"Oh, baby, that's great ... oh, Angela, honey ... take it off ..."
Those sounds came through the sultry, smoggy evening in the Los Angeles beach community -- Venice West, more casual and Bohemian than city or community -- where Harry Johnson and his girl, Angela Wade, had lived for the past year. Their pad was a small, two-room (including kitchen and tiny bathroom) structure that was more shack than house; but, in this free-and-easy area, both custom and climatically, that was all they needed. They didn't need much money to live on, and Harry would get a quick swimming teacher job at the YMCA when the need for fast cash became more urgent than his normal desires for sun, sand, surf, and sex.
The latter was interesting him more, at the moment, than any of the other-listed preoccupations.
Harry was enjoying his nightly ritual with Angela, Before they got down to the serious business of fucking, she'd get him hotter than a furnace by doing her own personalized "stripper" routine for him -- and him alone. Gypse Rose Lee couldn't have been more accommodating, he thought, remembering that this was one of the reasons he'd asked her to live with him. She'd turned him on with her knowledge of both body and clothing language; and, he had always had a thing about making it, living and loving with a nice, young chick of his own. He was a bit possessive, even he had to admit; but, since she didn't care one way or the other, and she liked living with him, she'd just moved right in and made herself at home.
"Oh, baby, you're really doing fine ... oh, Angela, sweetheart, you've got the best boobs in the world "
They were sitting on the bedroom floor -- that is, Harry was, his legs crossed and an erection in his crotch. A single candle was burning, a San Francisco psychedelic rock group was on the FM, and Angela was dancing on their bed, that really was a couple of mattresses stacked together.
She had just taken off her bra, a black one with a half-rise; it only held the bottom of her beautiful breasts, but supported them just the same. Her tits really needed no support; they were 36C, as lovely and conical as juicy canteloupes, their long erectile nipples glowing pinkly in the light of the candle, thrust forward and raised slightly upward, as if they might take off for the moon at any minute.
Angela was only halfway through her 18th year, and there wasn't one wrinkle on her creamy white skin. She was five-seven, tall for a girl but spectacular as far as height goes for one so young, especially with her waist-length hair that combed straight back from her forehead, the color of dark amber. A natural redhead, with light green eyes, slanted and as calculating as a cat's. A long oval face, full cherry-thick lips, pouting mouth, slender torso and long, tapered dancer's legs completed the pretty picture.
"How do you like it so far, Harry?" she asked, her voice mellow as cider, speaking in her alto register with a slurring, purring sound that made everything she said sound deliberately vague.
"Beautiful ... baby ... just beautiful ..." was all her lover could murmur in his low, sometimes sonorous, tenor voice that would have sounded radio-announcer smooth if he'd been more articulate in his phrasing.
So, Harry sat there, clutching at his crotch.
He was nude, naturally, and his prick was jutting out from its protective thatch of pubic hair like a missle from its silo. His cock wasn't much more than six inches, but, with its tip shaped like a snake's head and its unusual width -- it looked like a stuffed sausage, and was almost the same ruddy color -- it could really get itself inside a woman's pussy and dig right in like a soldier in his trench.
At 25, Harry was hitting five-nine; maybe a little thick in the ankles, just a bit of belly, but not obviously so. He had a damn good posture, and his thick, curly dark-brown hair spilled over the side of his round, pleasant face and down to the back of his neck, giving him a "good little boy" sort of look that was appealing to most females, Angela included. His eyes were almost the color of chocolate, large and sensuous, with his mouth making a pouting "0" that his girl also effected; but, his was more successful, because he could still breathe better in that position than she could.
Angela was now doing some things with her bra that held Harry's interest. She was holding it against her breasts as if she'd suddenly discovered that it was slipping off, and at the same time revealing a nipple here, base of boob there, now a portion of this part of her tanned flesh, then a portion of that. All the while, her legs were in constant motion, as she executed some fancy dancing steps that were de-signed to wiggle every curve in her long, lovely body. Her haunches, jutting out behind her like softly-rounded hills, were vibrating in time to the music and shifting from side to side. Harry hardly knew where to concentrate his gaze, there was so much shaking and shimmying for him to enjoy.
He felt his balls tighten in their scrotum, and his cock was so hard he was afraid it was frozen stiff, like an ice cream bar. Though she was doing all the moving, it seemed to him, as great gobs of perspiration fell from his forehead and dripped from beneath his armpits, that he was doing all of the sweating and straining.
Angela, meanwhile, was digging her own body and its rhythmic movements. There was merely a thin patina of moisture on her skin -- where she was burned by the California sun almost the color of a redwood tree, her skin tones, though tanned, were the color of light copper -- and her muscles were enjoying their exercise.
Expecially her vaginal muscles, expanding and contracting with great eagerness, as her taut clit, like a pointing finger, held itself erect with grace while her cunt lips, beneath their covering of red-dish pubic hair, hung sufficiently open to reveal the dark pink of her pussy membranes.
She flipped her bra into Harry's hands.
He caught it, holding it close to his nostrils while he sniffed. He loved the mixture of teat sweat and her orchid perfume ( the latter she used not only behind her ears, but also on her breasts and between her legs) . As he inhaled the holy scent of sex, his cock grew larger, stiffened to its fullest length, protruding forward like the long rifle of a hunter aimed at big, big game ...
While Angela, fondling her hair, whipped her long cherry-colored tresses right on the tip of Harry's semen-swollen prick ...
"Oh, Angela ... you turn me on too fast ... I'm coming ..."
He dropped the bra, giving attention to his spurting instrument of sex.
But, Angela, aware as always, intercepted.
Bending her legs like a ballerina in a difficult dance movement, she bent forward, her haunches riding high behind her, and, still moving, got her head so that his dick was just a few inches from her pouting mouth. Out snaked her tongue, and she licked the tip of his prick, slurping down the thick, foaming liquid, as Harry felt the delicate, yet probing touch of her tongue.
Which spurred him into greater sexual effort, as his swollen instrument gushed forth another load of come juice.
But, this time, she was even more ready for him.
Her mouth was open now, her lips creased into an "O" of pleasurable expectations. Though she could feel her back stiffening from holding her difficult dancing pose, she got her mouth on his agitated, jumping prick and began to suck it inside her mouth, letting her lovely lips and massaging membranes do the job. As she greedily swallowed his sperm, feeling the hot, sticky stuff dripping down her throat, her eyes rolled and her nostrils flared in ecstasy, while he felt the tender touch of her mouth membranes urging him on to more and more explosions, to a greater and greater outpouring of his masculine liquid.
She guzzled from his cock like a freshly-popped 7-Up bottle, desiring his effervescence now, before it might turn stale and flat. He reached for her in his lust and passion, tying to throw his arms around her neck and pull her head even closer, her mouth even more firmly around, his spurting instrument of sex.
Even while still sucking him off, she shook her head.
She drank her fill, pushing his hands away with hers. She knew she could get it up again for him; then, she'd let him inside her. She could feel her own cunt starting to churn like a leaky laundromat. Yes, she would want her satisfaction, too; but ... not just yet ... not now ...
"Goddam you, Angela!" Harry cried angrily. "I want more action that that, you crazy cunt!"
She airily danced away from him, shaking her ass in time to the minor blues theme of the band's guitars, tapping her toes to the drummer's driving beat. As Harry got up from the floor, his dick still drip-ping sperm, she began to remove her panties.
This had always turned him on more than any-thing.
He stopped, one hand on his cock, the other hanging at his side, as Angela, putting her legs close together, dropped her panties, inch by suggestive inch.
Still moving ... still grooving ...
From the waist up, her torso was swiveling like a top, her boobs vibrating as if they were leading a separate, swirling life of their own.
She now had her pubic hair exposed ...
Then, her cunt lips ...
Finally, the whole big box, the palpitating pussy that he'd paid plenty for during the past year of living and loving together.
He could feel his rod getting stiff again, and it wasn't just because he was automatically fondling it between his fingers, either.
She had now dropped her panties right to the tips of her toes. Carefully stepping out of them, she flipped them with her talented toes right at Harry, but catching them first with her fingers as he reached for them.
He almost tripped, but regained his balance quickly. Waving her panties at him like a flag, she danced away from him again. She held them with one hand, waving them aloft triumphally, while her other hand slipped down between her own legs to check the temperature.
She rubbed her own erectile clit a few times on the way, pleased at its hard-rubber stiffness, and brushing gently against her damp pubic hairs, got her little finger past her trembling lips and half-way inside her opening.
It was like sticking her finger into a boiling bath.
She pulled her finger out fast, after massaging her membranes for a few seconds. She could almost feel the heat causing her finger to swell; she raised her hand to her mouth, and licked the tip of her juicy-stained finger, tasting the heady pungency of her own pussy juice.
That, to Harry, was a good sign.
From past experience, he knew that whenever she started playing with herself like that -- instead of teasing him with her dancing routine -- she was really ready for it.
And, from the ever-growing, ever-heavy feeling of that beautiful thing he carried between his legs, he didn't have to look, much less touch, to know that his cock was, again, ready to ram itself deep inside her cunt.
He advanced toward her, dancing on his feet, his cock long and strong and sticking out in front like a loaded gun.
She stopped dancing.
She spread open her legs, thrust out her arms ...
And Harry, perspiring and hot to trot, kept on moving, doing his own dance of love, moving until their bodies were skin-touching each other.
He shoved his cock against her cunt-lips. Teasingly, she tried to close her lips, to prolong the moment of entrance.
He -clamped her around the shoulders, and her breasts bored into his chest. His cock pushed aside her cunt lips, driving deep, driving hard, straight, and true. She gasped as its thickness penetrated her pussy, forcing her membranes apart like a knife slicing a piece of cheese; her arms automatically went round his waist for support.
Her hips were still twitching from ecstasy as he bent her down upon the bed, his prick still deep inside her pussy. As he braced her back against the coolness of the spread-out sheets, the movement made his rod seem as if it was being blown up like a balloon inside her. She moaned with pleasure; his joystick was indeed, something else.
He flattened her, spread-eagle style, against the sheets, and his toes touched hers and curled her legs
into a deep "V" as his cock, still connected, dug deeper and deeper inside her cunt. He began to probe her dripping pussy, making rhythmic thrusts in time to the music, and she felt the sexual power of his prick turning on every one of her nerve fibers. Electricity coursed through her body, and her pussy lips clutched tightly at his manhood, responding in it's own rhythmic patterns to his savage, masculine thrusts.
She began to come, her haunches vibrating, her cunt churning with dripping juices which poured forth from her pussy like honey from a jar. Her cunt clutched at his cock, and the more it did, the harder he shoved it against every one of her membranes. She could feel him all over her; she was sweating now, as much as he was. Her mouth connected with his ear, and her tongue began to probe into his eardrums ...
Then he came.
He caught her right at the beginning of her second orgasm. He had wanted to wait until her third, but she had simply gotten him too hot for further delay. His manhood buckled, shooting out a steady stream of sperm like water from a fire hose. She was so much on fire, there was almost no quenching her, as he thrust and parried and blasted her with seeds, and she poured out her foaming juices to meet his holy fluid. She could feel him in every part of her pulsating body, and she cried tearfully, with much joy, as they came together: "Oh, Harry ... never take it out ..."
He grunted, "you just keep taking it off ... and I'll put it in ... Angela ... and I'll never take it out ... again ..."
CHAPTER TWO
It was a Sunday, one of those relaxing, sunny Sundays on the beach that had not only the singles but also the families out in droves to enjoy the sand, sea, sun ... and sex. A national pastime, certainly; but, on any beach near or adjacent to Los Angeles, a year-round celebration, considering the salubrious, sun-drenched climate for it.
Well ... not exactly making it behind every sand dune, or shacking up on a surfboard. But ... pretty close to it.
On this particular Sunday, Harry and Angela were simply wandering along the beach, looking for a private spot in which to have a private picnic.
Harry was wearing his bathing suit, and wearing a backpack. In his backpack were the following: portable grill, food, blanket, portable radio, and a cold jug of daiquiris. All told, the whole thing weighed more than 25 pounds, and Harry's body was sinking into the sand as he walked much harder, much slower than his woman.
For Angela was carrying only what she was wearing -- her bathing suit. A bikini, so brief that several square inches of cleavage -- tanned the same color as the rest of her skin -- showed through the top, and the bottom was worn so loosely or carelessly that a few strands of her omnipresent red-gold pubic hairs were peeping through.
Harry really didn't dig that bit at all.
But, that was the way Angela liked to wear her bikini, and she was a very determined girl at times. Harry tried to run the show, but, with Angela, there was a substantial price to pay, and this bit was apparently one of the instalments on that price.
Of course, when Angela walked, her hips would swivel like a matched pair of ball bearings, and her lovely ass would vibrate back and forth like two round mounds of dough ready to shake and bake. Her long hair hung down her back, and moved like a waterfall whenever she did. There was hardly a muscle in her body that wasn't in motion when she was -- and hardly a man (and often a woman, too) who didn't notice her swinging when she was at the beach.
On one hand, Harry liked the fact that he was living with, sleeping with such a young, beautiful woman. He could laugh, either to himself or out loud, thinking of how jealous all the horny guys around him must be, knowing that he and only he was fucking that stuff, exclusively.
But, on the other hand, the more she showed off her stuff and, in effect, "teased" the other guys by the way she walked, by the way she displayed as much of her physical charms as she could legally get away with, the better chance there was that some other guy, some day, sooner or later, was going to make a big play for Harry's one and only -- and, quite possibly, succeed.
That often worried Harry.
He was, in effect, paying the price for having such a sharp, sexy woman on constant, ubiquitous display. He was like a museum guard whose job it was to watch a set of crown jewels; there were always potential thieves around, and he could never tell which ones were which.
"Hey, that's a body and a half!"
"You can shake that thing at my place any time, baby!"
Oh, yes, the beach was crowded, and the guys weren't spending their time looking at the white-capped, blue-streamed Pacific and the huge breakers, nor were they really eyeing the surfers and swimmers. Their eyes were concentrated on Angela, who always said nothing to anyone as she ambled along, but whose soft smile and occasional twinkle -- if not an outright wink -- in the eyes might indicate that she didn't mind all the admiration one little bit.
However ...
This "running the gauntlet" of male admirers of-ten made Harry get a hardon.
Which, naturally, made his excursions with his sweet thing somewhat embarrassing from time to time.
As was happening now
Harry's prick was starting to stir.
He could feel the telltale bulge in his trunks getting bigger. The more he looked at Angela -- just to make sure things were all right -- the more his rod would stiffen.
She glanced at his crotch, and gave him her most sensuous smile, the one with her tongue quickly flicking across her lips. He grinned back, noticing that she seemed to be leading him -- she was now several feet ahead -- toward the most crowded section of the beach. Crowded with guys more than girls.
It seemed to Harry that all these guys were looking at his exclusive stuff with the horny, lustful leers of men who would fuck at the drop of a hat -- or drawers.
"Angela, it's too crowded here, let's find some-place with more space," he said.
She hesitated, then said, her words like liquid honey, "Well, Harry ... if you say so ..." Then, quickly glancing away from him, she spotted a different kind of guy, and cried out like a little girl, "Harry, please buy me one!"
This guy was standing behind a Good Humor ice cream cart. He was a tall blond with long, hairy sideburns, about 20, a college kid. To Harry, he looked like one of the Beach Boys, so much so that Harry wondered for a few seconds if the band had gone broke and lead singer Brian was trying to pick up some fast bread by pushing ice cream instead of pop songs.
Harry dug into his backpack for some change, and bought Angela a strawberry shortcake. For himself, a plain Good Humor would do -- though, at the moment, his humor was anything but that.
The boy who served them seemed nervous, as he handed over the ice cream. Angela gave him one of her lip-licking smiles. He smiled back somewhat sheepishly, mostly to try and conceal the burgeoning hardon he was getting; luckily, he could still stand behind the cart, while Harry was stuck out front, his backpack feeling like a hunchback's hump and his prick getting about as stiff as a cop's club.
"Thank you, Harry," Angela said, biting into her ice cream with the same type of lip and mouth movement that he knew she used when sucking him off.
The Good Humor kid was really getting nervous now. Sweat was dripping from his forehead like an open faucet, and one hand was behind the cart, clutching at his cock.
Then ... they heard the sound of drums ...
There was a bongo player near the surf, surrounded by an admiring crowd. He was a Mexican-looking guy, short and dark, with thick curly hair and a very Latin smile. His dark brown eyes seemed almost recessed in his sockets as his lean, nimble fingers caressed his drums like a pair of breasts, massaging and coaxing complex Latin rhythms that had apparently caught Angela's -- and the crowd's -- fancy.
"Oh, Harry!" she squealed excitedly. "I just adore bongo drums, don't you? They make me feel like dancing!"
Translated, that meant that she wanted to strip.
Sighing, he put down the backpack, and sat down by the ice cream cart. Munching his ice cream, feeling the cold stuff drip down his throat, he figured: let her get it out of her system, then we'll move on, to a quieter spot, for sure.
The bongo player, catching sight of Angela's interest, started to turn out some intricate tempos that got her swaying right in time to the beat. As she started swaying, she could feel her pussy responding, with the dripping of some juice beneath her bikini bottoms. Music, of course, always made her feel sexy; and moving her body as she was now doing to the music, even more so.
Harry wondered whether he should deck her -- or dick her. He was starting to get pissed off, but good.
He glanced around for lifeguards, or cops, or both. No sign of either.
Angela was whipping her hair around her shoulders as if caught in a tropical tornado, her limpid muscles loose and supple, her entire body pivoting on the point in the sand where she was twirling. She was doing her thing without moving her feet, a Hawaiian-influenced technique, in which the rest of her. long, beautiful body, especially her crazy-shaking ass, was really swinging while her legs remained stationary.
Her ass was like a gyroscope pinning on it axis, her pelvic muscles leading a life of their own. Her back was bent in the shape of a provocative question mark, her arms flailing wildly at her side. From the look on her face -- eyes opaque, nostrils flaring, mouth opening and closing as if gulping air -- Harry could tell that she was really getting turned on by the music.
As, among others, the ice cream boy was getting turned on by Angela.
"Fuck it!" the kid shouted, stripping off his shirt and throwing his hat in the sand.
Barefoot, he came barrelling out from behind the ice cream cart like a fast driver on the L.A. freeway. He stopped, on his way, just long enough to dig out a couple handfuls of vanilla ice cream, holding them in his fists like snowballs, He raced straight toward Angela, his erect member ready to burst through his pants, and, reaching her before either she or anyone in the crowd could object, he flipped the ice cream and two white blobs splashed against her bobbing breasts, looking like patches of snow against her light-bronze body.
She stopped dancing.
The bongo player stopped making music.
Everybody in the crowd stared at him. He'd stopped, too, and was just standing there, staring at Angela, as his fingers hastily tugged at the zipper of his pants.
Angela looked inquiringly at her breasts, noticing, beneath the mounds of ice cream, that her nipples were taut and erect. She touched her finger to the ice cream, rubbing her nipple at the same time. She raised her finger to her mouth, stuck out her tongue, and licked the melting ice cream off her finger.
Some of the ice cream was also melting off her boobs, sending white, wet rivulets dripping down her belly, some of which was almost leaking into her crotch and whitening her dark, damp pubic hairs.
When she noticed that, she laughed, stuck her finger inside the tops of her bikini bottoms, and started to rub the melting ice cream right into her cunt.
Some of the crowd broke into sporadic applause, while the bongo player, apparently inspired, started up a different tempo, a more languid beat with contrapuntal rhythms, on his drums.
That, of course, got Angela thinking about dancing again.
As her body began to move and groove to the music, she reached behind her and snapped off her bra, waving it at the ice cream boy, much as she'd waved it at Harry many times during their evening sex sessions.
That seemed to set the kid off.
He jumped out of his pants -- which he'd already unzipped and dropped to the sand-and, still wearing a pair of boxer shorts, leaped upon the girl, knocking both of them to the sand and kicking up a sort of sandstorm where they fell.
"Hey, the party's getting rough!" someone shouted.
Harry, who had cracked the jug of diaquiris and was slowly sipping a long, cool drink of same, didn't like what he had just seen one goddam bit. Nobody was going to lay hands on his woman -- especially like that.
Grabbing the jug of diaquiris, he started moving toward Angela, who was grappling with the ice cream boy, spraying sand everywhere every time they turned. The bongo player was still beating out his rhythms, and no one in the crowd was even going to help out. It seemed they'd rather watch her get it than stop it.
Well, Angela wasn't exactly fighting him off, either. Not from the way she was running her fingers through his thick blond hair, as he, finally having to rip off his shorts from his body, was trying to get his thickened prick inside her. And he had a pretty good sized one, too. Its veins almost strained as blue as the sky as he pushed it against her pussy lips, trying to gain entrance.
They were both covered with sand, the gritty stuff sticking to their perspiring bodies as, feeling her cunt good and wet now, he managed to thrust him-self halfway inside. As soon as she felt his quivering member, her membranes responded, further liquifying herself, and allowing him, with another good thrust, total entrance.
She gave a squeal of delight as she felt his iron striking fire. Her pussy lips clamped tight around his instrument like a flesh-covered pair of pliers, and his scrotum was jammed up tight against her crotch as he started to pump her.
She got her arms around his back, her fingernails digging into his flesh as he half-lifted her off the sand while he started to come.
Like a string of firecrackers, he fired off inside her, and her thirsty pussy muscles twitched in ecstasy, coaxing more blasting sperm from him and more foaming, waterfalling outbursts from herself. 'She had her legs around him now, too, in a scissors -- grip, and he felt as if his entire body, as well a his prick, was caught in some kind of sexual vise. He slammed his mouth against hers, his lips crushing against hers, his tongue trying to get past her teeth.
And, all the while, all the time he and she were screwing each other, their sexual juices mixing and intermingling, the bongo player kept on beating time and the crowd kept on applauding, as if they were seeing a Sunset Strip sex show.
Then Harry finally got close enough to change things.
Just as the kid felt his cock going limp with his frenzied sexual outburst, Harry clobbered him be-hind the right ear with the diaquiri jug.
Stunned, the young guy slowly rolled off Angela, as she, feeling him suddenly go limp, released her arms and legs from around him.
"Hey, man, you shouldn't have done that," some-one from the crowd said, with implied menace in his voice.
"This is my woman, in case you didn't know!" Harry replied, as he pulled the cork from the daiquiri jug and poured the rum-based drink over Angela's face and front, covering her mouth and breasts with the stuff.
She gasped, then started to lick the daiquiri juice from her mouth, her tongue slowly licking from side to side, as Harry, like a bomb, dropped right on her and, one hand pulling his own trunks loose, tried to pull her bikini bottoms off. As his hands were thus occupied, his mouth clamped over her right breast, and he started to lick at the mixture of sand, sweat, and daiquiris, his lips squeezing her full breast and his teeth carefully giving her nipple love bites.
She began to whimper with lust, opening her legs and squirming in the sand. She could feel her pussy juice dripping out from between her legs, staining the sand with the color of come.
Harry, the more he licked and sucked, the more his pecker throbbed with erectness and his balls felt like bursting through the scrotom sack. Oh, yes, he was ready to really make it with her ... then he was suddenly yanked loose from his woman.
Someone grabbed him by his curly hair, pulling him a couple of feet away, dumping him in the sand and leaving him there to see if all his hair was still there and wonder exactly what had happened.
What had happened was this.
A tall, muscular guy with balding, receding hair and chin-length sideburns and droopy mustache had pulled Harry loose. Now, as if he was the self-appointed King of the Mountain -- in this case, the Sand -- he strode over to Angela, still twitching in the sand with unsatisfied lust, and he regally removed his swim trunks and casually tossed them over his shoulder, he squatted next to her in the sand.
Then, still squatting on his haunches, he reached down and pulled her toward him by her hair. She could feel the pressure of his strong, yet gentle, hands as he yanked her, as gently as he could, into a sort of sitting position in front of him.
These actions of his had so subdued the crowd that even the bongo player had stopped beating his drums -- and, judging from the ever-growing erection he too was getting and the way his hand was covering his crotch, he was now beating his meat.
The balding guy had a hardon, too. His prick was plenty long, the foreskin pulled back so taut ]iit looked like it might snap loose and shrivel right off. The tip of his prick was like a baby's fist, dark pink and ready to strike like a snake, as he slowly and carefully manipulated Angela so that, the way he held her, she was facing him from a 45� angle, her cunt poised just a few inches away from his cock.
As the crowd continued to watch in wild-eyed wonder, he drew her toward him, until the tip of his cock was just touching the outer edge of her cunt lips.
She was still feeling very sexy from her previous encounter. In that sort of mood, she was somewhat unfocused, as far as knowing exactly who was holding her. She could feel the guy's presence, sexually speaking, more than she could actually see who it was. And, she didn't really care; she liked fucking, and it wasn't just with Harry, either.
He slid into her like a knife into soft cheese.
A great collective "Aaaahhhh!" came from the crowd as he started to rock and sock her, his cock slipping all the way inside her cunt, his hairy chest flattening itself against her bounteous breasts.
She started to tongue him, her tongue darting out from between her teeth and slipping inside his open mouth. His lips clamped tight against hers as their tongues tangled, and he could feel his prick really getting ready to burst with sperm, as he massaged every square inch of her pussy membranes, rubbing against her trembling clit whenever he could, feeling the taut nipples trying to pierce his chest like needles.
She started to come, and her vaginal muscles grabbed his instrument and held on tight, twisting and tugging at his manhood.
Suddenly ... he came ...
Like a riveting gun letting loose on a skyscraper under construction, he came, rat-a-tat-tat, one burst of steaming sperm after the other. She felt the impact of each explosion, and she buckled and arched her back, screaming and sighing, her fists pounding at his back, not in anger but in joy.
The bongo player couldn't take it any more.
He'd dropped his drums long ago, but his erection hadn't gone down one eight-of-an-inch. Yanking off his trunks, he came heading straight for Angela and the balding guy, his cock, lean and taut as he was, sticking straight out front.
As the balding guy was still holding Angela, like a piece of meat on a fork, the Mexican bongo player got up behind her and, half-standing and half-crouching, rammed his prick against her asshole.
She let out a startled scream; but, again, this one was from both surprise and pleasure as she felt an-other penis entering her from another orifice. Her sphincter muscles began to expand, to allow him passage, and he could feel her asshole opening as he kept driving his dick hard against her back door.
She began coming some more, which also served to inspire the balding guy, whose own prick was going limp. He got another rise out of his own instrument -- and started coming all over again.
The Mexican let loose one long blast of juice, splattering her sphincter with sticky, steaming liquid joy juice. Her sphincter muscles acted just the way her pussy membranes were doing, and she was sweating and sighing with lust as she felt both men coming, almost simultaneously, inside her.
She opened her mouth to scream with joy some more ..
And got a big fat cock inside her lips.
An older, white-haired fellow pushing sixty, it seemed, had become so stimulated he couldn't hold out any longer, either. He'd just unzipped his pants, walked over to the carousing, vibrating bodies and found the only other orifice of Angela's that was presently unoccupied.
For an old guy, he could still fire off a few rounds, though they were more like .22 than .45 caliber. Still, she could feel his juice pouring into her mouth and down her throat -- and she gulped it greedily enough as he came.
And Harry?
He'd almost been struck dumb by what he was seeing. It was taking him a long time to get back to reality.
But, while Angela was being fucked three ways, Harry finally got himself together, and joined them.
In one hand, he had a frozen banana from the Good Humor cart. This, he stuck in her right ear, and she could feel it starting to melt. Then, he got his cock right up against her left ear, and came like a fire hose, his sperm gushing into her eardrums as the banana melted in her right ear.
And Angela ... was thus part ... of a five-part fuck ...
CHAPTER THREE
About a week later, Harry and Angela were sitting around the beach house, drinking California burgundy and relaxing.
Except -- though she was relaxed, he was still feeling a bit uptight, still kind of pissed off about that wild gangbang they'd gotten themselves involved in on the beach.
Oddly enough, she didn't seem to realize what had actually taken place, how many guys had got-ten into her. To her, it seemed like Harry, and Harry only, had screwed her in the sand. When he'd tried to impart upon her what had actually happened, her eyes had gone opaque, slitting like the cat's eyes they resembled, and she'd simply said, "Harry, you were drinking too many daiquiris to really remember what actually took place."
He sipped his wine, letting the rich red liquid trickle down his throat and warm his insides.
What to do with this crazy, childish cunt he was living with, that he desired so much.
"Angela?"
"Yes, Harry?"
She looked up from her movie magazine, an innocent, querulous expression on her beautiful face. There was just a hint of irritation in her voice. She had just been reading about another young girl, much like herself, who had been "discovered" at a discotheque while doing a most revealing dance, and this girl had just signed a three-picture contract with Paramount. Angela, secretly -- and sometimes, not so secretly -- had always had dreams of becoming a movie star.
Or, at least some sort of "celebrity" -- some kind of performing position in show business. Even a dancer in a night club ... possibly a singer ... she would even consider (not so surprisingly) a career as a stripper.
"Angela, you've got to stop taking it off in public," Larry said flatly, trying to keep any emotion at all out of his voice.
She gave him a "so what" look, saying with a nasty edge to her voice, "What I do in public, Harry, is the same as I do in private. Unlike yourself, I have nothing to hide."
Then, she pointed at his crotch.
He had nothing to say; not with his rod of joy beginning to erect again, poking at his pants like a pole.
He thought: maybe a nudist colony would be the best place for us to move to. Then, he remembered; he'd tried that once. She got bored within hours, and he'd gotten an erection so fast the director had thrown both of them out.
Suddenly ... he remembered something ...
Lowering his wine glass, he said, "Say, Angela, don't forget ... Jim and Betty are expecting us ..."
She hadn't forgotten; at his words, she excused herself, and when she came back she'd changed from her bathrobe into a pair of worn blue jeans and a loose-fitting white T-shirt.
Jim and Betty lived about five minutes away, at the other end of Venice West. However, since they walked slowly, Angela being in no rush once she got out of the house, it took them about ten minutes to arrive there. Jim and Betty's place was simply a one-room shack, something Jim had put together himself, but it was neat and clean inside, though quite sparsely furnished.
Jim was a tall, bearded fellow with an easy, relaxed demeanor, and Betty was a short blonde who came on as effervescent as a freshly-opened bottle of 7-Up. Jim was a musician; he had played flute in a variety of symphony orchestras and stage bands, when he felt like it. When he didn't, he just laid around on the beach and got brown, sometimes playing his flute for kicks and Betty passing around the hat for coins.
"Hi there," Jim said, passing around a bottle of cold Chablis. Their life was quite informal; every-body drank from the same bottle, like Indians puffing on the same peace pipe.
"Oh, Harry! Oh, Angela! Oh, I'm so glad you could come, we're really so happy to see you again!" said Betty, throwing her arms around both of them and giving them each a big, wet kiss right on the mouth.
Harry, of course, couldn't help it if his prick started stirring at such intimate bodily contact. He sat down in a corner ever so quickly, so that they wouldn't notice it.
Angela sat down beside Jim, and took a short sip from the bottle as he offered it. Her lips opened wide, to close about the top of the bottle as if she was sucking cock, and the sounds she made from her throat sounded not very different from those she would have made if she was.
This seemed to turn Harry on all the more.
He sat cross-legged, to conceal his ever-erecting member. It was not too comfortable a position, but he managed to keep his cool, at least for the moment.
"Say, Angela," Betty said, her gaze admiring, "I heard you really had some great fun last Sunday."
Harry coughed, as if he'd swallowed his wine too fast. But, Betty continued, "I think it's really great to have the guts to get up in front of a bunch of strangers and do your thing, no matter what they think or who they are. I admire that, you know. I mean, it was just like you were on stage, like you were a performer and they were your audience."
"Well ." Angela replied, feeling her pussy growing, glowing wet and warm with Betty's compliments.
"She's right, Angela," Jim commented. "I think you must have had a real ball doing that. Now, take Betty, she's too shy to pull off anything like that ..."
"I am not!" Betty said, indignantly.
Harry said nothing; he just gulped that cold Chablis and hoped it would cool off his cock, at least for the moment.
"Please ... don't fight over me," Angela purred, not hiding the pleasure in her voice. "You sound as if you wished you had been there to watch me. But, since you obviously weren't," she added, winking at Betty, "if you like, I'll be glad to repeat the demonstration."
Harry coughed, choking on his wine; he swallowed hastily to keep from spitting the stuff all over the floor.
Angela didn't wait for him to grant approval, either (not that he would have). She turned to Jim, and said, "I need the right kind of background music, Jim."
Jim caught his cue. He excused himself, heading for the bedroom; he was back in seconds, holding his long, slender flute in his hand. The way he pointed it at Angela, it looked like he wanted to fuck her with the flute. Betty frowned slightly; she'd caught that motion, too.
Jim, leaning against a wall, looking casual and cool, placed the flute against his lips and started to play some of the more exotic, erotic passages from The Dance of the Seven Veils. Angela, who'd once studied classical music, knew the composition well; it was one of her favourites, no less.
She began to dance, like a Middle Eastern maid-en, slowly and sensuously, moving her hips into some acute angles that seemed almost geometrically impossible. She was shimmying from side to side, her hands gesturing obscenely, and her hair, of course, streaming in the breeze like a witch's shroud.
"Hey ... that's pretty good!" Jim cried out.
"Oh, Angela, you should be on the stage! You're much too good to be an amateur!" Betty complimented her.
Harry thought: that's all I need ... a stripper for a sex partner ...
Angela, it seemed, was now all over the room, lunging like a dueler, moving like a startled fawn. Her dancing, so far, was really sensuous, but not seemingly obvious; in fact, compared to that last Sunday, it was fairly restrained.
Until ... she slipped off her T-shirt.
"Oh, Angela ... oh, how I wish I had breasts like that!" Betty cried enviously.
Jim and Harry didn't say anything.
They were to busy watching Angela's boobs bouncing as she used her T-shirt like a veil, holding it over her face, then over her breasts. It was almost as if she was sniffing it, trying to smell her own sexual scent.
Then ...
She tossed the T-shirt to Jim.
He caught it, held it between his fingers for a few seconds; then, as if inspired by Angela's actions, he started to sniff the part of it that had been placed over her titties. When he was finished, he flipped it over to Harry, who simply took the T-shirt and placed it on the floor.
Angela's breasts stuck straight out like Buick bumper guards. Straight, firm, conical as howitzer shells, they seemed to beckon to Harry. At least, his cock thought so, for it began its usual growth cycles almost the second she had started dancing.
And, she was dancing in front of Betty, at this moment, her body in perfect synchronization with the trills and melodic raptures of Jim's sensuous fluting.
Suddenly ... Angela thrust her crotch ... right into Betty's face ...
And, as Harry watched, wondering, Betty opened her mouth, letting her tongue come out, while her hands dropped to her own crotch, to slip underneath the sleeveless mini-dress she was wearing and fondle her own erecting clit and churning cunt.
Harry thought: Angela's really turning Betty on ... Betty must want to imitate her so much ... that she'll try and bring on her own orgasm ... that she thinks Angela's having while she's dancing ...
As Betty continued to fondle her own genitals, Angela began to remove her jeans.
She unzipped them first, slowly, every movement almost orchestrated; then, still moving, she dropped them to her ankles and quickly stepped right out of them.
Then, she danced right in front of Jim, shoving her palpitating pussy right into his face. She was wearing nothing under her jeans.
Jim -- whose fluting had become more improvisatory, with strange, sensuous little trills appearing as if imported from Saudi Arabia or someplace like that -- suddenly stopped playing.
There was dead silence for several long seconds.
Before Angela could dance away -- he was moving ever so slightly, still right in front of Jim -- Jim took his flute and quickly, like a swordsman dispatching his adversary, shoved his flute all the way up her cunt.
Angela gasped, cried with delight, feeling the cold metal against her hot membranes. And, it was the mouthpiece end that Jim had shoved in there, too.
"Now, just wait a minute!" Harry shouted, figuring that things had gone too far this time to let pass.
He tried to get up, but was feeling the wine, both the California burgundy he'd been putting away at home, and the cold Chablis he'd been downing here. His reactions were a little slower than usual; and, too slow to stop Angela, who immediately began to dance away from Jim, and toward Harry. Both hands gripped around the flute as if she were trying to pry it loose from her pussy.
She was not, of course.
What she was trying to do was to drive it even deeper inside, as her juice began flowing more freely, and she could feel the spasms of sex shivering, vibrating all over her body.
Jim let out a long, low whistle -- of both amazement and approval -- and started to take his own clothes off. Since he wasn't wearing a shirt, and since he was barefoot, all he needed to drop were his pants and his shorts.
Angela was now right in front of Harry, no more than a foot away, so close that Harry could almost reach out his tongue and lick the tip of the flute protruding from his woman's pussy.
"Blow it, Harry, make me some music," she purred, winking her green cat's eyes at him.
He was half-considering her proposition when ...
Betty suddenly came close, and, reaching for the flute, yanked it right out of Angela's cunt.
And, when she'd got it out, she started licking the mouthpiece that had been inside, lapping up Angela's pussy juice like a cat lapping up cream.
"Give me my flute back," Jim said, edgily, as he got to his girl and yanked the instrument from her hand. Then, he sniffed the mouthpiece, smelling Angela's cunt juice, what few drops remained; as he put it back to his mouth again, he started playing some esoteric Indian music, soulful and very sensuous, while trying to lick the juice off the flute at the same time.
While Betty whipped off her blouse, revealing small, but still well-structured, breasts with tiny, taut nipples -- and, grabbing hold of Angela by the ass, started to stick her tongue into Angela's front door.
Angela started to dance away. Betty, still holding on to her ass, hobbled along the floor, still licking and sucking at Angela's cunt, slurping up the delicious juice that was now waterfalling out of Angela's vaginal orifice.
At the same time, Angela reached down, perhaps trying to push Betty away. But, it seemed that she got her hands on Betty's boobs. Perhaps liking the feeling, she began to knead them like fresh dough, l stroking the base and letting her fingers fondle the little nipples.
From deep in her throat, Betty made moaning, mumbling sounds, almost sighing in sexual ecstasy, as she kept her mouth attached, almost leech-like, to Angela's cunt.
"You're crazy ... you're both crazy!" Harry said, feeling his own rod as stiff as a steel pipe. Everything had been turning him on tonight, from the wine through the women. He managed to stand up and start toward both women.
Jim kept on playing a wild, out-of-sight flute, his own erection growing almost as long as the instrument he held in his mouth.
Betty, as if she'd had enough of lesbian love for the time being, suddenly stopped her activities with Angela, and turned her attention toward ...
Not Jim ... but Harry.
She grabbed Harry's cock.
Grabbed it with both hands, holding it firmly like an iron pipe, as if she was afraid she'd fall on her ass if she let go.
And, at the same time, her thumb was tweaking the tip of his prick, causing him to feel those sexual shivers running up and down his instrument, causing his balls to rumble against each other in his ever-tightening balls. Not to mention the sweat that was pouring off him into pools of moisture on the floor.
She stuck her nose into his navel, breathing so passionately that it made him tremble with unfulfilled lust. She nudged his navel, then started to lick the sweat off his stomach, as she still kept a good grip on his cock.
"Come on, Harry, you need a shower, look at how you're sweating," Betty chirped. "Let's take a shower together, and get all cleaned up. What do you say?"
He didn't say anything, at that moment.
He was looking in Angela's direction.
Still dancing, her hips vibrating as if being massaged, she had taken the Chablis bottle, which was now empty, and was trying it on for size in her cunt, while Jim, his head nodding as if in agreement, he eyes noncommital, was blowing langorous, lovely melodies on his flute.
Discerning that his woman seemed to be other-wise occupied, Harry let Betty, still holding him by the cock, lead him into the shower and turn on the water at a medium temperature. The warm water felt soothing on his head and back, as Betty soaped him down, her fingers beating out subtle rhythms in the small of his back.
He thought: what the fuck ... Angela wants to fuck around with Jim ... I'll fuck around with Betty ... fair's fair ...
He could feel Betty now in front of him, sliding her cunt toward his cock.
Waiting no longer, he lunged forward, his instrument sliding inside.
But, her pussy was so small, so tight, he could only get halfway in. He lunged more, pushing her back against the wall -- no fancy tiles here, just concrete walls were all-and trying to get further inside, as she cried in his ears, "Come on, Harry, let her have all of you!"
Then, sensing his problem, she grabbed the soap and started soaping that part of his prick that was still outside. A few minutes later, soap and all, he was nestled inside her vaginal orifice so tight that he'd almost swear it would take a crowbar to pry them apart.
Her tits, small though they were, were nevertheless rubbing nicely against his chest, and her tantalizing tongue was lapping away at his left ear, urging him on to greater sexual achievements.
He could feel her liquid flowing loosely, and feel her membranes clamping him, holding him fast, as her body moved and grooved against his own. The water was still coming down, and he came suddenly before he even realized it. It felt like they were fucking in a waterfall.
Her juice poured from her pussy, mixing with the soapy water as it slid down her legs and down the drain. Her cunt twitched as if spastic, and her tight muscles really worked over his instrument as if shaking hands. He felt himself come like a shotgun, his sperm scattered all over her insides; then, again, the reverberation he felt was like a gun being fired, as his prick exploded more and more, each round being fired off as if his cock was a trigger and her cunt the finger squeezing it.
He had her against the wall, and she was bent almost backwards, as he rammed and slammed and jammed it to her. Though almost ready to collapse, he summoned up every ounce of strength he could spare, because she was having none of him pulling out so soon. Even as his rod grew limp from his exertions, he could feel her vaginal muscles still going strong, as if she was some kind of automatic screw machine.
"Do you mind if we join you?"
They turned, slightly, toward the voice. Angela, holding Jim by the cock -- he was still playing the flute -- pulled aside the shower curtain.
"Sure," Betty gasped out. "Plenty of room for four."
As they climbed into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind them, Angela's tits touched the small of Harry's back. They activated him, as Betty's vaginal muscles were doing, into another burgeoning erection, for he could feel his main machine start to come to life again.
Angela and Jim were now inside, and, with the water still coming down, Jim stopped blowing his flute. He was about to put the flute outside, when Angela grabbed it, and, smiling like a mischievous Girl Scout, tried to stick it up Harry's ass.
"Hold on!" Jim said sternly. "That flute cost me over a thousand bucks!"
He grabbed it back from her, and placed it out-side, away from the danger of water. Angela, piqued, quickly got down on her knees and took Jim's cock into her mouth ... and bit it, right by the foreskin.
Not a love bite, but a bite like chomping into a piece of raw meat.
"Ouch!" Jim cried.
He grabbed her by the hair, forcing her back against the far end of the shower stall. Still holding her hair, his cock still inside her mouth, he said, as he could feel himself coming, "Bite me again, bitch, and I'll pull every last goddam hair out of your head until you're bald as a baby!"
She got the message and, heeding Jim's advice, let her mouth membranes, not her teeth, do the talking as Jim, his sperm spurting into her throat, exploded in a spasmodic series of climaxes, each one more powerful than the one before. His cock blasted off like a cannon inside her mouth. She could feel her own cunt juices churning, as she eagerly gulped down his juice, forgetting the pain and strain from his grip on her hair.
Harry, meanwhile, had finished fucking Betty. At least, as soon as he saw what Angela was now doing. He pulled out of Betty's pussy while he still had most of his erection left.
Betty started to complain. But Harry, his cock still ejaculating, shoved aside the shower curtain, grabbed Jim's flute, and rammed it -- again, mouth-piece first -- into Betty's cunt. Betty, feeling the cold metal urge her on to greater moments of lust, grabbed the flute, almost exactly as Angela had done previously, and began to fuck herself with it.
Harry, figuring it was was now or never, crawled over to Angela. Luckily, Jim seemed preoccupied enough with having her suck his cock not to notice Harry coming along like a submarine from the depth of the sea. Like a horny dog, Harry shoved his cock into her cunt in one long, strong thrust that rammed her back against the wall again, breaking Jim's grip on her long, red hair.
Harry could finally get the fucking he was entitled to.
CHAPTER FOUR
"OH, HAR-RY, YOU'RE REALLY TURNING ME ON ... OH, GET YOU TONGUE IN DEEP-ER... DEEPER ..."
It was the Wednesday, following the party at Jim and Betty's, and Angela was giving Harry a little eye-opener this morning. Her version of a Bloody Mary. That is, a non-bloody but plenty of wet Angela's cunt, which Harry was engrossed in the process of engulfing.
Harry was squatting on the mattress they called bed, his legs flat, his back and torso arching upward, almost at a 90� angle from the floor, his hands gripped firmly around the soft, yielding flesh of Angela's lovely ass. His mouth was clamped firmly over her cunt, his nose nuzzling her taut clit, his tongue playing prick inside her foaming pussy, reaming and creaming her pussy membranes with a series of stabbing tongue strikes that had her dancing for joy.
Yes, dancing.
Angela was doing her thing again, as if this was a regular morning exercise with her. She was standing on the mattress, her legs spread for balance, her hands placed on her hips, swaying her torso in circular, sensuous motions, and swinging her head like it was mounted on ball bearings. Her long dark-red hair was streaming and whirling sexily around her head. Her breasts were feeling full and nourishing, her nipples as taut as her clit. She could feel the surging liquid inside her cunt, as Harry's tongue was indeed turning her on into orgasmic and dancing bliss.
Her back buckled as she kept up her wild, waving movements. If Harry could see, like a periscope, around her hips, he would notice that her buttocks were like two round mounds of a gelatin substance.
The aroma of pussy juice was filling his nostrils, as the reality of the same stuff was now pouring into his open mouth. He lapped greedily away with his tongue, touching all the parts of her pussy membranes his tongue could get at, and at the same time trying to swallow all of the foaming stuff he could handle. His Adam's-apple was bobbing up and down at regular intervals, as the delicious juice went slipping down his throat. He could taste it, mixed with her perspiration; he could smell it, mixed with her divine body aromas; he could feel it, mixed with the ticklish sensation of her pubic hairs around the edges of his lips.
Harry's cock was coming along nicely, too.
It was throbbing with intensity, having recently reached roughly a ninety percent level of erection. His balls were straining in the confines of their scrotum, the foreskin on his monument of manliness pulled back all the way, the tip ready to burst open like a ripening flower. He would have to hold it -a little longer, though; that is, if he wanted to get his money's worth of fucking, he would. Sucking first, fucking second; so it seemed this morning.
Angela, feeling Harry's tongue driving her into new heights of ecstasy, shuddered with bliss as she continued her dancing movements. Some of her movements seemed to be loosening Harry's mouth-grip on her cunt, so she shifted her hands from her hips to Harry's hair, grabbing fistfuls of his thick brown hair in her fingers, trying in effect to pull his head even closer to her cunt, so that his tongue might trowel in that much further.
"FUCK ME WITH YOUR TONGUE, HARRY," SHE CRIED, HER VOICE PASSIONATE IN ITS EXCITED RESONANCE. "COME ON, NARY, FUCK ME REAL GOOD, I KNOW YOU CAN!"
Her dancing, it seemed, was slowing down, like a top coming to the end of its spin. Now, her body was moving more in one particular direction, toward Harry, so that her pussy could get into maximum skin contact with her man. She felt his fingernails digging into her flesh, that so-soft, velvety skin covering on her buttocks that was one of her sensitive areas. A little too tough, he was holding her. She took one hand from his hair and let her fingernails do some scratching across his knuckles, giving him the message to ease up on his grip. Even in his juice-gulping joy, he felt the message, loosened his fingers so that his grip was still firm, but not lacerating as it previously was.
She was just completing another orgasm when Harry, apparently having drunk his fill, pulled out.
He released his mouth from her pussy lips like a rubber suction cup being pulled away from its surface. He licked the dripping pussy juice from her cunt, then let his tongue slurp along his lips and chin. She was still holding on to his hair, but he grabbed her hands and said, almost gurgling out the words, "Goddam it, Angela, get down. ... get your ass down here, so I can get my dick inside you.
She heard.
But, she teased him a little by tugging that much harder at his hair, trying in effect, to make him do the moving, to get up himself and come to her be-fore he could come in her.
Harry wasn't buying that, no, not the way liis rod felt.
He grabbed hold of her again, his fingers having slipped off her perspiring hands before. This time, he got a better grip on her wrists, and pulled her down toward himself. He also moved his knees so as to collide with her ankles, causing her to lose her balance a little, and sort of slide down, spreading her legs in a straddle, so that her cunt came into contact with his cock.
She shuddered convulsively as his flat, wide head hit her clit, and she felt the immediate electric jolt that flowed throughout her nervous system. Her orgasmic motions increased, she could feel her cunt convulsing again as he diddled her clit with his dick. He felt the slim, erect appendage shivering with contact with him, and he knew he was really giving her a good sexual shock.
Then, he got his hands on her breasts.
Digging his fingers -- but not his fingernails this time -- into her quivering flesh, he got hold of her big boobs by their tops, his thumbs diddling with her nipples and making her vibrate with exultation that much more. As he pulled her closer, so that she was, in effect, straddling him, he moved his cock so that it rubbed against her cunt lips. Then, giving her a few more thrills by manipulating those lips, trying to stretch them out into the shape of an "0," he got his cock at the entrance of her cunt, and rammed it inside.
She let out a great, gurgling scream as Harry, bracing his haunches and back against the mattress, rammed his instrument all the way in, inch by inch, in one long, continuous motion. He felt her pussy membranes opening up to allow him unrestricted passage, felt her body shuddering that much more in the throes of lust. Her tits felt beautiful, like two ripe tomatoes in his hands. He kept on driving, feeling her magnificent responses, until his cock was securely jammed tightly inside her cunt.
She was thrashing wildly, almost knocking the both of them off balance, as he thrust himself inside her, straining to keep himself from falling back-wards. His cock twitched as if it had a separate life of its own, as her orgasmic convulsions increased. She could feel his fingers manipulating her titties, and the stabs of pleasure shot through her chest, her breasts heaving, her nipples tweaking. She was overflowing like a flooded river, and her juice was dripping down her legs and onto his crotch and legs.
His cock blasted loose its heavy load of sperm, shooting straight out, in a long, steady stream, striking her sensitive membranes like a hot, burning iron. She gasped as the full force of his load hit her, and her cunt twitched and responded, clutching his cock hard in a cast-iron grip. Her body arched, and her strange dancing movements began again, as she shifted her hips simultaneously with her spastic sexual movements inside her cunt. His cock kept on shooting off its stuff, as he felt her churning responses, felt her membranes tight hold on him. He groaned with relief, and his fingers kept on twisting her tits as if he was trying to open two safes. He kept on fucking her until his prick began to soften, to lose its lovely stiffness. Slowly, as it began to become limp, he gradually pulled himself loose and, as he did so, hearing that distinctive sound of a soft "pop," he pushed her down on the mattress, so that they could lie side by side.
He was still holding onto her breasts, his crotch nuzzling at hers, as he felt her mouth moving toward his ear. He thought she was going to tongue him, as she often did, right after enjoying sex.
He was wrong.
Instead, she whispered into his ear, "You promised to take me surfing today. Remember?"
For christ's sake, he thought, what a silly-ass thing to say at a moment like this!
He started to protest. Then, he remembered; she was right, he had promised to show her some surfing tricks. He was a goddam good surfer, and plenty proud of the fact.
Now, she tongued him a little, as if implying that, after the surfing, they'd have some more sex. And, of course, she would do her take-it-off-thing, as she had done earlier this morning, before he had started eating her and screwing her.
Well, he was tired, but not knocked-out-on-his-ass tired. Sure, he'd show her some tricks; and, they wouldn't all be surfing ones, either.
Then, he hesitated.
He suddenly remembered that screwed-up Sun-day on the beach, when she'd gotten gang-banged because she'd messed around with her "stripping" routine. Would this turn out that same way again? He'd be goddamned if it would. He'd make sure the only board she surfed on would be his own broad prick. That was for sure.
"All right, Angela, let's rest up for a few minutes, and then we'll go surfing," he said, patting her ass gently. Then, he remembered something else, and said, "Hey, we haven't had breakfast yet. How about getting us some right now, OK?"
She laughed softly. She guessed that she could do that much for her man this morning.
Accordingly, she brought him some toast and jam, strawberry flavored, with a cup of black coffee. She had some sweet rolls and a glass of milk.
About an hour after breakfast, giving their food time to get settled, he got out their surfboards. They were fiberglass, smooth and highly polished: On his board was painted one word: HIS, in blood-red. On hers: HERS in bright orange.
Placing the two boards over his head like a porter, they started out walking along the beach, feeling the sand gritty but good against their toes. She was wearing one of her dozen or so bikinis, with cleavage showing, and as always, a few tufts of reddish pubic hairs poking out. His swim trunks were slim and sparse, basic black; but, if he ever got an erection, that fact would be far from remaining a private manner.
It was a cool, cloudy day; not too cool, but hardly the best beach weather, either. Normally, he thought he'd have to apply persuasion to get her to go surfing with him, because she was afraid of being bounced into water with a temperature of less than 80�. But, as she spotted the good-sized crowds -- beach ball addicts, muscle-building nuts, and just guys out for a good time and wandering around -- she felt a warm glow inside. Her clit tingled, her cunt shivered with eager anticipation. Here was a good crowd, lots of guys and more guys than girls, who could, and no doubt would, appreciate her physical charms and dancing offerings. Yes, an audience that couldn't help but make Angela happy -- and maybe make her as well.
That crowd didn't exactly make Harry happy, though.
When he saw it's size -- he figured a couple of hundred guys, not more than 50 or 60 chicks -- he sighed out loud. Well, he'd still handle things, he'd get her out on the board right now, before anybody had a chance to mess around with her.
"Come on, Angela," he said, gesturing toward the splashing surf as he dropped their boards on the sand. "You said you wanted to go surfing, so let's get going right now."
She nodded, picking up her board.
"Oh, look," she said, pointing with her head, in a direction away from the water. "Look at what that girl is doing, right in front of everybody."
Harry looked.
He didn't see anything special, just x crowd of senior citizens unpacking picnic baskets a few hundred yards away. Then, he turned toward Angela, hearing her girlish giggling as he did so. She had conned him. She was racing for the foaming surf, her board under her arm, getting a head start on him as she caught a big one and started surfing away from the shore.
He felt his cock twitch in anger, rising slightly beneath his trunks. He watched her ride the waves, her body moving in direct relationship to the shifting surges of the cool blue water. On her first surf of the day, she didn't miss a beat; like a great drummer working out, as she smoothly rode the whiplashing waves, her surfboard cresting high and her hair blowing wildly behind her.
Harry had to wait for the next wave.
And, while he was waiting, he couldn't help noticing a crowd suddenly collecting right around him. Naturally, the word was out that Angela was showing off her stuff.
"Really knows how to ride those waves, doesn't she?"
"A beautiful broad on that board, I wouldn't get bored boring her with my board, myself."
Harry felt jealousy building up within himself. Even the comments were obviously made in playful jest, his cock trembled with overtones of lust. He should be on that board with her right now, like the guy said, boring into her with his big wide board, reminding her who was paying the rent for both of them.
He saw the waves looking favorable, hoisted his board atop his head, and went running for the water. He paddled out with the tide, searching for a big one to ride home with. The waves were pretty good, and, as he'd suspected, the water was chilly, causing him to shiver for the first few minutes he was in it. Still, he didn't mind; he liked surfing almost as much as sex.
He mounted the board, catching the crest of a good-sized wave. He rode it out, catching a couple of more waves, trying to ride parallel to the shore-line, showing off some of his stuff before making the big ride into shore.
He watched Angela, standing proudly on her surfboard, heading for the shoreline. She had her breasts thrust proudly forward, her hands out-stretched for balance. He could hear the guys applauding, even over the roar of the waves. Time to swing around and head back toward the beach, be-fore anything he didn't want to happen could hap-pen.
Catching the crest of a really big one, he rode steadily, his balance poised, his hands outstretched and his knees bent in just the right angles. Yes, he was well on his way to a perfect ride, just the same kind of ride he watched Angela make as she hit the shore and was immediately surrounded by admiring male figures.
He hit a sudden surge of undertow, strong enough to suddenly pull the board downward.
His feet slipped, and he pitched face first into the surf and sand, his shoulders getting scraped by the sand on the shoreline. It could have been worse; he could have landed on his head, or even his ass.
When he finally got up, scraping sand off his skin and spitting out water, he looked around for Angela. There were only a few others surfing anyway, but he couldn't quite see her, until he staggered up to the crowd of guys and peeked over some shoulders, craning his neck to catch sight of her.
Yes, there she was.
Surrounded by men. Some of them were offering to simionize her surfboard, others to show her some intricate surfboard maneuvers. Still more, making suggestions that had nothing whatsoever to do with surfing.
Harry, using his board almost like a club, shoved his way through the throng. Confronting her, he said, a touch of irritation in his voice, "Hey, don't let all that praise go to your head. Let's do a twin surfing routine, if you really want to do something exciting." He paused, adding, with a sly wink, "I'll bet I can do it better than you."
Angela laughed, then frowned; she didn't really feel like leaving the admiring crowd quite yet. By the way she was swaying her buttocks as she spoke, Harry could see that she was in one of those exhibitionistic moods again. She usually was, anyway.
He glanced down, from force of habit, at his crotch. He didn't even have to feel it this time, he could see his equipment starting to poke through. A few fellows also noticed, and he heard familiar snickers in distinctly male inflections.
Angela, pouting at him, licked her lips, then said, "Do we have to do it right now?"
Some of the guys laughed at that comment. Sever-al others felt tremors in their trunks similar to those Harry was experiencing, as they gave out sickly smiles to disguise their discomfort -- their discomfort because they could hardly hope to rape her right on the beach, in sight of all their competition, could they?
As for Angela, she was feeling those delightful sensations of movement from her center of gravity. Her clit trembled with tautness, her cunt began to drop a few drops of liquid. Her breasts were burgeoning into ripeness beneath her bikini tops, showing a few more inches of fresh cleavage for the guys to ogle their eyes about.
Harry said nothing, just gestured for her to get going with him. She winked at him, and started to follow his lead, her board tucked underneath her arm.
Harry led her to an inlet, where they could more easily get out into the ocean, farther out. They put their boards together, one on top of the other. Their hands touching on top of the boards, they swam away from shore together.
When they were some several hundred yards out, they loosened their boards, pointed them toward shore, and climbed on top, ready to "race" each other to the shore.
At that particular place, the waves were nice and easy, the right kind of relaxed surfing waves. It was no problem to merely "float" practically all the way to shore, should they wish to do it the easy way.
Harry wished to; but, apparently not Angela.
The second she was standing on her board, she started to dance.
That is, she began to shift her body -- supposedly to better balance herself upon the surfboard -- in such an ass-twitching, hip-swiveling manner that, just from seeing such activities, he could feel his prick rising almost enough to throw him off his delicate surfboarding balance.
"For Christ's sake, Angela," he shouted over the roar of the waves. "Knock it off, will you?"
If she heard his words, she paid no attention.
As he watched, almost in horror, she unsnapped her bikini top and began to flag-wave it, exactly as she'd done countless times before. Only, never while straddling a surfboard.
Harry became so agitated that he almost lost his footing, and had to fight to stay upright, as they both surfed towards shore.
As he tried to keep his own board under control, he had to admire the way she was both surfing and shimmying at the same time. He could hardly believe she was managing such a difficult feat. She was doing it so beautifully. He felt tremors of pride, even in his prick.
He glanced toward the shoreline.
Sure enough, as he'd expected, there were a group of guys standing around, cheering her on. Some of them were clicking away with still cameras and others shooting away with movie cameras, capturing his chick's "topless" act on film forever.
It made him so mad his prick stood all the way up.
Angela was still waving her bikini top over her head, like some sort of surfing trophy. The water was gleaming like a fine mist on her beautiful breasts, their lovely, conical curves thrusting forward with great ferocity. Those beautiful breasts, whose fine, symmetrical lines had previously known only his eyes and fingers now were exposed outside his own home for the first time (he wanted to believe) to outsiders.
They were almost at the shoreline.
It was treacherous at this particular place, and Harry hunched himself down so that he wouldn't lose his balance. He made it safely, his surfboard sliding properly over the wet sand. He hopped off, just in time to see Angela, still doing her topless dance, hit the shoreline, also in perfect balance.
She hopped right off her board before it stopped coasting, still waving the bikini top. The guys gave her another huge round of applause. Some of the girls, however, were less than enthusiastic. They merely smiled thinly or nodded slightly.
Two of the "muscle men" with gigantic, bulging biceps hoisted Angela on top of their shoulders. Angela's expression was almost enigmatic, as if she was trying to act modest yet also appear excited.
"Hey, sweetheart, how about an encore?"
"Yeah, this time, take it all off!"
As if on cue, several other men began chanting, "Take it off -- take it all off!"
This kept on for a few more minutes, while Harry stood by, outside the circle of men that had closed in around his girlfriend. He wished he'd learned karate the last time he'd worked at the Y; it would have come in handy now.
As if in response to the chanting, he could hear Angela's voice rising above the crowd, as she cried, "Well, if you fellows really want me to take it all off, you've got to give me the chance ..." She laughed. "... so get the hell out of my way, will you?"
The two muscle men lowered her to the sand, clearing a path for her. She grabbed her board, and was quickly heading out to sea.
A fat girl with long braids and thick glasses, standing near Harry, tapped him on the shoulders, glancing at his crotch as she did so, and said, "That's your chick?"
He nodded.
"I wouldn't let her loose on this beach if I were you. She's dangerous to the morale of every other gal on this beach, including yours truly." Then, placing her hand right over his crotch and giving him a comradely squeeze of the balls, she whispered, "Now, if you'd like to discuss this further, why don't you come over to my place and we can ..."
She stopped suddenly; Harry had grabbed her by her floppy boobs, squeezing them nastily for several seconds. Then, he yanked her hand away from his crotch and walked away, shaking his ass in her face.
Arriving at the-shoreline, he could feel his penis still taut with excitement. He watched his girl, who now was so far out in the ocean he could barely follow her without binoculars.
But, when she started surfing back toward shore, he had no problem noticing that, in response to the guys' chants, she'd torn off the bottom of her bikini and was riding her surfboard naked.
The guys started up their cheering and chanting, urging Angela on, as she retained her balance and started her dancing movements again, waving her bikini bottom above her head. Luckily, the waves were gentler this time, so that, even with the wild gyrations her magnificent body was going through, she still seemed to have little difficulty in keeping her balance on the board.
However, Harry was having difficulty keeping his. His emotional balance; and, his gential balance. His cock was ready to rip right through the fabric of his swimming trunks.
As Angela swooped into shore, he started toward her, feeling like grabbing and stabbing her, right on the sand, maybe even right on her own surfboard. She barely had time to step off the board before Harry jumped on the board himself, grabbed her hands, and shouted, "What the hell is the matter with you, Angela? Taking off your goddam clothes in front of all these people? You think you're working in a strip show, or something?"
Annoyed, she tried to free herself, saying, "Harry, I have nothing to hide, I'm proud of my body! So what if others look at it? I think it's a work of art, and art isn't something to be looked at in a dark museum by a bunch of old people on a Sunday
afternoon!"
As if to emphasize her artistic attitude, she thrust her breasts forward, her taut nipples now only a few inches away from Harry's goggling eyes.
Well, Harry couldn't help it, the sight of her sun-tanned, buck-naked body was driving him wild. He thrust his head forward, going down while still holding her hands, and clamped his mouth over her right breast.
He started to suck her breast, his tongue still licking at the nipple, while his lips licked hungrily at her base. She said nothing; she just stood there. There was a strange, almost hypnotic, look in her green cat's eyes, as Harry, almost out of his skull with excitement at her exposure, sucked away savagely at her tit.
She liked it, she enjoyed the expert handling he was giving her with his mouth. Her pussy juice started flowing, and her clit was as erect as Harry's cock. She could feel her pubic hairs becoming damp, deliciously so.
Harry now moved over to her left breast, as the crowd, remaining strangely silent so far, suddenly started shouting words of encouragement -- this time, to Harry.
"Give her a good bite on the boob for me, man!"
"Looks like real eating stuff, guy -- go to it!"
But, as he was doing so, a couple of mischievous guys got around on either side of him, and managed to pull down Harry's trunks so that his erect rod was fully exposed.
Dig the size of that guy's dick!"
"Yeah, it's so fucking wide I'll bet he has to back up and go through his front door sideways!"
Now Harry was embracing Angela, his hands grabbing her by her long hair, pulling hard at the roots so that her head arched back in surprise. Her mouth opened wide, the lips forming the big "0", and his tongue snaking inside that lovely mouth, he kissed her full on the lips.
As she responded with her lips squashing against his and her tongue tangling with his, his cock rubbed against her clit, setting her hips into another set of swiveling motions, her cunt lips teasing the tip of his cock. Harry shifted his own sexual gears, thrusting his cock forward, so that it lodged just inside her cunt entrance.
The crowd was really cheering, urging both of them on. If there were any cops or lifeguards around, they must have been cheering, too. At least, there were, so far, no negative comments from the crowd.
Angela, feeling Harry's cock demanding entrance, reached around his waist and grabbed his ass, driving him inside. They were both still standing, until this movement of hers, which caused Harry to slip on the still wet surfboard, falling flat on the board on his back -- with Angela still with him, only this time on top.
Now, both of them parallel to the sand, she started vibrating her body, shaking her ass, as Harry, coming into her like a submarine, got his torpedo inside his target. Her cunt closed vice-tight around his cock, and she started pumping out pussy juice, her back arching and her legs twirling about wildly in the air.
Harry, bracing his back against the board, thrust his prick inside her pussy with savage intensity. He began moving about inside her cunt. She responded with a strong orgasm, her entire body giving itself over to the thrills of sex, right on the surfboard.
As Harry was getting ready to give it to her, a couple of twins -- young, bleached-blond guys with trim figures and wide sunglasses, both smoking long black cigars -- gushed their way through the surrounding throng. They were wearing street clothes, and had the cool, tough ambience of cops. One said, "We're plainclothes police, what's going on here?" The other added, "Yeah, whatever you're all doing is illegal, and we might arrest the entire beach if this shit doesn't stop right now."
The crowds started backing away. Harry, how-ever, continued to manipulate his wide, wiggling organ inside his chick's hole, and she was really perspiring, her hair stuck to her shoulders and fell partially into Harry's face as she was fucking the living shit out of his stiff, struggling prick. He was jumping and humping, groaning with sheer exertion, not even noticing the two guys with the cigars.
"It's very much against the law," the first one said, winking at his companion.
"Not if we do it with them," the second guy chuckled, taking a thoughtful puff on his cigar.
The first one understood.
He watched the second one place his cigar into Angela's passionate, pouting mouth. Angela, feeling something long and hot inside her lips, started puffing, and a torrent of smoke almost obscured her face. The first guy then stuck his cigar between her lips, so that she had a cigar in each corner of her mouth.
The first guy glanced down at his crotch, which was beginning to reveal a strongly burgeoning erection. He said to his companion, "This gal is turning me on, I guess. What should I do about that?"
"Same thing I'm going to do," his companion commented, also noticing his own pants being pegged outward as his own prick was growing. "Just do my duty, that's all."
As if rehearsed, in unison, both guys unzipped their flies, and twin cocks popped out, blue-veined and limber, pink-tipped and tumescent, just about ready for the ultimate thrill; on duty or off.
Angela, almost coughing with the twin cigars, did not like to let go. Even though tobacco instead of skin and muscle, she still loved the feel of anything shaped like a cock inside her mouth. Puffing and coughing, she set up blue clouds of concealment for what the so-called cops were going to do next.
The first one put his cock right into her right ear and, bracing himself with both feet, started to fuck her. The second one got her in the left ear, and began to jab and stab with his dick, both of them now making strange sounds in their throat and feeling their balls stretching to the breaking point as their instruments got ready to shoot off a load.
Angela, now feeling herself being fucked in four separate entrances simultaneously, was wriggling, her back arching, her entire body vibrating with visions of an army of stiff, swinging cocks marching into her in close formation, a sort of military-like fucking fantasy that was becoming etched in her brain. She dropped the cigars, though; the smoke was just too much for her. Her mouth gasped life-giving air, like a fish flopped out on the beach and baking in the sun.
The twin coppers came simultaneously, and she felt steaming sperm jerking her head this way and that, as each came in such a rhythm that her entire head was shaking from the power of their twin
pricks.
Harry, meanwhile, had got some of the fallout, some hot ashes sprinkled on his back, from the cigars. He screamed as his skin scorched, and this caused him to let loose his load.
In a series of sharp, short bursts, he spilled forth a fistful of sperm into her twitching pussy. Its membranes opening and closing like her mouth was doing, clutching his cock with lustful abandon. At the same time, his mouth sought hers out, his teeth giving her fast, poignant love bites on her upper lips, his tongue then slipping inside and connecting with her own. She felt his tongue stabbing at her mouth membranes, while the splashing sperm from the twins poured into her ears and streamed down the sides of her sweating face. Harry's dick was still banging away, not wanting to quit, as he felt her forever-fascinating vaginal muscles massaging his member in one of her never-ending orgasms, crushing his cock in that live-giving, sex-loving embrace he had learned to know, and love, so well.
Though Harry wasn't sure, he thought he felt, rather than heard, Angela's vocal chords trying to form a word. If he was correct, there was only one word she could have conceived of uttering.
"More ... more ... MORE ..."
CHAPTER FIVE
"Harry, if you can't, or won't bring in some money, then I'm going to have to go to work!"
What a time for a squabble between this loving couple. Angela aggressively stated her situation -- right at the breakfast table. It was really a card table, its top stained with wine spills and egg yolks.
Harry, sipping his tepid coffee, started to say something. Angela didn't let him, continuing her tirade with, "Do you know our bank balance is only $112.47?"
"No shit," Harry mumbled.
"No shit, Harry, that's exactly what it is. Now, if you aren't going to get a job ..."
"All right!"
Anything to stop her screaming; he had a splitting headache from the night before. Wine was fine, but too much wasn't, and he loved his Gallo burgundy, gulped straight from a gallon jug.
Harry thought, let her get a goddam job then, it's all right with me, I'll just go surfing and swimming, then when she gets tired of nine-to-five, I'll get something set up in the fall, maybe I can teach at U.C.L.A., underwater sports or something like that ...
"Harry!" she said, shoving her breasts toward him in both an aggressive and suggestive manner. She was only wearing the bottom half of her halter, and her tittles almost came close enough to put out his eyes. "Starting today, I'm going out and look for a job."
He looked her in the eyes.
Those cool green orbs were slotted and slanted, almost forming green fire. She really looked both dangerous and sexy, and that was turning him on, even during breakfast. He could feel an erection forming, beneath his battered blue jeans and boxer shorts. He glanced back at her boobs again, noticing the fresh pinkness of her nipples as they stuck out like little fingers from the dark tan of her breasts. She'd been doing some sunning without her bikini, and though the process wasn't quite complete, he could see that it wouldn't be long before her tan would be quite even all over her soft skin.
Jokingly, Harry moved his mouth toward her right breast, and his teeth chomped air as his mouth, teeth, and lips clamped together just an inch or two from her erected nipple.
She frowned, first; then, she smiled, letting her tongue sneak out and lick the corner of her mouth. She could tell she was turning him on again, so why not do a dance, say, a special breakfast dance?
She stood up from the table, backing away like a ballerina, moving on her toes with delicacy -and grace, her flame-red hair falling sexily over her shoulders and some of it caressing her breasts. She dropped her voice an octave or two, m the murmuring huskily, "I'm going to become a stripper -- on
Sun-set Strip."
Harry almost swallowed coffee grounds at that comment. As he got up, going for a glass of water, she continued, "Do you know how much I can earn a week, Harry? With only two shows a night, five days a week? Do you know how much? Do you?"
Harry was gulping down cold water; he couldn't, and didn't, reply.
"Two hundred dollars, with tips! That's how much, and it's a lot of money, isn't it, Harry? I'm going after it, too." She paused, to make some motions toward her bottoms. "Right this second, I'm going after it."
He could feel his erection growing with every word she said. His balls were banging into each other inside their sack of skin, and he could feel his foreskin peeling itself back like a ripe fruit ready for eating. He unzipped his fly, and his wide, wiggling rod leaped out. She pretended not to notice, as she continued removing her bottoms, all the while shimmying her hips and shaking her torso in an evocative movement, her hair whirling round about her head, her legs hardly moving as she dropped her bottoms to the floor and, doing a quick leap away from her hot, hustling boyfriend, stood nude right in front of him.
Harry noticed, despite her attempted disclaimer, that her eyes were now following the movements of his prick, as he, in imitation of her movements, began to swing it like a club, in long, circular motions in front of him, while moving steadily in her direction. He caught the slightest flick of her tongue, licking at her pouting lips. He said, with a touch of sarcasm, "If that's all the stripping you'll be doing, the �club owner must be the world's greatest sucker, or else you'll get fired after the first five seconds."
She didn't reply; instead, she danced out of the room, Harry followed a few feet behind her. Into the bedroom they went, her haunches shaking haughtily in front of his face. She gave a stunning leap, her breasts and arms thrusting forward in perfect balance, over the mattress in their bedroom. Standing by the wall, she shook her crotch into his face, her pubic hairs becoming damp with juice, as, playfully, she put her thumb on her clit and started to play with herself, feeling those lustful, lovely electric thrills zapping throughout her nervous system as she did so.
Still wearing his pants and shorts Harry bounded across the mattress after her. He was trying to do a dance of his own, a sort of rapid shuffle, hands out-stretched like his prick, legs pumping like the L.A. Rams' running back.
As she tried to duck him, her foot slipped on a towel discarded on the floor. Before she could go down, Harry had her in his arms, his chest rubbing eagerly against her titties, feeling their fullness and the tautness of those nipples pricking his skin, feeling his cock rubbing against her cunt lips.
As he pulled her toward the mattress -- both of them still on their feet -- he felt her hand release itself from her clit and grab hold of his cock, stroking the underside of his balls. Both of them were still moving, doing a sort of tango on the. mattress, as Harry got his hands around her shoulders, and pulled hard, trying to get sufficient leverage to shove his cock right up her cunt.
She felt him doing that; though, she didn't try any tricks, as she often did. She seemed to feel that it was shock enough for him, her deciding to go to work at, of all things, stripping. Better to humor him now, let him do his thing with her the way he wanted to. After all -- she liked fucking him as much as he did with her, didn't she?
Her hands slipped around his waist, and her fingernails dug deeply into his ass. He could feel them almost drawing blood, and the jolt was sufficient to force his movement forward, to give his prick a stiff shove into her pussy. Ah yes, her pussy, now damp from stimulation, her lips parting wide as his masculine monster came slipping inside, slowly but steadily, both of them holding each other close, ever closer, as their bodies intertwined, still moving, still grooving, together.
Now -- all the way in!
He gave a thrust that almost lifted her off her feet. She grabbed hold of him all the harder, to keep from falling on her ass. Her breasts were crushing so hard against his chest she could feel his curly hairs scratching her sensitive skin, could feel him crushing the breath from her. She moved her mouth toward his shoulder, giving him a touch of tiny love bites along his shoulder blades, slowly moving along until she was biting him on the neck, just below his ear. Then, her teeth nibbled his earlobe, and her mouth clamped hold of his ear and her tongue snaked in-side, tantalyzing his eardrum, as she stabbed and sucked at his ear, so deftly that he could almost hear strange sounds, like a seashell was against his ear instead of her probing tongue and clamping mouth.
She was coming now, partially from self-stimulation, partially from Harry's probing, stabbing dick,, which was working out on her pussy membranes like a shovel in soft mud. She felt her haunches heave, as her orgasm began, and the love juice started pouring out of her pussy. She could feel it running down her legs, as he could feel it water-falling down his legs. The jabbing and stabbing of his cock was almost bending her backwards, as she fought to keep her balance, her feet now solidly stationary, but her back arching, her ass wiggling, as she silently prayed for him to pour it on, pour it in her.
He felt her responses, the thrills vibrating along
his nerves, his skin tingling with sexual anticipation. Well, she might strip for other guys, but she'd never funk for them, he thought; conveniently forgetting the Jim and Betty shower scandals, the beach hangings. Those didn't count; only what he and she did, that's what counted.
She was coming to the crest of an orgasm, her body now buckled toward him as if her spine was curved, her vaginal muscles straining to set him off, her body bathed in perspiration and pussy juice. She
wanted him -- right now!
So, he let her have what she wanted so badly.
With great exertion, he fired off his rod, stabbing her hole with sperm, feeling her pussy twitching as its juicy, wet membranes clutched his cock. He could feel her titties trying to puncture his chest, her tongue digging into his ear. She moaned from deep in her throat, a moan of exultant joy, as she felt the steady, unwavering stream of his sperm enter her. They both braced their legs as best as they could, to keep their balance, to stay on their two feet while still fucking.
Gradually; his orgasms diminished, and her spasms tapered off. They were both drenched in sweat and come juice, shuddering from the energies of their exertions, holding tightly to each other as always, their skins both tingling with the touch of each other's fine bodies.
Harry thought maybe he'd helped her to forget, while they were fucking, about this sillyass idea of getting a job in a strip show.
He thought wrong.
As she removed her tongue from his ear and he pulled out his prick from her pussy, she said, "I think I'm going to get the job, I can feel it in my bones."
Harry, a little disappointed -- he thought she'd felt his flying fuckstick, more than anything else -- said, "What the hell are you talking about?"
"The stripper's job, of course."
"What stripper's job?"
"The stripper's job I was talking to you about a few minutes ago -- remember?" She paused, while Harry gulped, then she added, "I'm auditioning for the club owner tonight. If he likes my stuff, the job's mine."
"Great," was all he could say, as he reached for a towel to dry both of them off.
"At two and a quarter a week, too. Better than I expected." She touched his crotch, her fingernails gently scratching at the underside of his scrotum. "Harry, aren't you happy someone in this house is going to work?"
Remembering the near-empty refrigerator and the stack of unpaid bills stuffed into a bureau drawer, he nodded, though with no great show of excitement. He thought that the beach bits had been bad enough; but now, even more exposed in public, especially to people who'd be paying to see her -- like prostitution!
When he looked around again, she was gone.
She had taken off to visit friends, he'd guessed. He did the same thing himself, from time to time. Nothing unusual about that. Though -- she could have said something.
Having nothing better to do, he spent the day surfing. The waves were fine, he enjoyed himself, and also noticed a slight increase in the number of teenyboppers hanging around the beach, looking horny and hot for fucking. He just might check some of that stuff out, if Angela ended up doing her thing all night long, with him just sitting home and sip-ping cheap wine and staring at four walls. No thanks, not for him.
When she returned, just before sunset, she asked him to cook dinner, since she had to devote all her energies for her "audition." He did; nothing better than hamburgers, either.
Later, they walked the long walk to the bus stop, and took a bus to the Sunset Strip, a long hour's ride. Harry was one of the less than two percent L.A. residents who didn't own wheels. Next thing I know, he thought, she'll take her money -- if she gets the job -- and get suckered into a used car instead of paying off our bills.
When they finally got off the bus, they had to walk about five blocks until they arrived at the Kit-ten Club, the place where Angela was going to "strip." It was in the middle of the block, not crushed together with boutiques, bars, coffee houses and other clubs, as were most places on the Strip. It was set off by itself, with a neon sign dangling from the entrance and pictures of the featured females posted prominently in the front windows.
As they entered, Harry noticed the cavernous dimensions of the club. No small time strip joint, it looked as if its capacity was about 2,000. A five-piece band was warming up, and a group of girls were sitting in the wings, awaiting their turn to "take it off."
Angela walked right over to one of three men who were sitting around, craftily checking out the girls. As she introduced herself, Harry noticed that the men -- tough-looking, typical showbiz-type guys -- couldn't help but ogle Angela a bit more than they'd glanced at the other girls, and one of them even nodded several times as her tits swung into his line of vision.
The other girls were a good-looking group; they grow them that way in California, nice and natural-looking, as healthy as were hot-pantsed. Still, there was something about Angela that seemed to set her apart from the rest. Her perfect posture, her burnished red hair, her cat-green eyes ... something special, and the men picked up on it fast.
And, the fact of their interest seemed to affect Harry in one particular, though not peculiar, way.
He started getting a hardon.
An envious erection; he could feel his prick stiffen inside his pants as one of the three men -- a short, balding guy with a thick mustache and a fat cigar gestured for them to sit down and wait their turn. Then, the same guy turned to the girls, pointed at one, and barked out, "OK, Stella by Starlight, your turn to show us what you've got!"
A very tall blonde with tremendous tits, stood up and swiveled on stage, the twin round mounds of her ample ass heaving as if a volcanic eruption was due in that vicinity. She smiled at the men like a hungry shark, shook her ass contemptuously at the other girls, and started going into her dance as the bandleader gave his men the downbeat.
The music was a well-played stripper's theme that Harry had heard countless times before.
The blonde was wearing a harem outfit, sheer V-neck blouse and pants, her hair done in a long ponytail, and a pair of Turkish slippers on her feet. At the music's first note, she began to twirl like a baton, doing a spinning top routine; on both feet first, then one foot, then one foot after the other. While spinning, she untied her hair, and it became a swirling blur about her head and shoulders as she poured on the passion into her dance.
The men nodded in approval.
Then, she started to unbutton her blouse while still in motion. Button by button, she got it off, and casually flipped it to the bald guy with the cigar. He caught it deftly, sniffed it a bit, then smiled, showing all his teeth.
She was not wearing a bra, and those huge boobs were pink at the nipples, brown everywhere else. Yet, large as they were, they seemed to sag by a few inches. Harry caught that, and so did the bald guy, who furrowed his forehead into a frown, as he also spotted a few wrinkles the girl's whirling dervish speed couldn't conceal.
She kicked off her slippers, almost socking the three men with them. They didn't like that one bit.
She began dancing slower, but still in time to the music, squatting lower toward the floor as she wiggled her ass almost in the men's faces. Then, she started unzipping her harem pants; as they dropped to the floor, she jumped out of them and gave the three men a spectacular bow, her fits almost touching their lips.
That bit held the men's interest with no trouble at all. Harry's, too; his erection was growing every second.
Next, she went into some additional gyrations that popped off her panties without her even touching them. This time, the men applauded; they'd apparently never seen that trick before. But, before she could go into a cunt-twisting routine -- the men had spotted her pussy, and while it looked large, the lips seemed droopy and the clit was hanging as loosely as a bent cigaret -- the bald guy said, abruptly, "OK, that's all for now, you can put your stuff back on."
Angrily shaking her ass in his face, she picked up her clothes and joined the group of girls again.
Harry was perspiring now, his heart beating faster, his blood pressure up ten points. The three men huddled together in close, private discussion. Then, the bald guy -- Angela whispered to Harry that he was the senior partner, name of Jack Johnson -- gestured toward Angela and said, "OK, sweetheart, let's see you do your stuff. Maybe you can be more subtle than that other broad, if you get what I mean."
As Angela walked over to center stage, it was obvious she knew exactly what Jack Johnson meant.
She had stuffed herself into the tightest-fitting black pants suit any of them had ever seen; it fit her beautiful body as close as a second skin. The effect, when she walked around, was breathtaking. Harry heard the low whistles that seeped from the three men -- and even a few admiring murmurs from the girls -- as Angela, smiling sweetly at the bandleader, went into her routine.
But, there was nothing routine about her movements.
She started by unzipping the top of her pants suit, and as she moved, her bare breasts popped out like peas from a pod. The men couldn't help but notice, in comparison to the blonde, how Angela's tits were solid and perfectly-formed. In fact, she deliberately thrust them into the men's faces. Harry nervously noticed that Jack Johnson stuck out his tongue, as if to lick her nipples, before Angela whipped them out of his mouth's reach.
Her bumps and grinds were coming on as sophisticated as a Hawaiian hula, and her movements seemed as precisely choreographed- as a ballet. Her ass was like grass as it moved in perfect time with the music. Harry's hardon was getting seriously stiff as, unzipping the bottom of her pants suit, Angela revealed that she hadn't bothered to wear panties.
The men let out some long, loud whistles, and there were even a few shouts of encouragement from the girls. Angela took the top part of her pants suit and began making motions, enacting the part of a bullfighter with a cape, waving it at the men, then covering her front with it, draping it coyly about herself like a flag.
The drummer gave out with several uncalled-for cymbal flourishes, throwing the rest of the band off stride.
Harry could hear the men muttering among themselves, apparently favorably inclined toward the
show they were seeing. He himself was also admiring her flawless performance, the way her body molded itself to the music, as she started doing some complicated twirls and gyrations even he had never seen before.
Before she had finished, the three men were applauding lustily. She was so taken that she kissed each one on the cheek, starting with the other two men, then to Johnson, whom she smacked right on top of his bald spot.
That did it.
Johnson, shouting loudly, "You're hired!", got; up from his chair fast, stripping off his own clothes as he did so. The other men stared, a few girls gasped; but, the bald man moved with amazing speed and grace. Now naked, all could see that his cock, no small appendage, was just as stiff and swinging as Harry's. Big Jack began an erotic pas-de-deux with Angela, and Harry noticed, with mounting anger, that she did nothing to discourage him.
Then, as Harry swiveled his head toward the other girls, he noticed that the blonde was fuming, her face flame-red. She quickly took off her clothes again and headed for the dancing floor, ready to give Angela some competition.
Harry, not even thinking about what he was doing, suddenly whipped off his clothes in seconds and got up to follow the building crowd. He intercepted the blonde -- by accident more than design -- just as Jack Johnson started to screw his girl.
Harry's girl, Angela!
Jack grabbed her by the breasts and, holding on tight, started to slip his prick inside her pussy. Angela seemed to offer no objection; indeed, she slowed her dancing down so that the bald man could more easily get inside. Her smile was enigmatic, as she, felt his cock stabbing at her cunt lips, triggering ott spasms in her clit, and finally gaining entrance and shoving its unasked way inside her now-quivering cunt, aroused by both the sensuousness of her erotic, exotic movements and the unalterable fact of Jack's jamming his weapon into her.
They started to make it while still standing; and, still dancing. Jack had removed his hands from her boobs and slipped them around her waist, while she had grabbed him by his ample ass and was pulling so hard that he had no trouble at all falling inside, right up to the hilt.
Harry could see the sweat forming on both of them, hear their grunts and groans, see their bodies digging into each other. It made him mad enough to fuck. To fuck anything, including a tree.
And, remember -- the blonde bitch was right beside him.
She suddenly dropped to the floor, on her knees. She opened her mouth, and clamped her thick, slobbering lips over his click. He was still moving, dancing in his anger, trying to dance off his anger, as she adjusted her intense rhythms to his. The band was still keeping the right, tight beat, as the blonde's lips lapped away at Harry's prick, as if she was both a flute player and a cocksucker, her lips making unheard music with his instrument.
The girls were still gasping with surprise; but, not knowing what to do. They did nothing. The two men, perhaps afraid to interfere in their partner's private matters, let Jack alone as he drove harder into Angela's pussy. Angela, feeling his intense energies and huge rod, started going into her first orgasm of the evening.
The sight of her making it with another man drove Harry into a frenzy, almost a fury. The blonde cunt could feel his cock vibrating with the lust of the unsatisfied man. Still in strict tempo, she drew Harry's dick almost all the way inside her throat, as her juicy mouth was masticating his sperm-stuffed rod.
Harry, looking downward, noticed her droopy boobs., His chick's were ten times better, ten times more solid, he thought; but, he grabbed them any-way, feeling his fingers slipping into their fleshy mounds as if they were made of gelatin. He could smell her pussy juice and feel her going into her own orgasm, as his balls swelled up to bursting and his prick shuddered in ecstasy until ... he came.
His shivering, shuddering prick twitched with almost-spastic exertions as his sperm shot into her thirsty, sucking mouth. She gulped greedily, her mouth membranes wet with her saliva and his sperm, her throat bobbing as he kept on pouring a steady stream of his joy juice into her insatiable mouth. He grabbed hold of her hair, but it felt coarse to his touch. He couldn't reach her boobs, so he braced himself with his hands on her shoulders, as she lapped, gulped, and swallowed his stuff, making gurgling, coughing sounds as she did so.
As Angela, her orgasmic interludes becoming one long continuous come, her cunt twitching and shaking with violent energies, her back arched and her hair streaming down her shoulders, felt Jack's cock erupt with rat-a-tat-tat explosions, each one more explosive then the preceding one. He felt her big boobs pricking his damp, hairy chest. She could feel him coming like a flood, and she couldn't help noticing that his prick was a little longer than Harry's, though not so wide nor quite so complete in its coverage. Still, the fuck he was fucking her was a good goddam fuck, and that was all that mattered.
And Harry, his cock still being sucked almost of its skin by the blonde's ravenous mouth, could hear Jack gasping, between orgasms, his verbal seal of approval on Angela, as he said, "You're a fantastic fuck ... and a fantastic stripper ... you've got this fucking job, baby ... starting right now!"
CHAPTER SIX
With her new job, Angela, as Harry expected, worked quite late in the evening. More like early in the morning, until past two. And Harry, who liked to get up early -- about nine, to get in some surfing before the sun's rays became unbearable -- found him-self, more and more, doing his surfing solo.
There was plenty of stray pussy catting around the beach, and Harry, with his taste in teenyboppers, could have had his pick, if not his fill. Yet, he felt funny without Angela for the first few days, and didn't bother to avail himself of the available stuff.
One fine, sunny morning, at about noon, he had just finished catching a near-perfect wave, several hundred yards out, and rode it right to the shore, successfully navigating his surfboard right into the sand and still standing up at the end.
As he climbed off the board and prepared to paddle out to sea again for another try, he heard the syrupy tones of what sounded like a Top-40 radio commercial announcer comment, "A very good ride, Harry, I must say. You have evidently been putting in plenty of practice since our last meeting, it seems."
Harry knew exactly who it was before he turned around.
Big Bill.
Big Bill was one of the best surfers in and around L.A., a tall, extremely handsome guy with lank blond hair bleached almost straw-white from the California sun. His expressive, oval face was lean, his features aristocratic, his blue eyes almost the same shade as the Pacific Ocean itself, cool yet indicating great depths of warmth. He was built like the former college footballer he once was, with broad, sloping shoulders and long, tapered legs. It was no surprise that he was one of the most successful cocksmen in all the counties around Southern California. Any-thing he spotted that looked as if he could fuck it, he did, no questions asked and no quarters given.
He was usually at the beach every clay, being a most excellent surfer. His family was wealthy. Unlike Harry, he didn't work because he didn't have to. And, also unlike Harry, he was usually surrounded by a retinue of chicks.
As he was today.
However, he had broken away from them temporarily to talk to Harry. As Harry mumbled a "Hi, Bill, yeah, I get a lot of practice at a lot of things," he wondered if he should make a play for one of Big Bill's chicks, not wanting the big blond to monopolize all the stuff, even though his balls belonged, still, to Angela's most musical cunt.
"How is Angela, Harry? It has been a long time since I was able to admire her exquisite beauty in person." He paused, showing gleaming white teeth as he smiled and added, "From a safe distance, of course."
The girls tittered; even Harry had to laugh. Big Bill was so warm and friendly, so cool and sophisticated, a real right guy. Should he really tell him, Harry wondered? Should he?
"Uh ... Big Bill, can I talk to you ... in private?"
Big Bill turned his 100-watt smile on the girls, and said, "If you lovely ladies will please excuse me, I shall return shortly. Please do not leave the beach without my signed seal of approval."
Then, he and Harry walked over to one of the concession stands, where he bought Harry an orange drink. Harry, keeping his voice low, told him about Angela's new career.
Big Bill nodded, saying, "Well, Harry, I am not saying that stripping is the most artistic occupation around. On the other hand, it could easily lead to more lucrative offers. Perhaps movies, or television, if she were lucky enough to attract the right parties who might take an interest in her career."
Harry seemed to nod, as he sipped the cool orange drink.
Big Bill looked skyward, as if thinking profound thoughts. Then, looking at Harry again, he said, "I would like to see Angela perform. That is, if you have no objection to taking me as your guest to this place where she works. Is that all right with you, Harry? Would you mind terribly?"
Harry, both startled and flattered, mumbled, "Why ... yeah, sure ... if you really want to . like, tonight, I guess ... if you can tear yourself away from all the stray snatch you've collected."
"For you and Angela, Harry, it will be my plea-sure."
And thus, Harry and Big Bill, that same evening, found themselves traveling companions. In Big Bill's plush white Cadillac convertible, instead of a stinking, scummy bus. A double pleasure for Harry, too, for Big Bill had promised to pick up the entire tab for their night out.
After they arrived, they stayed through the complete show. Big Bill seemed suitably impressed that Angela was, in effect, the star of the show, though her billing did not so indicate. Her stage name was billed as Raunchy Rita. Hardly a title Harry would have chosen; yet; considering the additional refinements she now had, most appropriate.
For Angela was doing her strip-tease act as the roughest, bluest, most suggestive put-on and take-off Harry had ever seen before, and he'd seen plenty of strippers during his short, though active, life. Her act was so strong that not only did Harry get a hardon and keep it throughout the show, but also Big Bill really had trouble keeping the knife-edged crease in his suit pants from being destroyed by his dick.
After the show, they went backstage.
They had to wait around while Angela signed autographs, accepted gifts, and in general played the role of show business celebrity to the hilt. But, when the last fan, had finally been accommodated, Angela shooed everyone out of her dressing room, except for Harry and Big Bill.
She seemed to give her full attention especially to Big Bill.
As Harry introduced them, Angela indicated that, yes, she certainly remembered Big Bill and his escapades upon the big board, who didn't? Big Bill turned on his toothpaste smile at that one, and Angela giggled girlishly as he looked her up and down and sideways with growing, glowing admiration in his deep blue orbs.
Harry didn't exactly feel too happy about that.
He still remembered, with subdued anger and frustration, that she had let Jack Johnson get into her that night she'd auditioned for the job. When he'd called her on it, she had glacially informed him that it had "just happened," and assured him such a situation would certainly never occur again. She had taken great pains to inform him that her relationship with Johnson was strictly employee-employer, and nothing more. Strictly business.
Sure -- strictly show business.
But, that hadn't really consoled Harry all that much. He was now at the point where he really didn't trust her; a dangerous situation for him, since Angela was still sharing his mattress. Harry thought, I'm going to have to get some advice from Big Bill, he should know what to do, he's an older guy with maybe more experience. -
Big Bill was over 30.
While Harry was letting these ruminations rummage through his mind, there was a knock at the door and a delivery boy entered with a bottle of champagne, a bucket of ice, and three glasses. After he left, Big Bill stated that the champagne was his gift, his "toast to a great artist on stage," and added, "Drink up and enjoy yourselves. This treat is on me.
They did.
As they lounged around the tiny, cramped dressing room -- they couldn't go anywhere else; Angela's second show was due to begin in less than an hour Harry noticed that Big Bill was putting away very tiny portions of the bubbly, while Angela was swigging the stuff down as if it was ice water. She's got a show to do, Harry thought, she shouldn't be guzzling the stuff like she's doing, what the hell's the matter with her.
Still, he was matching his boozing chick, glass for glass.
Since alcohol often makes its inbibers talkative, among other things, it wasn't very long before Harry and Angela were yakking effusively, with Big Bill serving as a kind of "moderator" between them. Yet, at the same time, it seemed that he was subtlely sending Angela a few messages of his own, one of the most obvious being the erection he wasn't even bothering to conceal. And Angela, judging by the feelings her nipples, her clit, and her cunt were expressing -- warm, wet, and wonderful -- whenever Big Bill's burning blue eyes focused on one of her better physical attributes, was decoding his messages most properly.
"Well, Angela," Big Bill said, casually. "What is going to be your next move?"
Angela, finishing a glassful, smiled coquettishly at him as she replied, "Well, I really don't know. I mean, I'm making good money here, and I'm certainly a popular attraction, judging by the crowds we're getting for each show. I guess I'll hit the boss for a raise in a few more months, and see what happens after that."
"That is not what I mean, Angela," Big Bill emphasized, leaning forward so that his eyes were but inches away from Angela's slotted orbs. "I'm speaking of your future career, of which this is merely a stepping stone to bigger and better endeavors. For example . . ." He paused, refilling his champagne class. He noticed Harry's hardon, even more extended and probably more suffering than his own, but made no motion, said no words, to indicate that observation, and continued, "Have you even considered moving on into acting?"
Angela's eyes lit up like a green light indicating "Go."
"Well ... I mean, I certainly enjoy performing for people. I really like being in front of an audience, if that's what you mean."
Harry cursed silently to himself. He didn't like this movie angle at all. He thought, if that shit starts going down, I'll never see her again, she'll become a world famous actress, and I'll be but one of millions of ex-boyfriends ... and what a fucking mess that'll be...
Big Bill said, firmly, "I didn't mean right now, naturally. But, perhaps later, maybe a few months from now, when you have really made your name and reputation, as a cult figure around Hollywood ..." He paused to sip his champagne, noticing Angela's lovely breasts heaving, her cleavage showing through, as if she was hanging on his every word; and, she was. He amplified, "No pornographic pictures, of course. But, a solid, substantial second or third part, one where you can become noticed, and no telling how far you could go from such a role. Think about that, Angela. Just think about it, if you would."
Angela, her eyes now gleaming like polished jade, replied with great intensity, "I really hadn't thought about it quite that way ... but, from now on, I certainly will. You're really a very smart man, Big Bill. That's a marvelous suggestion!" She winked at him, licking her lips slightly, as she slurred slightly, due to the effects of the champagne, "I just might ... take you up . on that ... one day ... soon ..."
Harry, his erection ready to tear through his shorts and rip open his fly with it's sheer strength, knew, desparingly, exactly what she meant. That she wanted to take Big Bill down, not up; down into her fucking bed, nowhere else.
As for Big Bill, his prick was rigid like a snake stretching itself, as he felt it pressing eagerly against the tightness, the confines of his pants. He mentally ordered it to go back to sleep, for Angela had the message, and Big Bill was basically a decent sort of fellow. He hated to cuckold his friends, especially right in front of them. But, Angela had accomplished a rare feat, really turning him on so strongly and so effectively that he now knew, despite his intellectual disclaimers, that he had to get that beautiful body of hers into the sack sometime, and the sooner, the better.
"And you too, Harry," Big Bill quickly added.
"Huh?" Harry sputtered into his champagne.
"I mean it," Big Bill emphasized. "You have a good body and excellent physical coordination. Why, I have seen you surfing hundreds of times. You and Angela make a well-matched couple. You might consider going into show business yourself. Perhaps as a Master of Ceremonies, if you enjoy being out front. Or, if not, you could always become her business manager. That way, you could stay together, no matter what happens to Angela and her career. Think about that, Harry. Just think about it."
Harry did.
His eyes narrowed, as he felt more bubbling, refreshing champagne slide down his throat. What Big Bill had just said made a lot of sense. He'd always thought Big Bill was a right guy, and here he was, doing Harry a badly-needed favor. Yeah ... business manager ... get his hands on Angela's money ... that sounded just great ...
What he did not know, nor did Angela, was that Big Bill had planned things exactly the way they were going.
Despite his obvious erection, he had wanted both Angela's and Harry's suspicions concerning his interests to be dulled and diverted. He was, at the moment, simply marking time, waiting for both Harry and Angela to get good and soused on the champagne.
Harry, who could really hold it, was still fairly sober. However, Angela, whose capacity was considerably less, was now feeling the effervescence of the champagne coursing throughout her veins, and it seemed to stimulate her into doing an informal "rehearsal" for her next show.
That is, she started to dance.
Holding the champagne glass in one hand, she stood up, and began to shimmy and shake as if she was giving both men a private audition. Big Bill started clapping his hands in time to her movements, spurring her on like a drummer, and Angela began to remove her blouse with her free hand, allowing her big breasts to spill out into full view. Those dusky breasts, the pinkish nipples, the symmetrical surface of her enormous boobs -- all this could not help but turn Harry on. His prick was lurching beneath his pants as if it was a separate, living thing.
Harry, also holding his champagne glass, got up, and started to dance along with her.
He also started to strip, hastily pulling off his shirt, slapping Angela's ass a few times with it. She barely noticed, not even looking at him, as, slightly stoned from the champagne, she unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, waving it like a flag in front of her.
Big Bill kept on clapping, his mind relaying to his prick the message: Not now, baby, later. Don't arouse any of their suspicions. Slip it to her when she least expects it, but not now.
Big Bill couldn't help but lick his lips, feeling himself breathing harder and his body becoming warmer, as a few drops of perspiration trickled from underneath his arms. His eyes were riveted on Angela. Her body was like a corkscrew come to life, and he could hardly believe that the way she was twisting and turning her body she wasn't breaking bones or- pulling muscles. The show she was putting on was really something else. As, of course, was Angela her-self.
She had kicked off her shoes, and was pulling down her panties. Harry got his hands on them, and ripped them off right at her midsection, as if they were made of tissue paper.
Her pubic hairs, damp with exertion and stimulation, popped into view. Her clit was projecting out-ward like a beckoning finger. Her cunt lips were chattering to each other, as if engaged in private conversation.
A conversation that Harry immediately interrupted, as he dropped to his knees and started to stab her cunt with his tongue, lapping at her drip-ping pussy as if it was a drinking fountain gushing forth cool water.
Angela could feel his tongue penetrating the entrance to her vagina, but she didn't seem to care all that much, becoming much more involved in auto-eroticism, stimulating herself by her dancing. After a few licks by her guy, she danced away, still shaking her ass like a spinning top. Harry moved after her, like some Great Dane dog, on all fours and with his tongue hanging out like a thirsty animal.
Big Bill noticed what appeared to be Harry's slavishness, and he had to suppress almost-instant laughter. A very good sign, he thought; a fine sign for his future ambitions concerning Angela.
Now, Harry, tired of prancing around, got up again, on his feet, and lunged toward Angela.
She was engaged in what looked like self-electrocution. That is, her body was vibrating so severely, as she was almost standing still in one spot, that it seemed as if she'd plugged herself into 10,000 volts. Her tits were shaking so hard it seemed as if they might fall off, her ass was a blur of lunging motion, and the pussy juice was pouring out like a waterfall, right down her legs. She was into her own self-induced orgasm, and the way her lovely long hair was swirling about her shoulders and her mouth was gulping air, she was into herself, knew it, and loved every second of it.
Until Harry, upon reaching his woman, lurched right into her, cock in hand. And, as he made con-tact with Angela, it was cock into cunt.
He'd grabbed her by her hair, pulling her head forward. Her body naturally followed, and Harry, though not exactly seeing all too clearly, had aimed correctly, for his cock was now slamming itself in-side Angela's cunt with an upward, sword-like thrust, so strong that there was no resistance possible. Angela gasped as the full impact of his rod connected with her nervous system. He had also hit her clit a glancing blow on his way inside, and she began to shudder like a tuning fork. Harry's jolting prick gave her the message, loud and clear, that she had, even in her auto-erotocism, been waiting for.
Big Bill, his face contorted into a grimace etched by worry lines, was still sitting, his hands now in his lap, one fist inside his fly, attempting to get his erection under control. He could not go after Angela yet; but, his cock still didn't seem to understand that simple fact. He cursed himself for sticking around so long; he should have left at least half-an-hour ago, for his purpose would have been just as easily accomplished then. Now, as he fought his own steadily-stiffening member, he knew that he was in for a rough fucking time, one way or the other.
Angela, still feeling the driving presence of Harry's prick, the pressure of his hands on her hair, struggled to free herself, as if, like Big Bill, there was a contradiction between her mind's advice and her body's desires.
But Harry would have none of that.
Moving quickly, he backed her into a corner of the miniscule dressing room, pressing her still-gyrating body against the wall, feeling her heaving boobies crushed against his sweating chest. His mouth met hers, his lips clamping solidly on hers. She tried to bite his tongue, but his teeth were quicker, as he chomped down on her lower lips first, then her upper. She jerked in pain, but her body had no place to go. Harry forced his tongue between her teeth and started massaging her mouth membranes, his Frenching technique quite good enough to cause her to respond in kind.
Angela could feel Harry's stomach grinding against her clit, and the wild, sexual tremors that movement was sending was almost enough to drive her right out of her skull. In a reverse of her previous actions, she was now pushing her crotch into Harry's, grinding her pelvis so that his cock was even more firmly entrenched inside her dripping, orgasmic cunt. Her vaginal muscles were moving, expanding and contracting, so violently that they seemed to have motor control of their own, and Harry's cock was being buffeted like a sailboat in a hurricane.
He was almost ready to blast loose. But, as was his custom, he wanted to hit her just right, right in the middle of her most expressive, explosive orgasm, riding the crest as his surfboard might ride the top of a wave. So, struggling mightily, he waited, his balls ready to burst loose, his prick a red-hot poker ready to pour forth its juice upon his woman's inner fires.
While Big Bill, in severe pain and suffering, decided that he must relieve himself in some way.
Glancing about the room, his eyes fastened on Angela's shredded panties. Yes, he thought, why not?
He didn't dare get off his chair, he had to reach out with one foot and try to nudge the strips toward his chair. Carefully, he did so, until he could reach them with his hand. Picking up two of them, and holding them to his nose, he was pleased to smell the familiar aroma of pussy juice. Yes ... these were the pieces ... that she had worn ... right over her cunt ...
He sniffed, inhaling deeply, as if the tattered pieces of panties had been dipped in incense.
Slowly, his tongue touched the sheer fabric. He licked, slowly at first, then more vigorously, hying to lick off whatever pussy juice residue was still there.
Gulping several times, he then reached down and unzipped his fly, letting his prick escape from its confinement, as he wrapped the two pieces of fabric right around it. The slightest pressure of his hand, he knew, would set him off. He had to time this just right. He glanced at Angela, noticing her orgasmic exertions. Yes, he wanted to come, just like Harry, right at the crest of her most exultant orgasm. Would he? Could he? Well, he would sure as hell make one fine fucking attempt, at the very least.
He watched the two of them.
As Harry came.
And, Harry had timed it well. He caught Angela as she was arching her back so severely she could feel the muscles strain at their breaking point. Harry's eruption was that steady, stabbing series of short bursts that she had come to know and love. Eagerly, her quivering pussy membranes grasped his exploding member, squeezing even more fiery sperm from it, catching each outburst as if wrapped in foam rubber, eagerly clutching his cock and calling for more. She cried, her passions pouring forth as fast and eagerly as her pussy juice. Harry moaned in sheer relief, feeling his steadily-spurting sperm striking home. He held her more closely, their bodies jammed like glue against each other. He would not let go of her, not until he had pumped her cunt full of his love potion, not until her chattering cunt had drained him dry, desert-dry, of his life-giving, love-affirming fluid. As he pumped, she humped; as he humped, she pumped.
They came together, and Harry's nervous system surged with power, power of his prick, controlling Angela's pussy, as it should be. He was, again, happy, joyous for the first time that day. He didn't even care that Big Bill was watching them. So what? He was flicking his woman, and that was that.
He didn't even notice the gleam of triumph in Big Bill's eyes as, timing his own spewing to the split second, he came. Just a few seconds before Harry, his prick fired off a steady, spurting stream of his joy juice. His hand was a substitution for Angela's cunt, his movements careful and erotic. Big Bill moaned softly, pleased he started first, and, as his instrument still kept on pouring out its stuff, he was proud to notice that his staying power lasted longer than Harry's by almost half a minute. And, he thought, I saw Angela glance at me, with lust for me in her eyes. Yes, I am sure of it, and soon, I shall know what it is like to have my cock inside her cunt. She was probably the only female within miles of Los Angeles that had not yet felt the ecstasy of Big Bill in her.
Knock ... knock ... knock ...
None of them seemed to hear a fist rapping on the door. None of them seemed to notice when the door was shoved open, a stagehand stuck his head inside, checking out the scene. The intruder didn't seem to care one way or the other, as far as the situation went. All he wanted to do was to deliver the message he'd been told to deliver.
And, he did, as he barked out, "All right, let's get with it, the next show starts in five minutes!"
CHAPTER SEVEN
Big Bill was coming.
He was in a small, sheltered cove, a secret place that, as far as he knew, was rarely used by anyone. For that reason he often utilized it himself. He had brought along one of his admiring retinue, a Chicano chick called FIora. She was a tall, tanned girl with long dancer's legs and a set of titties almost as good-sized as Angela's. Her face was round and soft, her brown eyes passionate and deep-set, and her lips as full as two tortillas placed over each other. Despite her religion's disclaimers, she liked fucking more than going to church. Her coal-black hair splaying over her face and shoulders, she had her haunches buried into wet, soft sand, right at the ocean's edge, and was feeling the cool splash of the surf against her back and the hot thrust of Big Bill's prick inside her wet, warm pussy.
Flora was coming, too.
Her cunt was quivering as if electrified, its juice-stained membranes clutching hard at Big Bill's cock that was stuffed so tightly inside her. Big Bill's cock was different from most cocks, in that not only was it long and strong, capable of holding a sustained orgasm for an incredibly long time, but also it was circumcised. Its foreskin was completely removed and its glans as smooth as butter. It could get inside a woman's cunt with amazing grace and speed, and once inside could really move around and touch all bases so that a woman was bound to have a great deal of sexual pleasure from his operations.
It wasn't circumcised because he was Jewish; he wasn't. Rather, he'd discovered early in life that the smoother and slimmer the cock, the quicker he could get it inside a woman's cunt before she, as women so often did, changed her mind. Therefore, the operation had been secretly performed at the age of 15. And, Big Bill had been balling ever since.
He could hear Flora mumbling something in Spanish, a language he understood, at least the basics. She seemed to be asking him to please keep on coming. She was having a bit of trouble with letting loose her own juice, due undoubtedly to certain religious hang-ups she'd once suffered.
Big Bill obliged in several ways.
His method of coming was neither a series of short bursts nor a long blast; rather, a middle ground, a series of advances and withdrawals. This, of course, stimulated his chicks' cuntal muscles like mad, causing them to really turn on when he was fucking them. He was now doing this to Flora, as his sperm exploded inside her, then receded, then went off again, each thrust hitting her a little harder and stronger than the last.
He also was helping her release her apparent inhibitions by biting her breasts.
A simple trick, but requiring great dexterity. His mouth was chomping on her right breast, making small circles of love bites around the base of her breast, then moving carefully along the breast until he got to the nipple. There, he placed his entire mouth over it, using his teeth just at the juncture where the nipple protruded from the breast, a most sensitive, rather erogenous spot. As he bit, slowly, delicately, he could feel her body shifting beneath him -- not really beneath, because she was backed up against the wet sand wall in the cove, her body roughly at a 90� angle -- and the hot breath of her Spanish sensuality was tingling his skin.
He moved over to her left breast and, as he did so, he felt her start her first orgasm. A small one, as he could barely feel her pussy muscles twitch; but, in its own way the beginning of something big.
She felt it, too, her liquid loosening itself up and beginning to flow. She felt, though, more than any-thing else, his instrument inside her, touching every part of her sensitive membranes, causing her entire outer skin to tingle with ecstatic excitement. She clamped her long, lovely legs around his waist, to pull him even deeper inside her, as she began really coming in earnest.
Just in time.
His prick was starting to go limp, as she hurriedly got her pussy working. Almost terror-stricken, she clamped her vaginal muscles even harder over his diminishing member, and he struggled to preserve his dwindling erection. Her muscles were doing their job just fine, because he could feel, along with his own efforts, that his prick was again beginning to feel a bit more solid.
Singing a lament, a sensuous Spanish song that he couldn't follow the words to, she was, in effect, rocking him awake, not to sleep. She wouldn't let go, and now, his mouth off her breast, he let her tits bore into his chest and got his mouth clamped against hers. Her tongue got to his first, and she started Frenching him as if her tongue was somehow equal to his cock, trying to fuck him in his mouth as he was doing inside her cunt. He didn't mind at all, as he felt her slurping tongue grinding away inside his mouth, feeling the sweaty eagerness of her dark-skinned Mexican heritage. She wanted her men macho, of that he was sure. And, judging by the way he was getting erect again, and the way he was fighting back with both his tongue and his cock, he was going to be more than macho enough to satisfy this Chicano cunt Flora.
Big Bill braced himself for what was to come ... that is, himself.
With an exultant thrust forward, nearly spearing her against the sand, he fired off another load, fucking her in his usual style. She had an incredibly sensitive cunt, and she could feel him blasting off his load all over her, as if he was screwing her in every particle and pore of her body. For himself, he could feel every drop of sperm that he released, and notice every nuance of her responses, as her thirsty pussy greedily gulped down all the come juice he could thrust into it from his prick.
Slowly, gradually, their orgasms ebbed, their bodies relaxed, they both could now feel the cool water sloshing against their bodies as they began to disengage ...
"Big Bill, are you finished now?"
The voice sounded familiar, but Big Bill couldn't be sure until, craning his neck around, he spotted ... Angela.
She was standing about 20 feet away, wearing a white bikini, a color that could only be considered ironic, in view of the situation.
Flora glanced up, hostility etched into her dark brown eyes, but no embarrassment. She wasn't flustered in the slightest, only angry at being observed by another female without her clothes on. As Big Bill carefully pulled himself off the girl, he reached for a beach robe and handed it to her, also giving her her clothes and suggesting that she get dressed and go on home, as he had some "private business" to take care of. Her Spanish invectives told him only too well what kind of "business" she was sure he was about to become engaged in.
As she walked away, a proud thrust to her buttocks in their direction, Big Bill, casually climbing into his own swim trunks, said, "Hello, Angela, nice to see you again, though I wish you had told me in advance, then I'd be in a better position to greet you."
She smiled, still keeping her hands on hips, as if she were some sort of avenging angel. She had a strange, abstract look in her eyes, as if she had something planned but wasn't quite sure what would be her next move.
"Where is Harry?" Bill asked, seeing she wasn't saying anything further.
"Oh, he's still sleeping it off." His eyes widened slightly, and she explained, "Yes, he's been boozing a lot lately, in. case you didn't know."
"No, I didn't."
"Well, I hardly expected you to. After all, you don't live with him, but I do."
If Big Bill thought he detected a touch of con-tempt or an inflection of boredom in her voice, he said nothing, allowing her to continue.
"Sure, he's getting juiced up almost every day. By the time I come home from work, he's too stoned to make it with me." She laughed; not in humor, but disgust. "Imagine putting away a half-gallon of Gal-lo burgundy almost every day. It makes me sick!"
During her tirade, Big Bill had been thinking, that sounds like opportunity for me, she is ready for some action outside the house, it may be the right time to move in, though I hate to do it to such a decent fellow like Harry ... but I'll do it anyway ... after all, I have my needs too ...
"Come on, Big Bill, grab your surfboard and walk me home, will you?"
His eyes were question marks as he stared at her, and his surprise was not from her words, but her dogmatic, almost demanding, tone of voice. He was about to comment on that, and remind her that he took orders from no one, when she went into a girlish giggle, laughing as she added, "Don't look so uptight, I just want to cook dinner for you. I have to eat before I go to work, so if you want to join me and keep me company, I'd appreciate it, that's all."
Now, he understood, and gave her his toothpaste smile in response, letting his tongue roll around his outer lips as he did. She winked at him, and, feeling a twinge of encouragement inside his trunks, his rod began to respond to her implied invitation, he grabbed his board and followed her to her home.
She led him straight into the bedroom.
However, he quickly discovered that sex was not what she had in mind, at least not for the moment. Instead, she pointed to the still-sleeping form of Harry, his body wrapped tightly inside a sheet as if he was a corpse in a shroud.
"There's the man I live with, still sacked out, and probably whacked out, too," she said, matter-of-factly.
Big Bill nodded in agreement, feeling his rod still rising. He tried to tell it to lay down; again, it seemed not to be listening, and he was beginning to wonder about his fabulous control. Maybe something about Angela was starting to short-circuit his sexual constraints and connections.
When Harry moaned, "Uuuh ... oooh ..."
Angela, as if on cue, pulled the sheet loose from her man.
Harry was sleeping in the nude while Angela was standing in the nude.
She had suddenly stripped within seconds, faster than even Big Bill's experienced eyes could follow. Her proud breasts jutted out, their taut nipples al-most moving by themselves. Big Bill could see her carefully-combed pubic hair, her erect clit, and the pink membranes of her pussy slyly peeking through the thatch of pubic hair, now dampening in front of his eyes.
His eyes roamed over every curvature and angle of her beautiful body, fucking her visually with every movement of those appraising blue orbs.
Harry's eyes, too, were now wide-open.
First, he looked over Angela, taking in all those fine physical attributes he pretty well took for granted. Then, he spotted Big Bill, whose expression was quite unperturbed, quite natural, despite Angela's exposure. Finally, he pointed an accusing finger, not at Big Bill but at Angela, saying, "Have you no shame? Undressing in front of another man? Right in our own bedroom?"
It seems the sight of Angela's deep-tanned, smoothly-naked flesh had sobered Harry up but fast Though, as Big Bill correctly observed, Harry's eye-lids seemed heavy and droopy, and his eyes them-selves were just the slightest degree opaque and blurred.
Angela replied, haughtily, "I was not undressing in front of another man, Harry." Pregnant pause, hardening of her vocal inflections. "There's only one man here right now, in case you didn't know."
Her last comment was making Big Bill slightly edgy, though his facial expression didn't reveal it. He had no desire to become odd-man-out in a domestic quarrel. He was half-tempted to walk right out and let them hassle it out between themselves, but ...
Every time he looked at Angela, her naked body simply wouldn't let go of him, as if his feet were fixed to the floor. He could feel his erection growing steadily, and had given up trying to control it with-out taking a quick, cold shower.
Suddenly ... as if inspired by some music heard only by himself, Harry leaped out of bed, holding the sheet around him like a Roman toga. He began to dance, a shuffling, shambling gait, draping the sheet still in front of his private parts. It was as if he was mocking, making fun of his woman's stripping and dancing, especially in the way he wiggled his ass and shook his chest.
"Harry, are you suggesting that we dance?"
Her tone was brittle and caustic, as she stared coldly at her man and his ass-shaking spectacle.
"Why the fuck not?" Harry replied, a bitter joviality in his voice, as he kept moving, his prick now getting stiff as a blackjack, thrusting itself forward. Its tip was apple-red, and the foreskin was forced back almost to the base.
"Hey, Big Bill, goddam glad you're here!" Harry suddenly shouted, as if noticing the other man for the first time. "You can play disc jockey for us, put on some sounds, all right?" "My old lady and I are going to rehearse our new number for the big, big show tonight ..."
"If you think I'll allow you to go on the same bill with me ..." She shrieked, interrupting him. "... you're full of enough shit to fill up the entire Pacific Ocean!"
"Please!" Big Bill said, reaching for the radio, twisting the dial until he found some wild music. "No domestic quarrels in my presence, if you don't mind."
The music was bright, bouncy, and brassy, and seemed to inspire Harry to whip off the sheet -- revealing his stiff prick and heavy balls -- and start prancing, rather than dancing, around his woman. He was shifting the sheet back and forth in front of his body, as if in demonstration of, "Now you see me, now you don't."
Angela couldn't help but dissolve into raucous laughter.
"Oh, Harry, you look so silly! You couldn't dance if you had ants in your pants!"
"I'll dance my ass off -- and yours, too!" he retorted, as he stripped the sheet away again and started twirling it around his head.
Then, he began an attempted imitation of some of Angela's more sophisticated bump-and-grind routines, banging his ass into the walls a few times and almost tripping on a loose throw rug. Angela, laughing, also started to dance, her sinuous body insinuating itself into question marks and commas, while her man was all periods and exclamation points.
She picked up a pillow, and began to improvise some erotic, exotic routines by the way she held it in front of her stomach, her breasts, her legs. Then, she began to twirl it like a baton and slip it behind her back without letting go.
Big Bill, still standing, still watching, was wondering whether to stay or split. His mind said one thing, his prick another, and neither seemed willing to compromise with the other. His frustration, his being caught, so to speak, in the middle, was giving him a headache, which meant he should leave. On the other hand, the aching, the stiffness in his crotch, indicated that he should stick around and try to stick his dick into Angela.
For the moment, he let inertia rule his decision-making. That is, he stood where he was, fascinated, as always, by Angela's wild gyrations, by the ease with which her body could perform the most complex movements he had ever seen. He could see her with her own stage show; not now, naturally, but, hopefully, sometime in the near future.
At the moment, Harry was doing the bullfighter bit with the bedsheet.
There is an initial part of the bullfight, where some small swords are stuck in the bull's neck and back, just prior to the bullfighter going into his full routine with his long sword. Harry was imitating this particular preliminary, holding his stiff prick in one hand and the bedsheet in the other, trying to grab and stab all in one rushing movement.
But Angela, as well-coordinated as she was, had no trouble ducking his advances. A shift of her buttocks, a thrust of her breasts, or a simple movement of her feet were sufficient to avoid Harry's thrusts. Yet, doggedly, with great determination, he kept up his lurching, jerking movements, apparently trying to fuck his old lady on the run.
To an outsider, say, who might be peeking through the window and glancing at the goings-on, it might seem a silly sight, a kid's game being played for laughs.
But, not to Harry.
And, Harry was pleased to notice, it was having its effects upon Angela, as his instincts had told him it would. The mere sight of his body -- his naked body -- heading in her direction, wang ready for penetration, especially such a familiar body as his, which she'd been making it with for the past year, was of such a familiarity that she felt those liquid stirrings from deep within her pussy, and a few drops of that familiar liquid began to seep out and dampen her excited pubic hairs.
So, just to make things a bit more interesting, she decided to strip for him.
Still moving, she grabbed her terrycloth robe, throwing it over her shoulders and letting it drop behind her like a queen's regal train. As she kept up her dancing, her body movements caused the robe to swirl behind her, first revealing the lovely cheeks of her ass, then concealing. Occasionally, the robe would swirl around her front, right in front of her cunt, again first concealing, then revealing, the center of her attraction.
Big Bill, still standing, was almost sighing, as he let out a few low whistles of appreciation.
He had seen countless erotic displays in his life-time, but nothing before like this. No, nothing as intimate, personal, and arousing. His prick was throbbing like a sore nerve, and his balls were aching as if someone had slugged them. He was rooted to the spot, mesmerized by the sheer sexual power that Angela seemed to wield over all men who came in contact with her. He also realized, at that exact moment, that she was a far more complex female than he'd so far given her credit for.
Angela was whipping the robe in front of her, in imitation of Harry's bullfighter bit. She was smiling dreamily, her eyes turning opaque, her breasts filling full and round and her nipples erecting. Harry, on the other hand, was coming more alive, shaking off the sleepy effects of the wine, his eyes glittering with lust, his nerves burning up the wires with one great overwhelming desire, determination to satisfy his sexual drives etched into every line on his face.
Ironically, as Angela could feel herself becoming tired, almost drowsy, from her churning, gyrating exertions -- the driving beat of the music was perhaps draining away her energies faster than she'd expect-ed. Harry, apparently becoming more refreshed, was also, at the same time, becoming more calculating in his movements.
There came a moment when Angela's body did not quite respond as fast as she had expected it to.
That was the moment when Harry struck.
"Got you!" he shouted, as he leaped toward her. Then, straddling the floor like a child riding a hobby horse, he brought his cock straight up from the floor like a submarine torpedoing a ship -- and slammed it right inside his woman's wet cunt.
Startled, she fell forward, rather than backward. Like a corkscrew, he managed to twist and turn his rod until it had slid all the way inside her. Then, throwing his bedsheet around her body, he grabbed her by the shoulders and began to pull her even closer. She was still dancing, moving in slowly-closing circles, but he kept up with her, shifting his haunches on his feet, as the two of them seemed to do a sort of mating dance to the fast, frisky tempo still blaring from the radio.
She could feel him inside her, and her pussy membranes began to go to work, trying to set his prick off. She felt him driving into her, over every pore and nerve fiber of her body; she felt stuffed, as if her cunt had just swallowed a gigantic meal, a garguantan feast. Her movements became even slower, yet still coordinated with the intricate rhythms of the music, as Harry wound the sheet around her so that both of them looked like some consumer goods wrapped and ready to go.
Big Bill could stand it no longer.
Something had to give ... he had to move ...
Quickly, he was behind Angela. He pushed part of the sheet away, so that he could get his arms around her torso and his hands on her boobs. He said, speaking to Harry, "Go to it, Harry, I'll hold her for you."
Angela, feeling Big Bill's tweaking of her tits between his thumb and forefinger, his other fingers massaging her breasts at the base, started to shudder deliciously. She could also feel his erection rubbing at the cheeks of her ass, and this seemed to turn her on even more, causing her to thrust her body for-ward, so that Harry really felt himself probing all of her inner depths. Though, from his particular position, he couldn't see exactly what Big Bill was doing to her.
In Harry's semi-squatting position, he could not, of course, feel Big Bill's knuckles, instead of Angela's tits, so that gambit he didn't notice ( the sheet was helping to conceal that situation, too). As Harry's hands moved from her shoulders to her waist, his concentration was on her cunt, nowhere else.
She was flowing quite freely, and Harry could feel that wonderful expansion and contraction of her vaginal muscles working out on his rod. He kept thrusting, feeling her liquid flowing all over his rod, and pouring out from her pussy to drip down both of their legs. With the sheet still wrapped around both of them, they were perspiring. They both could feel their hair sticking right to the flat of their skulls.
Harry was almost there, engulfed in Angela's exuberant orgasms, ready to add his own sexual eruptions to the general good times, barely conscious of the music still blasting away in the background, panting and grunting and getting ready to do some pumping ...
As Big Bill, no longer able to hold out, was trying desperately to move aside the sheet from Angela's ass, so that he could stick his dick into her sphincter and at least make it in the back door, if he couldn't quite get into the front ...
But, just as Big Bill managed to sweep a section of the sheet aside, aiming his erection at her asshole ...
She moved.
She moved her legs, opening them into an "O" as Big Bill lunged and quickly found himself, not in her sphincter but between her legs, just below her cunt. As this happened, she closed her legs again, and Big Bill's prick was caught and held firmly in that position.
Big Bill almost yelled out loud as he felt his cock being crushed by her thighs. He tried to pull out, but he was too close, he had no leverage, and be-sides, he was still holding on to her tits, and his hands were most reluctant to let go of them, too.
Big Bill came.
He had no choice, really, not with all the pressure of Angela's thighs. He could feel his smooth, circumcised cock blast off in that long, continuous movement he loved, his sperm spurting out and waterfalling into Angela's pubic hairs and down her lovely legs. He shuddered, feeling relief at last, though not what he'd wanted, not the way he'd wanted it. His spasms increased, he gripped her boobs so firmly he could feel that he was leaving definite fingerprints on her flesh, and from the way she was still twisting and turning, he was sure that she was being as erotically satisfied as possible.
Now, Harry was coming.
He was exultant, because he'd slipped it to her just between orgasmic movements, catching her, between bursts. He pumped his juice joyfully into her, hearing her gasp with surprise, feeling her pussy prance into another liquid dance as it tried to meet this new challenge of his coming cock. Those jolting bursts were reaching her, and Harry almost screamed in relief, as his tensions were drained from him and he could lose himself and his prick inside her all-powerful pussy.
Angela seemed to be singing now, as she felt both men driving into her from different directions. Her entire body was writhing like a snake, and she felt as if her skin was going to flake off, her bones disintegrate. All she could feel was cocks and her cunt, and that's exactly what she wanted.
And, Big Bill, despite his misdirection, was starting to smile.
After all, he thought, I was the first one to come, I beat Harry to the draw,, now next time I'm going to beat him in the front door, too ...
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Come on, Angela, just a little fucking before you go to work!"
"Harry can't you realize I'm in a hurry? It's al-most nine o'clock, and I'm going to be late if you don't leave me alone!"
As it seemed, they were having a slight disagreement.
Angela, dressed in a loose-fitting pants suit -- she would change her clothes at the club when she got there -- was trying to make it out the door, where Harry, bareass naked, was standing, his arms spread wide, blocking her exit. His prick was right up there, erect, bristling its challenge through thick pubic hairs and pointing straight at her like a drawn weapon.
"Harry, this is silly! Please act like a man, not a child, and let me pass."
"You don't pass, sweetheart, until I get some ass. We haven't made it all day.
From the moment they had woken up that morning, she had told him she wasn't "feeling well." He had accepted that excuse for all morning long and most of the afternoon. However, when he'd left the pad for some early afternoon surfing she had gone out to "visit friends," so she'd said. He'd spotted her surfing, really looking neat on the board as she swooped toward shore, and he had figured, and rightfully so, that if she felt good enough to go surfing, she was also well enough to fuck.
He'd gone in the water after her, but by the time he'd got out to sea, she had rode to shore again, and he missed making contact with her. She wasn't home when he got back, around sunset, so he'd made his own supper of cold sandwiches and a couple glasses of wine. In fact, he was out of his favorite, Gallo burgundy, and he'd had to drink the stuff she liked, cold Chablis. It was all right, but he preferred a more robust bouquet.
He still had the wine bottle, holding it in one hand, taking quick gulps from the mouth of the bottle. He could see that it pissed her off, to have him slurping from her special bottle of vino. So, as he still stood in the door, he guzzled the cold Chablis -- now getting rather warm, after being out of the refrigerator for so long -- and seemed to taunt her, as if he was getting tired of her going to work almost every evening, especially weekends when he wanted to play around.
"Harry, please put the wine away and let me out."
He laughed, feeling the warmth of the wine going down his throat. He wasn't going to let her get away with her childish tricks. No sir, he was the man, he was the boss -- when he said fuck, she had better at least ...
"Suck me off, then, if you won't fuck," he said, placing the mouth of the bottle over his prick, and pouring out some wine which splashed into his thick pubic hairs and drenched his prick. "Lick my dick, Angela, or else you'll just have to be a no-show with your show tonight." His eyes glittered savagely, the brown coloring turning the shade of burning steel. "I mean it, Angela, you can't fuck around with me and then not fuck me, you understand?"
Her green cat's eyes slanted; she looked almost evil, witchy, as she stared back at him. Then, her facial muscles began to relax, the glare in her eyes changed into a more accommodating look, and, twitching her nostrils, she said, almost apologetic, "Well, Harry, all right. But, please, let's make it fast, because I do have to get to work." Pause. "If I wasn't working, we wouldn't be eating, Harry. Don't forget that."
How could he, he thought, when she reminds me every goddam day and most nights too ... this shit's getting out of hand .. I've got to do something soon to get this situation straightened out ... but, goddammit, she's right about the money scene ... I've got to get some bread by myself, and show her I can make money, too ...
But, how?
Well, why worry about it now? His throbbing prick was his major concern at the moment.
Angela approached him, and got down on her knees in front of him. Lazily, he kept his arms spread apart, not even touching her, letting her know that it was up to her to do all the work; to satisfy him, and not necessarily the converse.
She licked her lips tentatively, then stuck out her tongue, and gently touched the tip of his prick. She really had a way with her tongue, and his skin began to tingle excitedly, his prick throbbed even more, as she started to lick his dick, her tongue slowly moving along the length and width of it, lapping softly and gently all the way back to the base, then slurping at his pubic hairs for a few seconds. He started to tremble, bracing himself all the more against the door with both hands, though still holding the wine bottle in one of them.
She licked until his entire body was quivering with her touch, and his balls felt as huge and misshapen as watermelons. He was just about ready to shoot off his load, but he strained to hold back, waiting for the magic moment when her lovely, puckered mouth would close with its lascivious lips over his prick and really suck him into a sexual fervor, an erotic ecstasy, that would make every-thing right between them ...
Then she bit him!
Her teeth, not her lips, clamped hard around his prick, just at the level of the foreskin.
"Ouch!" he yelled; it really hurt.
In his surprise and anger, he dropped the wine bottle, and it struck her a glancing blow just behind her left ear. She started to cry out, but her mouth was muffled by his rod inside it. Involuntarily, her teeth again came in contact with his erection.
Now really angry, he grabbed her by the hair, yanking her head forward, forcing his prick deep inside her mouth.
"Suck me off, you goddam crazy cunt!" he shouted, his hands pulling her hair, yanking her head right into his stomach. "You ever bite me again, I'll knock your fucking teeth right out of your mouth, you hear?"
Then, just as quickly as it had come, his anger dissipated, the evil mood passed. He stopped tugging her hair so hard, and began instead massaging her skull, softly caressing her hair in his hands. He could feel a bump on her skull, where the bottle had connected. He was sorry that had happened; yet, she'd really caused her own discomfort, pulling that stupid trick on him, so he didn't feel all that broken up about it.
And ... he still wanted to come ... to fire off his omnipresent load, right into her mouth ...
She was moaning, shaking a bit, her lips trembling over his cock, and her mouth membranes began, instinctively, to do their job. He could feel her sucking action start again, and soon her head was bur-rowing into his stomach as her lips and mouth were sucking, massaging his rod.
Then he came, and he almost shouted with relief, screamed with joy, happy that she seemed to be all right and happier still that her mouth was really working right and tight.
She gulped his sperm, swallowing hard and rhythmically, as he let his short series of explosions buckle her head, snap her neck back, allow her mouth membranes to squeeze every last drop from his dick. And, when he finally pulled it out, he held it so that her tongue finished the job, licking it clean.
Helping her to her feet, he said, "Are you feeling all right? Can you still make it to work tonight?"
As if in reply, he heard a car horn honking right outside. It was Angela's ride, another girl who worked at the same club. For five bucks a week contribution to her gas bill, she stopped off to give Angela a ride to work.
Angela simply nodded, and rushed out the door.
Harry shook his head; something didn't seem right to him. He picked up the wine bottle -- it wasn't broken, luckily, and there was an inch or two that hadn't spilled -- and swigged the stuff down. Then, he sat down for a while, trying to think some things out, when there was a knock at the door, followed by an Oriental whine as a voice cried out, "Wong here, drive you to master's house, you ready?"
Harry laughed softly; he'd almost forgotten.
Tonight, Big Bill had invited him to his home for drinks and discussion, the latter about his and Angela's situation. He had asked Big Bill's advice, and he had responded with the invitation.
"OK, Wong, I'm coming," he shouted back, and hastily grabbed some clothes, just a simple shirt and slacks, then bounced out the door and jumped into the white Cadillac convertible waiting for him.
In an area in which having a Japanese gardener or chauffeur was the big thing, Big Bill liked to defy convention, come on differently, in his own way. Thus, Wong, who was Chinese, did those things for Big Bill, and did them quite well. He was about Big Bill's age, a short, squat fellow whose straight black hair was always falling into one eye, and, as usual, he was wearing very tight cotton pants and a mandarin-collar shirt, giving him the appearance of a Chinese revolutionary who had sold out to capatalist cretins merely for the money.
Big Bill lived in Laurel Canyon, in the kind of split-level, picture-window place that movie fan magazines were showing as the latest starlet's home. When Wong deposited Harry there, Big Bill, dressed in a red silk bathrobe and wearing matching slippers, bade him welcome, sat him down, and had Wong bring them both one of Big Bill's "specials," a vodka martini mixed about nine to one. Harry, being a wino by choice, wasn't all that excited about martinis. But, feeling the way he did, he allowed Big Bill to coax him into having at least one, not wanting to insult his host's hospitality.
The house was huge, perhaps 12 rooms, and Big Bill's taste in furniture was strictly from Louis XIV. There were ornate, exquisite overstuffed couches and chairs that looked almost antique. Harry was sitting in one of the chairs, enjoying the luxury of expensive furnishings, as Bill sat opposite him in the sofa.
After a few opening comments bordering on polite greetings and salutations, Big Bill got right to the point.
"Harry, you have asked me for help, so I am going to help you. You have a problem with Angela, and I think I can get you on the right track again. You see, I have been thinking ..."
So had Harry.
Feeling the cool, bracing drink flowing down his throat, he blurted out, before he could control him-self, "We haven't been exactly bosom buddies, Big Bill, but we've been friends for years. But, you know, this is the first time you ever invited me to your home ..."
Then, just as suddenly as he'd started, he stopped.
He had to burp; the martini was getting to him. He covered his mouth with his hand as he did so.
Big Bill wasn't bugged by Harry's outburst. He spread his arms in a grandiose gesture, as he said, "Please, Harry, no hard feelings!" Looking Harry right in the eyes, he continued, "Really, you have never seemed to need my advice in the past. But now, with these problems between Angela and yourself, I am glad to see that you haven't hesitated to put our friendship to the test."
Harry, now recovered from his burping, nodded, but continued to sip more of his martini.
Big Bill spoke again. "I believe this evening work schedule that Angela has is interfering in your love life, and that you also wish that you, and not she, were bringing home the income for the two of you. Is that correct?"
"Yeah, right ... right on ..." Harry said, now really beginning to feel the effects of all the liquor he was putting into his blood stream.
"Well, then, I think you must fight fire with fire, if you know what I mean."
Harry shook his head; he was getting a headache.
"Well, Angela is a dancer, now a stripper, who takes off her clothes to excite men. Now, I have noticed that she does the same thing to you, in the privacy of your own home. Correct?"
Harry nodded again.
"So if you were to try the same approach to her that she does to you ... " He paused, thoughtfully. "... such as the performance that you put on a few evenings ago ..."
"I wasn't putting on any fucking show for either of you!" Harry interjected, slightly angry. "I was just trying to show her that she wasn't the only goddam good dancer in the world, that I could shake my ass just as good as she could .. "
"Of course, you could!" Big Bill agreed hastily, reaching over to refill Harry's martini glass, from the pitcher that Wong had conveniently left on the coffee table. "And you did, Harry ... you really did." Another pause, while Bill sipped his own drink. "You did magnificently, if I may say so."
Harry, stopping his glass in mid-air as if he couldn't quite believe that last comment, said, "You mean it? You thought I handled her all right?"
"Like a champion."
Harry sipped his second martini. He was almost leering, as if the two of them were sharing a dirty joke.
"Now, Harry, in order for you to really show Angela that you are just as good a dancer as she is, I think you should give strong consideration toward becoming ..." Again, that long, suspenseful pause. "... a male stripper."
Harry went into a violent coughing spell for sever-al seconds, almost spilling his drink. Finally, when he was able to speak again, he muttered, "What do you mean ... who the hell's going to hire me ... and why do you think I'd even want to do that shit in public, anyway?"
"Harry -- please!"
Harry shut up, his attention riveted on Big Bill.
"Harry, please listen." Another pause, to make sure Harry was paying attention. "Since Angela turns you, and other men, on by stripping, by showing off her body in public, the only way for you to bring her back home, and therefore become the money maker for both of you, is to make her stop until you can get the job you need to support her. In short, she should strip for your eyes only, and, you should do the same for her -- all in the privacy of your own lovely little home."
Harry gulped some more booze, then blurted out, "I still don't get it, Big Bill."
"Harry," Big Bill explained further, "If Angela can turn you on by stripping, then you should be able to do the same for her. In short, you strip for her before she starts stripping for you. You take the initiative, become the aggressor -- the man in charge."
"Right on!" Harry shouted, waving his glass like a weapon. "That's a great fucking idea, Big Bill!" Big Bill smiled with satisfaction.
"Harry, I'll tell you a secret. I was once an actor in certain kinds of movies ... where nudity was often required."
"You?"
"Well, don't rush right out and tell the Los Angeles Times to print that fact on Page One!" He paused. "But, during that period, I learned some very successful techniques and routines to turn women on by taking my clothes off. Now, since I have arranged for Angela to stop by ..."
"Angela? Here?"
"Harry, I have arranged this entire evening merely to help out an old friend. Now, before she arrives, I want to show you exactly how to handle yourself under these circumstances ..."
By the time Angela arrived-driven there, again, by her girlfriend from the club -- she discovered that Big Bill had purposely left the porch light off, and there were no lights to be seen from the windows, either. As Angela struggled her way to the porch and fumbled with the doorknob, the door suddenly swung open to reveal ...
Harry.
Standing there, wearing a flourescent wrap-around scarf, the kind that glows in the dark with a soft, eerie purple hue.
"Who's ... this ..." Angela murmured, startled.
Harry said nothing. Instead, he started to shake his ass, in a half-assed Hawaiian hula, and the glowing scarf, wrapped around his midriff, moved along with him.
Angela stared, fascinated by the weird glow. Harry kept on-shaking his ass.
Big Bill, at the far end of the living room, looked out the window and laughed. Everything was working just fine, so far. After Harry had got Angela all worked up, Big Bill, not Harry, would slip it to Angela, but good. By that time, the martinis Harry had put away would render him simply unable to keep up his end of the arrangement, so Big Bill would naturally take over to make sure that Angela didn't go away aroused and angry -- or even go away at all.
He watched, still laughing, as Harry began to unwind the scarf. Angela, who was now inside the house, followed in fascination. Harry was moving as delicately as a ballet dancer. Big Bill's suggestions were working -- "Something very subtle," to turn her on by sheer contrast to her own flamboyant physical pyrotechnics. Harry gyrated his glowing way toward the stairs.
On the second floor, the first door on the right was Big Bill's bedroom. As Big Bill had said to Harry, "You cannot help but make out there, and once you arrive, you will soon see why."
Angela, now getting used to this freaky apparition in front of her -- she thought it was her bedmate, but still couldn't be sure-felt her clit and cunt becoming stimulated, her sexual expectations becoming aroused. And, not only that, but she also started to strip herself, as if being challenged by that glowing purple scarf.
She kicked off her shoes and pulled off her stockings, following the blur in front of her. As he danced nimbly away -- the martinis had done their job; just enough to loosen Harry up but not enough to knock him on his ass -- she followed him, unbuttoning her blouse and unsnapping her bra.
Harry began to waltz up the stairs.
He climbed them one by one, very carefully, hugging the railing while the scarf draped after him like a glowing purple tail. Angela, her tremendous tits shaking and thrusting out front like two enormous melons, followed him.
Watching this erotic pas-de-deux was giving Big Bill a good-sized erection. He was standing by the sofa, and his cock was coming on so strong that he was just about ready to make it with one of the sofa pillows. But, gently gripping his erect member between his delicate fingers, he did not go up the stairs until Harry and Angela were at the very top of the landing.
Then, he crept 'stealthily up the stairs, finally standing outside his own bedroom door. He had told Harry to leave the door ajar, so that he could "check" and make sure Harry was following his instructions to the letter. He was quite pleased to notice that the door was halfway ajar.
He looked inside.
In the center of the room stood a huge round bed. From the walls, a battery of strobe lights -- his own erotic idea -- were flashing off with more colors than a rainbow, giving the room an eerie, exotic atmosphere. Music was also playing from the built-in stereo system, romantic music, thick with strings, loaded with woodwinds. Just the perfect mood, Big Bill thought ...
Harry and Angela were shaking it right on the bed.
Harry was moving the scarf around his chest and over his shoulders, holding Angela's interest. She knew now that it was Harry, and she was surprised and pleased to see that he had learned how to shake his ass and strip off his clothes with some style. She had, by now, removed her skirt, and as Harry kept draping the scarf about himself, she was in the process of removing her panties, stepping out of them without missing a beat as she turned out some of her most shimmying, ass-shaking steps.
Big Bill could see by the flashing strobe lights that Harry's prick was sticking straight out, with Angela's pussy vibrating excitedly just a few inches away.
Still clutching his own cock, Big Bill smiled and licked his lips. Everything was going just fine, right according to plan. It wouldn't be long now.
Now, Harry pulled off a deftly-clever maneuver.
The moment Angela stepped out of her panties, Harry whipped the scarf around her waist, and pulled her close to him, though she was still moving as he did so, her buttocks shaking, her breasts bouncing, and those familiar thrills beginning to race through her nerve endings.
She was perspiring, but that was not the only liquid stirring in or on her. Some pussy juice was beginning to drip from her crotch, falling onto the bed beneath. As for Harry, he was sweating out the martinis, now beginning to feel a trifle shaky, but still holding his own. He had that glowing purple scarf around Angela's waist, puffing her so close that his cock was now rubbing against her clit and sending cataclysmic tremors throughout her.
Feeling her body responding, Angela's cunt started churning out more juice, lubricating itself well enough to accommodate a flagpole. Her hair was cascading around her shoulders, some sticking to her damp skin, as Harry nibbled at her earlobes and kissed her neck, while his cock continued to raise sexual hell with her twinging clit.
Big Bill, barely able to control his own cock, was still watching from, the door, wondering when the booze was going to hit Harry and knock him flat. He had timed everything so well, he could hardly believe his masterful martinis weren't also working on schedule.
"What wrong, boss? What is problem?"
He felt a fat finger tapping his shoulder, as he turned around, knowing the flat, whining voice all too well. Of course, it was his hired man, Wong. "I hear noise, I wake up, I think maybe boss in trouble, I come to help."
Controlling his temper with great effort, Big Bill said, as calmly as he could, "Go back to bed, Wong, there is nothing wrong, I am merely entertaining my friends."
"Some entertainment, right? Look like that guy doing all right. Wong love to watch people making love. Wong know right way to make love, maybe show your friends how to do right thing ..."
"Wong, will you please get the hell out of here?" Big Bill said, exasperated, raising. his voice. Then, suddenly realizing that Harry and Angela might hear him, he quieted down his volume, and whispered in Wong's ear, "Please leave, and I guarantee you I shall get a nice Oriental woman for you tomorrow, all for your very own."
"Not want Oriental woman, fuck thousands of them already. Like to fuck nice white woman, like that one there."
Big Bill now noticed that Wong had an erection almost as extensive as his own. He sighed. He wondered if he should shove Wong down the stairs, pretending it was an accident, and hire another Chinese handyman the following day.
While he was thinking, Harry and Angela were really going at it, with that glowing purple scarf now wrapped around Angela's ass, as if she was being massaged in a gym to take off a few extra pounds. Harry was still wielding the scarf masterfully, puffing her cunt right into contact with his cock. As he began entering her, she gulped, then began to hum along with the music. Harry, still shaking his own ass, plunged it straight ahead, in all the way.
With their chests now touching, Harry could feel the hardness of her nipples almost penetrating his outer layer of skin. He began to rub his chest against her boobs, feeling her tits responding by the sensuous way she was rubbing back.
Angela started to come.
Harry could feel her vaginal membranes began their muscular workout on his cock, their grip holding it firm as if set in cement. He could feel her juice flowing and mixing with his sweat. She could feel him jabbing like a boxer inside her, his cock seeming to be all over her nervous system, his stomach rubbing against her vibrating clit and triggering all sorts of sweet, sexual sensations within her. And, coupled with the lush music and the flashing strobes, they were both becoming even more erotic, even more turned on, than ever before.
As was Big Bill, who couldn't simply stand idily by and watch any longer, waiting for his deadly martinis to take effect.
Nor could Wong, who was in no mood to seek solace in re-reading the teachings of Confucius or the thoughts of Mao, either.
Big Bill kicked off his slippers and whipped off his robe, his walk speeding up as he closed in on Harry and Angela, Right behind him, undressing as he moved, came Wong, his prick almost as wide as Harry's, but flatter, shaped more like a trowel than any other kind of tool.
As both of them approached the couple -- neither of whom noticed them -- what Big Bill had planned finally took place. That is, the full force of the super-strong martinis finally got to Harry and, before he really understood what was happening, he started passing out.
However, since he still had that glowing purple scarf holding Angela firmly in his grip -- not to mention his cock jammed into her cunt -- as Harry fell backwards, he pulled Angela with him. When Harry hit the bed on his back, Angela was on top of him. And, they were still together, sexually speaking.
But, Big Bill was upon them now.
Brandishing his stiff member like a sword, he climbed on Angela, his mouth delivering to her delicate love bites at the nape of her neck, his hands slipping around her torso and getting a fine and firm hold on her breasts, and his cock began its entrance into her sphincter as if it had been lubricated in those same martinis Harry had drunk.
Angela gasped, as she felt Big Bill driving home hard in her asshole. Her sphincter muscles stretched themselves to accommodate this extra organ, and, though Harry was out of it mentally, his cock was still in her. Angela, being buffetted by two rods, both front door and back, began to feel like a piece of meat in the middle of a sandwich.
Angela was almost screaming, squirming between the two of them, her pussy gushing out passion, trying to get Harry's 'still erect member to do its thing. Of course, the harder Big Bill drove into her ass, his cock creaming and reaming her rectum, the more eagerly she was to set both of them off and indulge herself in both sets of sexual fireworks.
It seemed that Wong, who was now standing by and watching this sexual threesome, was disappointed, since both holes seemed to be occupied. Where, oh where, was he going to place his prick, now that it was completely erect and ready to shoot off its load?
Cursing his ancestors for not providing him with longer legs and therefore greater speed -- he might have beat out Big Bill if he'd moved faster -- Wong, blinking his heavy-lidded eyes because of the flickering strobes, finally could stand it no more.
There was only one opening large enough to accommodate his weapon, he finally surmised, and that was ...
Angela's mouth.
He positioned himself so that he was standing right in front of Angela's face. He grabbed hold of her hair, angling her head back so that her mouth flipped open, and then, placing his prick against her lips, he poured on the pressure and pried her mouth open, ramming his' prick inside.
Angela, now in white heat with orgasmic out-bursts, could hardly even see what was happening. All she could do was feel, suddenly, three rods, lightning rods jammed into three separate orifices in her body, all of them churning with energy.
She gulped Wong's dong, her tongue licking at its foreskin, her mouth membranes drawing it right to the edge of her throat. Slurping sounds came from deep within her throat, as she writhed and squirmed like a snake in heat, her body touching and electrifying all three men who were now inside her.
Harry came first.
Though passed out, his cock came through, almost as if in a state of rigor mortis, shooting off its heavy load in that series of short spurts, automatic rifle fire, that he was famous for. Angela's body buckled with the impact, and it threw her slightly off balance. Her teeth clamped down slightly on Wong's dick, and that was sufficient to set off the man, who started coming in a similar manner as Harry, only with slightly longer bursts, and longer pauses between explosions.
As her cunt gulped down Harry's sperm and her mouth eagerly swallowed Wong's sperm, Big Bill suddenly realized that everybody else was coming -- except himself.
Cursing his luck, the partial failure of his plan, he moved his prick around in her sphincter with faster, more delibrate motions. Finally, as Harry and Wong were winding down their orgasms, Big Bill came with such force that he pushed Angela forward by more than a few inches. Big Bill, grinding his fingers into her lucious boobs, held on tough and tight, feeling his steady stream of sperm lubricating Angela's asshole, feeling her sphincter muscles clutching his cock in their vice-tight grip. He sighed with both relief and envy, still feeling a bit sadly the other two men had got their jollies first and fastest.
Next time, he thought, I will make no mistake, I will get Angela where I want her ... in her front door for sure ..
CHAPTER NINE
Not long after the triple fuck scene, Harry happened to run into Big Bill at the beach.
Harry, being out of it at the time, did not know that both Big Bill and Wong had gotten into Angela. Of course, Angela, even if she'd paid all that much attention to facts, didn't say one word about what had happened. So, it was a fairly friendly, almost comradely meeting and greeting they gave each other. In fact, Harry thanked Big Bill profusely for his able assistance in getting Angela to pay attention to him again.
Harry was so grateful that he even invited Big Bill backstage that same evening, to be his guest after Angela had completed her strip shows at the Kitten Club.
For, this evening, Angela was celebrating her first month's anniversary at the club. Among other reasons, she had just received a 20 percent raise in salary from her generous boss, Jack Johnson. Of course, he had also tried to fuck her again, but Angela, for her own reasons, had declined, reminding him that she could walk right across the street to any of his competitors, if she wished.
And she was right.
For, the local press and almost all of the entertainment columnists had reviewed her act and given her plenty of printed praise. She even had business managers and agents hanging around, all trying to sign her up, promising her a job in Las Vegas or New York, or a European tour, or whatever. But, so far, she was playing it cool, just concerning herself with her present position only to see how things would work out during the next month.
To Angela, there was plenty of time for the big time. For the moment, she was enjoying what she was doing. Why go big time, if they only wanted to change you over and mess around with you? Who needed that?
That evening, in the audience, Harry and Big Bill, from a front-row table, watched the show while sip-ping free champagne (courtesy of club owner John-son). They impatiently put up with the generation-old jokes of the Master of Ceremonies, vociferously urging him to "Bring on the broads!"
That finally occurred, as the band swung into its stripping musical repertoire, and the group of girls did their body-shimmying jobs with a fair amount of titillating talent.
The house lights dimmed, the big spotlight blazed on center stage, and into that hot white light stepped ...
Angela.
She danced, shimmying her way into center stage. She was wearing a large feather hat, with her long red hair rolled up inside. The only other articles of clothing she was wearing were two feathers, which she carried at strategic locations, holding them in such a way that they covered her breasts and cunt.
The crowd, many of them regulars, had never seen her do this particular bit before, and started applauding loudly before she made any further movements. Of course they had not seen it before; it was a brand new routine she had rehearsed for the past two weeks, and she really wanted to show it off in celebration of her anniversary.
As she strode on stage so that she was only a few feet from the table where Harry and Big Bill were sitting, Harry's prick began to prong itself into life, tugging at his pants. Big Bill's wang was also alert, though not quite as erect. Big Bill was using a kind of intellectual Yoga on it, ordering it to keep hidden and stay retracted until he was ready to use it. So far, for a change, his psychological approach was working fairly well, because his erection was a mere tremor compared to Harry's full-fledged hardon.
As Angela bowed, acknowledging the applause, Harry and Big Bill, by craning their necks, got a pretty good look at Angela's ass, its soft round mounds pointing skyward like softly-rolling hills. She had also applied plenty of suntan lotion to her already-browned body, so that she looked much like a bronze goddess as she bowed.
And, when she straightened up, she moved the feathers so that, for just a fraction of a second, her lovely cunt was revealed, silky pubic hairs and all.
Harry caught sight, and started drooling. Big Bill spotted her pussy, too, and his blue eyes glowed like twin turquoises.
The band began playing, something slyly insinuating. Angela began to dance; and, to strip.
She moved, keeping her torso almost stationary, so that her haunches were in constant motion, like a spinning top. She swung her ass as she stood there on her feet. Then, she started moving her feet, making little steps from side to side, sometimes dropping her head slightly as she did so.
The effect was both subtle and electrifying.
Her beautiful buttocks were really moving now, so she began to move her feathers as well, delicately slipping them in first this direction, then that direction, letting the audience get a fast, less-than-asecond glance at her tits. Her nipples were taut from sexual excitation, and her breasts as firm and symrttrical as always.
The audience was doing more than clapping; they were stomping their feet and cheering, wolf whistles and all, plus the usual shouts of, "Take it off!"
Even Harry, his prick shuddering so strongly he was about ready to unzip his fly, started shouting, "Take it all off, sweetheart!"
Angela gave him a quick smile. Using her two feathers, she knocked her hat to the stage, letting her long red hair cascade down her bare back. Then, for good measure, she spun herself around, so that the audience could see not only her hair but those mound-round buttocks of hers as well.
The applause was deafening.
And, Big Bill's rod, despite his instructions to the contrary, became quite contrary, and started to erect itself. He could feel it pulling against his pants, and slipped a hand beneath the table to quiet it down.
Angela was going into a floor straddle, lowering her legs into a split, placing her body right on the floor of the stage. Her legs were spread apart, but her feathers were still concealing her three main points of frontal interest, as she kept her buttocks moving and grooving, vibrating like that proverbial bowl of jello.
As she came closer to the floor, she seemed to be going down in slow motion. Moving, in fact, as if she was going down on somebody from a most peculiar, most difficult angled position.
When she finally hit the floor, her legs spread out and she began to move her head, shaking it back and forth, letting her hair spring out and splay around her face and shoulders and even dip down toward her fits. The rest of her body remained al-most motionless. The feathers, however, were still covering the sacred, "look but don't touch" areas.
The crowd -- lots of guys with their hands on their cocks to keep from creaming their jeans -- gave her thunderous applause. Several even stood up, stomping their feet and screaming hoarsely, "Take off those fucking feathers, you teasing bitch! We want to see your fucking cunt!"
Of course, the management would hardly permit such comments to be made in the presence of ladies-especially the particular lady on stage -- so those horny guys who couldn't keep their dirty mouths shut got thrown out, post-haste, with no apologies at all.
The rest of the audience managed to restrain itself from rushing the stage and raping Angela on the spot -- due, more than anything else, to the ubiquitous bouncers placed at strategic positions -- as, again moving almost in slow motion, she began to rise, her legs coming together until she was again standing on stage at her full height.
Then, deftly, ever so subtlety, she removed one feather, revealing her right breast, while she began to do a basic, erotic series of bumps-and-grinds. The crowd ate it up.
Harry, aroused beyond restraint, came right in his pants.
Since he had taken the precaution of wearing an athletic supporter -- waterproof, the label claimed -- he was not too uncomfortable at the sudden outburst of sperm. In fact, he felt one hell of a lot better after getting his rocks off in this manner.
Not so for Big Bill, whose intellectual Yoga was causing his erection further physical, as well as mental, strains. He cursed his cock, wishing that the show was over. He had big plans afterward, which he had hastily formulated on the way to the club. Plans which, naturally, included Angela.
Angela, who had now dropped the other feather to reveal her left breast to the assembled audience. The crowd was really going wild.
What show-stopping climax could she now give them, to really make them come in their collective drawers?
She flipped both feathers over her shoulders, catching them by the tips. At the same time, she thrust her wide-open cunt, its pussy lips spread apart enough so that those at the front tables could see the dark pink membranes. As she thrust herself forward, almost in a gesture of defiance, her erectile clit and nipples seemed to say, "This is mine, not yours; look, but don't touch!"
Some of the audience, however, got carried away, and started to storm the stage.
The bouncers put a stop to that in a hurry, aided by several security guards, as Angela, blowing kisses to the audience, flipped the feathers at some of the people crowding about the stage, almost causing another riot.
Then, shimmying in the traditional manner-but, completely naked -- she shook her way backstage.
Big Bill wiped his forehead. He'd seen a lot of stripping before, but nothing to compare with this. He really wanted to get his cock inside Angela's cunt now.
As for Harry, he was trembling like the last leaf on a tree in autumn, his eyes bugging out as if he was being throttled. His woman had really turned him on. His prick was throbbing with uplift again. How-ever, he had sense and knowledge enough of his woman's after-show proclivities to tell Big Bill, "Give her a half hour to sign the autographs and meet her fans. Then, we'll go backstage and celebrate, like we did the first time, remember?"
Big Bill, drawing in his breath sharply, remembered only too well.
He had had to watch Harry fuck Angela, after she had turned him on, too. He wanted na encores on that scene. No, it must be him, not Harry, who made it with Angela this time.
So, they waited, drinking their champagne, while time -- and more time -- passed.
Finally, about 40 minutes later, they went back-stage.
Harry had been right. There were only a few hangers-on left, and they got rid of them fast and got themselves inside Angela's dressing room.
Big Bill had brought along a fresh bottle of champagne, in an ice bucket. They sat around and had a fine taste of the bubbly. Angela was wrapped in her white silk dressing gown, but enough of her cleavage was revealed to excite both men. Naturally, she didn't mind this a bit.
"A most excellent performance, Angela," Big Bill said, shaking her hand, making sure the tips of his fingers brushed against the tips of her breasts. He could feel her skin respond by warming quickly, but her eyes gave no further indication of interest as she thanked him.
"Great, honey, you really knocked 'em dead!" Harry said, his hand dropping quickly to her crotch, trying to slip through the folds of the gown. Angela smiled sweetly, picking up his perspiring palm and placing it back into his lap.
Big Bill, encouraged by that particular gambit, hastily poured Angela some more champagne. He wanted to ensure that she drank more than either Harry or himself. He also wanted to make sure that she drank the correct potion for his purposes. Fingering an aphrodisiac, he slipped it into her drink, confident that neither had noticed.
As she sipped her champagne, her eyes narrowed slightly, turning cool as two pieces of Chinese jade. Big Bill caught that, wondering if she'd caught on. But, she continued sipping, as if nothing unusual was going on.
Harry, as usual, gulped down his drink, and poured himself another. He polished that off pretty fast, and poured himself another. His eyes were getting a trifle droopy, and Big Bill was more than pleased.
"So you really liked my new act, then?" Angela said, apparently to no one in particular.
"Right on!" Harry said, sounding his hippest.
"Exquisite," Big Bill said, placing his hand on Angela's knee for a few quick seconds. When she made no objection, he removed it, thinking it was a very encouraging sign, hoping the aphrodisiac was taking effect.
Suddenly, Angela yawned.
She stretched her arms as she did so, and the front of her gown came open, revealing her lovely dark skin and beautiful breasts, everything right down to her navel. Big Bill's eyes connected with those breasts. He could hardly help himself, as he licked his lips in admiration. He could hardly wait to get his teeth into them.
"I don't know ... why you're yawning ... I'm the one ... who feels sleepy ..." Harry mumbled, his mouth opening wide. Big Bill was to blame for that; he'd slipped some sleeping powder into Harry's drink, and the stuff was just beginning to take effect.
So Big Bill leaned back, smiling but not too obviously, as he sipped his champagne and waited patiently.
"I feel like fucking," Angela said, in the same flat inflection as she might have said, "I'm going to bed." As she said it, she removed her dressing gown, and now all of her was on view to Harry and Big Bill. The latter, noticing the fresh dampness on her bush, smiled encouragingly at Angela, who puckered her lips in return, as if blowing him a kiss -- or indicating that she wanted to blow him, period.
Big Bill's prick began to come alive, straining at the confining contours of his pants. This time, nothing was going to put his prick down again. It was going to stay stiff and solid, until it got itself fucked right out of shape.
Harry staggered to his feet, stretching and yawning. He had dropped his champagne glass on the floor. His eyes were almost closed as he weaved toward his woman ... and fell right onto her.
He was, apparently, out of it again.
He couldn't even hold onto her as he fell into her naked lap, his arms flopping loosely at his sides. She grabbed him by the shoulders, allowing his head to rest in her crotch, while she stroked his hair and began to speak in a chanting style, "Poor Harry ... Harry's gone to sleep ... now how can Harry ... fuck Angela ... if Harry's ... going to sleep ... instead of fuck ..."
Big Bill cleared his throat.
Angela ignored him.
Instead, she placed Harry's mouth against her clit, as if she hoped he still had enough strength to give her a touch of tongue.
'POOR HARRY ... PASSING OUT ... WHEN ANGELA ... WANTS TO FUCK .. SUCK ANGELA... USE YOUR MOUTH ... SUCK ANGELA'S CUNT .. CHEW ANGELA'S CLIT ... HARRY ... PLEASE ..."
Big Bill cleared his throat again.
And, again, Angela ignored him.
She reached down and unzipped Harry's fly. She found his prick, still stiff, and began to fondle it between her fingers. She could feel it responding to her delicate, talented touch, as she peeled back the foreskin and ran her thumb over the tip. It shuddered in her hand, as if ready to fire off its load with just a few more fingers' worth of fondling.
Big Bill, frustrated beyond belief, sat there, his nerves on edge, sipping champagne. Should he be cool or hot, play it direct or subtle? He decided on directness. He unzipped his fly, pulled out his prick, and, standing up, he moved over to where Angela was sitting and held his stiff rod just an inch from her pouting, puckered lips.
"Angela, this is an all-day sucker," he said, his voice mesmerizing, hypnotic, his inflection as sensuous and titillating as possible. "The more you suck it, the longer it lasts. It will last all day. It will last all night, too. Now, Angela, if you will start to suck it, you will encounter ecstasy beyond your wildest dreams." He paused, looking into Angela's eyes, which were now as round as saucers, and almost as vacant as the orbs of a corpse. "Suck it, Angela, and I guarantee you instant happiness. SUCK ... SUCK ...SUCK ..."
Her mouth unpuckered enough for her tongue to stick out and touch the tip of his prick.
She licked it, tentatively. Then, she stuck out her pinkish, smooth tongue further, and licked around the tip. She moved her mouth closer, her lips touching the tip now, as her tongue began to French his stiff instrument.
Big Bill trembled with ecstasy, his prick throbbing with excitement, as Angela, still fondling Harry's dick with her hands, opened her mouth and started to suck off Big Bill.
She drew his cock inside her mouth. Her warm and moist mouth membranes clamped down upon it, holding it fast. Her tongue began to cream it as it reamed her mouth. Simultaneously, she could feel her pussy getting wet, her juices pouring out. She didn't even seem to care that the stuff was dripping all over her dressing gown, as she continued with her sexual manipulations on both men.
She could feel Harry's cock getting even harder between her fingers, but, she squeezed it once too often. Harry did what any other man would do under excessive stimulation. He came. Right in her hands.
A series of short, spurting bursts, which she helped bring on by keeping up her squeezing pressure, feeling his thick, sticky juice flowing into her palms and over her fingers. And, at the same time, feeling her own orgasmic reactions beginning, her cunt churning and her torso twisting as she quickly moved one hand into her crotch, not so much to catch her flow as to get her own thumb inside her churning cunt and to get her forefinger tweaking her trembling clit.
In short, auto-eroticism combined with a hand job on Harry.
Big Bill, seeing this situation, made a sudden change of plans. Though his prick was stuffed solidly into Angela's mouth, almost all the way back into her throat, he wanted to fuck her more than he wanted her to suck him off. He suddenly realized that he may have made a mistake by sticking his prick into her mouth first, and, trying to rectify that situation, he tried to pull it loose.
But, as his throbbing balls and shivering prick suddenly told him -- too late.
Angela's tongue, her mouth membranes, all the pressure from her lips -- all together, they affected Big Bill the same way her hand pressure had affected Harry.
Before Big Bill could change places, could get his prick into her pussy ... He came.
He tried to yank his exploding instrument from her mouth, but she held firm, even clamping her teeth upon his jumping member, gulping down his juice as fast as his steady stream could keep coming. She gobbled him good, and all he could do was to enjoy the trip. Her sucking, masticating mouth drained away his juice as fast as he could pour it out and down her thirsty throat.
In desperation, he tried to pry Harry's cock loose from her hands, to get Harry out of the way so that he could at least get his forefinger inside her cunt. But, no good; his prick was going soft. He could feel it receding, she was sucking it much too soft for him to do anything with it even if he had managed to get it next to her chattering pussy lips in the next few seconds.
No, her hands were crushing Harry's cock, her lips were squashing Big Bill's prick.
And Angela -- as, it seemed, most of the time -- was the one who was having the most fun, enjoying the maximum of sexual kicks, more so than the two men who coveted her cunt.
Pussy power, for the moment, was completely in charge.
CHAPTER TEN
Big Bill was fucking Flora again.
He was fucking her in his living room, right on the rug. She was a bareass, bareback hard-driving fuck. It seemed, more than anything else, she was meant to relieve his sexual frustrations at not getting into Angela more than the mere fact that he was into his Chicano chick and she herself was a fine fucking cunt in her own right.
He was squatting on the. rug, his legs braced straight in front of him, and she was mounted on those legs of his, her own legs wrapped around his waist and her toes tickling his backbone. His cock was jammed tightly inside her cunt; in effect, his stiff rod was supporting her as she rocked softly on her buttocks, in contact with his legs, her breasts at a level with his mouth.
She could feel his thick pubic hairs tickling her clit, which was like a baby's finger. Twitching as his hairs curled around her clit and set off sharp, electric thrills throughout her dusky Mexican body. Her long black hair was cascading down her back and over her neck and breasts, and he was sniffing at the ends of her hair as he licked her nipples, stiff and squashy, as he mouthed at her boobs, feeling her skin tingling and her tits shivering in response.
In the background, coming from Big Bill's stereo set, were the jagged, chaotic strains of Mexican mariachi music, all guitars and trumpets; sexy South of the Border sounds that seemed to turn Flora on almost as much as Big Bill's cock inside her.
One thing he really liked about Flora; she was quiet, never talked much, never even spoke that much English, he gathered. Except for her singing in Spanish, which was an exotic, erotic turn-on for him -- as she was now doing to the mariachi music, her voice almost as dusky as her dark skin -- and seemed to make his erection more than stiff enough to support her in this particular position.
She was running her hands through his hair, tousling his straight blond coiffure, rubbing her fingers around his neck and shoulders. From time-to-time, she would dip her fingers into her crotch, damp with perspiration and pussy juice, and anoint the mixture on her nipples, which he would then lick off her sweaty skin, marveling at the clean, refreshing taste of the sensuous mixture, licking his lips again to get it all down.
Her juices were flowing, her eyes were glowing, as she humped him in this odd, but strangely satisfying, position. She dug her fingernails deeper into his skin, causing him to jab and stab her in her center of gravity even more. She felt his hard cock pushed all the way back to her womb, manipulating itself so as to cover every square inch of inner skin she possessed. She was now gulping air, now placing her thick, passionate lips on the very top of his blond head. He played with her boobs like a safecracker trying for the right combination of numbers, his fingers agile and delicate, gently squeezing the base of her breasts and flicking one finger only along her nipples.
She was shuddering in the ecstasies of sex, her cunt churning wildly, her membranes wrapped around his prick like tortillas around a meat filling. He was letting her come, waiting for the right moment, wanting her to get as hot as chili cooking, to hit her right at the crest of her most impassioned orgasm. Despite the terrible twitchings of his penis, Big Bill was playing that wise, waiting game.
Finally, he felt her body surging, her vaginal muscles rippling like an ocean, his balls ready to burst loose from their scrotum and his sperm backed up like a bursting darn. This was, indeed, the time for him to come ...
His prick buckled in white heat as he fired off his heavy load, practically ripping her insides apart at the fervor and firepower of his release. She felt his sperm coursing into her in that steady, savage stream of his, and her pussy membranes responded by clasping his cock in an ever firmer, warmer grip. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, and he could feel her drawing blood. His teeth came into contact with the very tip of her nipples and bit, not hard, but enough so that she would notice the erogenous pressure on one -- rather, two -- of her most sensitive spots.
His hands, resting at the base of her breasts, were busily doing their own thing as his mouth added to her exquisite pleasure. While, of course, her feet massaging his spine were also contributing to his fucking good times.
Now, he was on the downswing, his power receding, his prick slowly softening, as he fired off the last wad of sperm. Her orgasms were, however, still functioning at top form, and, his prick still nestling in the blast-furnace heat of her cunt, was seized and yanked and jerked about in fury. Then her orgasms, too, slowly began to subside.
Finally, exhausted, he fell out of her, and they both fell to the floor, resting side by side, still touching whatever bodily parts were convenient, as the long, fucking trip came to a close.
"Say, boss?"
He glanced up; it was Wong.
"Say, boss, you want me to drive lady home now?"
He noticed Wong had a good-sized erection, and it was sure as shit showing through his floppy black pants.
"In the car, Wong, if you get my message."
The chubby Chinese frowned. But, as Flora untangled herself and went to the bathroom to shower, and then dress, she flashed a Latin smile at Wong that seemed to encourage the Chinese to believe that some good times might just happen to him on this sunny California afternoon.
After she had disappeared, Big Bill, heading for a separate bathroom -- he had his reasons -- said, winking at Wong, "If you really must fuck Flora, please do so somewhere in the bushes, a long way from my property . . ." Then, his voice hardening into authoritative tones, he added, "... and not in the back or front seat of my car. Is that understood?"
"Yes, boss, I get your message," Wong mumbled. "And be sure you are back here within the hour," Big Bill added.
Wong frowned; he might have to fuck Flora while still driving, not even slowing down, except for red lights. Well, he had done it before, he could do it again. He really wanted to fuck Flora while he had the chance. As Big Bill might have put it, "Chicano prime cut."
Big Bill mixed himself a martini after Wong had driven off with Flora. As he sipped the potent libation, he mused on the plans he had for the after-noon, plans that he expected to materialize -- him fucking Angela right in front of her horny Harry. Despite their long acquaintanceship, Big Bill had got himself so worked up over his inability to get into Angela's cunt that he was prepared to take that step, even if Harry got pissed off, which he probably would.
A picnic in the mountains, right by a mountain lake. For bait -- and for concealment of his real purpose -- he would take along a girlfriend, making it a foursome. A flexible female, one who wouldn't mind a bit of switching, if necessary.
It was Sunday, Angela's day off, and Big Bill had already set the situation up.
He finished his martini, just as Wong marched in the door, holding the car keys out to Big Bill. "Did you take care of business, Wong?"
"Oh, yes boss, take good care of business, like always," Wong mumbled, trying to conceal a satisfied grin, pushing his hair back from his eyes.
Big Bill took the keys, and ordered the Chinese to pack the picnic lunch in the trunk of the Caddy. Then, Big Bill drove off, to pick up Iris. Then he stopped off at Harry and Angela's shack, seating them in the rear seat, and headed toward the picnic area.
Big Bill was dressed in knife-creased orange slacks and a white golf shirt, while Harry was T-shirted and Bermuda shorted. Angela was wearing a halter/ pants outfit that showed plenty of cleavage and just a few fringes of pubic hairs. Iris, a starlet for one of the still-surviving movie studios ( she did mostly TV walk-ons ), was in a pure white pants suit.
Iris was tall, her shoulder-length hair light blonde but streaked with brown. Her tits and ass, were almost beyond compare, both beautifully bounteous where they should be. She looked young, early 20s or late teens, almost childlike. Her petulant pout made her look slightly naive, and her baby blue eyes, two shades lighter than Big Bill's, seemed a bit too much on the vacuous side.
In short, she lacked the usual class of a companion of Big Bill's; she was more ass than class.
Though, in fairness, Iris' voice was soft and easy on the ears, so Big Bill let her do a lot of talking, even though she didn't have much to say. Why should she? She was only playing a "role" for the day, because he'd told her before what was expected of her, and he'd laid about fifty singles on her to do the job right. So, by turning on her "friendly" personality, Iris seemed to accomplish the double purpose of disarming Harry and Angela, keeping their minds off Big Bill and their eyes on Iris.
Expecially Harry, who was already wondering whether he could get away with fucking the big blonde. Not that he wanted to leave Angela, or any-thing like that; just that, considering Angela's teasing and stripping ways (and job, consuming much time that had been previously spent in bed), a little extra pussy might appeal to him, if he could get away with it. And, if not today, he could always get her number from Big Bill, because even Harry had figured correctly that this chick was not the usual type of companion Big Bill supported.
Angela, too, couldn't help but notice that Harry was getting a hardon. She had her own ideas what was causing that projection, though she didn't say anything. Occasionally she grabbed his crotch and squeezed, hoping for him to shoot off in his pants and thus teach him a well-deserved lesson.
Big Bill, catching sight of those things via his rear-view mirror, chuckled silently to himself.
It was a fine, sunny Sunday, and the breeze was whipping Iris' hair practically in Harry's face. Angela's hair, too, was flowing freely behind her, and those sensuous scenes were really making Harry hot. He could hardly wait until they got to their destination. He really wanted to fuck for appetizers, then fuck again for the main course.
Finally, just at the end of the afternoon, with the sun sinking slowly toward the horizon, they arrived at the mountain lake.
There was a small beach, but mostly hills and grass surrounding the lake. It was so private that they seemed to be the only ones there. Of course, the fact that it was more than 50 miles out of L.A., not in a popular direction, added to its inaccessibility.
They got out of the car, bringing the goodies with them. They spread out Big Bill's huge picnic blanket, turned on the protable phonograph he'd also brought, and got down to the serious business of eating and drinking.
Martinis were there to guzzle, as well as red wine for Harry. After a few drinks, they dug into the cold roast beef and cheese, potato salad and ripe tomatoes, plus other goodies that had been provided.
Big Bill had personally selected the music, making sure that the sounds started out slowly but rhythmically, gradually increasing in tempo and complexity as the time passed. Stuff like Ravel's Bolero, for ex-ample; perfect for building and sustaining the right kind of sexy mood, especially for getting Angela into a mood to strip.
Time passed.
Big Bill got Angela to put away more than a few martinis, though Harry stuck with his California red. Big Bill would have preferred that Harry imbibe some vodka Ms, but he could hardly demand that Harry "get drunk," so he let it pass. He made damned sure, though, that Iris got her share of martinis. At a prearranged signal from him, she suddenly stood up and said, in a very senuous, yet innocent, voice, "Oh, do I feel like dancing!"
Dance she did.
Holding her martini glass in her hand, she began to shift her ample hips, to shake her ass, without disturbing her drink or moving her legs. The music was now playing one of Perez Prado's powerhouse mambos, and the "Uh, uh" grunts and the driving beat of the drums were really getting to everybody. Iris began to move her buttocks back and forth, forth and back, picking up speed until her butt was merely a blur.
"Very good, Iris," Big Bill said, nonchalantly.
"Yeah, that's really shaking it," Harry said, with great admiration in his voice.
Big Bill smiled in secret. He could almost have written a script, knowing what Harry would say and do and when.
Angela shrugged.
"Not bad," she said, noncomittally. Then, she added, winking at Big Bill, "Your friend seems to know something about dancing. But, I just wonder ..." She licked her lips, her eyes rolling skyward. "... how good she is in the stripping department?"
As Big Bill looked at her, without saying any-thing, Angela kept talking. "Of course, Big Bill, I'd never ask her to do that -- would you?"
Big Bill winced. He thought, Angela is just too, too clever, making snide suggestions like that. She must really want a contest with Iris, maybe I should suggest that Iris is the better of the two, and get Angela going that way.
He said, "Iris is a professional dancer and a professional stripper, my dear. She has excellent credits in several films and TV shows, and I assure you, she always knows exactly what she is doing."
What she was doing now, was removing her tops of the pants suit, which she then casually flipped, like a thrown gauntlet, into Angela's lap.
Iris' boobs were quite firm, but from her strenuous movements, they were starting to flop around some-what. Her nipples were small and erect, and Harry noticed that her lovely curved tits were the same shade of California suntan as the rest of her torso. She was also now moving that torso, shaking every-thing above her waist as strongly as she was shimmying her ass, her hair flying over her shoulders and into her face, her arms flailing to the mad, murderous beat of the mambo.
Harry could feel those familiar tremors in his crotch, as his prick began to respond to Iris and her movements. Big Bill wasn't immune. His rod was slowly beginning to become like a flagpole. As he spotted the outlines of Harry's prick peeping through his pants, he thought that everything was working out just fine so far. Just fine, just dandy!
Angela kept sipping her martini, watching Iris' every move, her eyes cool, cat green, almost slotted in comtemplation, until, finally, she made her move.
Since Iris was still balancing her martini in one hand -- and had drunk half of it, to make sure nothing spilled -- Angela poured herself a fresh, full drink, and stood up, balancing the full glass on her head.
Harry gasped.
Big Bill murmured a few words of admiration.
Angela began to move her pelvis, swivel her hips, and shake her ass -- all without seeming to move an-other muscle in her body. It looked as if her muscles, from waist through thighs, were on a separate wavelength, with different controls, from the rest of her body. As she balanced the martini glass on top of her head -- without, so far, spilling so much as a drop -- she began to remove her halter.
Harry couldn't help it; he started to applaud, as if he was watching his woman performing in the Kit-ten Club.
Iris glared at Angela, missing a beat-and drop-ping her martini glass right in Big Bill's lap. What was left of the drink made a nice wet spot right in his crotch, drenching his shorts and his cock with vodka and vermouth.
Angela, her halter now completely off, with no bra to encumber her, went into one of her bullfighter takeoffs, waving the halter in front of her titties like a poor gal's cape. She danced, revealing this boob, then that one. It was obvious to the two men, and to Iris too, that Angela's breasts were noticeably more firm than Iris'. They were a size or two larger, too.
Especially angering Iris was the way that Harry had switched his gaze from her to Angela, and didn't seem about to switch it back, either.
Iris, one might say, was getting pretty pissed off.
Big Bill, it seems, had not really revealed to Iris exactly how professional, exactly how excellent a dancer and stripper Angela really was. Iris had not expected such close competition; especially when the competition seemed to be, on the basis of Big Bill's and Harry's eye-boggling interest, on the way toward winning the purse.
It hurt Iris right in her most vulnerable spot -- her ego.
Iris grabbed the martini jug itself, put it on top of her head, and started to step out of the bottoms of her pants suit.
She managed to get one leg loose. But, in attempting to kick loose the other leg, she lowered her head a fraction of an inch too much, and the martini jug fell off and socked Harry right in the stomach.
"Ugh!" Harry gasped.
He also got most of the remaining martinis spilled on his T-shirt, because the top came loose at the moment of impact.
Angela, still balancing the full martini glass on her head, let out a short, triumphant laugh.
This seemed to spur Iris on.
She now pulled down her panties and stepped out of them, revealing a small, dark bush of pubic hairs, a very small slit, and cunt lips that were far inferior to those of Angela, as far as texture, shape and size went. They were all right; but, as Angela glanced at Iris' exposed genitals, she knew that hers were easily the better of the two.
Harry, who had recovered somewhat, felt his prick pressing against his pants, struggling to get free. Though his shirt and skin were soaked from the spilled martinis, he still felt like fucking, and the double-treat dancing of Iris and Angela was more than he could hold back on.
As Big Bill had envisioned, Harry slowly stood up, doffed his T-shirt, and cried out, "Don't you girls know that I'm a pretty fucking good dancer, too?"
Well, he was good, when he was sober. But, unfortunately, not, as he'd just claimed, pretty fucking good.
As Harry started to shake his ass, in imitation of the girls, he stepped into the potato salad.
Cursing loudly, he pulled his foot out of the bowl, his shoe and sock encrusted with gooey potato sal-ad. Iris laughed, a little too raucously. Angela said nothing, as if. she hadn't noticed. She was now down to removing her pants and panties, revealing her go-to-it cunt and all its accessories, ready for action.
Big Bill grinned with admiration at Angela's cunt, its symmetrical lines seeming as if designed by some great architect who also liked sex. To him, her pussy appeared as perfection personified. He started to lick his lips, and he could feel the drops of perspiration forming on his forehead. Below, his prick elongated just that much more, and his balls became even more restless and expansive in their thin sack of skin.
Since there were no more martinis left, Bill, feeling suddenly thirsty, poured himself some wine. He gulped the stuff down, wondering what was going to happen next and how he could manipulate Angela's next move to his advantage. He really wanted to fuck her. His cock was beyond any kind of message to the contrary of its erect expectations. He also wanted to make her come to him, to make their coming together seem as "accidental" as possible. But, Angela apparently had other ideas.
She was into a whirling dervish kind of dance, squatting on the grass and moving like a spinning top, her long red hair a cape around her head. Her boobs were bobbing up and down like corks in water, her ass vibrating like two round mounds, and she was even snapping her fingers in time to the mambo beat.
Iris, not to be outdone, was now standing on her head, shaking her ass gymnastic style.
Harry was stumbling around, just a bit bombed out on the booze, stepping into this and that, not so much dancing as just simply staggering around.
Only Big Bill was still sitting down, and he was massaging his mind madly, trying to figure out what his next move should be. He was almost frowning; his plan didn't seem to be working the way he had wanted it to.
In sheer desperation, he finally stood up and took off all his clothes. Then, he started doing somersaults all over the picnic grounds. His muscles, his gymnastic training, his own previous stage experience -- all these facets combined to help him stay coordinated as he catapulted himself all around the others, his foreskin-less cock as smooth and shiny as a cop's club.
Harry, seeming to sober up, made his big move.
As if on purpose, trying to make Angela jealous, he shimmied over to Iris and grabbed her by both boobs, trying to kiss her on the mouth.
Big Bill liked that move, figuring it couldn't help but set Angela up just for himself.
That was a premature assessment.
Iris -- even though she'd been briefed by Big Bill -- didn't react according to plan. She didn't like men pawing her; it turned her off. She pushed Harry away, and he tumbled into Angela, interrupting her balletic performance. Interrupting her sufficiently so that, since she was now dancing right on the edge of the lake, she took a splash into the water. Harry tried to catch her, to break her fall. He didn't succeed, and due to his own momentum, he too took an unexpected dive into the cold, clear lake water.
The lake water, however, appeared to turn Angela into some sort of baby seal, for she started doing aquatic tricks, swimming away from Harry, then floating on her back with just her mouth and tits out of water. The sight of her erect nipples and those bounteous breasts riding the water's edge spurred Harry on. Despite the chill his initial contact with the water had given him, it hadn't caused his cock to soften one millimeter. He dog-paddled after his girl, diving under her floating body and patting her lovely ass as he swam by.
Then, Harry surfaced, and Angela moved one hand to splash his face with water. Harry laughed, loud and raucously. He dove for Angela, she disappeared beneath the surface, and where the two of them had been, the water changed into froth and churning, as if they were both back on the beach and the surf was splashing into the shore.
Big Bill stared morosely at that spot, seeing his cherished plan going down with Harry and Angela.
"What's the matter, Big Bill? Those bad actors didn't read your script right, did they?"
It was Iris, mocking and taunting him. She had a tendency to be a smartass broad at times, and this was one of those times.
"Fuck off, Iris," Big Bill said, coldly, fingering his prick as if he wanted to smack her with it.
"Well, you can't say that I didn't play my part correctly," she said, shaking her hair over her breasts, then shoving her haunches directly into his face, as if telling him to kiss her ass.
Big Bill could tolerate no more from his hired cunt.
Since he didn't want the picnic, the time spent a total waste, he walked over to Iris, picked her up by legs and shoulders, and dropped her quickly right on the ground, right on her ass. Some of the breath, as he'd expected, was knocked right out of her, and she started to pout, to cry, to feel sorry for herself and her predicament.
Then, Big Bill, playing it caveman-style, grabbed her long blonde hair and began to drag her toward the water.
She yelped in protest, but he kept on pulling her along, until he had dragged her into the water itself, her body scooping out some sand, her head barely above the surface of the water. Bracing her back upright, so that she was almost in a right angle, a 90� position, he simply squatted on top of her, his legs outstretched over hers, and, with one quick thrust which was aided by the lubricating quality of
the clear lake water -- drove his cock into her cunt, right up to the hilt.
She gasped, first in pain at his swift, stabbing movement, then in pleasure, as she could feel her membranes responding, their expansion and con-traction beginning like an accordian being played. She could feel him moving around, touching every membrane and muscle, and her breasts filled, her nipples vibrating in their proud erectness, her clit an electrical socket blasting thousands of volts through-out her nervous system as his stomach and pubic hairs massaged that sensitive little finger just above her vagina.
As her juices began to flow, she wanted to enjoy her orgasms, so she tried to place her arms around Big Bill, to touch him with her lips and her fingers, to kiss and fondle him. Big Bill would have none of that. Instead, he held her hands outstretched, keeping her head away from him. All he was going to do was to give her a cold, caustic fuck in the cunt, just to show her who was boss, just to relieve himself -- and that was all, nothing else, no embellishments or frills. Just the old in-and-out, period.
While, in the lake, below the surface of the water .. Harry and Angela backed into a similar position, right on the bottom of the lake, though a matter of only a few feet under. Her legs were eagerly spread, the electric thrills were coursing through her body, and Harry, chewing her clit as if was a candy bar, was holding his breath as best as he could while Angela, her hands massaging his curly hair, felt Harry's palms pressed against her breasts and his fondling fingers tweaking her nipples, turning her on to ecstasy, submarine style.
Then, Harry removed his mouth, careful not to swallow too much water, and drove his cock into her cunt. The sudden thrust caused both of them to spurt out some air bubbles, which broke through the surface of the water. Big Bill, his sperm streaming out, his cock ramming and reaming Iris' cunt, saw those bubbles, and laughed bitterly. Below that watery surface, Angela, her pussy palpitating with the joys of orgasmic lust, felt Harry's spurting bursts of sperm hitting home, as Harry felt the fine satisfaction of fucking his favorite cunt, humping and pumping, really enjoying the fine feeling of sex under water for the added dimension of sexual thrills and unusual sexual satisfaction.
While Big Bill, still staring at their bubbles, said bitterly, to no one in particular, "I hope they drown!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"I'm going to Las Vegas," Angela said, matter-of-factly, as she thrust the contract that had just come in the mail in Harry's face.
"Huh?"
That was all Harry could say, as he blinked and gulped, and started to sweat. That was all he needed; an out-of-town job for his woman.
"You can read, can't you, Harry? Don't you see this contract is guaranteeing me one month's engagement at this Las Vegas lounge?"
"Yeah, sure ... I see it."
He went for the wine bottle, gulping down some Gallo burgundy right from the bottle, feeling the warming liquid trickle down his throat.
Now, he felt a little better.
He shrugged. He'd been expecting something like this, especially since Angela's press was still going great, and the attendance at the Kitten Club was breaking house records. Yes, he knew, sooner or later, better offers would naturally come her way. But, why now? Why, before he'd broken her of her professional stripping, stopped the habit for good? He and Big Bill had been so close to straightening her out ... so close ...
"Well, Harry -- aren't you at least going to offer me your congratulations?'
Angela looked at him quizzically, her cat's-eyes gleaming suspiciously, and he thought, next thing I know, she'll be shacking up with some Las Vegas gambler and won't be coming home any more, goddam the lousy luck ...
"Honey ..." he said, hesitatingly, suddenly feeling his prick vibrate vibrate with ecstasy, as he begin to wonder about making it with her a dozen times a day before she left to start her new job. "Listen, you know I'm happy with your success." He paused, glancing downward, adding, "It's just that ... well, you know ..."
"I know that if I'm in Vegas, you'll still be here, because the contract only pays for my room and meals, and not yours. That's what you mean, isn't it, Harry?"
"Well ..."
Suddenly, she laughed, like a little girl playing with a new toy. She kissed him quickly on the lips, her tantalizing tongue darting between his teeth, searching for his tongue to reply to her. He grabbed her, pulling her close, rubbing his crotch against hers. He was still in his underwear, she in panties and bra. He was pleased to discern the dampness of her pubic hairs, sufficient enough for him to feel it through both of their clothes. He tongued her back, his eyes burning into hers. She looked at him mischievously, gave him a quick tongueing that reamed right over all of his mouth membranes, then pulled her head away.
"Harry," she said, almost in mocking tones, "You know I love fucking you, but I love my career, too. Now, there's no reason why I can't have both, is there now?" She paused, reaching, down to place her hand on his shorts, to let her fingers slip through the slot and come into contact with his prick. "After all, it's only a month, just four weeks, and then I'll be back in California, and I'll have all these great press clippings to show around." He could feel her fingers pulling back his foreskin, rubbing his balls. His cock lurched with desire, grew like a hothouse plant, getting stiffer by the second. "Harry, when I return, you'll be so proud of me, I just know it!"
Harry just knew it, too. He knew that that wouldn't be the end of it, no matter what she said now. Knew that next it would be Hollywood films, New York club dates, TV commercials ... and God only knows what after that ...
He also knew, right now, that he really wanted to fuck, especially since she was almost ready to change clothes and go to work at the club.
"Hey, Angela -- here's a new routine you might try when you get to Vegas!"
Harry, his confidence flowing back as his prick flowed into super-stiffness, suddenly got on the floor, doing a hand stand, his legs pointing toward the ceiling, as he tried, by sheer body vibrations, to shake off his shorts. His ass was shaking pretty hard, and his prick had fallen forward and was flopping out of his shorts, his pubic hairs also peeking around the elastic waistband as he strained to pop off his drawers. But, they only advanced ceiling ward by a few inches, as he sweated and struggled to show Angela what to do and how to do it.
Angela laughed; not maliciously, but with affectionate humor at his machinations. After all, he was her Harry, and he was a sweet guy, so fine when he was fucking her. She got down on the floor beside him, also standing on her hands; but, first, she un.snapped her bra, dropping it right by his nose. As she'd expected, he couldn't help but sniff her tit aroma, and this seemed to turn him on all the more.
"Watch, Harry, let's see if I can do it, too," she said, her eyes staring into his, her hips swiveling and her legs moving, as her muscles began to expand and contract, the muscles rippling like a roaring river, slowly shaking loose her panties, slowly revealing that lovely thatch of pubic hair, that long, pointed clit that was trembling with sexual expectancy, those lovely cunt lips that seemed to be talking to him in strictly sexual language.
He watched, his eyes rolling like loose marbles, as, inch by inch, her panties seemed to be popping off. Her easy manipulations made him strain all the harder, but he could not quite equal her prowess in the challenge he'd laid down. There was only one way to save face; that is, by fucking her while both of them were standing on their heads.
His eyes turning sensual, gleaming into hers, he began to move his cock toward her cunt, still keeping his balance. After all, he'd had gymnastic training, too, and he was putting it to good use as he slowly began to change his balance, to move closer to his woman with his prick quivering with lust, his muscles straining for sexual contact.
Her cool green eyes began to turn warmer, to add a touch of lusty humor, as she noticed what he was doing. His movements seemed to turn her on, for she could feel her pussy began to stir, its juices starting to flow. Her breathing became more rhythmic, and was coordinated with the now rising and falling of her breasts and erecting of her nipples and clit. A patina of perspiration slowly began to form on her skin, and she began to lick her lips, thinking that of all the imaginative ways Harry had devised of fucking her, this had to be the best idea so far.
So, she began to change her position, too. She carefully swung her crotch toward his. Slowly, fraction of an inch by fraction of an inch, their central parts moved closer, until she could feel his cock rubbing against her clit. Electric jolts shot through her, as she felt the tough tip of his rod probing her clit, which vibrated lustily at his touch. She moved her crotch so that his cock was now poised against her cunt lips, which began to spread slowly open so that his instrument might penetrate their lush, damp darkness.
It was a tricky position, and one that called for the most delicate, the most precise, of manipulations. Harry was being just as careful as Angela; he wanted her to really have a fuck to remember when she was stripping on that Vegas stage. He began to inch his cock into her cunt, which was now becoming sufficiently lubricated to allow him passage.
He forgot, for a few seconds, his position, and lunged with his prick, almost knocking her back-ward. She glared at him, and his eyes registered the message to his mind. More careful with his next move, he more gently eased his prick along her pussy, feeling it sliding now in a more natural, smoother manner. She felt him opening her up like a flower facing the sun, she felt him slowly crawling like a slithering snake all the way, almost all the way, in this difficult position, until she could feel that he was in as far as he could get.
Her vaginal muscles clutched at his cock, and he could feel their firm grip, manipulating his member. He was sweating from toe to head, but he still held his position, rocking though a bit, yet still upright as his prick.
He felt her toes touch his, and then he understood why. She wanted to ensure them retaining that delicate balance during their intercourse, their inter-change of sexual goodies. Her muscles were really working him over, and she could feel her orgasm beginning, the juice now pouring from her pussy.
His face was wracked with the strain of standing on his head so long; he hadn't done that in years. His cock was throbbing with power, his balls near bursting, as he did his best to hold his position and let her pussy muscles make most of the moves. She could feel him buckling inside her, getting ready to fire, as she built herself into a passion, raised herself to a plateau, of sexual stimulation, her nerves like electric wires, her body trembling so hard she could barely hold her position.
For both of them, the blood was running to their heads, she was feeling faint, he a bit dizzy. She wanted to cry out to him, "What are you waiting for?" but she was afraid that might throw both of them off balance. She could hear him grunting, over and above her moans for relief, and she knew he was trying hard ... harder ... hardest ...
She was coming now, so violently she almost knocked them over, as her muscles strained to trigger off his load.
And, then, with a great gasp and a heaving of all his muscles, he finally got it all together.
He came in a great glorious gush of sperm, not his usual rat-a-tat-tat style but like an oil geyser coming in. So strained had he been from this peculiar position. He blasted off a bucketful, his cock twitching and vibrating inside her, like a burning poker, giving her plenty of sexual heat. She gasped in pleasure, her muscles and membranes gripping his prick al-most hard enough to yank it off, as they came together, riding their orgasms over the crest until ... they both fell down.
He, in effect, knocked her down by the strength of his sexual offensive. Still locked together, they hit the floor, with Harry on top. Now, their hands could quickly grab each other, her breasts could rub beautifully against his chest, as they finished their sexual session, really exhausted but satisfied.
Of course, when it was done, she had to take a shower and change, and then, she was off to work, and he was all by himself again.
Feeling just a bit lonesome, and thinking more than just a bit of that Las Vegas trip coming up, he too cleaned himself up, put on a shirt and pants, and walked down the road a few houses to borrow a phone to call ... Big Bill.
And, Big Bill said, "Harry, just sit tight, I'll send Wong over to fetch you to my place at once."
Minutes later, Harry found himself in Big Bill's Laurel Canyon home, with Bill hosting and hoisting the martinis while dressed in denim slacks and nothing else. Of course, these denims were high style stuff, costing about half a hundred and hand tailored, but how would Harry know that?
After Harry had told him the story, Big Bill nodded, and said, "Well, Harry, if we try to stop her from going to Las Vegas, she might become angry enough to simply leave you. But, if we allow her to go, we are taking the chance that she may not re-turn.,
"Well, that's why I called you, Big Bill. I mean, I know you've helped me out a lot already, and I hate to keep on bothering you ... "
"Say no more, Harry. You know I am always glad to help a friend in need. Now, let me think ..."
Several martinis later -- for both of them -- Big Bill suddenly looked skyward, snapped his fingers, and said, "I believe I know a solution."
"I hope so," Harry said, feeling the martinis roaring through his blood like a raging river.
"Yes, there is only one thing that could cause Angela to abandon her career. Acute embarrassment, Harry, nothing less. Some sort of humiliation, perhaps a performance so bad that she would never again be able to secure another engagement. Do you understand?"
"Well ... sure, I get you!" He lowered his eyes, then looked up again, and added, "But I'm not going to mess Angela up, she'd really pull out if I pulled that on her!"
Big Bill nodded, his expression symbolizing the words, "I understand." Then, he said, after another sip of his martini, "Harry, believe me, nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan. Please listen while I explain ..."
When he had finished explaining, it sounded to Harry as if Big Bill had been up all day and all night just thinking it up. Harry nodded vigorously in agreement, feeling the martinis as well as the plan exciting him, and said, "That's great! When do we start?"
"Right now." He stood up, and said, "Please excuse me while I make some phone calls."
About fifteen minutes later, Big Bill was back, winking cryptically, and saying, "In about ten minutes, Harry, we shall have a visitor. I think you will find her, shall we say, performance most interesting." When the doorbell rang and Wong ushered the expected visitor into the living room, Harry saw that it was Iris, the crazy blonde cunt from the ill-starred mountain picnic. She was wearing white silk; white silk ribbons that had been wrapped around her like she were a mummy.
Harry's eyes popped wide open. He mumbled, "Huh ... what's happening ... why are you dressed like that ..."
She laughed, winking at Harry, as she replied, "Well, Harry, Big Bill here says I'm supposed to cure what ails you. And if you're the patient, why, just consider me as your nurse, because I'm going to give you an injection that will really fix you up."
Taking a quick martini from Big Bill, who'd now put some wild, drumming African music on the stereo, Iris began to dance.
With her hips swaying suggestively, her arms moving in sensual ways, her legs doing dances that wouldn't have been tolerated in the most liberal of brothels. And, as she moved her body into positions and gyrations that Harry would not have believed if he wasn't seeing them, she began to unroll the white silk strands from her body.
Big Bill, trying to keep his own cock cooled as he watched Iris, noticed that Harry's tongue was hanging out like a thirsty dog, his prick struggling to free itself from his pants. Especially when Iris unrolled some strips from her right leg, just enough so that a few thick clumps of blonde pubic hairs showed through.
As she continued her dancing, her body turned into one vibrating question mark. She seemed to have no bones, only skin and muscles. Harry was getting so excited he unzipped his fly and let his dick out, to give it some breathing space. It was almost completely erect, its foreskin pulled back and its tip as solid as a baseball. Big Bill couldn't conceal a chuckle or two at that sight.
Iris kept on moving, this time twirling the ribbons from her left leg, revealing more pubic hair and the bottom of her pussy. Harry's head leaned forward, and his hands reached out as if he wanted to grab it. She smiled tolerantly, but danced out of his reach.
Big Bill, feeling his own erection, realized that even he wasn't as immune to Iris as he'd thought. His mind went into action, but his prick didn't seem to get the message.
Now, Iris was removing the strips from her shoulders and arms, like unraveling a ribbon of silk. She continued, her nimble fingers removing the stuff from her torso. And, as her pink nipples and dusky breasts became visible, Harry felt his rod stand straight at attention. He wasn't embarrassed at letting it all hang out; not since the picnic happenings. There was really nothing anyone there, in Big Bill's place, hadn't seen before, anyway.
Iris had removed almost everything, except for a few gleaming white ribbons still wrapped around part of her pussy.
Off they came, in one twirling motion, and there, her pussy lips chattering like two women exchanging gossip, her cunt was thrust so close to Harry's head that his dangling tongue leaped out and tried to connect with Iris's tempting clit.
She pulled back, and his tongue stayed hanging in air.
She could feel her juice starting up from her own sexual exertions, and she could also see that Harry was really ready for it. But, she had her instructions to prolong the moment, tease him to the point of no return, tempt him right to the breaking point before giving in.
Without realizing it, perhaps, she was also tempting Big Bill, who had apparently misjudged his own neutrality, his own cock control, for his prick was now stabbing skyward, and he was just about ready to cream his expensive jeans.
But, Harry was the target.
And Harry, not knowing that, fell into the trap, jumping out of his chair and diving for Iris. His hands grabbed her ankles, and he pulled her off balance; she fell by degrees, bracing herself with her hands, sliding to the thick; plush rug in parts. As she dropped, she grabbed Harry's prick and squeezed it good and hard.
Harry screamed, and smacked her in the mouth.
Dropping his cock, she smacked him one right back.
Harry, backhanding it, hit her with a wave of blows, smacking her until her cheeks turned as red as raw meat. Big Bill, unsettled by this unexpected violence, started to head for Harry, just about ready to throw both of them out, angry that his plan was messing up again.
Just before he reached them, Iris, mumbling through her puffy lips, cried out, "Oh ... you hit me .. but I love it ... you can hit me again ... you can fuck me again ..."
"Sorry," Harry said, his face tomato-red in embarrassment at what he'd just done.
Big Bill stood back, still staring, still feeling his erection ready to explode.
Carefully, Harry eased Iris back on the floor, and bent over her -- his clothing still on, his cock still hanging out -- and dropped right on her.
It was a good, swift thrust, and Iris was wet enough inside not to cause him any difficulty in getting through. Though, he couldn't help but notice that her pussy was looser, limper than Angela's, certainly a lot more worn out than his woman's.
But, fucking was fucking, so the influence of all the martinis told Harry, as he started to pump it to her. She began to hump and arch her back, her arms reaching around Harry's bottom, and his love bites hitting her just below the left ear. He felt her big boobs against his chest, her nipples tough enough to stab into his skin.
While Big Bill, desperately trying to keep his cock under control, dumped the contents of his martini pitcher over it. The effect was instantaneous; it began to tremble with cold, then slowly softened, retracting a few inches, as Big Bill sat down, and impassively watched Harry and Iris go at it on the rug.
Iris was coming, her pussy palpitating, her juices flowing and dripping onto Harry's drawers as they poured out of her pussy. She was arching her back, her haunches heaving, meeting Harry's cock with her own quivering cunt, and she'd even got her legs hooked around his waist in a sort of scissors grip. He drove energetically inside her, his prick as powerful as a battering ram.
He let loose his sperm, in that series of spasmodic, jolting spurts he was so used to. As she felt him coming inside her, her pussy membranes closed tightly around his prick, squeezing even more juice from his vibrating instrument. And, she was moaning as if singing a joyful blues, and exuberant chant, a cunt-felt offering and thanksgiving to the Gods of Sex.
Big Bill had made it with Iris many times, but he couldn't remember ever hearing such raw, primitive animal sounds from her insides before. It angered him, slightly. He was getting ready to fuck her in the ass, but now, with those paens of love poetry coming from her mouth, he decided to make sure he one-upped Harry, by fucking her at least twice as wild as Harry was now banging her.
Commanding his cock to hold it for a few more minutes, he suddenly felt a familiar tap on his shoulder. Of course, it was Wong. Big Bill glanced over his shoulder, and saw Wong's cock ready to split the seams of his trousers.
"Say, boss, can I join fun, too?" Wong asked.
"After me, Wong!" Big Bill snapped at his servant, so savagely that Wong stepped back a few paces. Big Bill swung his gaze toward Harry and Iris again, watching them really going at it. It seemed as if Harry's sperm supply was as spacious as the gasoline tank in Big Bill's Caddy. Big Bill said again to Wong, almost sighing as he did so, "Seconds for me first Wong, and then -- for your sake -- I hope the third time is charm."
CHAPTER TWELVE
The day before Angela's scheduled Las Vegas show opening, Big Bill drove Harry across the desert in his Caddy convertible, allowing plenty of time to make the five-hour trip.
When they arrived on the outskirts of the city, on the other side of town from the world-famous Strip, they checked into the motel room Big Bill had re-served. He would have liked to stay at Angela's hotel, but even his money and influence couldn't get the furnace room, what with the fantastic, fabulous crowds that had already checked in. However, his money had managed to purchase some other amenities.
After checking in, Big Bill suggested that both he and Harry get a good night's sleep -- alone, just to make sure both of them were in top shape for tomorrow night. Harry couldn't agree more, and said so.
The next day, they stayed around the motel, taking some sun and loafing around the swimming pool. They could have picked up some cunt, but Big Bill, even more than Harry, was determined that both of them be fresh, including sexually, for Angela's opening night scene. And, Big Bill especially had his reasons. He didn't want Harry wandering into the casinos and dropping any loot, either. Nothing must distract either of them- from what was to take place that evening.
Since arriving in Vegas, Big Bill had discovered a big change had taken place at Angela's hotel.
It seems that the featured entertainer, a Sinatra-type singer, had developed an acute case of laryngitis, and had had to cancel out completely. It was such a last-minute scene that the management, franti for almost any replacement, had hit upon using Angela herself, and had moved her from the lounge into the main room, giving her sudden and unexpected star billing. Of course, her favorable press notices in recent months hadn't hindered. Management felt it was not taking that much of a chance. But, they had almost no choice, so chance or not, Angela was now headlining the show.
Big Bill, therefore, had to make some last-minute changes himself. Lucidly, he had the cash on hand to do so, though he certainly didn't tell Harry about it. What he did tell Harry was a little plan he'd worked out, as he said, to "surprise" Angela. That is, their table -- which Big Bill had arranged for -- must be close enough for them to see her, but not for her to spot them. That way, they could give her an opening-night surprise that even she wouldn't be prepared for. All in gratitude, of course, for the good times she'd given both of them according to Big Bill.
After briefing Harry for the third time, just to make sure, they toasted their enterprise with Harry's favorite Gallo wine, clinked glasses, "Down the hatch!" Then, Big Bill called a taxi for them -- he didn't want to have to hassle over parking, and be-sides, he wanted to make a fast getaway for other reasons -- and soon they were sitting at their table. The table was about six or seven feet from stage front but with an excellent view. They began drinking champagne, watching and waiting for Angela to appear.
The opening act, a lounge-type comedian making his first showroom appearance, who should have stayed in the lounge, according to Harry -- "The men's lounge." After he had got off stage to mild applause, the lights went to black for about five or ten minutes while Harry gulped bubbly as fast as he usually drank wine and waited impatiently for Angela to do her thing.
Finally, the spotlights came on again, the heavy spangled curtain raised over the stage, and ...
Angela appeared.
And, when she swirled on stage, the applause, the whistling, the foot-stomping was thunderous.
Her costume was a silk seraglio outift, harem pants and all, and there were three exposed areas of her body. In short, both breasts and one cunt were ... well, not exactly bared but minimally concealed with a thin gauze-like flap of material over them. Each flap moved with the slightest disturbance; so that every time Angela made a move, those flaps flipped open, and her three most interesting append-ages were revealed, at least for a few seconds.
As the band broke into some hard-rocking, spiffy stripping music, Angela bowed. As she did so, the flaps really flipped out -- as did much of the audience -- and Harry, his tongue hanging out as if he wanted to lick and suck those exposed areas, was so enraged (and excited) that Big Bill had to forcibly restrain him from getting right on stage. He said, "Please, Harry ... relax, don't make yourself conspicuous, wait for the magic moment."
Reluctantly, Harry settled back in his chair.
Big Bill sipped his champagne, smiling, thinking of all the money he had invested in his scheme, buying off about half the waiters and stage managers and other hotel personnel. He'd had to. What he had set up was against most laws, even those of wide-open Nevada. He had even had himself covered with liability insurance, courtesy of none less than Lloyds' of London. As for Harry; too bad, he thought, you really asked for it, you and your teasing, tempting woman, and you are both going to get it tonight.
Angela started to dance.
She opened with her hip-swiveling special, with her hands demurely at her sides and her feet firmly planted in one place. She started slowly, wiggling her buttocks in time to the music, listening to the sounds slowly but surely increase in tempo, adjusting her movements accordingly.
As the saying goes, "Her ass was grass."
Her haunches were moving up and down, side-ways, all around, her shimmying and shaking perfection personified. And, her innocent, trusting expression only increased the sexual interest of the men in the audience. A few even had to be restrained by the waiters from trying to join Angela on stage.
Then ... with her ass still swinging in high gear, she reached her hands to her breasts, causing a collective "Ohhh!" to escape from the audience.
She tore the flap from her right breast.
"Ahhh!"
She tore the flap from her left breast.
"Uhhh!"
She started to rip off her blouse, tearing the expensive silk fabric into fragments, tearing it into strips and dropping them on stage, still moving her sweet, sensuous ass without missing a beat. Until -- she was naked from the navel up.
"Wow!"
She kicked off her left shoe, right into the audience. An aging, bald-headed fellow caught it, and started to sniff at it, his nose working like a horny rabbit's.
She kicked off her right shoe into the audience, and a young stud got it, poured his drink into it, and lifted it high as a gracious toast to Angela's talents.
Next, she pulled her harem pants up to her knee-caps, exposing her lovely leg -- to heavy, exuberant applause -- and started to remove her stockings.
Standing on one foot, her rear still spinning as if a separate part of her, she carefully peeled off her right stocking, and tossed it over the footlights. One of the musicians caught it and stuffed it inside his jacket, to take home for a souvenir.
She carefully peeled off her left stocking, also tossing it away, and a middle-aged lady got this one, which she stuffed into her purse.
As for the flap over Angela's palpitating pussy ...
Well, that was flip-flopping like a sheet in the wind, and the people in front-row, first-table center were getting their eyeballs full of quivering cunt, right up to their own flapping eyebrows. Angela, it seemed, was doing her own thing to the point of auto-eroticism. She was turning herself on, too ... right on stage.
She started to pull away the flap covering her cunt .. when a cop suddenly appeared in the aisle leading toward the stage.
The hotel had its own security guards in the audience, of course, but, this was strictly a city cop, heading straight toward the stage. He started shouting, waving his club at Angela and gesturing also around the audience, "Lady if you take off any more of your clothes, I'm putting you under arrest!" Glancing at the audience again, he added, "And that goes for all of you, tool"
The Maitre d' and some security guards, plus the manager, intercepted the bluecoat and tried to persuade him to take his dogmatic moralizing else-where. Big Bill grimaced and groaned inwardly; the police were the only people that he hadn't bought off, and he certainly didn't expect them to interfere in the first place, not with Vegas being known for "anything goes."
The cop, still on and in the line of duty, shoved aside his detractors and continued his march toward Angela. She, as if to taunt him, ripped off her entire set of harem pants, and threw them right into the cop's face. And, since she was not wearing . panties, her entire crotch area, with her beautiful, juicy snatch -- and by juicy, she was spurting wetness like a water faucet now, turned on by her exertions and the audience's applause -- exposed to total public view. With the spotlight centered right on her churning cunt.
As for Harry ... he was hopping mad; mad enough to hop right out of his chair and head for center stage. He brushed off any hands attempting to restrain him, including Big Bill's, and was on stage in seconds, standing right next to his undressed woman, his face reddish with rage, his very flesh quivering with righteous anger at her exposure in front of all these paying customers.
Well, that had been part of Big Bill's plan. To get Harry pissed off enough so that he'd try to stop the show, at which strategy Angela would decide to leave him once and for all; or, so Big Bill had assumed. However, the cop was the sand in the soup, so to speak; the timing, the situation, was so off schedule, that Big Bill was tempted to grab the cop by the arm and drop a hundred-dollar bribe into his sweating palm and let the whole scene take place as he'd originally envisioned it.
Too late.
There was Harry, still on stage, confronting Angela, his arms flailing wildly as he shouted, "Angela, what the hell's the matter with you, taking off all your clothes like that, in front of all these people?"
Angela, whose feeling of great fun, whose sexual stimulation, whose entire ego trip was rapidly be-coming dissipated by her bedmate's remonstrations, replied haughtily, "You're an idiot, Harry! Don't you realize this is my job? I'm being paid to do this, you fool, and I don't care if my audience is one or one million, I like doing it for the money and the plea-sure of the thing!"
She slapped him twice, once on each cheek, saying, sadly, "Maybe I wouldn't have to do this for a living -- if you'd bring home the money for a change!"
That got to Harry, but good.
He grabbed the nearest mike, screaming at the audience -- most of whom were now leaving, except the manager, the Maitre d', the waiters, and the cop who was being restrained by some showgirls from proceeding any further at the moment -- a diatribe, which went something like this:
"What the fuck ... my woman here on stage ... looking like she's ready to fuck the first guy who gets it up here ... teasing all you horny guys ... that's not fair ... if anyone should fuck her ... it's me ... I'm her fucking man ... ain't I ..."
Angela managed to whisper somewhat loudly in his ear, "Harry, get the fuck out of here or I'll leave you.
That was the wrong word -- leave.
Harry yelled "Fuck you!" into the open mike and, as those two words were amplified and reverberated from the walls of the entire room, he started to take off his clothes. Seconds later, he was just as naked as his woman, and his huge erection, wide as a trowel and strong as the cop's club, was exposed for all the audience to see.
Including the cop, who turned fireman red in the face, pushed the nestling showgirls away and, waving his club at Harry, shouted, "All right, that's it, this whole place is under arrest!"
Then the bluecoat started to shove his way through the crowd, most of whom were simply standing and staring, some (mostly men) at Angela's churning cunt, others (mostly women) at Harry's monstrous cock. The manager and the Maitre d' were heading toward the officer again, trying to re-gain the initiative, frying to preserve some law and order in their establishment.
As for Harry, the past several months of frustration and titillation had reached their climax. He really didn't give a good goddam anymore. He was out for more than sexual satisfaction now, he was hell bent for revenge.
So, he spun around on his heels, swiveling his prick like a fireman's hose, making sure all the audience got a good look at his pride and joy. Then, again addressing the paying customers via the open mike, he said, bluntly but surprisingly without bitterness, "All right, you want to see a show? Watch this -- I'm gonna fuck my woman right on stage -- and standing up -- with lots of dancing -- and no goddam hands at all!"
The briefest of thoughts roared through Angela's brain -- "He must be really mad!" -- before Harry, shaking his ass at the audience, moving his feet as if doing a soft shoe, lunged forward, waving his hands wildly in the air as if either surfing or swimming, and let his cock connect with Angela's cunt.
The force of his driving thrust got his cock right into Angela's cunt, right past the entrance, ducking the cunt lips and clit that she had almost put "En-garde." She felt the impact of him inside her, and, before she could move away -- actually, the way her orgasms, though auto-erotic and self-stimulated, were going, despite her vocal protestations to the contrary, she really felt like fucking, if not Harry, almost anyone else. He gave another driving lunge forward, and her juicy pussy was too wet and too much in wonderment to stop him. He connected, he got right in on target, and her dripping membranes moved over to allow him to shove his sword into her scabbard, right up to the hilt.
The audience, almost as one voice, gave out with a gasp of amazement. Angela started to struggle, to push Harry away. But, as Harry's prick began to move about inside her, connecting with every muscle, tissue, and nerve fiber it could Rind, she began to feel the jolts of a million volts. It was as if her entire body was one huge depository for conducting elec..trical current. It was like holding on to a live electrode, the way her vagina was gripping his cock; there was so much shock being turned on that it couldn't let go.
And then ... her orgasms really started breaking out in full force.
He could feel her suddenly move closer, as he kept on moving his hands, making giant circles in the air, keeping his feet sliding back and forth on the polished stage floor and retaining his balance with the surprising dexterity of a circus acrobat. She moved closer, throwing her arms around his waist and getting her fingernails dug into the quivering flesh of his buttocks. He could feel her full, fleshy breasts and those erect, pointed nipples stabbing into his chest, She got her mouth alongside his left ear, and her tongue snaked out and started to burn in his ear and lick lovingly into all of its open spaces.
The audience was applauding.
What else could they do? It was turning out to be a pretty good show, even better than they'd expected.
The security guards, meanwhile, were pretty busy restraining those same customers, who were crowding around the stage, some cheering Angela, others applauding Harry, and a few giving vent to cheers over both. The lone officer of the law, angry beyond belief that his call for reinforcements hadn't yet been answered, started to storm the stage, threatening to club anyone who got in his way.
And -- someone did.
Big Bill.
But not for the obvious reasons. Big Bill wanted the cop to stop the spectacle, hoping to get Harry arrested and then he could lay claim to Angela's favors. However, he made the mistake of getting in front of, rather than behind, the cop, and the bluecoat bopped Big Bill right above the bridge of the nose. As Big Bill slid silently to the floor, the cop leaped on stage and started for the wildly-fucking couple ...
Suddenly he realized something.
On duty or not, in uniform or not, he was getting a goddam good erection. And there wasn't a god-dam thing he could do about it. Except ...
Fuck it off.
Angela was licking, sucking, fucking; her membranes whiplashing Harry's rod like a violent tropical storm. His prick was like a sinking ship, in that he still hadn't started coming, and she was coming all around it. Her pussy was pouring out its thick, sweet juke and both of them were sweating cloudfuls of perspiration, as if it was raining on both of them. Harry was rocking while she was socking, his balls bursting, his prick quivering, as Angela rammed her pussy into his crotch, her tits into his chest, her tongue into his ear, almost shouting wordlessly the theme that screamed in her mind: "God-dam you, Harry, why don't you come?"
She felt a jabbing and stabbing in her wideopen, well-rounded ass.
It was the cop, who'd dropped his club of wood and was trying to insert a club of flesh instead. He'd unzipped his fly, pulled out his prick, and was now ramming and jamming it up her ass, right into her shuddering sphincter muscles. They opened wide to let his instrument in.
With the cop, so to speak, out of legal action for the moment, the Maitre d' -- a tall, elegant fellow -- came striding on stage, holding a chair. He quickly placed it down on the right side of Angela, away from where she was tongueing Harry's ear, He, too, could no longer control his surging sexual drives, and he had even whipped off everything below the belt, and was now thrusting a long limber dick into Angela's right ear.
His imaginative endeavor seemed to inspire an imitator. One of the bouncers, also a tall guy, brought along not a chair, but a small two-sized table, placing it on Angela's left. Standing on it, and, simply unzipping his fly, he rammed his quivering prick into Angela's left ear.
One of the customers from the ringside tables up front, an aging, pot-bellied old man with thick glasses and balding skull, had passed out some cash to two of the security guards. They were hoisting him on their burly, brawny shoulders. As one of the heavies yanked Angela's tongue from Harry's ear, the other one forced open her mouth, and the old guy got what half-assed erection he could muster right into Angela's slurping, sucking mouth.
While, not to be outdone, two bleached-blond guys who looked like beach bums from Venice West itself, apparently in town for a night or two of gambling and wenching, got on stage on either side of Harry and Angela. Their ploy was simplicity itself. They stripped down to the athletic supporters they'd apparently been wearing beneath the suits they had just discarded and, squeezing their dicks over the elastic edge, pried Angela's hands loose from Harry's ass and substituted their erect members. Into her hot and squeezing little hands for a bit of jerking off, since there were no more entrances left.
As Jimmy Durante once said about everybody wanting to get into the act -- in this case, Angela's cunt -- just about everybody did.
That is, the audience, what was left, stormed the stage.
Under their onslaught, their barrage of bodies, Angela and Harry -- and everyone fucking, or trying to fuck, Angela -- went down on the bottom of a stumbling, screaming scrimmage pile of quivering, palpitating bodies, buried under hundreds of pounds of flesh and bones, all trying to touch at least one square inch of skin of Angela's lovely body.
While Harry, feeling the passionate pressures of all those sweating, swirling bodies also all over him, found that it was sufficient for his balls to release his sperm.
And ... he came ..
Angela, feeling all that other fucking as well -- and now so far sexually gone that she really couldn't remember or recollect how it had all started and who was now finishing it -- got a withering blast from Harry's cock, as, explosion by explosion, Harry's wide-edged, hard-driving dick went off like a nu-clear bomb inside Angela's cunt.
Blast by blast, spurt by spurt, Harry fucked her as if he was the world's greatest fucker, and each explosion just a little bit stronger, with more pressure and feeling, than the preceding one. He could feel him tearing her apart and turning her on, his ejaculations blending into her orgasms as if they truly were two bodies united- in one flesh -- in one final, fantastic fucking before the world ended.
And, in that supreme moment of sexual gratification and satiation, the world ended for both of them.
Temporarily.
For, due to the weight of all those other romping, stomping bodies piled nearly ceiling-high on them -- they both passed out.
They were in bed, in their home, listening to the sensuous sounds of the Jefferson Airplane on the FM, Grace Slick's slithering tones turning them on, as well as Harry's tongue digging deep into Angela's cunt, licking and sucking and gulping the mixture of perspiration, pussy juice, and Gallo burgundy.
Yes, wine.
Harry had doused her twat with the juice of the grape, to inspire himself into further winebibbing and cunt licking heights, as his tongue struck, prick-like, into her quivering membranes, missing not one square inch of skin
Angela sighed, her clit trembling, her breasts palpitating with lust. It was so nice, now that she wasn't stripping any more, and Harry was working again.
Yes -- working.
Obviously, Angela wasn't, after the Las Vegas episode. They were lucky they weren't sharing neigh-boring cells in the county jail, but, Big Bill's expensive lawyer -- Big Bill, remorseful, had offered his attorney's services gratis -- had got them off on a nolo contendere (no defense) plea and, mercifully, the judge had OKd it. This provided that they both get the hell out of the sovereign state of Nevada and Angela got the hell out of the nightclub business for good.
To make matters better, the head coach, the chief sportsman in charge of a small private college not far from Los Angeles had spotted Harry that night, doing his thing with such fine and fancy arm and body movements that he had vowed to hire Harry as swimming and surfing instructor, at a five-figure salary. Of course, part of his reasoning had to do with thinking about getting into Angela's pussy through Harry's job. But, Harry, being pretty wise to those ways by this time, had gotten to the guy's wife first. He turned her on to him, and then threatened to make the guy's spouse, that sportsman's legal mate, leeave him if he didn't lay off Angela at once.
Harry was cool, and the ploy worked. So, Harry was still working, and Angela was not. Thus, Harry was really running the show, sexually and otherwise.
He stopped sucking, pulling his tongue loose.
"Your turn, sweetheart," he said, just a hint of command and "do what I say" in his voice. He looked cooly into her cat's-eyes, brown overruling green as chief color of the day (and night).
She reached for the bottle of cold Chablis, and poured a draught over his dick, now nearly erect.
He shuddered slightly, feeling the cool liquid. Then, she got down on hands and knees -- on Harry's orders. He wanted a sign of submission, and she now willingly gave him everything he wanted with no bullshit whatsoever. He felt her tantalyzing tongue slip and slurp over every square inch of his instrument, glans and foreskin, scrotum and pubic hairs, tip and base. He felt those beautiful, electronic thrills pulsing through him like laser beams, his skin burning, his breath building. His prick began to grow, to expand, to fill with sexual intentions as she slowly and carefully licked and sucked it into arousal.
Then, when her duty was done -- at least, outside -- and he said, again almost regally, "Let's get that shower going," he didn't even have to snap his fingers or point the direction, she knew where and how. The shower stall, of course! Harry had fixed it up pretty nicely, with an alternating tank of liquid.
As one Bible passage says, the water was turned into wine. That's what Harry had mounted as an alternate shower supply tank: a vat full of good old California red.
As they entered, he pressed the right button, and they were drenched with the lovely stuff, as if some-body had splashed them from a winery vat.
Harry, feeling the wine splashing over his skin and hers, let her have the first lick -- he was going to change her taste from Chablis to burgundy pretty soon. And then, his tongue licking the cleft between her breasts and continuing on, until it had lapped up layers of wine from her tits and nipples, he felt her body shudder deliciously under his powerful thrusts. He backed her body against the wall, shoving his cock with one swift motion into her cunt. As she felt the full manhood of him inside her, she began to respond accordingly, her back arching, her body vibrating, her pussy palpitating, he said:
"No more taking it off, Angela -- just taking it in, from now on."
