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She knew Old Tom was gone, long gone, but Bill wasn’t. She wished she knew why he never visited her. He used to visit . . . every Sunday . . . and he couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off her. The day he gave her the kitten was the day she knew she was in love with him and would give him what he’d been pestering her for since they were kids. She knew too many girls who had babies when they were sixteen, or even younger, and the herbs didn’t always work. If you did it, you were going to get a baby sooner or later, plain and simple. Then for the next three years while you had a baby on your breast you could do it as much as you wanted, but Anna wasn’t willing to make that kind of sacrifice. Now she was eighteen, had a diploma from the Government School—a first in her family—and she was ready to face the world. Maybe she’d even go to California, you could get rich there just by picking grapes. Anna wished she had some grapes right now. Her mouth and throat were so dry she could. Her knees bent, and I looked down to see her toes also clenching the bedsheets. She whimpered and moaned at each upward thrust. I picked up the speed and (the only adjective or verb I know is to describe the maneuver is: Jackhammer) I jackhammered her pussy with my wrist and thumb. My arm muscles provide the force and speed. Her breathing became ragged, her chest heaving up and down. When she tensed this time, I knew what to expect, and I increased (if possible) the speed, and I didn’t withdraw my hand. I continued hammering her as she squirted, moaning and sometimes screaming as wave after wave of orgasmic squirting juices gushed out of her pussy. It was quite a sight to behold.She seemed to be starting to hyperventilate, gasping, her face quite red, her eyes wide open. I slowed down the rhythm and eventually stopped with my hand and arm quite drenched. Her breathing slowed. Her body is still convulsing in mini orgasmic spasms. I pulled my thumb out and then went and lay down beside.
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