The ape girl

CHAPTER THREE

"Nothing much to say for an ocean," the lady with the green and grey headscarf on her reddish hair said to Blair as she leaned over the deck railing, "except that it's wet."

"And that there's a lot of it," Blair said back to her.

Her eyes drifted off to the endless watery horizon as the cool ocean breeze blew her loose hair around. It was about the only thing so far on this trip that she really liked. And, she had to admit that she would be glad to get to Africa and the dense, thick jungle, closed-in spaces had always been more of a favorite to her than wide-open ones anyway.

She had always felt so protected and loved whenever she was surrounded with jungle growth. Even in the forests of North America, there had been that same peace and comfort… tranquillity.

That was it. The ocean unnerved her, made her edgy with apprehension. But the jungle soothed and calmed her, mellowed her out. There was just no place else like it.

She thought back to her last evening at home. It had been fun with Cathy and Harold. She wondered if they were still seeing each other. Probably they were.

If only there had been a man around like Harold, the voyage might pass more quickly. She looked around at the men strolling on deck. There weren't many of them. None at least that she found interesting. All so tame and white and clean and sterile looking. Maybe they were all doctors or dentists. Most of them looked like they could be.

"Hello, Miss Fortner," a pleasant voice sounded from behind her back.

She turned around to see the captain standing in front of her, his hands stuck dapperly in the pockets of his uniform jacket. "Captain Rigby," she said, looking at the tall, slender model of ocean-going official dignity. He was every inch a captain of an ocean vessel.

Probably the type to go down with the ship, Blair thought as he stood there smiling pleasantly at her.

"You look a mite bored with all this," the captain said, gesturing to the breeze.

"Oh, no," Blair lied, "I mean, yes, a little."

"Be glad to get into port, I take it," he said, nodding his captain's head.

"Can't wait," she said, leaning against the railing and sensing the chill in the air.

"Perhaps I could help amuse you for a bit," the dapper man said.

Blair smiled at him patiently. He wasn't exactly her type, but maybe he didn't have the same thing in mind she had just then.

"Ever seen the boiler room of a ship?" he said, "It's quite interesting. Perhaps you'd like to."

"Oh," Blair said, anxious to please the man, but finding the thought a bit dull. What the hell would anyone want to go below deck and watch a furnace burning for?

"That's where most of the real action takes place," the man said, bowing his head a bit and then staring up at her. "Everything up here is a bit dull by comparison I suppose. Whenever I feet a bit spaced out from all this ocean and sky stuff, I take a peek below myself. Care to join me now?"

Blair stepped up and locked arms with that tall, stately captain. He reminded her a touch of her father, who was busy with his books and papers just now. Had been since coming aboard actually.

"All right," she said, agreeably nodding her head and treading along the deck next to Captain Rigby.

"Watch your footing here," the man said as they descended the ladder leading below deck.

It was considerably darker below. And Blair could distinctly hear the hum of the engines. It was warm down there, too. Already, she liked the closed-in, comfy feeling down there better than the spacious, unending nothingness she felt above.

A red hot glow appeared in the darkness just ahead of where they stood.

"What's that?" Blair said, staring straight ahead.

"The furnace room," the captain said, "we're a coal-powered vessel. The men down here have a rough job."

"They feed the furnace?" Blair said as the two approached the boiler room.

"They shovel coal round the clock to keep this thing going forward," the captain said. "A whole crew of them do. They're called the black gang."

"Black gang?" Blair said, as the echo of their footsteps filled the dark chamber.

"An old term for furnace-stokers," Captain Rigby nodded, "these men do yeomen duty down here, and few passengers ever realize it."

"It's another world down here," Blair said, shading her eyes from the glaring overhead red light to peer into the dimly-lit furnace room.

"Hello, Mack," Captain Rigby said to one of the men shoveling coal.

Blair noticed him, too. Big, beefy, incredibly muscled. And with a dark, sooty covering on his face.

"Captain!" the man nodded, and then, he turned to fill his shovel once more.

As the captain exchanged shop talk with the gang members, Blair watched them work. Here were some men, indeed. Not those lily-white glasses of milk strolling above deck, but real men.

Hard working, brutally-strong and silent types. Her types. The kind of men she had always felt the most strongly drawn to. The fierce, brave look of determination showing on their faces in the firelighted glow. What a scene! She almost wished she were a photographer or an artist to capture it.

The smell of that coal mingled with the sweat of their fine, rippling bodies. The atmosphere was heady inside here. It was going to her head, and elsewhere. She stood with her legs a bit apart and felt a trickle of clear cunt honey escape out the curtain of her cunt lips.

She watched in growing excitation as the men continued their rhythmic shoveling motion. Blair would rather have watched those muscular, sweating bodies work than a corps de ballet go through Swan Lake.

What was it about the dark, shiny faces of those men. The faces so thick and gleaming with a sheen of coal dust and sweat? They were beautiful to her. And the smells their bodies produced were better than any ambrosia. The steamy interior took on a warming glow as the fire in the furnace increased and then subsided again.

"The men work in shifts," Captain Rigby continued, steering Blair around toward another section of the ship's interior. She didn't want to leave that section, but in order to be nice to the man who was showing her around, she conceded to his guidance.

He put a firm hand around her waist and addressed the men… "Keep up the good work, men," he said, barely audible above the grind of the machinery and the blast of the fiery furnace.

Blair looked in their faces once more and shuddered. They were so beautiful, heartbreakingly beautiful. She didn't want to go. Then, just as she turned to leave, one of them caught her eye.

He was a bit shorter and smaller than the rest. But, in proportion, he was enormous. With thick, powerful shoulders and long, massive arms. It looked like he had two bowling balls under his shirt.

His face was thick and fierce-looking with a protruding forehead and deeply-set dark eyes.

His legs were like stubby tree trunks. And she could see by the way his shirt was rolled up to his forearm, that he was covered with a layer of thick, dark curly hair.

That hair sent another set of shudders rushing along her spine and swirling in and out of her cunt crevice. What was it about that kind of primitive-looking man?

The associations of him to the earth, to nature were very strong, but she wasn't quite sure where she had gotten them. Cave men didn't turn her on! She had no wish to be dragged along the rocky ground by her hair and be hauled off to a cave and beaten with a club into sexual submission.

Still, the idea of a hairy, primitive-looking man, a man of the earth and soil, a man unafraid to get his hands dirty or his brow sweaty, a man of iron and grit, that kind of thing truly fascinated her. Fascinated her and turned her on to a boiling rage.

Her mind leaped madly ahead as the captain steered her around the huge, hot furnace and under the heavy, intertwining maze of pipes, tubes, and wires.

"There's much more below deck," the man said, "if you care to see it."

Blair wondered if he had picked up her fading interest the moment they left the furnace room. She didn't want to be unkind, but she wanted to explore it more. Especially those dark, gleaming faces and bodies. And especially that one face.

"Powerful men doing that sort of work," she said to the man guiding her along the narrow footpath between instruments and lighted panels of dials and digits.

"Yes," the captain said, "a good gang this trip."

"How young are those men, usually," she asked, trying to sound disinterested. She wondered how effective it was. She had never been much of an actress.

"Oh, all ages, really," the captain said, nonchalantly walking along, "Anywhere from twenty-one to close to retirement. Once a man builds up body strength and keeps to the work the job demands, it's not hard to stay in physical shape to do it."

"One of them seemed much younger than the rest," she said, feigning academic curiosity, "Is he?"

"You mean Potter," he said, "Yes, you must mean Potter. The short fellow with the long arms."

"I guess so," Blair said, hearing her unconvincing voice echo in the tight ship compartment.

"Potter's a good worker, but a sad case, actually."

"Oh?" she said, unable to stop the flow of questions from coming out her lips. "How so?"

"Abandoned at birth, beaten and abused in public schools, came to us from England, actually," the captain said, shuffling along.

"But he works well here?"

"Oh, yes, devoted to his job. Something of a social outcast though. Perhaps you noticed all that hair on his hands and arms. And elsewhere. Apparently he's covered with it. Parents took it rather hard. As though he were some kind of freak or something, so I understand."

"That's very cruel of them," Blair said, noting the defensive tone of her voice.

She gripped the captain's arm as he steered her through another maze of multicolored wires and dials. The whole place was starting to look like an endless sea of machinery.

"Well, at least the men below accept him," Captain Rigby said, "He's not judged down there for how he looks anyway."

"That's good," Blair said, feeling a little relieved.

The thought of that young man being mistreated because of the way he looked, because he was coated with a covering of natural, beautiful hair, really made her angry.

And thinking about him made her hot, too. Hot and jittery. She couldn't calm down. The man continued his guided tour of the underbelly of the ocean vessel, and in less than fifteen minutes, they were above deck again.

"Enjoy your visit below?" Dr. Fortner asked his daughter over dinner.

The two of them had been asked to join Captain Rigby at the captain's table in the dining room. It was a sumptuous dinner. Beautifully prepared and impeccably served. The company wasn't bad either. Blair had even gotten into a dress for the occasion. A longish blue chiffon thing with a rather low neckline. More than a plunge, and less than a deep sea dive. But she had felt like getting dressed up. Something. Anything to distract her mind from that haunting dark face of the young man shoveling coal below.

As the other guests at the table spoke, she found herself wondering if he was even now below shoveling coal into the furnace that kept the ship going. Working so diligently down there, so quiet and smooth, that nobody even thought about what was making this huge tub speed along as it was.

"Yes," Blair said, nodding to her father, "I enjoyed it. I thought it was quite interesting. There is an awfully lot of equipment down there nobody even has the chance to find out about. I was one of the lucky passengers today."

"Thank you, my dear," Captain Rigby said, "Your daughter seemed especially interested in the boiler room. That's one spot most people don't find entertaining."

"I don't understand why anyone would even want to go down there," a stuffy, high-born type said, nodding her head in the captain's direction.

Her name was June Balfours and Blair had only been introduced to her ten minutes ago and she couldn't stand the sight of her already. She was a gossipy nuisance.

"Not everybody likes riding along unaware of what's going on below," Blair snapped back. She hoped her voice didn't sound too harsh, but the woman was giving her a pain.

She moved her mashed potatoes around with her fork and thought of that sweet, dark haunting face below. She had to see him again. At least before the ship docked.

Later that night, Blair tossed and turned on her bed. There must have been some high waves outside, she could hear them knocking against the bow.

She thought of the engine room. That face. She wanted to be there… she drifted off into a sweet dream that had her and that Potter fellow paired up. But every time he tried to undress her, he would shove her against the hot furnace and she would damned near ignite her fanny.

She sat up with a start and looked out the porthole. The waves were high out there. She couldn't sleep. After trying another dozen positions, she grabbed her trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her naked body.

She stepped into her rain boots and grabbed a headscarf. She let herself quietly out the door of her cabin and made her way to the main deck.

A little stroll would do her good. A little stroll and a lung full of that salty sea air.

She rounded a corner of the deck and stared ahead of her. Two of the black gang were just coming up the steps. One was tall and erect. The other was short and stooped somewhat. She recognized him as Potter.

Probably getting off work, she thought. She found herself idly wondering what those men did in their off hours. Probably the things most working men do. She followed them along aimlessly a few moments, quietly stepping along behind.

After some minutes of this, she realized she was following them on purpose. She was curious. She had always been curious.

She saw the two of them heading for the lower deck. The lower deck lined with second class cabins. She watched as they knocked on the door of one of them and waited until someone opened it. Then, they disappeared inside.

Her curiosity had her now. Had her by the throat. There was nothing else she could do but stand there and wait to find out what it was they were doing inside there.

She leaned nonchalantly against the deck railing and stared out onto the water. The moon made a track of shimmering light along it, heading right toward her.

She fumbled in her trench coat pocket for a cigarette. She pulled one out and fumbled for a match.

"Shit," she heard herself whisper, "out of matches."

She turned toward the main lounge, where she knew the bar would still be open only to have someone tap her on the shoulder.

She turned around to look directly into the face of the darkest, fiercest human she had ever seen up close.

It was Potter's face.

"Can I help you?" the man said, knitting his heavy, full brow and letting his long arm fall gracefully off her shoulder.

"Oh," she said, startled too much to speak clearly, "I… I… I was just looking for a match."

"Strange place to find one," the young man said, sticking his long, hairy hand in his pocket and hunching his shoulders forward a bit.

"Yes," Blair apologized, "guess one doesn't usually come to the lower deck to look for a match."

"What are you looking for?" the man said, boldly facing her.

He was straightforward, all right. Blair liked that in a man. She had had enough civilized bullshit in her life to last her through the second one.

"I saw you go into that cabin just now," she said, her mind caught in a traffic jam. She couldn't decide how to get out of it, either.

"Well, I came out the back way," the scowling man said, leaning his right elbow on the rail and regarding her with complete hostility. "My friends saw you through the porthole and they sent me out to check on you."

"Why did they send you out?" Blair said, trying another approach.

"Because I'm their errand boy," Potter said, groping in his flannel shirt pocket for a cigarette. "Or hadn't you guessed."

"No," she said, shaking her head and feeling a cool chill penetrate her bones. It contrasted sharply with the heat rising up between the triangle between her legs.

"I'm also their gopher, their kid, their mascot and their chump," the young man, a note of sarcasm edging into his voice, "but that's all right."

Blair stood and stared back at him. There was nothing else to say, really. She wished to hell she knew something, but there wasn't anything.

"Wanna go for a walk?" he said, looking at her uncomfortably.

Blair watched his eyes in the moonlight. They were shifty, scared, beady eyes. But his grin was gentle and sweet. When he grinned. That wasn't much. He was a pretty serious. Not unintelligent. Just unschooled. But then, not everybody had had the advantages in this life that she had. And meeting a man like Potter certainly drove that fact home to her.

"Won't your friends miss you?" she said, clutching her hands down inside the pockets of her trench coat.

"Naw," the young man said, "they're playing cards. Sometimes the betting gets heavy. Or sometimes the drinking gets heavy and fights break out. I'm just there to hold the pot."

"The bets?" Blair said, staring at the thick, dark mass of hair that circled his head and rode down almost to his eyebrows. The hair along his neck was every bit as thick as that on his head.

Blair found herself fantasizing about what it must feel like to run her fingers through it.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" she said, aware that his eyes were piercing her steadily.

"I thought a beautiful girl like you would be used to it," he said, shaking his head and grabbing a lighter from his pocket.

"No," she said back to him, hooking her hand around his arm and cuddling a bit closer to him, "I never have gotten used to it."

"Me neither," he said, "but I ain't no beautiful girl."

"No, you're not," Blair said, looking at him tenderly.

"I'm a dog-eyed son of a monkey," the young man said, the bitterness welling up in his voice like oil from a tar pit.

"Why do you say that?" she said, following his steps and trying not to make too much out of the put down.

"Because it's true," he said, "that's what my mother used to call me. She hated me. She couldn't wait to get rid of me. Later, I found out she wasn't even my real mother. My real mother had dumped me in a vacant lot. The woman who couldn't stand the sight of me was my stepmother. How do you like that for a good laugh?"

"I'm not amused," Blair said, clutching the young man's arm a little tighter.

"You would be if you could see the rest of me," the man said.

Christ, Blair thought to herself, this guy is turning me on on purpose.

"Is that a proposition?" she said, turning to face him.

She tossed her head back and waited for an answer.

"I don't proposition women," the man scowled.

"Why not?" she said, watching the hot little gust of steam escape her lips.

"Because I don't like getting turned down all the time," the man said, his voice rising to a crescendo.

Blair shut up a moment. She didn't want to push this guy, goad him into hating her. A lot of people had mistreated and taunted him. That was evident. She would have to speak very plain English to him. And she would have to do it soon.

She looked up into his face and noticed the way the moonlight played on it. It look black and shiny, like oil on water. Dark, deep swelling water. The look of nature, the look of danger.

She was drawn to him desperately. She gripped his arm and steered him to the railing.

"Maybe you've been propositioning the wrong people," she said, never moving her gaze an inch away from his deep-set dark eyes.

"I should be asking you I suppose," the man said, skeptically tossing his words off.

"Why not?" she said, leaning back against the railing and arching her back hard enough to let her tits jut out. She felt a little gust of wind play down the opening between her coat lapels.

She remembered she didn't have anything on under the trench coat. Too late to apologize now.

The man stared at her and his eyes wandered to the open throat of her coat lapels. Her skin was white and shining. He could see the tops of her huge breast mounds. And the look in her eye. He had seen it in women's eyes before. Women in the movies. Women wrapped up in the arms of their lovers strolling on the main deck of the ship. Women in girlie magazines.

But never, never had he seen anyone look at him like that.

It was a look mixed with curiosity and kindness, and that was nothing new. Many people had looked at him like that, but beyond that. There was something that went definitely beyond that.

It was a look of heat, like a jolt from the furnace below. A look of intensity and… desire. That's what it was. And it wasn't until at least ten seconds later, that Potter realized the woman's desire was for him.

"Will you come with me?" she said, letting her bee stung pink lips fall apart as she sucked in the words.

"Where?" he said, unable to let go of the suspicion he had so justifiably clung to all his life.

"To my cabin," she said, reaching out and grabbing one of his strong, hairy paws. The hair on his hand made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. She was getting wildly hot just standing out here with him in this freezing chill.

"What for?" he said, sounding his last weapon in his arsenal of suspicions.

"If you won't proposition me, I'll have to do it to you," she said, plucking one of his gnarled, hairy fingers out and bringing it up to her lips.

She nibbled on his fingers and bit down hard on one of them.

"Ouch!" he said, unsure of what all that nibbling meant. It had done a number on his body, though. It had stiffened his tool up to a thick, hard bundle.

Blair closed her eyes and waited for the young man's answer. She had done all she could do now. All she would be able to do for the moment. The rest was up to him.

"Let's go," Potter said, hiking his shoulders up and heading for the first class cabins.

Opportunities like this didn't come along just every day. And he figured he might as well make the most of the one that did. He hadn't expected it exactly, but here it was. In the flesh.

And such luscious flesh. Pink and creamy and smooth. And that blonde hair, the bangs rippling out of the material of the headscarf. He tried to keep his mind on the path ahead of him, instead of on how rigid his cock knob was getting at the moment.

He wondered if she would know it was his first time. He wondered if he should tell her. He wondered if he should keep his Goddamned big mouth shut and fuck the daylights out of her till the sun came up.

Because right now, that's exactly what he felt like doing.

The two of them tiptoed into the cabin, unseen by any prying eyes on deck.

"Take off your clothes," Blair said blatantly.

She was eager. God, was she eager.

"I… I…" Potter stumbled badly with his wording. He hadn't expected the girl to ask him to undress. Why in the world would she anyway? His body was covered in a thick, disgusting coating of hair. Slimy, winding thickets of dense dark hair.

Hair he loathed as he fought not to loathe himself.

He figured the broad was just horny. A nymphomaniac. That he had just scored for once in his life. He thought maybe a quickie with the lights out. And just his zipper pulled down and his schlong popping out.

His monstrously huge hairy balls hidden deep inside the well of his pants.

But this crazed lady was turning the lights ON!!

She was also asking him to take his clothes off.

"Please," she said, when she saw him hesitate, "I want you to."

"Are you some kind of a nut?" he said, a sinister look crossing his thick, furrowed brow, "you like to make it with circus freaks, do you? Midgets, tattooed men, and the like."

"Not exactly," Blair said, admiring his honesty, "I just like the way you look. I want to make it with you. Does that sound freaky?"

"Yeah," Potter said, stripping off his leather jacket and tossing it on the chair next to the bed, "it does."

"All right, then," Blair said, growing tired of this argument. She wanted this man's body exposed to the light. She wanted to run her fingers through his hairy manhood. And she wanted it now. "So it does."

Potter unbuttoned his shirt and yanked the thing off his shoulders.

Blair found herself trembling at the sight of his abundantly hairy chest. Enough hair there to dive into. Perfect.

She could hold herself back no longer. She came at him, fumbling for the buckle of his thick cowhide belt.

She tore it open, feeling his fingers working with hers. She ripped his snap button open and pulled his zipper down speedily, fighting with his intruding hands for priority.

She was claiming her territory, and she didn't want anyone else butting in. Even if it happened to belong to him.

"Oh, God," she let out as she felt the bundles and masses and yards of hair around his thick, long pecker rod.

She hurriedly bunched up his pants in her hand and ripped them down to the floor.

She came up and lifted her head up at an angle that would let her take in both his hard, wet smooth dick and his great, hairy balls.

They hung there large and pendulous, like hairy balloons. His dick was enormous. Not so long, perhaps as some she had seen. But immense. Tremendously thick. She would have a hard time getting her hand around it.

Even a harder time wrapping her lips around it. But she was sure willing to give it a try.

The pinkish, wet smooth chunk of cock was in stark contrast to the hairy loins beside and above and below it. It stuck out at a hook-angle to the rest of his body.

A hook that veered curiously to the left. She was intrigued. Hot and intrigued.

She sat back a moment and undid the belt of her coat. She tore the thing wide open and stepped out of it.

Potter said nothing. But he did a lot of staring. It was absolutely impossible for him to believe that a woman who looked as good as this one did would have anything to do with him, much less want to fuck him.

But it was clear she did. And when she leaned forward and took his thick, hard tool between her lips, he was sure of it.

"Oh, shit," he said, his mind spinning out of control.

He stood back on one foot, bracing his weight against the end of the bed as the girl got down on her knees.

Potter's cock top was unbelievably smooth and hard and gently-rounded… like the top of a monstrous mushroom. A mushroom cap stretched taut over a thick, hard stalk.

Blair let her mouth stretch wide open to take his wide load into her lips. He tasted hot, salty and good. Blair stuck her nipples onto the man's slightly bent knees and rubbed them around in the sweet nest of hair that seemed to wait there ready for just such a purpose.

"Shit!" the young man said, as his dark eyes batted shut. He had never known such a sweet, hot sensation. His brain spun in cartwheels and his cock throbbed mightily.

Blair reached her hands up and massaged his thick, hair-ridden balls. The feel of those monstrous spheres between her fingers was too arousing for description.

She let her mouth stretch up further and swallowed the whole hard cock head. She suctioned her lips in hard and let her cheeks follow. She blew a little hot, steamy air out onto the dick slit and wiggled her hips in closer to the sweet, hairy creature's warm body.

She wanted to be close to him while she was sucking him. So much of the thrill of the suck was hidden in that dark, sweet bush. Anybody was good for a cock suck. But men with gorgeous, animal-like bodies like this one were rare indeed.

Potter felt the delicious inflamed mouth of the girl ring around his cock head. He couldn't imagine a hotter or more impossibly sweet sensation.

His enormous eyes rolled around and he furrowed his dark brow even tighter as he reached down and gripped the base of his hard, rotund fuck stick. He rammed it harder into the girl's mouth.

He wanted to be patient, but something inside him wouldn't let him be. He rammed his hard cock wand down into the girl's throat until he saw the tears springing out of her eyes and heard her moans.

Blair was choking on the man's thick, insistent cock meat. He was stuffing it down her non-stop and as fast as a jackhammer. He was suffocating her with the force of his hard, thick tool.

Potter felt the sweet ringing sensations of the muscular throat that dug into his dick rod and then released it. He felt the pinching of the girl's tight throat around the base of his man tool, the pulling of his foreskin, the sharp, dull pain of the girl's teeth rubbing against his prick skin.

"Oh, God," he said, as the girl began to sink a little onto the floor.

He wasn't about to let her go anywhere. He released his fingers from around his cock shaft and braced them around the girl's shoulders.

He gripped them so hard his fingernails dug into her flesh. And he pumped his hips hard into her mouth, fucking it with his hard, pink peckerwood.

Ramming his cock down her throat, he let out low, guttural sounds from far back in his throat. Sounds that let him know who was in charge here. Sounds that made him powerful, all-powerful.

"Arrrgghh!" he shouted, thrusting his hips back and forth. He pulled his wet dick log out of the girl's open, drooling mouth. He stared down at the hard, wet thick fuck pole, its head throbbing in perfect counterpoint to the beat of his hips. Then, a moment later, he rammed it right back down that tight wet little velvety hole.

"Oh, God," Blair shouted in the second interim, "You're killing me."

That was strange, Potter thought. For her to say that. He thought she was killing him. Making him die of ecstasy. He was only reacting defensively, driving his torture hammer down inside her and popping it back out again, only to drive it in deeper.

He whirled his hips around and reamed out her mouth as he let out his low, quiet mutterings. They fell off his lips in quiet oaths of pain and pleasure.

He couldn't believe this was happening.

Blair felt her cunt lips heave around and around, quiver, twitch and throb. There was nowhere she could toss her head. Nowhere she could cry out the passionate feelings soaring up and around her.

The man was cramming his dick stick down into her at a merciless pace. How much longer could he take it? How much longer could she?

She gave over to the savage beating the man was giving her mouth.

Nothing had ever tasted this good to her before. She reached up and gripped a handful of his thick, dense hair mat covering. She gripped it hard and twisted it with her fingernails.

"Shit!!!!" the hairy man cried as he released a bucket of his juice down his prick tube and out his cock slit.

"Holy shit!" he repeated, even louder than before.

He felt the sensations curdle inside him. The spewing out of his spunk load sent him reeling back a moment onto his heels.

And then he felt a sharp, digging pain. The girl was burying her fingernails into his flesh, tearing at his bodily hair. The hair he had loathed all his life.

For some reason, unfathomable to him, she liked it. She wanted her hands in it. She wanted to bury her head around his own, thickly-burdened, neglected cock pole.

Why? Why? Why?

He thought about that as he shot a long, heavy load of goo out of his prick top. Shot it out and down the eager, gulping throat hole the girl was offering up to him.

Blair Fortner wound her head around and around, eagerly sucking up the sweet, hot, tangy come juice that sprang from the well of the man's sweet, hard prick.

She slurped and licked and swirled her tongue around to catch it all. Every drop of it. Every succulent little blob.

Moments later, she felt herself spin out in a wild, hair-raising round of climaxes. Her cunt spun and twitched and pulled her into its own insistent orgasm. She gave over to the delirious, drowning sensation of the overwhelming power of its rush.

"Wow, wow, wow!" she said, as she held onto the man's hairy backside and flopped down against his thickly-covered knees.

It wasn't until a few minutes later, after Potter had reassembled his clothes and left the cabin in a blitz of fear, driving passion and uncertainty, did Blair notice that she clenched her fist up during the throes of her coming. And it was not until she opened her fist that she noticed what she had been holding there. A handful of hair. Dark, wispy, downy strands of it. Hundreds of them.