Fugitive, Hide Thy Face

Smilin’ Sam Ewer was on the lam and in need of a helping hand to stay one step ahead of the law.

 

(F-exh, M-voy, FM)

By: Punchinello for Pulp Erotica

 

Alabama, 1932

Smilin’ Sam Ewer was the second best prison escape artist in Alabama. If you asked him, he’d readily admit the very best was Jed Jackson, but Jed was laid up in the prison infirmary with a bullet in his leg. His loss, because—in all the confusion and back-slapping over Jed’s foiled escape—Smilin’ Sam found the opportunity to take his leave of Birmingham Penitentiary.

No doubt about it; Sam owed Jed a big debt. But paying that debt was a good long ways off, Sam reckoned, because it looked like he was home free. Since he had made good his escape the day before, he still hadn’t seen a police car cruising the roads looking for him.

Of course, now he owed another man a debt too, because now Sam was freshly scrubbed, shaved, and dressed in dungarees and a new cap—courtesy of an unknown workman who had left his door unlocked when he went to work early that morning.

Sam had seen the man leave his house without saying goodbye to anyone, hiding as he was in the man’s bushes all night. Then he saw there wasn’t a peep from the house for a long while after the man left. So Sam had let himself in, cleaned up, made a sandwich out of items from the man’s brand new icebox, and made off down the road apace. He even slicked his hair back with a little of Mr. Earl’s Premium Hair Pomade.

It was only when Sam had got down the road quite a ways that he heard a car approaching from behind him at a terrific speed. He knew right away that was a police car, probably on its way somewhere to join up with a whole lot of other police cars, where all the police officers in those police cars would think up their strategy for finding and catching Smilin’ Sam Ewer.

Sam ducked off the road and into a thicket of trees that would screen him from the road. He hoped the policemen hadn’t seen him yet, because he would have looked as guilty as whore in church the way he made off the road. He stumbled across a trail that must have led down towards some kind of river, because he could hear the sound of rushing waters up ahead. Fatefully, he would decide later, he followed it.

The trail wound down, back a ways and back again, like a switchback railroad, down the hillside toward the rushing water. In none too long, Sam came upon a little river that rushed down a rocky rapids into a little swimming hole, where a swinging rope hung out over the water and little pier was set out in it for fishing. Wary as a wanted man should be, Sam held back a minute in the shadow of the trees and found himself thankful that he did—for not far off, among the rocks where the water rushed down there was the figure of a woman—unmistakably a woman—wading in the rushing water.

He moved quickly and stealthily thru the trees, always watching the woman, until he was as close as he could get without being seen. And what a sight she was—Sam’s prick started stiffening in his pants immediately.

She was in her late twenties, he reckoned, tall for a female, dark-haired and good-looking, with nice big titties that showed thru her little pale yellow sundress; it was wet all thru, and she wasn’t wearing a brassiere. She also didn’t seem to be wearing panties that Sam could tell, since her nice round ass show thru pretty clear too when she turned around. She kept her hands down in front of her, and Sam wished she would raise her arms a little so he could get a glimpse of dark bush thru that pretty little dress, all wet as it was.

And raise her arms she did, only she raised the dress with it! She raise the hem of her dress right up to her heavy titties and cupped them and squeezed them gently as she showed off her hairy bush to her secret admirer.

Sam stroked his growing prick slowly as he watched the beautiful girl unbutton the top few buttons on the front of her dress and let out those nice big woofers. The sunlight shined on the wet flesh of the girl’s titties as she rubbed and squeezed them, slowly lying back on a big rock and letting the water flow all around her.

Sam unbuttoned his dungarees and let them down a little so he could whip out his prick. He was thankful he hadn’t bothered to steal the workman’s underpants now. They would have only gotten in his way as he jacked his dick watching the beautiful girl. She unbuttoned the bottom couple of buttons on her dress so she could spread her white thighs wide and open her pussy to the sun and wind and water. Goddamn, what a sight!

She laid her head back and brushed the hair away from her face with one hand while she stroked her bare thighs with the other. Sam jacked his stiffening dick with a quick rhythm, imagining himself sliding his big cock into her wet, pink pussy and urging her on. “Come on, baby. Fuck it, baby. Fuck it good.”

The girl squeezed her titty now, pinching the nipple hard and mouthing a little moan. Her other hand caressed her belly and slid down into her wet, black thatch. She pried open her pussy lips with a gasp, feeling the cool water swirl around her pink little pussy hole. Sam slowed down a second, stroking his aching cock with a nice even rhythm and a strong squeeze like a tight, young pussy.

Now he could hear her moaning. She groaned loudly as she bucked her hips, splashing in the water violently and stroking her pussy roughly with both hands. “Mmmm! Mmmm! Uhn! Yeah!” she groaned. “Oh! Unh! UNH! YEAH!”

Sam couldn’t take it any longer. He spewed jism all over the ground and his hand, sticky white come clinging to his finger and cock head. Meanwhile, the pretty little thing fucking herself in the river came over just as hard, moaning like a 10-cent whore. “Honey! Oh, honey! Give it to me hard! Love me hard, honey! Oh, Oh, OH! YEAH!”

Sam cleaned himself up with some leaves as he watched the young woman crawl out of the river, closing her sundress, but not bothering to button it. She lay back on the grassy bank to let it dry on her slender body. It lay open and clinging. He could still see the long, slender line of her pale thigh, the little swell of her belly, the creamy curve of her bare breasts. He massaged his dick slowly, drinking in the sight like a thirsty man in the desert sun.

The girl lay there a long minute, slowly stroking her hair, her belly, her thigh. Then she got up and walked up over the hill, maybe toward a house, Sam guessed. He watched her bare ass move under the wet cotton as she walked—rumpa bumpa bumpa bump. It was just about enough to make him hard again. He knew he had to take a shot at this hot little honey, maybe ravish her tender, young body if she wasn’t too hostile. Hell, he’d do just about anything to suck on those big titties.

 

Smilin’ Sam Ewer smoothed his hair and approached the door of the house. The woman had been inside about ten minutes, he figured; plenty of time to freshen up a little, but maybe not enough to be fully clothed. A half-naked woman was half-won, he reckoned.

She came to the door, her dark hair still wet but brushed out now and falling all around her shoulders. She wore another little dress, pale blue this time, and still didn’t look to be wearing anything underneath. She looked wary, kind of timid like a mouse, eyes wide and all, but with a hard mouth.

“What you want?” she asked.

“Ah, well, madam, as a weary traveler and a man of no particular means, I happened on this lovely house and wondered to myself if there might be some work that I might do for a pleasant afternoon that could earn me a meal.” Sam offered his trademark charming smile.

“What kind of work?” Her eyes narrowed. She brushed back her hair, shifting her dress and opening the neckline, revealing that long, smooth neck.

“Whatever work might put a meal in my belly, ma’am. Perhaps a pile of firewood is in need of being chopped or a fence needs to be painted—”

“We ain’t got a fence, stud, look around.” She had a leaner look about her now, more relaxed.

“Well, perhaps your husband needs some help with some chore.”

“My husband ain’t around. And he ain’t going to be around.” She pulled at her neckline, opening it further.

Sam glanced down at the deep cleavage, but only for a moment. “Well, perhaps I could come in and sit a spell waitin’ for him,” Sam offered with a smile. “And meanwhile you could put a pot of beans on—”

“I know who you are. And I got some work for you.” She stroked her neck, seeming to stare straight thru him, and played with the front of her dress.

Sam swallowed hard. “Well, I don’t rightly know how that could be, ma’am. I’m sure we’ve never met before, but if you have some work a fella could do—”

“Sam Ewer,” the woman said, shutting him up instantly. “Now hush up and come inside.” With that, she turned and went inside, hip swaying, bare feet padding on the painted wood floor. Sam stepped inside with the only barest hint of reservation. He was not a man known for his horse sense.

“My husband is a low-down snake and the weakest man in the county.”

“That so?” Her attitude had shifted now. The dark-haired beauty passed by the kitchen table to the icebox, brushing her hair back, working those hips the way Sam had seen earlier.

“But he had a little money when I married him. Now he’s got nothin’; nothin’ but a fancy gold watch.” She pulled a piece of ice out of the icebox and pressed it to her lips.

“Sorry to hear. Uh, how is it exactly that you know me, Mrs....uh...”

“Clary, Mr. Ewer, Selma Clary.” She leaned back against the sink, sucking on the ice, stroking her throat with the ice.

“Selma Clary, ain’t that nice?” Sam stood in the doorway to the parlor, unsure what to do with his hands.

“Mr. Ewer? Sam? I heard all about you on the radio this mornin’. They said you escaped the prison house and was lurking around these parts. They said you was a dangerous man.”

“Oh, now Mrs. Clary,” Sam said, smilin’ that winning smile, “Desperate, yes, but dangerous, no. I never hurt a man, woman, nor child in my life.”

“Where are my manners?” she said to herself, rubbing the ice along her bottom lip. “Mr. Ewer, would you like somethin’ to suck on?”

“Wh—, wh—, well, I— I— Now, ma’am. Well, yes. Yes I would.”

Selma bent over and opened the icebox. The sight of her round ass thru the thin fabric of her pale blue dress riding high on her thighs nearly made his dick leap out of his pants. “Mr. Ewer?” she said, pulling out another piece. “Did you see me earlier? Down in the river?”

“Well,” said Sam, “I must say— I must tell you— Yes. Yes, I did, ma’am.”

Selma put the ice to his lips. “And did you like what you saw?”

“Oh yes, ma’am.” She backed him up against a big wooden chest sitting on a side table in the kitchen.

She was very close, speaking softly, big eyes transfixing his, full lips pouting. “My husband can’t satisfy me, Sam. That weak little pussywillow couldn’t satisfy a real woman; not in a year, a whole calendar year. I hate him.”

“Is that so?” Sam decided to ride this train wherever it was going. “Well, sometimes opportunity can come knockin’ when you least expect it.” He wanted to put his hands on her, caress her hips, her middle, her heart-shaped ass.

“Yes, Sam, I believe it can.” Selma opened the front of her dress a little, exposing the curve of her big breasts. “You like to love a woman up, Sam? Love her good?”

Sam quit smiling. “I believe I do. And I believe I’m damn good at it.”

“I like it rough, Sam; real rough. And my man won’t give it to me rough. He’s no man at all. Do you think you could give it to me rough, Sam? Rough like a son of a bitch?” She played with the front of her dress, just keeping those big titties under cover, nipples poking at the fabric.

“Well, Selma, I don’t know. A woman like you oughta be treated nice—”

“I don’t want nice, Sam. And if a man who just escaped from prison can’t fuck a woman rough and right, I might go out of my head wonderin’ who can.” She smiled wickedly. “You a man, Sam? A real man?” She pulled open her dress, showing off her big titties at last. The red nipples were hard and puckered.

“You little wayward wretch.” Sam grabbed her ass and pulled her to him, kissed her hard with an open mouth. She pushed him away with a challenging look, and he grabbed her back again, scratching at her dress, pulling it off her shoulders. “You want it rough? You want it hard and rough?” He tore at her dress, popping the remaining buttons, splitting it open.

She wore panties underneath, plain white cotton panties, but they didn’t last. He snatched at them, stretched the waistband with the crack of broken elastic. They came loose then, and he pushed them down over her hips, but they were still tight on her. Selma laughed derisively at his attempts to strip her, batted at his head. Her tits shook in his face. Sam grabbed her roughly, pushing her onto the kitchen table. He grabbed her panties again and rolled them down her thighs, exposing her bush. Off came her panties altogether, down her calves and feet, a little bundle of rolled fabric, caught on her heel for a moment like he was tying her up, but then kicking onto the floor.

“Get up,” he growled. He pulled her off the table.

“Weakling,” she spat. He smacked her across the face, not hard enough to bruise, but hard enough to get her attention. She laughed.

Sam jerked Selma up and dragged her across the front room and into the bedroom. The big bed lay open and unmade. He threw her down on it, and she fell with a squeal, her big titties bouncing.

“You do like to play rough,” he said, grabbing her tits, weighing them in his hands.

“It’ll take more than that, Sam,” she replied. “You got it in you?” He smirked and squeezed her tits thumbing the big nipples, licking.

Selma squirmed. “Mmm, yeah,” she responded. “Rougher, stud. Use me hard.”

“Slut,” Sam growled, and he tore away the rest of her tattered dress and tossed it aside. This got her panting, her tits heaving, resting back on her elbows, legs splayed, dark hair tousled about her face. “You want it bad don’t you?”

“I need it rough, Sam. I’m a bad girl and I need a rough fucking. My no-good husband ain’t got the guts. I’m getting’ rid of him. A girl’s got to be satisfied.”

Sam started to unbutton his shirt, then stopped and came to the edge of the bed. “You do it. Unbutton my shirt.”

“Yes, sir,” Selma said quietly, gazing up at him with a fiery dare in her dark eyes. She unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands inside it, across his muscular chest and kissed his belly. Then she pulled at his dungarees, opening the fly, pushing them down. He took her by the hair and pulled her head back, making her gasp.

“Whip it out, Selma. Whip out my pecker for you.” She reached into his pants and pulled out his stiffening dick, a meaty tool almost ready for man’s work. “Are you ready for it, slut?”

“I still don’t think you’re man enough,” she began. But he threw her back on the bed and pushed down his dungarees and kicked them off. Naked and bold, he pounced on her, pinning her arms with his, pinning her legs with his.

“I’m gonna fuck you till you scream, you little whore. You want it bad, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she whimpered. “Rough. My husband’s a goddamn simp. He can’t satisfy a woman like me.”

He jammed his hand between her legs, into the wet hole below her dark bush. “You like that?”

“Yes,” she confessed breathlessly.

He pushed a finger in, two fingers, working them in and out quickly, roughly. Selma gasped, moaned hotly. “Mmmm, yes. Oh, yeah. Oh, oh, yeah.” Sam grabbed one tit with the other hand squeezing it, twisting the nipple. “Oh fuck. Oh goddamn, Sam. Yeah.” He twisted harder, rubbed her pussy harder, the hot slit oozing juices over his hand. He left off with her tit and grabbed her hair again, pulling her one way and then the other, making her tits shake, as he pounded her pussy with his other hand. “F— fuck, fffuck,” she muttered.

The he smacked her pussy, spanking it, making her gasp, groan, and squirm, trying to get away. “Oh fuck! Oh you fucking bastard!” He plunged his fingers inside again, fucking her with this hand, the pussy juices pouring. “Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!” she squealed. “Make me come! Make me fucking come! Oh you fucking bastard! I’m coming! Oh, I’m coming!”

Sam backed away, letting her fall back on the bed. Then he pushed her legs apart with a huff, pulled her to him, and poised his cock at the entrance to her pink man-trap. Selma panted heavily, tits heaving, eager. Slowly, he stabbed into her, feeling the delicious tightness of her juicy slit, then pulled slowly out again.

“You hungry for cock, Selma? You hungry for cock in your pussy?” And he pushed into her savagely.

“Oh JESUS!” she cried. “Oh God up in heaven! Oh, fuck me!” He rocked back and forth, pulling out to the tip of his big prick and plunging forward again, deep into her, splitting her open, making her groan.

She rocked against him also, meeting his thrusts with eager hips, her tits bouncing, huffing and puffing, with barely-contained moans of pleasure. “God— Goddamn! Of fuck!” she cried. “Fuck me, Sam Ewer. Fuck me hard!”

Sam slammed his meat into her again and again, grinding his hips against her, slapping his balls against her asshole. He grunted and groaned himself, eager for a final release.

But first, he pulled her up, turned around and sat himself on the edge of the bed, Selma perched on his lap. They bounced this way some more, her tits in his face, getting licked and bitten and nipped as she moaned, head back, dark hair brushing his knees.

“Oh fuck me! Oh, oh, fuck me! Hard! Harder!” She fairly screamed it now, panting hotly, bouncing on his lap as his thrust up inside her, gravity pulling her down to meet his rigid tool.

“That’s it! I’m coming!” Selma squealed. “I’m coming hard! Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Oh! OH! OHH! Yes! YES! Ahhh! AHHHHH!” She screamed incoherently now, willing and wanton. Sam pulled her hard down onto him, tensed his body as the semen boiled up in his balls. With her dying moans, his coming shot up and into her, spurting inside her juicy twat, filling her fuck-hole with his milky come with a heavy grunt. Then he pushed her off him, onto the bed again, exhausted, his cock still trailing come that stuck to her belly.

After a few minutes, he left her, naked and bruised, lying on the bed as he went into the bathroom. He found her husband’s razor and whatnot and gave himself a shave. She came in near the end, still naked, stroked his cock, and helped him finish his shave. Then she took a washcloth and washed his cock and balls, cleaning them of her dirty, sticky pussy juices. “You did it,” she said, kissing his limp pecker. “You said you would fuck me to a screaming pleasure and you did.” He smirked at her.

He found some of her husband’s clothes that fit him and put them on. Then went into the kitchen. She followed him, putting on a cotton robe but not bothering to close it. He watched her tits swing as she pulled out the pans to make him some eggs.

He wandered around, looking at the things on the walls, looking for valuables, and the big chest on the side table caught his eye. He started to open it, but Selma stopped him.

“My husband’s things,” she said. “I got to get rid of them.”

“Ain’t he comin’ home?”

“Not no more he ain’t”

Sam smiled. “Then he ain’t gonna miss ‘em.”

But she stopped him again. “Your eggs are on the table. I’ll give you the only thing he’s got worth keepin’.” She opened the chest and rummaged thru it while he sat down. Then she came to him, rubbed up against him, bare tit in his face.

“His watch. Fancy, ain’t it?”

“Whoo-ee,” Sam smiled. “That’s a nice one. I never seen a watch so nice as that, I reckon.”

“He had money when I met him,” she said, “but he drank it or pissed it away by now.”

“Well, thank you, Selma. This is very meaningful to me,” he grinned.

“Oh I got something more for you before you go,” she grinned slyly, her dark hair falling about her shoulders, framing her flashing eyes.

It didn’t take him long to finish his eggs and cola, not with Selma standing near, stroking his hair, brushing her tits against him. At last, he rose and picked up the little sack she had prepared; more food to last him. “That last little thing more?” he asked with a grin.

Selma went down on her knees then, opened his trousers. “I hope you like it.” His cock was already half-stiff. It didn’t take her long to get his pants down around this thighs, his cock rigid as an iron rod. She licked it slowly, up and down its full length, licked his hairy balls. She squeeze his ass too, kneading his buttocks like bread dough as she nuzzled his dick and rubbed her bare titties against his legs.

“Ohh, yeah,” he moaned. “Mmmmm, that’s nice.” Selma at last took his prick in her soft, wet mouth, tongue lolling around it, gently pleasuring him completely. She went up and down, sucking the tip, then taking it all down her throat, then back up to the tip. She licked down the shaft again to his balls and took his sack in her mouth, tonguing his balls, sucking rhythmically. Then back up his shaft again to tease the tip.

Sam groaned incoherently and tousled her hair, the feeling of her soft tongue swirling around the head of his hard-on making the come boil up in his balls again. He held her head still, moving his hips, thrilled by the way she squeezed his ass, and fucked her pretty face, sliding his dick in and out of her red mouth, slowly, then faster, then faster still, feeling the tight pucker as she sucked hard, taking the full length of him in her mouth.

At last, Sam groaned a guttural, animal groan and stiffened, his cock plunged fully down Selma’s throat, and shot a hot wad of come deep into her gullet. She swallowed his dick-wad automatically, head held in place, eagerly sucking more come out of his balls and down her throat.

He let her go and pulled his red cock out of her mouth, come strands stringing along until she licked them up. He went to the sink and splashed a little water on his dick. She stood and wrapped her arms around him, pressing those big, soft titties against his back, nuzzling his ear.

“You want me to help you get rid of those things?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the chest.

“Don’t worry,” Selma said. “I already arranged it...when I heard about you escapin' on the radio.”

“Happy to be an inspiration,” Sam smiled.

Sam gave her a kiss and picked up the sack and the watch. He went off down the road with a new spring in his misbegotten step and song in his miserable heart, smiling that trademark charming smile.

Selma went back into the bedroom and dropped the robe on the floor. Naked and still filthy with his come on her belly and mouth, she slipped on the ragged dress again. Then she went to the doorway and, summoning up a little courage, violently banged her head against the jamb, right beside her eye, sending herself reeling. She sat on the bed for a few minutes before going into the kitchen to the telephone.

 

When the police arrived, the shiner was bruising up nicely, a sickly yellow with a dark center ringing her eye. They examined it intently, along with the tattered dress that kept coming open, and—of course—the big chest in the kitchen where the killer had stuffed the remains of John Clary, Selma’s husband, three holes shot in his back.

She told them about the rape, the degradation of taking his manhood in her mouth, the beating that left her with a black eye. And—of course—she told them how the desperate fugitive had coldly murdered her husband with his own gun when he returned home and stuffed him in the chest while he finished degrading her, even forcing her to make him a plate of eggs. And, the last wicked straw, he stole her dear husband’s gold watch.

The fugitive wasn’t far down the road, she was sure. They could surely catch him before nightfall in her husband’s clothes, carrying that fancy watch. The policemen were understanding, especially when she showed them the strands of hair he had pulled out, the bruises on her knees, the bite marks on her big tits.

They promised they would shoot the no-good son of a bitch on sight.