an inch thick continued to occupy her vaginal canal, as if she’d been masturbating with, say, a peeled banana yet had inadvertently left the banana in her when the task was done.

Wilbur turned the lamp up slightly, and then appeared as a looming shadow coming to her. His voice resonated in that strange way of his. “Dang, Sary. I know it’s more than a fair parcel’a questions ye got. I’ll try to my best ta answer ‘em,” but then, in an abruptness that was at the same time gentle, he picked her up, cradled her in his long arms, and began to step forward, the floorboards creaking.

“But-but whar it be yew’re takin’ me?”

“Jess the cot, so’s ye can have a lie daown. Yew be abaout ta larn one’a the ways I’se different from the other men ye’ve took up with.”

Different?
she wanted to protest.
Yew’re dang DICK disappeared!

Something in Wilbur’s deportment, however, suggested that
he
knew that
she
knew this, but that she was minding her tongue. The divergences she’d been made apprized of, indeed, obliterated all possibilities of fancy or suggestion.

Her colossal host set her down nude on the cot. “But fer naow, ye’re better to jess lay thar. Won’t take more’n a speck of time afore ye get yers.”

More, more confusion drew lines in Sary’s face. “Git my...what?”

“Wal, ‘twon’t be long ‘fore yew yerself’ll be comin’...”

Comin’?
she wondered. The intercourse was over, that was certain. Did his odd words mean for her to masturbate? Or did—

All ponderment ceased. At once, Sary became intensely aware of sensations beginning to bloom deep in her sex. Although something else remained deep in her sex as well, didn’t it? The mysterious
matter
that continued to fill the moist passage as though it were a disconnected erection. And then—

Every nerve in Sary’s body began to
hum,
 for lack of any other way in which to describe it; and soon she was writhing powerlessly atop the mattress.
Aw, my—aw, my—aw my Gaaaaaaaaaaaaawd...

She didn’t notice that Wilbur had loped back to his desk, so entrenched she was with this saturation of lewd sensations tremoring out from her sex to her breasts, and then slowly and droolingly spreading about to encapsulate every square inch of her skin. Her sex thumped to the rhythm of her heart; and her breasts thumped similarly. No manner of will could be instigated; only the subconscious commands of her pining sexual instinct. Whatever Wilbur’s climax had left burrowed in her vagina, it was reacting in some earthy yet anagogic mystical fashion, piloting her without the benefit of copulation to heights of pleasure thus far unknown, and entreating of her intricacy of nerves every iota of ecstatic potentiality. In moments Sary’s quaking spasms girdled the entirety of her body, every muscle clenching in a most concentrated sexual reactivity; and that is when she transcended the primal threshold of orgasm.

But a characteristic orgasm this was not. Instead, the experience first seemed to unroll and then gushingly
explode.
She could’ve been an erection herself, spasming, spasming, spasming in plush, opiate bliss; she could’ve been a minuscule bundle of nerves being sucked akin to a gumdrop in a hot, voracious mouth. Indeed, her vagina itself felt as though it were being expertly
sucked
in order to exploit every carnal nerve, while something equally as immaterial seemed to suck out her nipples and lave her skin with the same expertise. Her naked form churned on the bed, helplessly, convulsantly, as she continued to come and come and come, her climax seeming first a distillation of all possible human pleasure, and then an
inundation
of her sexual being. These spasms of flesh-euphoria did not abate after a quibble of seconds as did most orgasms. They did so instead for half an hour.