Randy Hunt was experienced when he married Christiana, while she was a virgin. There was nothing unusual about such a situation in a country where many fathers would and did willingly take their sons to whorehouses or buy them condoms, but would be horrified to discover that their daughters were carrying rubbers or wanted to go on the pill.
Christiana's inexperience gave Randy and herself trouble, naturally enough, and more than once. But they were fortunate. A naturally sensuous girl who had not known it, or had denied it, to stay "pure," she turned on fast.
Christy Hunt's husband was twenty, a year older than she, and she thought it was groovy that he had balled, and knew things, and was more than willing to teach his bride. That did take awhile; it was seven months after their wedding before she at last slid her pretty pink lips, for the very first time, over the broad, plumlike head of a tumid cock. It was Randy's prick, of course, and she had already discovered, to her surprise and delight, that it was no less soft then tricot.
He directed her. He told her how to run her head up and down the long sexual shank, and how to swallow around it, how to suck hard and pop her lips off its end and then lick before thrusting her face back down the broad stalk again. He reminded her about using her warm hand to fondle his balls: Hardly the sort of young man to just lie back, without himself taking part, he also used his hands to titillate his inexperienced wife's shockingly large breasts.
Getting him to come in her mouth was no problem. What to do after that was, for Christiana. Since it was her first time and she'd never even read about giving head, she didn't know what to do with the results. So she snatched some tissues and deposited his warm, slippery seed in the wad, which later went down the toilet.
She did it that way twice more before accidentally swallowing some of that thick fluid one gusty night. Immediately she discovered that it was OK, and that she had no aversion or sick reaction as she'd thought she might. So, with her long black hair curling over her shoulders, and his thighs and her breasts like big cushions against their warmth, she gulped down the rest of his semen.
"Protein, almost pure protein," Randy told her. "Good for you!"
She giggled, cuddled, and they were soon asleep, happy and content. She really was, though he wasn't as smart as he thought; neither of them knew enough about her sexuality to write a paragraph.
They were living with his mom and dad, with him in school, but they had their own room and
TV, and at least that measure of privacy. They got along all right, with Christiana taking to sex like a kitten to milk.
Then, in the ninth month of their marriage, Christiana became the woman of the house. Her handsome, only slightly overweight mother-in-law was hit by a big truck filled with produce, in the Spencer Shopping Center, and she died instantly.
The three of them, Christiana and Randy and his dad-whom both he and Christy called simply "Jim"-recovered slowly. The newlyweds, though, wondered if James Hunt would or could ever recover completely from the sudden and violent death of his wife.
Randy sighed, "He's not an old man, and hell probably remarry, I guess."
"Does . . . does that bother you?" his brunette wife asked.
"A little," Randy admitted. "But.. . it's none of my business, I guess. Mom was . . . my mother, and she's . . . gone. What Dad does now is up to him. I don't think he's past the, uh, biological urge yet. He-he'll need a woman." He nodded, as it came together in his head. "Sure. Dad'll get married again, eventually. Men usually do. And I'll be delighted, I know."
Christiana was smiling and shaking her head mockingly. "I guess he isn't over the 'biological urge,' silly! My gosh, your dad's not even forty, and he's still got his slim figure!"
Forty seemed pretty old to Randy, who was now twenty-one and married to an unusually shapely woman of twenty, a wife he thought was absolutely beautiful (and he wasn't far wrong). But he didn't say anything; he just reached for her pouter pigeon chest and was soon in her to the balls.
The year was 1968, not a good one for young people.
Randy got out of school. Randy's number came up.
After eleven months of marriage-during which the experienced young man and his bride still hadn't discovered much about her sexuality, or what her clitoris was really for-Randy Hunt was drafted.
Six months later, he was beating off in barracks and shower the same as the other guys, getting to a cat-house when he could, and feeling sorry for both himself and his wife-mostly himself. He did remember, though, that he was the one who had turned her on to sex, and did she ever dig it! Still, he didn't think that she might be just as hung-up as he was, afflicted with the female equivalent of the blue-ball.
She was. Back home, Christiana and her father-in-law each learned, on different occasions and without letting each other know, that they were both masturbating. Surely no thought of the obvious convenient solution crossed Christiana's mind. James Hunt thought of it, naturally, but he felt ashamed. He damned himself. He worked very hard to put it out of his mind.
Still, it was a form of torture, living alone in the same house with a very desirable and man-less young woman who was sexy and who was as much in need as he. And God, her delectable ass in those jeans, or when she wore a little skirt, how it looked when it shifted around.. . and the magnificent big tits!
"Stacked like a brick shithouse," Randy had said, when long ago he had been telling his father about the girl he'd met. "Unbelievable!"
James Hunt had naturally thought the boy was exaggerating, until he saw Christiana for the first time. Randy hadn't been exaggerating. Christiana looked as if she'd been caught in a tit-building machine.
Just keep telling yourself, James Hunt told himself, that she's just a girl, not a woman, and that she's your son's wife. Shit, don't think of her as a woman at all, you dam' dirty old man.
It was an admirable thought, but it didn't take. She was too obviously delectable, and he knew very well that he was not old.
Then one night he heard her crying, softly. It made him feel like crying, himself. He'd been in his room, thinking miserably about his dead Alice. Christiana had stayed downstairs to watch the late movie, because the TV in the living room was color, and bigger than the one she and Randy had bought and installed in their room. The movie was South Pacific, about an older man and a young woman-and about a lot of servicemen going out of their skulls for want of "a dame."
In the maroon robe that Christy and Randy had given him for Christmas last year, Jim Hunt went down to comfort his lonely daughter-in-law. It was a natural enough thing to do. She tried to hide the fact that she'd been crying, but when he sat down beside her on the couch, she broke into a new spate of tears. Naturally enough, he wrapped an arm around her. There was nothing horny or sexy about the action. What man would have done less?
For a long time he just sat there and stared straight ahead, hardly noting the music swelling from the television and not seeing the movie at all, with his arm around her and her hand and face against his robed chest. Her body pressed close, seeking warmth and sympathy and security.
He wished he hadn't done it. He'd never been so aware of a pair of tits in his life.
At last, sniffling, she hid her head while she blew her nose. Then she looked up at him, and no man could have resisted the swollen and trembling lips, the darkened, distressed eyes, the tear-streaked face. He kissed her. Her face was wet and warm, and her mouth soft and hot. She clung with her hands, but soon tugged her lips away and looked down. She sat there against him, in the shelter of his arm.
Then Christiana lifted her face again to look searchingly and pitifully at him. He knew she wanted to be kissed again. He was happy to oblige; indeed, he was powerless not to.
With her soft lips under his, slightly parted and vehemently warm, she slid her hand onto his chest. His hand lay on her back, and now the other went to her shoulder. They kissed.
The girl squirmed and made whimpering noises.
At the same instant, their lips began to move.
He tugged, and she allowed herself, softly, to be pulled closer. The vibrant globe-shaped breasts pressed against him.
The kiss went on and on. Her lips parted. His did. Their tongues met, just inside her mouth.
Soft wet tongues wriggled and stroked each other. Then hers retreated, just a little, coquettishly, though perhaps she wasn't aware of it, and his followed. Seconds later the helplessly aroused girl was breathing hard and audibly through her nose, holding him firmly and crushing herself almost desperately against him, while he tried to pierce her throat with his probing tongue.
She sucked it.
She was a woman, a sensuous woman, and she couldn't resist checking. Her hand moved down his body, almost furtively, as if trying to fight its own movement.
He was embarrassed at what she found. His rapidly beating heart was hotly pumping blood into his penis, and the lap of his robe had risen like a circus tent, propped by a big, hard pole.
The girl was not embarrassed, but she was affected. Her hand touched the hot, stretching bulk of his prick and jerked as if she'd been burned. Her hand jerked away and she pulled back from him. But not in embarrassment.
The abandoned bride's brown eyes were large and wild, like those of an animal-though not a frightened doe or rabbit. She stared into his eyes, which behind his glasses were also dilated.
Heaving in her excitement, her bosom drew his eyes. She was wearing the knee-length robe of pink fleece, with a front placket and a ribbon tied demurely at the collar, which was very high. The cloth was stretched tightly over her large breasts, and there was nothing demure about their jut. He realized he was seeing what he had never viewed before: her tits were naked under the robe, unsupported and jiggly.
Not only that, but the big bulges were flaunting their nipples, visible pressure points pushing out against the soft fabric of the short robe.
He succumbed to the extreme temptation. His hand slid in and down from her upper arm, and onto one large, cloth-straining swell.
With a violent shiver and an agonized moan as if she experienced lancing pain, she lifted her chin. Her eyes half closed while her shoulders hunched inward to gain more of his hand on her spectacular breast.
Then the young woman's face changed. A look of determination, of decision spread over it like a veil. Gasping for breath, her nostrils flaring and her monumental tits rising and falling violently, shuddering, she let her hand leap to where it wanted so badly to go.
He groaned aloud at the feel of her hand through his robe. It gripped desperately at his massive erection.
Staring into his face, his daughter-in-law squeezed.
The quaking man groaned again. His cock rose even higher and throbbed away, hard, in response to the hand that clasped it hungrily, kneaded and pinched its pounding thickness through his tautly stretching robe.
His hands took firm possession of his daughter-in-law's bewitching tits, and his fingers began pressuring and palpating the firmly compacted flesh through the covering of soft nylon fleece.
She sighed out soft little moans as he kneaded and tugged the elegant rounds-and her own hands kneaded and tugged at his pounding erection. It stood so high now as to part his robe, and that crevice showed an inner darkness that was like an irresistibly beckoning doorway to pleasure.
With more sighs and tiny groans she was trying to stifle, she leaned forward. Her hand clung to his great throbbing dick. Her long, glossy-black hair spilled forward over her shoulder as she sighfully yielded up her solid tits to his milking hands.
The turned-on brunette helped; his robe fell away to expose the standing column of his cock.
She stared at the great, broad mushrooming head, deeply pink, and its long thick stem. Her greedy eyes took in the way it was decorated with a tracery of red and bluish veins. The massive staff moved like a rearing cobra, pulsating with the hard pulse of his blood into it.
They had said nothing, not a word. Neither dared. Now, she made the first vocal sound other than moans and groans and soft libidinous sighs.
"Ummmmmmmmm," she crooned, leaning farther and farther forward, until she was prevented from toppling only by his hands, sinking into cloth and the loosely attached knockers swaying from her chest.
Warm, sweaty-palmed hand came into naked contact with burning hot cock. She trembled and the man groaned and shuddered. His fingers sank reflexively into the puttylike flesh of her tits.
While her fingers clasped his thick cock, she wiggled her thumb, letting it rub over the very tip of its helmet. It was wet, there. Back and forth, back and forth, with the tiniest of wet sounds, while she watched, panting. Her breasts surged hard into his hands and pounded against them with her breathing. She was panting.
Each raking swipe of her thumb over the tip of his hard-on sent a jolt of pure sexuality running through him like an electrical shock. He released her left breast and raised that hand to the little pink bow at the top of .her robe's placket front. The minute it took him to discover that the bow was permanently tied, and covered a snap, seemed to last an hour.
In silence, he opened her robe. While he thus exposed the large breasts he'd so long fondled through her robe, she let her fingers trail down to his scrotum. They moved teasingly over the swollen eggs within that hair-soft bag.
She sighed when his hands entered her robe. She felt them on her naked tit-flesh. Her breasts, blatantly large and pale, spilled forth quivering.
His big, warm fingers slithered over their skin, curling around the full cream-skinned balls, massaging and caressing the panting flesh that was so silkily soft to his touch-while she played delightedly with his large and high-held balls, obviously fascinated.
Both of them were breathing stertorously.
Still, neither of them had uttered so much as a word.
She inhaled sharply and her eyes flared wide in a rapturous reaction of unleashed sensuality. The long-celibate brunette moved without knowing it, hunching. Her body surged its hips, making an offertory of her black-furred mound of love with its quim-lips so furiously red, parting, commencing to leak the oil of her arousal which glistened lewdly, her pussy silently screaming its need and impatience with this maddening manipulation of her jugs and his nuts and cock, these prurient preliminaries that had her so steaming hot and quivering with tremor after tremor of arousal and expectation and exhilaration flowing through her scorching hot form.
He drove her to moaning sobbing desperation, playing and playing with her breasts.
She began pulling at his rampant cock, violently. A grunt of pain jerked out of him when she dragged her hand up the staff, squeezing too hard, pulling too hard, moaning and twitching as if in a seizure and unaware of the pressure she was applying to his standing cudgel of erect masculine flesh.
When his hand slid down to slip over fleecy, silky beaver pelt and found the pink cleavage between her thighs, he encountered sticky wetness at once. Her hot cuntal juices were seeping out to slick her pubic hair and the satiny flesh of her thigh.
A tremendous quake hit her when he pushed a finger inside her. He could feel the slickness of her inner flesh, like pink satin plush, the lips of her craving cleft gripping at his gliding finger.
She jerked hard, moaning and whimpering, at his hugely swollen cockstaff, and he squeezed her breast hard, while his finger began pumping swiftly, with sloppy sopping sounds, in and out of her pussy.
The girl seemed to go limp.
She sagged, panting, her naked tits hung and swung. Hot juices bubbled in her vagina and slicked his finger as it oozed out over her
Jet-black pubic fleece. Her mouth dangled open and she made soft, pitiful grunting sounds of irrepressible, demanding need.
In one swift, desperate movement, he jerked his ass off the couch and swung hers, so that she fell back. Her pink robe still covered her arms and one shoulder; she was otherwise naked, all rosy and pink and white, with that glossy black bush a stark, excitingly lewd contrast at the tops of her thighs. Her big up-mounding breasts bounced and trembled titillatingly. The soft curve of her young hips was a sensuously beckoning invitation to explore the hot, drooling hollow between them.
Her own hands sprang inward to her vulva.
She was sprawling back on the couch, a superbly lascivious sight, spreading her own tight hot passage open with her own trembling fingers. The widening gash lubricated freely. Clear fluid practically jetted out of her, as she wriggled and worked her loins up and down, spreading the carmine lips, staring at him, panting sobbingly, wanting every inch of his cock, wanting all of it and all of him.
He could see all the way into her, the inner lips of a lovely rose hue, wet and drooling, slightly fluttering, pierced by the delicate ring of flesh that was almost scarlet and that vanished back into exotic, enticing darkness.
He swung easily over her body to drill into that hot, wet funneling cunt.
Forty-year-old cock went nudging into twenty-year-old pussy.
Fatherly body came down onto the squirming form of his daughter-in-law. The wildly aroused man shoved his swollen hard-on at his son's wife.
He stuck her, entered her, shoved into her while she threw back her head and cried out. In an instant his balls were slapping hard against her flesh, and resting there against her oozing inner fluid. Every centimeter of his long bulky cock was contained and squeezed within the lake-wet vagina of a squirming girl half his age.
Lowering his head to hers, he thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth, cutting off the writhing young woman's whimpers of desire and throaty grunts of animalistic lust.
He began jabbing it in and out, picking up the rhythm of his hips, of his cock's frictioning to-and-fro on her other mouth. Excited quivers rocked her. She pumped her hips strongly while she clung to his head with both hot hands, holding their delightfully lewd, fuck-imitating kiss.
He had enjoyed a long beat-off last night. He knew that despite his arousal and her tightness this would last. He was no boy-to get into a youthfully clasping pussy and wiggle a few times and then shoot off like a fountain.
He settled himself for a long ride in the saddle between the quivery thighs of this panting young lovely with her jiggling, milky-contoured breasts and fervently clasping slit.
He had forgotten his glasses. Her hands came up to his face, removed them. Lowering them to the floor, she tucked them under the couch and stared into his eyes.
With his bloated dick seated squarely in her wet gash, he moved his hips teasingly back and forth. She moaned, twitched, and grabbed at him. She wanted a lot more movement than that!
The man atop her came alive, to pound her hot and voluptuous body with his own hard frame. In and out, in-out, suck and slurp, suck-slurp.
He felt the caress of her warm, velvety flesh as the deliriously aroused girl swayed stormily up to him. His body rose and fell over hers, plugging her well, giving her what she needed. She fucked her lover impetuously, full of need and lust, and all thought that he was her young husband's father vanished from her mind.
We don't think he's past the biological urge yet.
No, he most definitely was not.
Willing his chest rode the big firm mounds of her tits, which, too large and stiff to be girlishly unyielding, squelched willingly under his weight.
His balls tingled maddeningly and surged against her crotch with impetuous thumps that matched the throbs of his imbedded prick. With each forward stroke he fitted the tumidly swollen pole into her gaping, itching, liquid-hot hole and felt it sink to the bottom of that well of lust.
The lips seemed to scrape abrasively along his wedging prick.
She added to the friction, squirming under him. She wiggled her firm little asscheeks all over the couch while her cuntlips clung wetly, tightly to his stroking, deep-seated shaft, as if loath to let it go even for the moment it took him to pull it back and drive again into her.
His butt tensed and pumped up and down, driving him as he humped her sweat-damp, naked body.
Her thighs were like silky columns rising on either side of his driving form, her breasts overstuffed satin pillows to cushion his chest. Sweat oozed from him to gleam on her wildly agitated body, and he fucked hard.
She was shuddering violently, frantic with desire, pushing upward to press her rubbery nipple of a clit against his grinding pelvis. Beneath her, the girl's talented ass moved and rolled so that she was a moving target, jerking, twitching, bucking in exquisite rapture.
The moaning young woman clenched her teeth and concentrated on what she was getting, a seeking shank of absolute maleness-at last!-that dilated the entry of her belly until the pulpy lips were stretched tight as a drumhead while he surged far inside to burn against every membrane of her pussy tunnel.
One foot slipped off the edge of the couch and thumped to the floor, widening the aperture, of her thighs. That served to clamp her cunt interiorly even as it dragged apart the lips, and he groaned. His hard pelvis rode hers; his wiry pubic hair flicked maddeningly at the clitoris she knew so little about.
The smell of sex rose about them, of rampant cock and exuding, inflamed cunt. Their bodies slapped noisily together and both of them were panting, gasping. As if with a great effort, she drew her foot up off the floor-to set it down on his bobbing ass.
He leaned slightly to one side and lifted a hand to rest it on her naked breast. Then the other one. She grunted. Almost cruelly, the youthfully lean man propped himself above her with both hands on the big plushy mounds of her tits. His fingers sank in, dark against the flesh they made look very pale.
She gasped and labored to breathe, with the weight of his torso borne by her jiggling big, naked double moons of curvaceous white beauty. It was strangely exciting, and she encouraged him with a little smile.
His crotch writhed against hers. Desire-bloated dick flailed about inside her. Its broad head slapped dripping, silky pussy walls, and steaming juices dripped from their united genitals to spot her robe, like a soft sheet beneath her switching ass.
Sweat ran down his temples from his forehead, where his brown hair was plastered by it to the skin.
He squeezed. His fingers dug into satiny tit texture and forced the succulent pillows to assume new and fascinating shapes. She gasped and swallowed, her lungs pressed in. But she did not stop him. The lubricious girl did not want to. She liked his hands there, pressing her down, holding her in place. She felt owned, possessed, filled and fulfilled, and she had needed that, all that, for a very long time. If ever woman had reason to be against the war, she had!
The wobbly skin of her breasts tightened while he pressed down on them, in on them, and tit-flesh bulged in corpulent, bloodlessly white loveliness on either side of his pressuring fingers. Ridges of tit rose fleshily into rounded, snowy frames for his fingers.
His face glistened with sweat. She knew hers did too, darkening her hair even more, making it curl a bit and pasting it to her. Their sweat was between them too, between their writhing bodies, their slamming crotches, where they joined hairily and irradiated each other with fervent heat. They were wet and slippery with sweat and sex, with the oozing of her quivery vagina and the sticky juice of his cock's pre-seminal oils.
Moaning and shuddering incoherently, she thrust convulsively up at his pounding crotch.
Cock dug deep. Her cunt's straining lips clasped with youthfully muscular strength, like a ring of rubber around his massive, intruding prick.
She groaned, her breast bobbing wildly, when he lifted his hand from it and set it against the couch, just beside her head. Then he took the weight and pressure of the other hand off her, and she gasped in a long, deep breath. So long crushed beneath his warm hands and now all sweat-wet, her abruptly liberated tits felt cold.
She clapped her own hands to them and rubbed, vigorously, watching his eyes watch the big pale masses as she made them flop and writhe around on her chest.
Leaning sidewise with his weight on one forearm, he thrust his other hand between their bodies. It skidded like a sled over sweat-slick skin. He felt the joining of their bodies, felt the hairy root of his big horn, jammed tight against her splayed pussy mouth. A fingertip slid easily in between those well-parted labia.
Seconds later, his finger found her clitoris.
Her eyes went wide. She looked surprised. She sucked up a great breath and shivered. He rubbed.
Seconds after that, she came, with a cry that was like a shriek. It rang back and forth off the living room walls while her whole body shivered and rocked and quaked in delicious delight. He smiled proudly.
He slipped his finger free of her, locked her in his arms, and pounded with his hips and tautly clenched ass.
Inside her, he could feel those clenching orgasmic contractions. They grabbed at his flailing dick. Humid cunt swallowed him; supple, flexing calves jerked and strained as he thrust himself to the balls up her tight, climaxing sheath.
He increased the rhythm of his steady fucking, and loud, wet sounds accompanied the banging together of their sweaty bellies. Turgid cock sawed faster and faster into the slippery slit it widened. The well-greased piston of his loins sank in all the way to the balls with each push. Those balls tightened, and tightened . . .
Her face showed fear when she saw the sudden intense twisting of his face, the widening of his eyes. Her husband never came like this-like an explosion, violently and convulsively.
Stiffening, jerking uncontrollably and arching his back, he began hosing down the soft walls inside her. His jerking horn pumped steady streams of hot, jetting cream into her, coating her moist interior membranes with thick milky Jism that clung to the walls of that well-fucked vagina.
It had been a magnificent, a superb, all-stops-pulled fuck.
Their bodies were relieved; now their minds had time to begin functioning again, and that was not good. Guilt began to rise like a tide.
There was absolutely no guilt involved when Randy Hunt and Dave Stein, both in uniforms that were freshly pressed and spiffily military, alighted from the cab. A weekend pass was hardly enough to enable a man to go home and visit his wife or girlfriend, but it allowed plenty of time for a visit to Hannah's.
With their pricks already tightening up in those damned GI shorts, the two young men hurried up the steps and onto the porch of the lovely old house. Grinning at his buddy, Dave shoved out not his index finger but. the middle one, and gave the doorbell the bird.
He rang three times, counted off three seconds, and rang once more, counted off three seconds, and gave the bell another spurt.
The door opened. The large woman-though she was quite short-who answered wore a flowered caftan of dark blue that swirled about her and minimized the middle-aged swell of her body.
"Hi, boys. How's the weather out tonight?" "Hot and muggy," Dave said, as he'd been coached.
The woman, whose piled hair was almost blue, smiled. "Far fuckin' out," she said. "Why don't you two handsome Harries come in and cool off."
The proper signal had been given on the doorbell, and the curly-haired one had made the proper response to her code-query. The two proper-looking young soldiers stepped into the highly improper house.
There were three girls available. Neither of them chose the really thin one, though Randy was amazed-and grateful-when his buddy made for the brown-haired girl who was decidedly overweight.
The blonde was definitely not overweight. Though she was hardly more than five feet three inches, she had a liquidly sinuous, slim body that reminded Randy of someone he'd had a crush on for years--Cher, the singer. The girl's name was Sophia-or at least that's what she said her name was. It was both odd and fascinating to Randy that she wore fancily figured hose, dark green, and old-fashioned pumps, with pencil-thin stilt heels. They were dark green, too. Her fine and imagine negligee of black lace fluttered about those long-looking, slender legs as she preceded him up the steps.
"What would you like," she asked him, when they were in a dimly lit room whose main furniture, naturally enough, was a bed.
This was not Randy Hunt's first visit to a whorehouse, and he assumed an air of some sophistication. "To get the business over with," he told the willowy blonde. "Some head, some balling."
"Around the world," she said, nodding. "You've got a surprise in store for you, Randy."
"Um. Yeah, around the world." He had his wallet out, knowing she'd want the money first.
"You are businesslike!"
He nodded. "Once we've got that done, we can pretend we're not strangers, right?"
"Right," she said, with a smile, and she told him the amount for an around-the-world: fellatio followed by fucking. He handed her the bills, which she made vanish. Then she went through the necessary ritual of examining and washing his cock, in the little basin over in a corner of the room. While she did that, Randy pulled open the black satin ribbon that was the only closing her peignoir had, and watched it flutter open. He grinned. Kinky!
A jet-black waist cincher of some shiny stuff that resembled leather encased the girl's body from navel to breasts. It was drawn very tight, so that even though she was so slender, the "corset" made her skin well up at its edges in white ridges. At the top, it formed two shelves, on which lay her breasts. The support, he could see, was not necessary. Her breasts were a pair of tight, pale cones, looking like peeled oranges drawn out to points, and just as firm.
Shoulder long and very thin, her silvery blonde hair was parted in the center, and arranged so that the gold rings showed, dangling from her pierced ears.
He was not to know whether her hair color was natural, or what color it really was at all. Her pussy, a very prominent bulge, was shaved. That and the small pointed breasts gave her a juvenile look, along with her slimness. The high dark green hose and waist cincher formed a contrast to that impression; they were hardly juvenile, but wickedly sexy. He felt lucky. Sophia was nice. He'd fared less well before, in other places, with other women-for-hire. Of course her talent had still to be proven.
He passed the short arm inspection, as he'd known he would; the doc had checked him out just a few days ago, on the base.
Since he had indicated that he was no first-timer, she waited expectantly for him to take the lead, established the "rules," the set for their sexual activity.
Randy did, slipping his hands over the slick leathery stuff of her waist cincher and tugging her against him. She came sinuously, her willowy body cleaving easily to his. Her arrogantly upstanding little tits, as he kissed her like a lover, were firm enough so that he felt their apple firmness against him in dual points of pressure.
It was a long, nice kiss, with her going along perfectly, as if they were lovers. Her hands slid around over his naked ass, just as his ran over the jampacked balls of her backside, tugging her shaven crotch against his semi-erect cock. It thickened, began to straighten itself out.
"Ummmm," she murmured, "you've been gone a long time, Randy!"
He liked that! She was pretending they knew each other, that he'd been long away-maybe that she was his wife or girl. No way she could be his Christiana, but . . . it was nice. She was nice; she felt nice, and he loved the way she kissed.
She was rocking her hips gently, rubbing her smooth vulva at him. "Ummmm, yes-s-s," she hissed, "I've missed that lovely thing, darling."
He patted her butt "Then give it a proper homecoming, baby." , She eased her lips away from his so slowly that they clung, softly, and seemed to peel apart. Gray eyes looked into his.
"A proper homecoming?" she asked, teasingly. She put her head on one side. "Whatever do you mean, Randy honey?"
He made his patting of her butt a little more forceful "Cut that out, Sophia. It's been too long." He glanced down. He'd made sure he was standing on one of the room's scatter rugs. "Get down there and give your old friend a proper kiss hello."
She pouted her lower lip, glanced at the bed. "Here? Don't you want to come over to the bed, honey?"
Standing still, he shook his head. "Nope."
Her hand moved between them, and cool little fingers snaked themselves around the barrel of his lengthening, thickening prick.
"Ummm," she hummed, for the third time. "Yes, this lovely devil does deserve a welcome-home kiss. And.. . I want to taste it."
While the young GI watched, wearing a tight smile, the willowy blonde slipped down to her knees before him. With her hand on his hot length of meat, she looked coquettishly up at him. She let him see her little pink tongue, tracing over her lower hp. Then she lowered her eyes to his genitals. He watched her head coming forward, her long blonde hair shifting, easing forward, a few tendrils switching down to caress the top of her half-ripe breasts.
The kneeling blonde cupped her lips to the cradle of his groin then, and her breathing riffled his pubic hair while her soft lips and wet, wiggly tongue slithered over the hard-rubber meat of his cock. It grew swiftly harder. His belly filled with molten thrills that made him weak, and he looked longingly at the bed, behind her.
God that feels good! She was right-I should be sitting down, to be able to take this!
She paused to plant a deep, soulful kiss on the very tip of the knobby, juicy crown. He stifled his groan. Then she was wiggling her tongue all up and down his lengthening staff, wetting it down thoroughly until it glistened as if polished.
She licked his cock for what seemed a long time, kissing it again and again, and it became a mighty truncheon that throbbed hard with engorging blood, and tried to escape her gently gripping hand to stand straight up in front of him.
His assumed air of machismo broke. "Uh," he gasped.
She paused to look up. "Nice?"
"Very," he told her, nodding enthusiastically. "And-you were right. I'd better get on the bed."
Her smile was that of a canary-swallowing cat, as she came sinuously to her feet and, using his cock as a gently held leash, led him to the bed.
He was just starting to sit on its edge when he happened to glance at the mirror. It was low on the wall, and directly opposite the bed. With a happy grin, he sat on the bed, then swung his legs up and sat with his back against the pillow-padded headboard. He was looking directly at himself in the mirror.
Then she came onto the bed, and between his legs, obstructing his view-and he didn't mind a damned bit. He could see the upturned, taut-cheeked ass of the girl who knelt between his outstretched legs, and the pink purse of her shorn pussy, pressing down and back between her thighs. Beautiful! It was like being behind her and in front of her all at once.
He shuddered. All at once she had taken his cock, slurping it up, facially housing that lovely big tool she had made so saliva-slick.
The pumping suction of her soft, clinging lips sent fire into his gut and brought low-pitched moans from him. The pretty little blonde was definitely concentrating all her oral skills on the thick, juicy hunk of succulent maleness that throbbed needily away in her mouth.
Meanwhile she wagged her hips, attracting his eyes to her rearward image in the mirror. He watched the sway of her very round, smallish buttocks, and he could see the deep shadowy cleavage of those burnished cheeks and the small pink fig of her pursed cunt.
He shivered, almost violently.
She was right, he told himself with delight. She used her mouth on him, and the vision he did-and he loved it, the lovely soft, sweet way she used her mouth on him, and the vision he had of her saucy, well-spaced rear cheeks and their sexy division-and below, her vulva's deeply pink flower, projecting boldly between the very tops of her thighs.
Her head bobbed up and down and her body swayed and rocked. He could see that her chin glistened with the sweat of his balls-she had taken cock deep, several times, until her firm little chin pressed right down onto his hairy scrotum.
He shuddered, feeling her contract her oral muscles around the hugely swollen head of his penis in a way that was almost painful. At the same time, she applied suction.
Then he got his surprise.
She began swallowing his big bone, taking it right back and down her throat. A new tremor made him quiver. His teeth sank into his lower Up. Ignoring her reflected rear, now, he stared in surprise and delight down at the silvery blonde head bent over his loins.
He felt the rippling sensations of her contracting, swallowing throat run the full length of this stiffly inflamed organ. Carnal excitement glazed his eyes. His prick twitched in a torment of carnal bliss.
The sensation of her throat moving around his deeply buried boner made him tremble and groan, his jaw coming unwired and his mouth falling open in an intensity of almost unbearable pleasure.
God, how did she do it?
Her nose and chin were pressed right into his pubic fleece, her chin resting on the center of his scrotum, pressing his semen-stuffed balls apart, and even her soft, damp lips were in contact with his lower bush of hair. She had taken the entire bulb of rubbery-hard cocktip right down into her throat.
"Lord," he heard himself grunt, "that's . . . that's wonderful!"
She wagged her ass, squeezed his thighs with both hands, and made him feel the ripple of those little round bones of her throat around his swallowed tool, as she swallowed-or tried to. He couldn't imagine how that could be possible, with a throat stuffed full of extremely tumid cock!
Slowly, ever so slowly, the incredibly talented young woman brought the big head of his dick up out of her throat. A long sigh escaped him, sliding out of his throat while he watched more and more of the stem of his cock slide out of her mouth.
Then he grabbed her by both arms, scrambled up as he swung her onto her side and then onto her back, and cock-stuffed her.
"Hu-unhhh!" she groaned out, her face wearing a startled look as she received that powerful shaft of fire up her pussy, as he made her lower mouth swallow it just as her throat had.
"Jesus, baby," she groaned, "you-that was so sudden!"
"You take it beautifully, sweetheart," he told her, smiling and working his hips. "And I told you what I wanted-and you were getting to me way too much! Your mouth is wonderful, your throat's unbelievable . . . but it's right here inside this beautiful shaved pussy I want to be!"
She smiled. A hand curled around the back of his neck. "You like my shaved pussy?"
"I love your shaved pussy. It feels great against me. And it feels even better inside."
"You'd better fuck it good, then. It does love cock, and you sure have plenty of that!"
I'll bet you tell that to all the Johns, Randy thought, but it didn't matter. She did feel good inside, and under him, and her lovely little wet cunt took it all, every inch between her slim embracing legs, to his balls. Hungry vagina throbbed and pulsed all around his straining slicing stick of hard man-organ.
The slick leathery material making up her waist cincher felt good, too, though it drew his sweat very quickly.
She wrapped long twining legs about him to suck him in on his every in-stroke. The soft, fleece-less lips of her well-filled crotch felt as if they might split at any second, so tautly were they stretched and distended by the huge, hard circumference of his tool. It was the greatest erection of his life, he was sure, after all that mouthing and deep-throating. He liked the feel of her long stockings against his flanks.
The well-filled pouch of his testicles slapped her sharply, noisily, making splashily obscene noises in the hot fluids her cunt was steadily leaking.
His hands slid under her nude, pliable form to scoop up her ass, which was small and so firm as to be nearly hard of cheek. The sweet round cheeks felt like balls of barely resilient foam rubber in his possessive hands. Tugging her up to him, he fucked her so deeply that she made a gagging, grunting sound, cock-pierced to her very uterus.
But that was not a negative to this superlatively sexy, sex-loving woman. She was far from the bored whore so many people thought inhabited brothels such as Hannah's. She threw her blonde head deliciously about on the bed as she took that throbbing red penis way up the pussy, and was superbly dilated and plumbed by it.
Her voice was strained, quivery with his jolting impacts against her diminutive body: "Would you-like to-slip one of-UH!-those fingers . . . into me, baby?"
He blinked, clutching her asscheeks as he reamed her cunt. Then with a grin he moved one hand, and a long finger slipped into the sweaty crack between her buttocks. Its tip slid around, finding the little puckered crater. Pausing in his fucking movements for a moment, he let the first joint of that finger enter her.
"Mmmmm," she hummed, smiling, as his finger slithered without difficulty into the tight and searing confines of her asshole.
He cock-stuffed her pussy, finger-fucked her rectum.
Prick and finger were separated only by the wall between the well-probed orifices. He could feel his finger, rubbing against his cock, as if it wore a wet rubber glove.
His driving hips filled her cunt with his meaty staff, which was throbbing violently, almost painful in its broad head-and jammed her down onto the bed, down onto his finger, which slid as far as it could get up inside her hot, narrow and damp asshole.
She squirmed on it. Cuntlips rubbed his cock-staff. Through her own tissues, his own finger rubbed his cock. The combination was too much. With a jerking wrench and a hard lunge to imbed himself fully, he gave up his burning seed.
She crooned and stroked his back as he groaned and writhed and arched his back, while his sperm-spewing organ released its load in spurts of hard-shot liquid fire that blazed in and bubbled in the seething cauldron of her cunt.
Later, he apologized for having been so rough. She had sponged off his prick and was helping him into his clothes.
The diminutive blonde with the apple-hard tits smiled. "That's all right, Randy. Few women would be turned off by a really passionate man."
Randy left feeling nine feet tall-as she had intended.
It was a shame, he thought, as he and Dave sat in a booth in a small dark bar, having a beer, that there weren't cat-houses for women, too. He wouldn't mind his Christiana taking care of herself, the same way he just had.
Her youthfully virile husband had no way of knowing it, but his wife, hundreds of miles away, had "taken care of herself," and very nicely-as had his father.
Neither of them felt good about it, though. It was a guilt-producing thing they had done, and they both felt it, and suffered. They were uncomfortable and far from natural with each other. Both were ashamed, both felt they'd betrayed each other and Randy, both were embarrassed in each other's company, and the upbringing they'd had made them both feel the pangs of guilt.
It did not interfere with James Hunt's work, but it did affect his home life. He pretended to have a lot of work to do, bringing home from the office stuff that he could do. As for Christiana, she cooked and cleaned up after their almost silent meals, and then betook herself to her room each night.
Slowly, the strong libido of each began to build up a new charge.
Without being able to talk about it, each of them wondered at how to get around the strained feeling. Jim Hunt wondered, indeed drove his mind hard, to find a solution to the broader problem of how to handle the entire situation between them.
And his body built up more seminal reserves, and new needs.
He found himself looking at her with lust, and once he was sure Christiana was studying him, in the same way, thinking he was unaware.
He saw the cucumber in the vegetable bin of the refrigerator. Next day he missed it; it was not there, but he'd been served no cucumbers.
What a damned shame, Jim thought. He had the same thought, later that evening, in his bed. Letting the highly erotic book he'd been reading drop over the side of the bed, he pumped his cock until it spurted.
This is ridiculous, he told himself. A mart of forty shouldn't have to do this. No one should have to. It ought to be a voluntary thing, jacking off, like you just feel like it now and then. But-to a man who's far from old, without a woman-oh Jesus!
The brief letter he got from his son next day reminded him that he had a constantly available recourse. Randy told his father about getting it off at a whorehouse, and about the blonde chick with the deep throat technique. He even went so far as to tell his father about the thought he'd had, that there ought to be some way to have whorehouses for the wives of guys dragged off and stuck in uniform hundreds or thousands of miles away from home and bed; Randy said it might be strange, but he thought he would be delighted to know his Christiana was getting it off as he was able to-now and then.
Jim Hunt thought a lot about that letter, all day, and about his previous thoughts and the problem at home. That night, he solved it.
He showered right after dinner and, saying he had a hell of a lot of work to do, went into his bedroom He stayed there, trying to read, with the radio on, low. He listened to the sounds of Christiana going into her room, and then into the bathroom He heard her showering, and saw a mental picture of that voluptuous body beneath the streaming water, with it pounding those great big tits of hers and streaming off to splash below. A shiver went through him.
Later still he listened to her emerge from the doubtless steamed up bathroom and pad down the hall to her room. She must feel rotten, he mused. She'd had a letter from Randy today, too, a longer one. When she had read him parts of it at dinner, Jim had noted that his son made no mention to her of his whorehouse visit.
Jim left his room twice, going to the bathroom, and each time he noted the little stripe of light that showed beneath her bedroom's closed door. He heard the television. It was just midnight when he went to the John the third time. That time he noticed that the light was gone, and after he pissed he used a damp washcloth and then a towel on his cock.
Naked, he turned left instead of right out of the bathroom, and went to her door. He opened it quietly, pushed it inward slowly. He didn't know if she were asleep or not. The moonlight filtering through the draped window showed her lying on her back, wearing a shortie nightgown.
With no idea as to whether she wore the panties to the baby doll set or not, he went straight to the bed. He mounted it quietly, and she did not stir.
He smiled in the darkness, I'll bet she is awake then, he told himself. If she were asleep, she'd at least stir, with me coming right onto her bed! So it will be the same way it was six nights ago-not a word. If we don't say anything, we can pretend it's just happening.
Lying on her back in bed, still tingling a little from the harsh rubbing she'd given her screaming pussy, Christiana was thinking, too.
Thank God! Now if I just lie here quietly and pretend to be asleep until I think I ought to be waking, we can both pretend it's just happening . . . .If we talked about it, we just couldn't do it!
She let her thighs be pressed slowly apart by his furtive hands, and she felt the little current of air on her vulva, as it was exposed to the.. . Oh my gosh! What's he doing?! ?
The air current she felt over her tingling cunt, now, was warm. Slitting open her eyes, she could see him there, hunched over her in the pallid moonlight that the drapes allowed to pass into the room. He was bending over herunnnnnnghhhhhhhhh!
The girl jerked as his mouth came down onto her cunt in a long, lovely kiss. What a thing to do, she thought-and she loved it.
He continued to kiss her, there. No one had ever done this before, she thought almost desperately, trying to be still and to avoid yowling-for it felt absolutely great!
His loving, slowly moving mouth built a fire between her tensing, flexing thighs. She could see her own big breast-mounds jumping and jelly-quaking, and she felt her heart beating faster and faster. A deep flush suffused her contorted, congested face and she bit her lower hp until she became aware that she was really biting, hurting her mouth in her effort to keep from yelling, from grabbing his sweet darling head.. . .
She felt it safe to move now, and to make sighing noises, at least, little moans as if she were coming out of sleep under the erotic impetus of his kisses and his suction and his wandering tongue.
Bending low, her silent father-in-law sent his tongue digging into the young woman's searing passage and wiggled it excitingly. She moaned, feeling all shaky, delirious with rapture.
My gosh it's so good, so Gooddd! She twitched and flailed her head. Why didn't Randy ever...but she put that thought right out of her head. . . .
The deep, insistent thrusts of his tongue filled her with sweet cravings and tautened and stretched her nerves to what she was sure was the limit.
She had said not a word, had not moved her hands. They wanted to go to him; she held back. Nor had he spoken. He just did, and did!
The sighing brunette began hunching urgently to his face, filled with totally new sensations that made her feel all young and virginal again-she had been thinking of herself as a sophisticate, as quite the woman now, for a lot of . months. Her movements took his tongue past the slippery vestibule of her flaming pussy.
His hands were warm where they clutched her thighs, lifting the firm and tensing columns. Her hips rocked, her naked ass squirmed under her, her belly fluttered and surged. Like a snarling lioness, her cunt tried its best to clamp its wet jaws around his probing, licking, tickling, soothing tongue.
Now he set that tongue into a particular f place, just inside her labia at the top of the gash they hemmed. He began moving his head, making his stiffened tongue flick back and forth, back and forth over the little bulb of flesh there. She groaned and moaned, sobbed and sighed, thrashed and quaked and squirmed. It was almost painful, the fantastic pleasure, the way her entire body was tensing up, tensing and hurting, so pleasured and yet so agonizingly eager to break loose.
What's happening to me?? Wha-a-a-a-at is he DOING to m-m-meee?
His tongue moved back and forth, back and forth. Oceans of fluid boiled up inside her scorching, tensing cunt and flowed out of her. She could feel it, chilling in the open, against her squirming, tensing asscheeks. She was creaming like a fountain. She had never been so on fire. She had never been so tight, so tight-
Knots seemed to lace her stomach and her oozing vagina. Great steel bands circled her, clamped her, knotted her muscles and tendons and grated on her nerve endings. She groaned, she sobbed, she cried out. She wanted to stop him-and she wanted it to go on forever.
His tongue whipped back and forth and he had a finger stuck up inside her gaping, juicing pussy-mouth. Her stomach went even more taut. Her nerves shrieked. The steel cables tightened still more-
Then, she shrieked.
Christiana experienced the first real, complete orgasm of her life.
A blinding rapture overwhelmed her and she raced to meet her rising orgasm in an inferno of delight. Great waves washed over her body, and shook it. She spun through the air. Knives stabbed bloodily into her spurting, clamping pussy-and became pure overwhelming bliss. Her breasts caught fire, blazed up, roared, burned off and rose in a cloud of ash and smoke. She clapped her sweating hands to them; the big mounds were still there, and the nipples felt like big, fat, hard pencil erasers.
Her head whipped to-and-fro while her mouth streamed little murmurs of pleasure and moans of ultimate joy and keening, throat-tearing cries of the highest bliss.
Then she collapsed, lying sated and sweaty and gasping, panting and yet relaxed after the hard spasms had taken her.
It had been nothing less than the greatest experience of her life.
She thought it just wasn't fair, not to tell him, this wonderful man who had just given her so much. "That-" She marveled at how weak her voice was, and she paused to take a deep breath. "That was the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me."
He said nothing.
"You-you've got to tell me . . . what you did" the sweat-damp brunette said, in a tiny voice.
He answered in a voice nearly as quiet. "I licked your cunt. I used my tongue on your clitoris. You came."
"You used.. . my.. . clitoris!"
He nodded, then realized she mightn't be able to see him, and said, "That's right."
"Oh, it was so GOOD!"
"I'm glad," he said, or half-said-before the words were fully out, she had exploded into motion. He sighed at the marvelous sensation of her sultry mouth clamping closely around his beefy cock.
She loved what he had done, she loved him, she wanted to repay him a thousandfold for the unbelievably glorious pleasure he had given her. She gave him her mouth.
Suctioning lips tugged relentlessly at his lengthy, thick tool. It was quite a meal for her lustily hungry, eager mouth, that big, turgid shaft! She groaned as she sucked cock, with a growing fervor and vacuuming power. He began writhing. Then his hands came onto her breasts. Sighing happily, she ran her face up and down his sexual stalk.
He writhed on her bed, clamping her big, cushiony tits in both hands and surging his loins at her ardent face.
Her hands slid titillatingly over his hairy thighs and the firm balls of his butt. They were tight. She felt his trembling, and her lips tried to curve into a smile. Good! She was pleasing him, and she wanted to, more than anything. Her lips could not smile, though. Stuffed with the thick, curving truncheon spearing from his loins, they were not able to widen any farther.
With her tightened lips fastened firmly around the thickly ripe stalk, she tugged at it relentlessly and avidly. He felt her warm breath panting rhythmically over the base of his belly as she kept her eager mouth totally cock-stuffed.
He realized that she had gone wanton, that she was desperately eager to "reward" him, to please him. There was a thought he had entertained many times, and now, he knew, was the time to make that mental image come true.
Rolling, he tit-tugged the moaning, cocksucking girl until she flopped onto her back. A swift male hand ran a pillow in under her head. Black locks scattered over it to frame her prick-stuffed face. She tugged hard, with her hand scratching lightly at his buttocks.
He heard her little whimpering sound when he pulled his tool out of her tenacious oral grip, but he paid no attention. She'd get it back, soon . . . . His naked body rose up over hers, bestrode hers, and she could actually feel the hair on his ass, the pressure of his balls as they moved up her belly. Sitting astride her, bending far over, he pressed his great throbbing hard-on down between her breasts.
Then he used both hands to cram those bare heavy tits together around his stiff and glowing dick. He felt the intense warmth and smoothness of each of their resilient inner surfaces all around his cock. Big, warm pillows, cushions for his penis-a soft, warm cunt made of tit. Holding her outsize tits thus as a tunnel around his thumping hard-on, he began sliding it in and out between them in hunching, fucking motions that rippled the milky piles of flesh and made her gasp and gasp again.
"Oh," the young woman said, in new revelation, for her salacious father-in-law was showing her something else she had not experienced or even considered. Wh-why, he's fucking my tits! His cock feels good between my boobs, too!
With that thought, she clamped her own hands to the bulging outer curves of her breasts, to crush them together around and over his shuttling erection. She sighed and smiled. His powerful organ felt huge between her breasts, and heavy, radiating warmth that seared the silky inner surfaces of each warm, creamy mound.
He rode her, fucking in and out of the tunnel of tit. As he pushed, the fever-hot plum of his gliding penis appeared at the far end of the warming, cloying tunnel and brushed against the girl's chin, leaving a spot of moisture each time it touched her there, from the seminal fluid that was seeping-seeping in his excitement.
She picked up on that fast. The voluptuously curved girl adjusted her head on the pillow, and gave the very tip of his cock a nice kiss each time it speared out of her breasts' hot, narrow valley and thrust at her face.
She began sucking each time, so that there were mouthy pop-plop sounds to accompany every warm cock-kiss. He shuddered at the feel of her swiftly larruping tongue, tapping the very tip of his sensitive glans.
The flowing milky flesh of the big mounded shapes trembled and rippled as his cock came funneling in and out. Their dark buds, tipping them so prettily, waved in the air and seemed to twitch all on their own. He saw that she was trying hard to catch his prick in her mouth, pursing her lips way out in a child's idea of a kissing shape.
He sat over her and fucked her breasts as long as he could stand it. Then he dragged his hard-throbbing dick out of the hot little tunnel between those great masses, and with pressures of his hands directed the excited and very willing wife of his son to turn over, onto her belly.
He made her grunt when he shoved his cock into her thoroughly wet, actually streaming pussy from behind, and let his groin slap down onto her buttocks. He pumped hard, stroking in and out, slapping and partially flattening her ass with each good strong thrust.
A flood of warm delight inundated her entrails as he threw it to her with those ass-flattening strokes. She smiled, with her cheek against the sheet, and shoved her hands in under the hollows above her hips, pressing them in under her own furry mound and feeling the wet heat and power of his cock as it tunneled in and out of her steaming, churning cunt.
The friction within her of that hard shaft of throbbingly swollen flesh heightened her helpless response to ever-rising lust. And . . . she loved it this way, from behind like this, not even able to see him, turning her into a helpless receptacle for his strong and dominating maleness.
She wriggled, grinding her fat breasts and swollen nipples against the sheet. Her fingers wiggled, trying to catch his drubbing balls.
Her lewdly heaving body was a morass of seething sexuality that nipped his deep-seated tool and scrubbed his crotch with her squirmy butt. The tumescent huge prick up her squirmy cush churned the new fire roaring in her as it churned up her flowing juices.
One at a time, rhythmically, his palms began rising and falling, slapping onto the soft, jiggly back thrusts of her mounding buttocks.
The spanking was not unpleasant. The cock-stuffing was very, very pleasant, and so was the feel of his dripping shaft on her hands, the furry thumps of his balls against her fingers. All of it combined, and swelled up, and she went off again. She squirmed and sighed and groaned in a new orgasm, and though it hardly matched the previous one, it was beautiful.
Then he was groaning, grinding, and she could actually feel the hot milky spurts, one after another, as his semen came into her thoroughly gratified pussy. He collapsed onto her.
It was a long while later that he straightened, taking his weight off her back. She lay still. They had been silent; they remained silent.
Then he said, "This is . . . wrong. This has . . . this has got to be the last time, Christy."
She sighed, and with her cheek pressed against the rumpled sheet, the sated brunette spoke to the wall. "I know."
But three nights later, she went to him, entering his room as he had hers, and it was wonderful
With her dressed as modestly and demurely as he had specified, Christiana's illicit lover took her to the Christmas party of the firm where he worked as office manager, Herndon Manufacturing.
She saw how the short-haired, thin brunette flirted with him, and she was delighted-until she learned that the woman was Elise Landberg, and that she was the wife of the Sales Manager for Herndon Mfg. Christiana noted, too, that Jim Hunt was not over-responsive to the woman's attempts at charming him.
When a nice looking young salesman started getting rutty with her, Christy made certain he knew that she was Mister Hunt's son's wife. That cooled the guy, and Christy was soon dancing with the fat old vice president: Advertising, who treated her with old-fashioned gallantry.
Jim was dancing with the date brought by the divorced plant supervisor, Morey Lynch. She was a widow, with a good buxom figure and lovely blonde hair, a shapely woman in her thirties named Muriel Macewen. He loved the sensuous look about her, and the way she pressed against him as they engaged in what the younger people, raised on African movements, called touch-dancing. Hunt reminded himself more than once that Muriel was here with the plant super. He did learn that she worked at Lincoln Bank, and she seemed attracted to him.
He told Christiana so, as they drove home.
"Oh, the blonde. Sort of brassy, I thought, hmmm?"
No, Jim Hunt had not thought so. He said nothing, driving in silence, thinking about Muriel, and about Christy. They were over their I embarrassment and guilt, now. On some mornings he awoke in her bed; on others she was in his when the alarm went off.
There were times, too, when he was careful to return to his own room, alone. They did not discuss the possibility of their just moving in together. Neither of them was ready for that. He was still her father-in-law, and she was still married to his son. They were, he told himself, serving each other's needs. They were not lovers, or in love.
As a matter-of-fact it would have been impossible. She was not yet twenty-one. Jim Hunt had lived forty years. She simply did not know enough. She was a lovely girl-but not a woman for a man of forty. Frequently their discussions faltered, and he had to fight not to enter the role of parent, and start advising her, correcting her. Yes, she had little habits and mannerisms that bothered the hell out of him. But they were not, he reminded himself constantly, his to change; she was not his woman. He had no rights.
Nor was he interested in making her his woman. No. They were just serving each other's needs.. . .
I'll wait a while, maybe until right after the first of the year, he thought, and give that Muriel Macewen a call. Hell, she's not Morey's property. If she wants to go out, great. If she doesn't, if she and Morey have an understanding-well, I'm not going to find out without calling her!
Then he thought, Oh Alice! I wish, I wish.. .
"Penny for your thoughts," the very young woman beside him said brightly.
"Uh-Christmas," he said. "And Alice."
"Oh," Christiana said, and they went silent again.
He drove on home, and they went into the house and did the things married people do at night, before retiring.
She was just coming toward the door when he emerged from the bathroom, in his robe. He embraced her. She gave him a long look.
"I'll be.. . right there," she whispered, and released, she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
He entered his bedroom, but left the door open. He lit a cigarette and stared out the window, thinking about himself, and Alice, and fairness and pain and God, and about Christiana . . . and Muriel Macewen . . . and about Randy.
He was ready to call it off tonight, as he was deep into his thoughts and feeling pretty bad, when he heard her enter the room. Then those big cushiony tits were pressing into his back, and her arms were coming around him, clasping over his crotch. He forgot anything but her, his son's wife-his mistress.
They had both accepted their lot, and their sexuality, and their relationship: they served each other's needs. And both of them had needs, strong ones. They'd worry about tomorrow, and about Randy, tomorrow.
Moments later they were on the bed, kissing and fondling, caressing and embracing, cleaving to each other in their loneliness and need. Then he was in her, his cock contained in the wet, clasping cunt of his son's wife, riding her with his full weight, forgetting all but her and the need to come in her, his hard chest plastered against her massive, barely yielding breasts as he fucked away into her.
Christmas came and went, and then a new year was beginning. Jim Hunt and Christiana Hunt celebrated in bed.
Randy Hunt looked different, acted differently, talked differently, even thought differently when he came home on leave. For a boy or man to change, while putting in his time in military service, was natural enough, even though, like Randy, the GI had not seen combat. Boys grew into men, many said-though Jim Hunt had never seen much that was conducive to maturity, in being told what to do, when to eat, when to retire, when to rise, how to dress-and always without the why, whether the subject was into athletics or military service.
Randy was a little older, though, from exposure to other men from other places and of course from experiences-not the least of which was his having balled whores. His accent was strangely tainted, and it was days before his father realized the reason: Randy's close association with his buddy David Stein from Queens. Jim Hunt wondered if Stein had picked up some of Randy's speech patterns and accents, as Randy had the other draftee's.
Certainly Jim and Christiana agreed that Randy looked good. He had some muscle that he had not previously possessed, a certain hardness in calf and bicep and chest, and he showed them how he could fist-pound his flat stomach. Nothing much could be said about his hair "style," of course.
All three were delighted to have him home, and all three were happy at the reunion and the fact that he'd be here a while, this time, before he had to go back.
In private, Randy talked with his father about some things he didn't care to discuss or share with Christiana. Part of it was that he wouldn't be in service forever, and he'd prefer that Christiana stayed where she was, rather than move close to his new base.
"I'll keep sending home the major part of the monthly insult, Dad," the young man said, and when his father frowned, Randy grinned and explained: "the great big huge pay we get, man!"
"Oh. Yeah, right. OK, Son. I probably agree with you," Jim said, feeling like a low traitor. Leave your sexy wife here with me, son-we enjoy balling together!
Hunt leaned back. "All that money's gone into the bank, Randy, and it's stayed there. I'm making enough to take care of Christiana and me-and after all, she's doing the cooking and keeping house for me. Your money remains your money."
"Uh-I'd argue, but you made a pretty good case, I guess. Are you two getting along all right?"
Jim Hunt tried to show nothing when he said, "Oh sure. We get along fine, son. She's still a nice girl, and you're still due congratulations for having found her and conned her into marrying you."
She'd been too nice a girl for several days and nights-before Randy's return. It was as if she felt she had to let her sexual need build up, to share with her husband, or as if she wanted to purify herself somehow. Jim understood. Both of them had lived celibately for a week, which wasn't too hard. But now that Randy'd been home a week, Jim Hunt was feeling the pangs of sexual need. He was used to regular sex.
Jim found himself watching leggy Suzanne Franklin at the office, and he got a hard-on from the sight of the swivel-hipped tease more than once. That, he knew, would not do. He wasn't about to get involved with any girl or woman in the office, and especially not Suzanne Franklin!
That night, thinking about what Christiana and Randy were doing in their bed just a few feet away under the same roof, Jim Hunt raised another hard-on-and got rid of it. Later, physically relieved at least, he kissed his hand.
"Night; honey," he said sarcastically, and turned over to sleep.
In one of the new miniskirts, Suzanne got to him again, next day at the office. Then he remembered. Hell, he'd made a vow, back at Christmas, and hadn't kept it. Here it was April, and he and Christiana had so accepted their relationship that he'd never made that phone call.
At his desk now, he looked up the number, dialed it himself. The phone rang and rang. OK, she works, he thought, cradling the phone. He leaned back. Now-where the hell was it she said she worked?
He remembered: Lincoln Bank! He dialed and asked for Mrs. Macewen, and waited.
"Hello? Mrs. Macewen."
"Mrs. Macewen, this is Jim Hunt, with Herndon Manufacturing. I-"
"Oh, hello, Mister Hunt. I remember meeting you at the Christmas party there."
"Right. Glad you remembered."
"I'm flattered you did, Mister Hunt. What can I do for you?"
"Um, you can accept a floundering question, I hope. You were at the party with Morey Lynch. What I wanted to check out was . . . good lord, I feel like a tongue-tied boy." He imitated a youngish voice, and spewed the words out in a boyish rush, "Gee I think you're just awful pretty, Miz Macewen, and is he your steady?"
She laughed. "As a matter-of-fact he isn't my anything. We haven't seen each other since-oh, sometime in January."
"Glad to hear it. How do you feel about my picking you up wherever you say, for a drink and some dinner?"
"I feel good about it, Jim Hunt;-it took you long enough to call! Do you mean right after work, or-"
"Is that possible?"
"Sure. I'll be glad to dress up tomorrow. That way the others here will ask me why, and I can tell 'em I have a date."
This time he laughed. "Good. Uh-outside the bank, or somewhere else?"
"I get off work at four," she told him, "on Fridays."
"Oh. Office managers stay later on Fridays. I guess I'd better come pick you up at home-"
"Or tell me about when you can meet me at Little Apple, the bar three doors down from the bank," she suggested. "A woman can always find something to do in town, after all. I never saw the day I couldn't use more stockings!"
"Hate to keep you waiting, but-can I say between six and six-thirty?"
"Sure. Park in the bank lot. I'll take care of it"
"Hey, great! I love to know people with influence!"
She laughed, and he chuckled, and they said something or other else, and he hung up. With a hard-on.
Jesus H. Christ, James Hunt, cut it out, he told himself. This is a mature woman, and a first date, too. Go away, cock stand!
Fortunately, a call came in from St Louis just then, and his erection died in seconds. He was ridiculously happy and jovial the rest of the afternoon. And that night. And the next day, too-not even the secret looks between Christiana and her smirky husband and the obvious glow on her well-fucked face bothered Jim Hunt, at breakfast.
The day seemed to stretch out forever, with him checking his watch in anticipation every few minutes. Fortunately there was plenty to do, and eventually even that long day ended. He drove downtown, thinking . . . about Muriel Macewen, and about the woman who had been Mrs. Hunt.
I'm trying, Alice, he thought. I hope it works out. She's a good-looking woman, and there's definitely some class about her. It would be nice if she turns out to be a lady in public and a wanton whore-slut in private . . . the way you were. . . .
Leaving the car in the lot beside the bank, he walked the few yards down to the lounge called the Little Apple. It was seventeen past six as he entered the dark, noisy place, which was crowded at this after-work hour, mainly with men grabbing a drink or two before going home to face whatever it was they had to face; whatever they and their upbringing and their wives' upbringings had got them into, for keeps.
A bulge-busted redhead in a slinky green, knit dress gave him the eye, and in that instant Jim Hunt realized what an asshole he had been. He hadn't tried, to meet women! Hell, here he was to meet the blonde in her thirties-and here was some long-legged, busty chick in a miniskirt, gazing steadily at him from her booth and just barely quirking her lips at the corners, giving him the hint of a smile, just the hint so as not to be too forward . . . or so that she could pretend not to have noticed him, should he turn up with another woman.
Cigarette smoke trembled in the air, blue-gray and thick. Men crowded the bar, sat at tables, and hunched over tables in the walls-lining booths.
He looked, and moved a bit, to look further. He didn't see her, and he was about to see what happened if he went to the small table where the redhead was when-he saw Muriel Macewen. He was amazed at how good-looking she was; he had assumed he had remembered her as being more than she was. He hadn't. Delighted, he moved through the noisy dark place to the high-backed booth where she sat. She smiled; waiting; she had a glass of water and a scarlet drink he assumed was a Bloody Mary. It was hardly touched, and he assumed with relief that she hadn't been here long. He wondered how in hell she'd managed to get herself ensconced in the booth, alone. Must've beat the crowd by seconds.
"Hi."
"Hi," he echoed, and sat opposite her, with his legs not quite tucked under the table, like a man ready to depart. "What've you been doing? I made it out and down here as fast as I could."
She rustled a sack beside her. "Oh, I bought a couple of things. And would you believe I've had time to have exactly one sip of this Bloody Mary? Perfect timing!"
"Im glad. How the heck did you get the booth, in this crowd?"
She shrugged. "Luck. I walked in, headed this way because I thought another was empty-it wasn't, he and she were just short-and two men got up from here. I scuttled in, fast. Luck-I was thinking positively." She had nice dimples when she smiled. He liked dimples. He hadn't remembered them, or that her honey-blonde hair was parted on the right, or that it puffed out so cutely on the sides. Over a scarlet turtle neck with long sleeves she wore a knitted cape, off-white, with a collar and buttons all down the front. Unusual, handsome. He wondered what she'd done to keep the scarlet turtleneck so neat all day.
He glanced around. "Noisy place," he said. "Why don't you drink up or resign yourself to abandoning that, and let's go somewhere where we can hear each other talk."
She nodded, clasped purse and paper bag, and looked expectantly at him. They left. Hunt's car was now one of two in the bank lot, and the guard was locking his little house. He returned Muriel's wave, and that was that. The red turtleneck seemed to be a dress, and when he went around and got into the car beside her, Jim saw that the dress revealed a great deal of healthy-looking and superbly rounded legs, encased in dark gray hose.
They talked about businessmen going to bars after work, while he drove out to the Royal
House. She didn't ask where they were going; said nothing as he pulled into the sprawling lot of the motor hotel and found a parking place.
"The lounge here is quiet, and the dining room's never crowded," he said, as he pulled the keys out of the ignition.
"Mainly," she said, "because it's so darned overpriced!"
He was getting out and she was leaning his way. He smiled when she locked his door after him; nice considerate woman! He went around for her. "Well," he said, opening her door, "Next time I'll buy you a hamburger."
She laughed. "I like 'em!"
The bar of the Royal House could probably accommodate forty people, and there were perhaps fifteen when Jim Hunt and Muriel Macewen walked in. They had a Bloody Mary each in short order, and were already deep in conversation. She wasn't hard to talk with, neither pushy nor withdrawn, and she knew what was going on in the world. She remembered that he'd been with Christiana at the party, and asked about his son. He learned that Muriel had a son, Dan, who was away at school, and a daughter in the Peace Corps, in Afghanistan. They talked about Afghanistan for awhile; Jim knew precisely nothing. Her husband, he learned eventually, had been an insurance man, life. Jim gathered that she didn't have to work; the man had believed in his own product. He had learned he had leukemia three years ago, on
November 10th, and was dead before Christmas.
By that time they were on their second drink.
They talked about the fairness/unfairness of people being in love, and happy, and one of them dying. Jim learned that Muriel had some religious feelings, though she seldom went to church and found herself in disagreement with half or more of the tenets of the Catholicism she'd been raised in.
They'd been there over an hour when she said, impulsively, "I love talking with you."
He blinked, smiled in slight embarrassment. "Good! Why?"
"You fishing, Jim Hunt?"
Jim laughed. "No. You just said that so all-of-a-sudden, and it's-I don't know, a little unusual."
"I tend to say what I think, when I can."
"I've noticed," he told her, "and I like it-and salute you for it, too."
"I like talking with you because it's good, easy conversation. Also . . . well, I'm a widow, and I'm not old or ugly, but you seem interested in talking, as much as I am."
He thought about that, started to remind her, jokingly, that he had after all brought her to a motel. He didn't. "I'm enjoying it," he said. "I'll admit to being.. . lonely."
Muriel looked at him as if she were about to cry. "Yes," she said at last, in a tiny voice.
He apologized and suggested they move into the dining room. They did, feeling a bond between them: loneliness. They advised the waitress they did not want a drink, did want coffee. By the time they had eaten, his prime ribs and her lobster, they had discussed books, movies, the TV that neither of them watched much, each other, their former spouses; and they had touched briefly on a half dozen other subjects, including their ages; each guessed the other to be younger. Muriel was thirty-five.
'Tonight," Jim smiled, leaning back, "I'm somewhere in my twenties."
"Oh! And what may I ask is responsible for that?"
"Now you're fishing!"
She laughed-and nodded. "I am. A girl takes what she can get."
"OK, I feel about twenty-something because I'm having a date, and enjoying it, because you're not only a lot of fun to look at, you're fun to talk with. That's important, big with me-particularly since I live with my son's very young wife." And he told himself: Bastard!
She sat gazing at him.
Getting uncomfortable, he asked if she wanted anything else. "I think so."
He made an expansive gesture. "Milady hath but to name it."
"If I do," the blonde with the bright blue eyes said, "it'll be mighty forward of me."
He was surprised into silence for a few seconds. Then he leaned toward her, across the small table. "Be forward, Muriel. I don't dare."
"Because of what I said about being a widow and being looked on as a sex object-a potential lay."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry I said it. I didn't mean to intimidate you. People aren't supposed to say things like that. But they're not supposed to make admissions like you did, either. About being lonely."
He said, "You made the same admission. With your expression, your eyes, Muriel."
That sympathetic, empathic expression of silently screaming distress returned to dim the sparkle of her eyes. Then she said, "OK! You said you feel a lot younger, because we get along and we've been out on a date. Well good grief, when we go out on a date we're supposed to go someplace and park and neck, aren't we?"
He was surprised again. "Absolutely," he said after a time.
Eyes bright and twinkling like the sky on a sunny day, she raised a finger. "BUT-this is the TV generation, right. So instead of parking and necking we're supposed to go home and look at TV. With an eye out for my parents."
He chuckled, and couldn't get the waitress and the bill fast enough. Driving out to West Elm, a quiet old street of small old houses and big trees, seemed to take forever. He stopped the car in front of her small, cozy cottage, and they went in. A tiny entry hall led into a warm, cozily furnished living room, with lots of plants in various kinds of pots. He asked Muriel if she talked to them; she said lightly, "Sure!" First switch on the TV, she motioned to the couch, and went out to the kitchen.
He noted that her copy of the current Newsweek appeared to have been read. Under it was yesterday's newspaper, folded to the oped page. Under that was a partially read biography, Johnson's Elizabeth I, a fat and expensive book about the woman miscalled "Good Queen Bess," a woman who had sent to the block not only her male mistresses, but England's greatest hero, Sir Francis Drake.
"Fine lady," Jim Hunt grunted, and bent to squint at a little lazy-Susan bookcase. It contained several Readers Digest Condensed books, a demon exorcism novel, Listen, Please Listen and paperbacks of The Exorcist and The Godfather, along with Jones's Colossus and The Fall of Colossus. He's seen the telemovie, and didn't know there was a sequel Starting to sit back with it, he found another book, a paperback, stuck down in the couch. It bore the godawful title Sex Slaves of The Black Mass, and its cover and $1.50 price told him that it was a sex book, and not new. He flipped it. It seemed to be about a woman who was helplessly turned on and fucked by any male of strong makeup, whether he was crude or not.
Hearing her snap off a light switch, he shoved the book back down Into the couch. Muriel came in with two brandy snifters.
"You provided the fine dinner, sir; I provide the natural capper. To you."
With his hand wrapped around the belled glass, he lifted it. "To you," he said.
"What's on?" she asked, glancing at the television.
"Beats me. I haven't paid any attention, and the sound's not up. I've been looking at your books."
"Do you subscribe to the theory that you can tell a lot about a person from the books she reads, Jim?"
"Partially, I guess," he said, thinking about the paperback he'd found. "You usually find out that the person is interested in more than one thing. Or, and, a member of Book-of-the-Month."
Without having sat down, she laughed. "Look, pardon the clich� but I do want to get out of this turtleneck. Now do NOT expect me to come back in something slinky and black."
He decided what the hell, and shoved his hand down into the couch. "OK," he said. "I'll just skim along through this one. It looks more interesting than the others, anyhow."
He held up Sex Slaves of The Black Mass. She stared, and he noted that she had the sensibility to blush a bit.
"Are you interested in that?"
He asked, wickedly, "Which?"
Muriel blinked and her color rose still more. "Umm. Touch�, hmm? I believe I just won't answer that." She turned away, but looked back at him from the doorway. "Either," she said bravely. "Or both."
He thought about it. "I don't know much about Black Masses, and I guess I don't believe, anyhow. Sex slaves I've read about and it sounds fascinating. I've never had one. As to sex, pornography-of course. It seems to be mainly uptight housewives and district attorneys of the-pardon me, Muriel-Catholic persuasion who are hotly against pornography."
She nodded. "Pardon unnecessary-I agree with you." She stood there a moment, then apparently changed her mind, and returned. She sat down on the couch beside him. Glasses in hand, they sat there and looked at each other, ignoring the television, which, bereft of its voice, was still trying hard to gain their attention.
When he sipped his brandy, she did. He then set the glass on the table before the couch and slipped his hands to her waist, just above the swell of her hips under the red knitted dress. She was more than ready for the kiss. Soft and warm, her lips strained to his and moved, just a little. He tugged her a little closer, until he felt her breast against him, and surrounded her mouth with his. With a sigh, she seemed to limpen, though her hands went to his shoulders.
A long while passed before he drew his head back. "To hell with the TV pretense, let's just neck."
She nodded. The movement of the dark amber liquid in her snifter betrayed the quiver of her hand. "All right." Then she seemed to wake up. "Oh-bad hostess. Please take off your coat, Jim, and be comfortable."
"Thankee ma'am," he said, and stood. She watched while he stripped the jacket, laid it across the arm of a chair, and paused at the television set. He poised his hand at the off-on button. "Want to keep up the pretense?"
"You decide," she said quietly.
He turned off the set. Taking the few steps back to the couch, he noted that the drapes were drawn across the window behind it, as well as the room's other window. They were much in privacy. She surprised him; he saw her eyes drop to the area below his belt-yes, it had developed a definite bulge-and he saw a swift flare of her nostrils.
"Oh," he said, on a sudden impulse-one that he knew even as he spoke, was dangerous. "Please take off your dress, Muriel; be comfortable."
He saw her stiffen. She gazed up at him from the couch. He stood across the coffee table from her and returned her look, though it wasn't the easiest thing he'd ever done. He let a little smile play with his mouth; if she was shocked and got angry, he could always pretend he'd been kidding. Maybe he was.
Muriel put down her snifter, got up and came around the table, and unknotted his necktie. She stripped it off and tossed it back onto the couch. Then she surprised him again, turning her back to bin.
"Would you open me up, please?"
That struck through to him. As his hands rose to the back of her dress, his face burned with heightened bodily heat and his penis stirred in his shorts, starting to throb as his stepped-up heartbeat sent engorging blood into it. He had opened and closed the little hook-and-loop at the backs of his wife's dresses many times. Out of practice, he accomplished it nevertheless. The little pull of her zipper gleamed like a beacon, after he'd turned up the folded neck of the red dress. He took hold of it, and pulled. Nice, creamy-smooth skin came into view as he tugged the zipper down its track. Her back, hollow in the middle and vulnerable looking, was horizontally bisected by the strap of a black brassiere. There were no hooks. The zipper reached the end of its track, a few inches above the swell of her backside. His hand had not touched her skin anywhere. He drew it away and gazed at her back. His cock had begun to ache with cramped space and sheer longing for this woman who had become suddenly most unusual indeed.
Hell, so have I, he thought. Who the hell could've imagined Jim Hunt saying something like that!
Muriel turned to face him, and kept her blue eyes on him while she reached across herself with both hands, forming an X across her chest, and tugged down her dress. Black bra came into evidence as she peeled the long sleeve off her left arm and hand; more creamy skin was exposed when that part of the dress swung down loose. Without taking her eyes off his face, she peeled her other arm. The dress dropped to her waist and dangled from there.
She looked tiny. Her shoulders were narrow, and the black bra seemed to contain a pair of oranges. Maybe a B-cup, he mused, but of a small size, because she was not broad across the chest or thick of back. It looked almost strange to him, who had seen no woman naked or in bra except the very titsy young wife of his son, for a long time. Muriel's waist was a bit thicker in proportion; probably the same size, considering the fact that Christiana was a larger build. Muriel had taken no dressing on her salad, and had commented on his careful paring away of the fat from his meat at dinner. Body conscious, she wasthirty-five and had borne two children. She had a stomach, but it was only slightly convex, like a shallow bowl; a calling-card dish, maybe.
"You're pretty," he said, and drew her to him for another kiss. His bulging fly pressed hard against the bulky roll formed by her dress, caught on her hips. His hands ran over bare skin, which was just as soft and smooth as it had looked. He heard her breathing, heavy through her nose. She pressed to him. The brassiere was not hard and neither were her breasts.
He let her go slowly, as if reluctant, and at last their lips peeled away from each other. Stepping back, he looked at her expectantly. Her tongue came out to touch her lips-and she pushed the dress down. It dropped at her feet. She wore no half-slip, but only a pair of lace-edged black panties, briefs. They clung tightly to her hips, which were full-blown, intensely womanly, and to the brazen bulge of her pubis.
Smiling, he went around the table to the couch, moved his tie, and sat down. He held up a hand to her. She came, all in silence.
They necked. They kissed. After a time their breathing was wild and erratic and their bodies shuddering tense. Her hands moved over his shirt-clad back with frenzied scrabbling, almost clawing. Their mouths remained tightly joined with tongues wriggling, wetly and warmly, in and out of each other's suctioning mouths. His hands moved all over her bare back, down to her panties, teased just inside the lacy band of elastic. His lips descended to press against her throat, her collarbones and their hollows, the soft swells on either side of her brassiere cleavage, even her humid armpits. He returned to trace his tongue up the beginning valley of her breasts, which were moving restlessly.
Her hand jammed into his crotch. He heard her moan and felt her body quake with a shudder. Through his tightened pants, she held his stalwart hard-on gently in her ringers, then not so gently, those fingers moving restlessly, over cloth-covered cock. She was breathing very hard.
"I believe we said neck," he said, tightly.
Her voice was low and quivery with fierceness. "You knew what we meant!"
His hand closed around one black bra cup. "I knew," he said, and squeezed as he crushed her head back against the couch, crushed her lips under his, pretended to crush her breast in his clamping hand.
Her hand, meanwhile, continued to work in his crotch, the other fiddling with the front of his shirt. He felt a button come undone; she was good, with one hand! Continuing the kiss, he held her lips the firm prisoner of his while she opened his shirt down the front. A small hand slid inside, moved over his chest, scratched with three swiftly-moving fingers at his nipple. He groaned. His hand on her bra pushed upward, as if seeking to pop her throbbing tit out of its holster. She moaned, gripped his bare skin inside the opened shirt, and continued working at his fly.
He took his mouth from hers, holding her pressed back into the couch with his hand flat over her breast.
Misty, her eyes blinked open and were startlingly blue. "I love it when you told me to take off my dress. No one's ever done that before!"
Her words spurred him to issue a new directive: "Take out my cock."
She went after it with both hands and no protests. After opening his zipper without fumbling, she fingered her way through the opening in his shorts and gasped when her hand encountered the hot bar of distended, upstanding flesh. She fought to get it out of his shorts while he slid his fingers into her bra and began tweezering her nipple between two fingers. Her warm, tremulous fingers were wrapped around his hot prick.
She had it out into the air and the light in short order, and hung onto it while he transferred his clamping fingers to her other nipple, and again kissed her hard and long. They panted together, their nostrils flaring and fanning each other's cheeks with hot currents.
He hooked his fingers in the V of her bra. "I want this thing off."
"So do I. It has a catch right there, in the front."
"How clever," he said. "Open it."
He sat back to watch while she did, and he watched with a smile as the precious silky flesh of her deep breasts appeared, dropped slightly, and jiggled. Their nipples were up, large and fat, having tugged nearly all their haloes into themselves for bulleting juts.
"You nursed your children."
"Yes."
"I love those nipples. You'll nurse me now." "Yes!"
Cupping both lovely full jugs in his hands, he raised them high. They were quite soft and malleable and he realized that he had been wrong; the fleshy pendants wouldn't fit into orange peels. He lifted them from her panting chest until he bent to taste one lengthening, twitching nipple.
She squirmed and spasmed under the swift lapping of his tongue. Her hands fluttered, twitched, and rushed back to gain firm holds on his lurching, high-standing cock.
Her well-licked nipple ran out like a strawberry, rubber-hard, red and ripe for the plucking and eating. He did love big nipples he could get hold of with fingers or mouth-and Christiana's, on her big outthrust knockers, were so damned tiny! Hell, he mused, mine're as big
Appreciatively, he began eating this big rubbery bullet.
Her breath came in gasping hisses and her hand clamped his prick as he laved her fleshy, straining tit-erections with his avid tongue. Really indulging himself, he drove her half out of her mind with a full quarter of an hour of suckling at her thick, fat nipples, while his hands molded their strutting mounts and slid down over her waist and hips and returned to sink eager fingers again into the doughy softness of her soft love gourds.
She knew enough not to pump the big erection she held, but held it in her hand and moved it, loosely. Her other hand rose again to his chest. While she moaned out her love of what he was doing to her, nipples and breasts, she squeezed and tugged and scratched his prominent red buds, each surrounded by long crinkly and slightly curling hairs.
He learned quickly that he loved it, and she taught him to love something else, too. When he at last drew his face away from her hugely distended tit-tips, her head lunged forward and moments later her tongue was rearranging the hairs around his left nipple while she suckled at it. He groaned and shuddered in unexpected pleasure.
God, he thought. You lucky bastard-you've stumbled upon the sexiest woman in town!
While her hands, very warm now from the radiant heat of his loins, played with his cock and balls, she licked and sucked at his long-dormant, now stiffening nipples.
* * *
"Boy," Randy Hunt said, around a mouthful of his wife's huge white tit, "it's hard to imagine Dad out on a date!"
"Maybe we should sit up in the living room and grouse at him if he comes in too late," Christiana giggled, slowly jacking his beloved prick. Furtively, her other hand scratched at her clit; she had told Randy about it, saying she had discovered its extreme sensitivity while she was masturbating and then had looked it up. But he wasn't interested in it, right now, as his saliva drooled over her breast and oozed down its great curve.
He chuckled. He sucked. His hand moved-and found soft skin, tensing up firmly, and soft fleece, and-her hand. He chuckled again, as she jerked her hand embarrassedly away from her crotch. "Hey, I forgot this, didn't I?" he mumbled around her stinging, nipple, and moments later she was jerking and grunting, sweating and going all fluttery, as he rolled the nipple of her cunt under his fingers.
"Well, it may be a helluva thing to say," Randy muttered, "and not too realistic either, people their age on a first date, but I hope he gets into her, the same way I'm going to get in you in about ten seconds!"
It was a nice sentiment, she thought. And his mouth on her was nice, and his hand-oh, his hand! She was about to come, creaming all over herself and the bedsheet and his darling hand. That he'd be inside her and expanding her, pumping her-that was a lovely thought, too.
Still.. . he'd be going back to camp in a few days, and the concept of her father-in-law making it with a woman, finding his sexual release elsewhere, made Christiana Hunt frown even as her guts started popping in orgasm.
"Oh baby," Jim Hunt sighed, groaning, "those things're going to be sore tomorrow! I had no idea I had such sensitive nipples!"
"Uirmi-mm-mmmm!" she hummed, chewing wide around his saliva-wet chest-bud and pressing his balls with sweat-damp hands. She drew her mouth back, surveyed his miniature hard on, and set her lips to it again.
"And they're so tiny!" he muttered, lifting a hand to feel his other nipple, which had just been licked and nibbled and sucked fully for ten minutes.
"They're not so small," she told him. "Some men don't have any, poor things. Why you must have a full quarter-inch erection here!"
He chuckled. "That's not so small, huh? How about compared with this one-incher?" His fingers tweaked one of her fat, stubby-thick knobs.
"Uh! Oh I love that-anyhow though-you're not a woman, silly! I mean yours are a nice size."
"Uh-huh. Muriel?"
"Hnmraimm-mmm?"
"Leave off that-I want to get these dam' pants off."
"About time!" she said, leaving off, but gazing lovingly at the little red erection she'd created on his chest, stabbing out of its furry nest. The fur was slicked down, darker with saliva.
"Huh!" He gave her nipple a playful pinch, then rose to unbuckle. He dropped his pants while his hugely erect cock, deeply reddened from her constant handling, bobbed and swung before him. He toed off his shoes, glanced at her, and dragged down his shorts. She stared at his prick, which, broadly swollen and greatly stretched, flopped and swung ponderously and bobbed energetically up and down. Fixed on it, her eyes sparkled.
A shiver rippled her skin and jiggled her naked, plushy tits. "Ooooh, that's a beautiful big cock!"
He stepped before her. "You really like its looks?"
"I love its looks. Also its feel, in my hand. It's going to feel so-o-o-o good in me, too!" "Give us a kiss."
Another great shiver took her, and he knew she loved those words. Sex Slaves of the Black Mass, hmm? Forget the Black Mass part! With that thought in mind, accompanied by her soft acquiescence to everything, her submissive rising and stripping off her dress, her lunging to him when he'd sat on the couch and held up a hand, he amended his words, making them more direct and specific: "Kiss cock, pretty lady."
Still wearing panties and hose, she leaned forward on the couch. Her soft, creamy breasts swung out loosely. They were very lively tits, full but far from hard, ever ready to move, to be manipulated and reshaped.
She tongue-kissed the very tip of his cock, and he groaned. His belly went immediately so tight that his diaphragm hurt.
Happily the little blonde woman proceeded to wet down his glans thoroughly, coating it to a high sheen with warm saliva while she held his semen-stuffed nuts lovingly in her warm palm. Long, sexy tongue slithered sexily over his flesh, so sensitive and swollen, until he wanted to yell aloud.
She rolled her eyes up to meet his hot gaze. "Is a kiss enough?" "No!"
She licked his prickhead again. He said nothing. She fingered his bloated scrotum, still looking into his face. Letting him see how she puckered her lips exaggeratedly, she pressed a warm kiss on the tip of his tool once more, with her tongue wiggling at the little slit as if in search of entry.
"What shall I do, then?"
That does it-she wants to be told everything, he told himself excitedly. That is, she liked to; when there was something she wanted to do that he wasn't likely to suggest or order, such as all that attention she had lavished on his nipples, she was perfectly capable of taking initiative.
Using a mock-tough voice, he said, "Get some skin around 'at cock, baby!"
She did. She shoved her blonde head straight forward. Her hair rustled and her earrings twinkled. Pink-lipped mouth opened. The slippery bulb capping his eager prick breached that soft pink mouth, and pure pleasure surged through him like a mild electronic jolt.
He watched her head move back and forth, up and down his lurching shaft, slowly and voluptuously. He was aware of the lively, loving movements of her tongue. Her hand lifted his balls, then tugged them downward, one by one, in little milking motions. He saw how the contracting muscles of her facial sheath worked hungrily, massing and sucking, leeching his untamed stalk of mightily swollen flesh. Its early fluids dribbled out onto her wriggling tongue, and she made smacking noises and swallowed. The cocksucking wanton was sucking that sauce lasciviously up and swallowing with deliberate gulps, so he could hear.
Her hand manipulated his scrotum, working swollen inner ovals with her fingers, playing delightedly with them, making him shiver as his balls tensed. So did the muscles in his stomach. She exulted in the feel, the size and weight of the heavy, semen-packed agates slipping around inside their softly furred pouch.
He heard himself issue a loud groan.
It seemed to be what the darling, clever cock-sucker had been waiting to hear. She moaned, and he saw a violent quaking go all through her soft body. Dangling tits shook, and one hand leaped up to close thumb and two fingers around a hard, red nipple. The quivering of her arm told him how much pressure she was exerting on her own nipple, and he realized that he must have been gentler than she wished.
Now she made his eyes bulge with the renewed assault of her open mouth on his hard-throbbing boner. The back of her mouth began sucking hard, as if she were trying hard to swallow the whole mass: head, shaft, hand-held balls and all.
Quivering, he strained forward to aid that goal.
Then she was groaning and jerking, shuddering violently, and he felt her teeth on his cock-shaft and knew she was coming, with her pants still on and her pussy untouched; with her mouth full of his meat and her nipple nastily pinched by her own fingers.
Her shoulders sagged limply. He saw sweat on her breasts. Her hand fell away, and the nipple she had held was much larger than its mate, and violently red. Wet cock plopped slurpily out of her mouth as he squatted. With one hand he shoved her back against the couch, while with his other he cupped the black-pantied bulge of her crotch.
The pants felt wet enough to be wrung out.
"God," he muttered, "what a woman!"
She looked blearily up into his face. Her voice was a moan.
"Do-do you want me to suck it all the way off?"
That suggestion and the thought it evoked made his stomach lurch and his balls jump an inch straight up. But he shook his head, pawing her pantied cunt and her breast with deliberately rough hands. "No."
"Then would you just please for God's sake put me anyplace you want to and arrange me the way you wan't me and fuck me?"
He shivered even as he smiled, and his hand tightened on the lewdly huge bulge of her pubes. "Would you rather be in your bedroom?"
"I don't care!"
He slipped both hands into her armpits, which were wet, and standing, bending from the waist, he tugged. "Stand up." . '
"Oh Christ Jesus, I don't think I ca-an!"
But she did, and stood weakly, legs together and her hand on his shoulder for support, while he peeled her wet black panties down her hips and over very round thighs and unusual, girlishly bulging calves. Her rich pile of delicious golden-haired bush did not spring outward when the pressure of her panties was taken away; it was too wet with her own juices. The black briefs dropped in a sodden mass to the carpet.
He cupped that bulge again, and two fingers slipped into a hot, slippery lake with ineffable ease. She groaned and teetered, with tensing tendons leaping into prominence under the skin of her luscious plump thighs. Deliberately teasing, feeling vicious, he pussy-pumped her until she was up on her toes and shuddering as if in epileptic throes. More hot juices boiled out of her to coat his fingers and run onto his palm.
There's going to be damned little friction here, with all this come, he thought excitedly. No matter if I am more het up than I've been in years-this is going to be a lonnng fuck!"
He slid his hands onto her waist. "I think I may love you, woman."
"God, don't tell me that stuff-just do it to me!"
He recoiled in shock, blinking. A strange sort of rejection-rejection? Whatever, it hurt a little; it was a shock and a blow. He was angered-and the anger of a turned-on man with a naked and needful woman took the usual, predictable form.
"Face the couch and hit your knees," he said harshly.
She swung and went to her knees, instantly. For the first time he saw her bare butt, vehemently vulnerable and white, a beautiful, full-fleshed heart shape that jutted brazenly. The well divided, highly rounded and nicely dimpled cheeks quivered. That, and her slender, bowed back and narrow shoulders combined to make her long, tiny, and submissive, a picture of assailable vulnerability.
He had a swift, ugly thought involving his cock, her anus, and violence. He discarded it, though his heavy-hard-on lurched hopefully. Instead, he kneeled behind her and directed his prick in under the lower curves of her shivery asscheeks. She groaned and shuddered at the very first contact of his hard groin-flesh.
He shoved every inch of his cock into her cunt with one quick thrust.
"Gaaa-a-a-a-aaaaa!" she cried. Her back bowed in as her head came whipping up, blonde hair stirring. Her buttocks clamped frenziedly together. "Ahh-ohhh, oh GOD-D-DHHH!"
The heat of that damp-no, wet, dripping wet-furrow was overwhelming. Shit, he thought in constantly growing lust, her snatch's an oven.. . baking my prong!
Yes, and drowning it in a lake of vaginal treacle too, all at once.
With her wringing, dripping, splashing wet as she was inside, his heavy male staff streaked in and out of her with fantastic force and speed. He slapped her ass nine ways from July with his lurching, pounding loins as if he were trying to stick burning and broad-headed cock all the way up into her buried womb.
Obviously, she did not mind. Squirming and whimpering in a high voice, she worked nearly as hard as he. The kneeling woman thrust herself back against him, lying forward on the couch and pushing at its back with both hands, grooving on the strong, hairy columns of his thighs pressed so firmly against her rounded asscheeks.
He jarred and pounded and rocked her. The frenzy of her passion grew visibly-and audibly-with the tempo of his deep-gouging strokes.
Gasping, whimpering out sobbing moans and cries of pleasure and sex-hungry desperation, she arched her spine inward and thrust her hips and ass and splashy cunt back against his pummeling body.
He gave full play to her saucy, jouncy, round butt-halves, which she swayed and swerved wantonly in a deliberate way that turned her pussy into a moving envelope that swallowed and massaged his deep-thrusting cock.
His hips were moving rhythmically, deliberately slowing down but still pounding the soft cheeks of that moving ass with his crotch, while he drilled into her wet, hot cuntal canal from behind.
Hot juices slurped out of her every time he partially reeled in his streaking rod. Clear and viscous, that passion-fluid splashed onto his balls, matted and sheened his pubic hair, trickled in runnels down her legs, and dripped onto the carpet-which fortunately was dark, a navy blue with design in green and red and cream. Hopefully, he thought, these spots would mingle in with the design and not show-he'd never been into such a pot of cream!
He pumped, twisted his hips, lurched and jerked.
In his neck, the cords of his tendons stood out like cables. His heart was pounding and his head reeled. Blood swirled through his veins like rushing lava. His hands sank into the tender white flesh of her wiggly ass while he tugged her all the way back on his shaft, giving her cock to the womb.
Then he relaxed his fingers, grunting, letting her slump slightly forward so that the tender sheath slid part way off its impalement.
He felt every stroke at the sensitive glans tipping his cock like a beet. She was big in the cunt, and incredibly juicy, and-shallow. His cockhead was jabbing her cervix each time it jackhammered into her, giving him a sensation that tried to combine pain and deep sexual pleasure and exultation.
A deep sigh came from the ripely curved blonde . . . and his hands grasped her hipbones swiftly, dimpling their fleshy coating, preventing his battered prickhead from coming completely out of the soft, hot slot.
Once more he tugged her all the way back along the broad, rigid stalk. She groaned and shook. Constant oh's and ahrrrh's and mere voice-sounds tore from her gaping mouth.
Ignoring the painful pressure to his glans, he ground up into that warm, syrupy channel of sensual comfort. His straining hips drilled his mighty shaft as far up her as he could while he dragged her back, pressuring the satiny mounds of flesh almost flat with his straining against her ass.
"Uuuuuuurrrghhhh.. . A A AA AHHHHHHH!"
A new orgasm hit her like a lightning bolt, and he, too, groaned at the feel of biting contractions inside her. He ground in, not wanting to take his cock out of that vising chamber of wet heat.
The contractions eased off. She deflated, with sweat rolling off her bowed little form. He resumed his powerful pumping. Flesh slapped flesh again. Searing fluids slurped and splashed and dripped and splatted to the rug. Long, thick shafting hard-on tore through liquescent cunt.
Dear god, he thought awhile later, panting and gasping and oozing sweat all over his body, I-I've been fucking her for a damned week! This hot ocean of hers is too wet, I can't get enough friction.
"Huuu-AAARRRRRRRRhhh-h-h-h . . . "
She pounded the couch with her hands as she came still again.
Again he pressed in close and held his cock motionless inside her, loving the sensation of her orgastic squeezes. Then they began to weaken, and they died, and she hung limply over the couch again.
Panting, he dragged his long tool out of her. It shone and dripped with vaginal grease. Her buttocks shuddered and clamped together. Shoving his hands into sweaty armpits, he dragged her back off the couch, turned the moaning, panting voluptuary, and let go. She flopped backward onto the rug, her soft sweat-glistening tits jiggling and flopping wildly. He heard her head thump, saw her eyes bulge. Her thighs opened-
He clamped them together, sprawled on her, and tried to tuck his prick into her close-pressed pussy. Her hand came down to help him. It wouldn't go, and they had to open her legs. Huge, wet erection drove up her again. She cried out and shoved her core upward onto the staff.
Firmly, he pressed her thighs together, straddled them as he lay on her, heat to heat, and then pressed them inward with his own legs.
"Ahhhhhh," he sighed, feeling the new tightness of her close-pressed vaginal membranes.
Crooning happily, she clutched his head with both hands and held it to her, doing her best to move her hips about beneath his full weight.
He began to move. Hard-slapping strokes skewered his erection, throbbing with power, into the hot, humidly wet depths of her belly.
He dug in his toes to drive hard into her pursed crotch mouth, violently distending its pressed-together lips as he filled her and pumped strongly back and forth in her juice-brimming vault. The room was filled with utterly salacious wet sounds from the pummeling together of their juices-drenched flesh.
"Oh, ohhh, oooohh . . . oh darling, darling, so good, you're so good, it's so big, so huge, it fills me so-o-OH! Oh darling, lover, uh, unhh, ummmmghhh!" Her voice ran up the scale with her excitement, dropped to her lowest level with her groans of pleasure.
He pumped away.
"Um . . . sweetheart. . . darling . . . you're go good . . . such a-a superman! Let me know when you're tired, superman-I'll do the work, or suck it off for you, whatever you want.. . oh, oh, urnmmmggghhh-oh!"
Renewed energy flowed through him. Superman, eh? The word went straight in to his ego center, pumped up his pride, his energy, his determination. Fucking was what it was about, wasn't it? Fucking, fucking-hell, coming was the end, the whole show.
He lifted himself over her sweat-drenched body on his forearms. Her eyes were sparkling, and her teeth flashed as she smiled happily, lovingly, admiringly up at him. And instantly both her hands leaped up, between them, to fasten on the little nubbins of his nipples.
"Uh!"
She pinched and pressed and tugged and pinched, and hot, jolting lust boiled through him like electricity. His balls rose and the semen simmered hotly in them. His hips punched in, gave her cock to the cervix. Every muscle of his body contracted in almost unbearable lust.
With the sheer delight of her need and her rapture, she clung to his nipples and tweaked and pinched them, while she hunched hard as her superman paused to hold himself suspended over her.
Her cunt ran up his cock like a hot, wet mouth and didn't stop until its lips were nibbling his pubic hair. He groaned and strained, pushing up his chest, getting his nipples stretched and grinding his crotch against hers.
"Nice?" she grinned, and twisted his reddened chest-knobs.
"Nice!" he nearly shouted, in an explosion of enthusiasm.
She giggled, pressed and twisted, and began exerting the muscles of her belly and calves in more of those mighty upward surges.
Christ, he thought in elation and a new bliss, she's fucking me, fucking me from beneath! "Whatever you like, darling!" she told him. "What-ever you.. . LIKE!" Her exertions left her panting and gasping, muscles and hot tendons twitching. Her fingers pressed his nipples like little raisins. The moment she fell back onto the carpet, he took over happily, his energy renewed and spurred, and began pumping the marvelously, wantonly whorish woman with all his might.
Flowing cunt-juice splashed and splurched and flew to spatter legs and rug as his prick leaped in and out of her.
"Almost . . . all . . . most . . . THERE!" he groaned, dizzily. Sweat dropped from him onto her body, and his legs were melting.
The nipple-oriented blonde flashed a smile. "Coming? Almost there, darling? My superman's going to come, come, pump out his lovely cream? Oh, give it to me give it to me, please, let me have it, I want it, your sweet cream, your maleness.. . "
He was so elated by her totally licentious words and dazzling smile that he didn't realize what she wanted-until she all but tore her cunt off his sexual stalk, dragging at his nipples, then pushing, until she could scramble out from under him.
He groaned, then let out a yell as her mouth fastened on his dripping cock.
Dizzy with lust, his head pounding and his chest heaving with sweat rolling off it, he groaned and looked down at the beautiful, balls-tightening vision: his swelling, cunt-dripping, ready-to-shoot sexual meat pulsing obscenely in the grip of her sexy lips.
"Oh suck it, suck it you beautiful vampire!"
She did, with all her might, and he felt his thick charger leap inside her vacuum-sucking mouth. She trembled, wagged her head, slammed her face down until her nose was against his lower belly and he knew she must be strangling herself with his meaty glans.
Just as she let an inch or so of it emerge, it went off like a great overcharged piece of field artillery.
"AAAAHHHHH!" he roared, for that was the atmosphere they had created; she had created: open, juicy, sweating, shouting sexuality.
She groaned and hung on desperately, feeling the twitching cannon in her mouth swell and jerk as its juice pumped and shot out with the force of grapeshot.
Thick male creamy fluid jetted forcefully into her face and went hosing down her throat in a series of milky spurts. His whole body rocked and jerked. His belly quivered like a drumhead.
She swallowed it all, taking it thirstily down with repeated gulps.
The sexually raging woman was delighted to receive every hot seminal drop and droplet, and she was sorry to lose the minuscule amount that trickled out over her lips and chin. He saw its white, slimy trail, and he grinned even as he jerked his hips to fuck her face, knocking her head back.
She felt the warm syrup running creamily over her jiggling tits. As if in a trance of lustful fulfillment, she raised her hands to catch the viscous fluid and smear it all over the luscious ovals.
He flopped onto his back, listening to her crooning, feeling her mouth leeching at his dying tool, feeling it limpen in her sperm-loving face. He was sure he'd never had such an incredibly, consumingly erotic experience, and that surely he never would again. This woman could have the world. Newman would divorce Woodward for her, Cassaday would give up his mirror for her, Kissinger would trade his bride to an Arab for her, the ancient Achaeans would again launch a thousand ships in her behalf.
He lay there, weak and weary and elated, exalted to the heights of his manhood, and he didn't even know he'd fallen asleep until he awoke to find that incredible woman squirming about, clinging to his cock while she pressed kisses all over his chest and shoulders and neck.
Two nights later, at a quarter of ten, Jim Hunt called Muriel Macewen. "I am trying to read," he told her, "while going out of my skull listening to the creak of bedsprings and my daughter-in-law's ecstatic squeaks just down the hall."
"Oh-poor darling! Get over here!"
He was there in twenty-six minutes, and she met him in a dark doorway, wearing a robe over nothing but soft Muriel. It was the same again, though this time in her bed. He did not miss the paperback beside the bed on which they groaned and panted and fondled and sucked and fucked, wildly. The book was Slave of The Sudan: "Lady Elizabeth was on her way to a respectable marriage-an aging but well-respected colonel in the British army was waiting to take the tender young girl as his wife. But the mysterious desert had other things in store for his intended . . . forced into the brutal and sensual life of the kept woman . . . willing and lustful slave to any man who wanted her.. . . "
"Move that ass, Lady Beth," Jim growled, sawing into her wet, soft inner flesh. "Hunch that sloppy pussy to my cock, Lady Beth!" And Muriel/Lady Beth went wild with joyous response.
He left at one am, exhausted and drained.
Randy and Christiana never even knew he'd left. Two days later, Randy returned to uniform and barracks. On the second day after that, Jim called Muriel at the bank. She sounded surprised, which he thought odd. After she agreed readily to a Saturday night date and they had hung up, Jim wished he had called for tonight, or tomorrow night anyhow; Saturday was four days away! But he didn't want to fall overboard, make a fool of himself over this woman. Too, he wanted to give Muriel the compliment of an early call, so she'd know it wasn't just a strong urge in his nuts.
The trouble was, he couldn't be sure that it wasn't.
By Saturday, though, his daughter-in-law was obviously horny. She knew he had "a girl," and Christiana was nothing but bitchy at his "not even eating with me!" He told her as calmly as he could that she'd known since yesterday morning that he had a dinner date tonight. But she wouldn't calm and desist. In a rage, following him down the hall to his room, she stormed that he had a responsibility to her and her needs.
"We helped each other, we solaced each other," she said, "and you can't just expect me to be celibate NOW while you get yours off with some horny widow!"
He rounded angrily on her, bare of chest, ready to change clothes. He dropped his pants.
"All right then, dammit-STRIP!"
Christiana stared, shocked. But she was caught, trapped by her own words and needs. She obeyed, staring at his lumpy shorts. As he felt an erection beginning in response to those hig joggling young jugs of hers, he hated himself. Dragging down his shorts, he pumped his cock several times, and sat down on the bed. She obeyed again: the girl sat-stood astride him and bounce-tittedly fucked herself on his upright hunk of tumescence, while he twisted her nipples and rubbed her twitchy clitoris.
Poor Muriel's going to have a hard time, he thought, and then shot his load into his son's wife, who was also coming.
Muriel had said it wasn't necessary that they go out, and had reversed his dinner invitation. When he reached her little house, late, it was as if she'd known about Christiana and the depleted penis he brought her. Muriel wore kinky stuff: a long flaming wig with deep bangs that made a different woman of her, very wet and juicy-looking lipstick, a full, shimmering blouse of white satin, unbuttoned to show a juicy jiggly cleavage, a little black leather-look skirt. Her boots of gleaming black leather came just to her dimpled knees.
Just watching her as she moved about, and as they ate a good and well-cooked meal, was a constant arousal.
Later, they talked about sex, and the subject of her copious vaginal flow arouse. She said she knew, and that it was terrible-and she was sobbing. She also knew, she sobbed out, that" she was terrible, too wanton, in love with sex and cock-a whore. She had known he'd never call again, and had been amazed when he had. She just couldn't control herself, she admitted, and had "raped" other men, shocking them so badly that they never called again.
Astonished, Jim grabbed the weeping woman.
"You're mistaken. That's bullshit. I'm crazy about you, you wonderful wanton whore. You're what any sensible man without sexual hang-ups wants more-would sell an arm for! Now don't let me hear any of that again woman, you understand?" He shook her, not violently. "You understand, Lady Beth?"
She stared at him, then gripped him fiercely, her head against his chest. She wept, this time for joy. "Oh darling," she whimpered, again and again. And then, at last gaining control of herself: "But . . . my . . . my oil . . . I know it is a put-off and it just makes me all loose and then you wear yourself out trying to get enough friction to come!"
Jim was caught without words; it was true.
She knew why he made no comment. They'd sworn not to he to each other. "Suppose," she began, then licked her lips and started again. "Why don't we assume that I'm your slave, and must do whatever you say, and you've just had me in the, uh, harem slave-pen for several days-and nights-having me made all open and ready to receive you in another channel.. . "
Elated, momentarily dizzied when he thought about the tight, buttock-shielded channel she offered, he was speechless for a few moments. Then he said, with mock sternness: "Your owner commands that you fetch Vaseline, or whatever is at hand, Lady Beth."
Her whole body quaked with a tremor at his words. "As my master commands . . . though I remind him that I myself provide enough oil in the one channel to smooth his way into the other-which is not virginal."
Jim cuffed her. "Slaves speak when spoken to, slave. This time you'll not be beaten and have Abdul use the heated pincers on your fat nipples and the bat from the American game of baseball in your slimy pussy, for you have spoken true. Now-relieve yourself of those clothes!"
Smiling happily, she did. Further delight: Under blouse and short skirt she wore black lace-edged panties, which were the superbly obscene crotchless type, with opera hose that rose very, very high on her full thighs, making them appear emphatically white above the stockings' tight tops. The hose were black, showing dark gray in their straining around her legs, and so was the laced waist-cincher that ran up to form shelves for her breasts. The white satin blouse had been so rich and thick that he'd had no idea she wore all this super-kinky black stuff under it. He was delighted, and immediately decreed that she should keep all of it on, including the boots.
"It might well be considered the garb of a dominant woman," he said, "but you and I know better, don't we?"
Playing her role of redheaded slave, she nodded, looking at the floor. "Yes, my master."
"Your owner commands that you kneel, and fetch forth your master's cock, and suck it and rub it between your tits."
Happily, she did so. Propped up on the shelves of the waist-cincher that ran up to form a corselet, her soft breasts were very pale and constantly jiggling, flowing liquidly with her penis-loving movements.
He had no trouble achieving a new erection, none at all.
Slobbering and panting happily over his fully swollen sex-flesh, she surrounded it with shining lips and lusciously wet oral tissues and clamped down. Her ovaled mouth slid up and down its burning rigidity, bobbing and clamping.
When his cock partially emerged from her mouth with each of her face-fucking movements, he saw that the staff was streaked with the hot orange-red of her wet-look lipstick. Odd; that too was sexy, though he'd not have thought so.
Each fucking motion of her head, too, made sure the tumid prick was wedged between her straining lips and well back into the radiant wet heat of her humid mouth.
Then he was watching as she laid his thick tool between the upmounded jelly-mounds of her breasts, trembling on the shelves of her waist cincher with its built-in demi-bra.
"Ooh," she moaned, with a little shiver, "it's so hot it burns my titties!" And she used both hands to cram those softly elastic hemispheres together around his dick, and to titillate it in the titsy tunnel.
He stared down at that delightful and completely salacious sight for a long while. She looked up to see his burning eyes.
"Oh darling," she breathed, with another lustful shiver, "just your eyes set my cunt on fire!"
His heart beat out a rhythm of rut. "It will remain on fire, Lady Beth," he told her, playing her game and finding that he loved it. "For it's that other channel that receives the cock you've hardened-leave off that, and go to your hands and knees."
She pressed her tits tight over his prick, gave it a last fond pump, and released her breasts. They sprang softly away; his dick leaped up, rigid and red and pulsing visibly with blood. Long red curls fell forward over her face and shoulders as she went down on her hands and knees. Like that first time, they had not left her living room.
Next time I'll remember to tell her to undress me, he thought, stripping swiftly. His mind was full of the impending tight clamping pressure sensation his rounded peg would encounter in the round channel that seemed designed to receive it. He saw no reason to admit to her that it turned him on terrifically, though he knew there were men who had no desire for buggery. Nor would he tell her that he was a virgin-that is, that Jim Hunt had never poked his prick up a rectal chute, in all his forty-one years.
He knelt behind her, reached around and down to play with her jiggly soft tits. She made moaning sounds and wagged her ass, which was just beautiful, all rounded and divided into two ovals that shone as if burnished, deeply dimpled by the high "leg" bands of the panties, which were cut out in back, too, as they were in the crotch.
He checked beneath her. Her blonde pubic hair, looking odd now in contrast to the full red wig, was matted and glistening. Drops of her oozing vaginal fluid trickled from the fresh, open-mouthed wound of her cunt.
He ran in two, then three fingers, pumped, then rubbed a fingertip over the dainty bud atop the hot, thoroughly wet and flowing canal. She groaned, shuddered, tensed-and popped off one of her wailing orgasms.
Instantly he shoved his cock into her streaming slit.
With a cry of delight, she lurched so violently that she pulled herself all the way off the big log, which snapped out of her and sprang vibrantly up, shaking her juices onto his lower belly. He replaced his cock in her with his fingers again, then ran them up and down in the hot furtive crack of her backside, and repeated that, and then filled her pussy with hard penis again.
He pumped, not holding her, forcing her to brace herself firmly so as to remain in place, kneeling, with her body encased in all that kinky black stuff, while he reamed her cuntal lake from behind.
Tugging free, he elevated his dripping cannon and set its broad muzzle against her anus, inside the shallow crack of her butt. She made a little sighing whimpering sound when she felt the hugely distended head of his penis pressing against the tender bud centered in the moist crack.
Trembling with excitement, he pushed, slowly, knowing that it must hurt her, no matter how wet her anus and his cock were-and knowing too that the rectal tube and powerfully muscled anus would stretch just the same as uterus and cunt and labia.
While he watched with excited, glowing eyes, her little crater widened, seemed to deepen. The tip of his cock disappeared, fantastically distending the amber-pink skin. He heard her straining sounds, from deep in her throat. He kept pushing, with his hands on her hips, not tugging but holding her steady.
The head of his cock vanished into her upturned asshole.
The hot, expanding length of his big dick began to follow, sinking slowly into warm ass-flesh that clamped like a damp rubber glove.
This was inner flesh, membranous and mucousy; an asshole could no more be completely dry than a cunt or a mouth. It accepted him, slowly, the moistness inside her and from her cunt lubricating the way, so that while he felt the rumply foreskin of his prick stretching, catching, it was not painful.
She made tiny whimpering sounds as she was steadily, slowly buggered, but she did not try to move away. On her knees, she braced both hands against the floor, and received his sexual flesh up her back.
And then his pubic hair was tickling into her rear crease, and he was staring, elated, down that cleavage between the sexy cheeks.
His massive prick had opened her and forced her wide, had lodged in the tight and passionately warm channel to his balls, and it filled that tight little passage until she must feel ready to split in half. The tight grip was fantastic, virginal, and it sent a shiver through his lean frame.
Slowly, he withdrew until only the broad corona remained inside her. Then he reversed, filled her with it again, slowly. And tugged, all the way to the glans, and pushed in again. And pulled, slowly, and pushed.
He stepped up the fucking tempo, ramming into the fiery depths of her straining rectum as it widened and accepted. His probing of her unexplored libidinous regions filled the kneeling sensualist with a new series of thrills that filled her asshole, her quaking, cinched up abdomen, and her abandoned cunt. It dripped. Delicious heat flared all along the hot snug tunnel to her bowels.
His hairy hips slapped that warm pair of upward-tilted cheeks. He watched in delight and high excitement as she undulated them in a slow circular rhythm, taking his utmost length. It slipped up her snug rectal walls to push her into an absolute rapture of fulfillment she hadn't known could exist in the deep, narrow furrow he chose over her cunt.
He kept moving, gouging up that no longer stubborn asshole, rearranging its inner membranes, reaming her and increasing the size of the narrow trench until it was a gaping, plugged hole.
Now she was moving too, frenetically, gasping and whimpering as she back-hunched and swerved and pumped. Her tits flopped wildly and her long red curls swung and switched. He saw the ripple of her pale skin.
He groaned aloud and his balls tightened in response to the wanton pushing and rolling of her whorish ass against him.
He heard her wail, knew that she loved it-as he did-realized that the kneeling butt-stuffed blonde in the scarlet wig was out of her head in carnal delirium. Her movements became frantic, violent, and suddenly he felt all the familiar heightened sensations, and knew he was going to blow up very shortly and give her a burning seminal enema.
He sank forward, putting it off, reaching around for her tits. As he seized the soft masses he reminded himself that he'd come but a few hours before. Virile son-of-a-bitch, the well-pleased man told himself.
"I-I'm going to . . . shoot you full . . . " he gasped.
She cried out in frantic erotic delight and female pride. "Oh, oh yes, yes, shoot, shoot, fill my bowels with your warm seed!" And she wagged her hips and backside as if they'd been assailed by a blowtorch.
"Im coming, I'm COMING!" she screamed, and for a brief instant he wondered about thin walls and wakeful neighbors.
Then the moment was past, and he was groaning, jerking, going rigid all Over. Hot semen burned its way out the tip of his torrid prick to spew into the quivering depths of her well-screwed ass. It felt far more than good, and when he thrust his hand down to the base of her belly, as she lay weakly on her back, he knew she had not been exaggerating: her hot cunt was contracting sharply, and runnels of sticky liquid tumbled from the ragged mouth.
His weakened body followed when she slumped to the floor on her belly. They lay there a long while, and so snug was the fit up her ass that his erection remained. At last he raised himself on his hands, listened to both their moans as he drew the long, softening dick out of her prodigiously widened asshole.
She turned over at once, came to a kneeling position, and happily used her mouth to draw away the flecks and oily film of his semen, until his now limp rope of cock glistened only with her saliva.
"What . . . what happens," he sighed, "if I stay?"
She echoed his sigh, forlornly. "The neighbors call their children when I'm around, and someone probably calls the bank about the wicked whore who entertains all-night male guests." '
"Yeah," he said sadly. "All right. Next Friday night, with bags like nice normal honest travel-in' folks, we drive twenty miles over to Blue-field and check in at a motel there. And we return Sunday, late."
Eyes dancing, she stretched upon him and kissed him. "Your slave Lady Beth hears and obeys with all her heart!"
Playfully he slapped her naked, semen-packed ass. Then he said, "Pack the sexiest clothes and books you own, uh, Lady Beth."
"With pleasure!"
They kissed and fondled a long while, and then he got up and left, reluctantly, the woman who was reluctant for him to leave.
He learned a number of things, the following weekend in Bluefield. Despite her tiny house and the job at the bank, Muriel owned a third of the Tiptree Motel and more shares of IBM than she cared to admit. She also had a huge number of sexy books and night and underclothes . . . though most of the flimsy clothing she'd bought that week. Having discovered that he was absolutely crazy about fucking her up the ass, he was more than delighted to learn that she honestly preferred it there; she felt it more, she assured him. Jim Hunt also learned that he was quite capable of over a dozen erections and five spurting orgasms to cap seven fucking sessions in just over forty hours.
As a matter-of-fact it was six spurting orgasms in sixty hours-Christiana practically raped him on Monday night.
It was a strange situation for a widower and presumable upstanding office manager to find himself in, at forty-one years of age. Jim Hunt was stud to two women, two sensuous and demanding women. One was 21, the other 35, a complete and thoroughgoing voluptuary, kinky and in love with cock, a small blonde woman with a circumspect manner and job who loved to drink semen and preferred buggery to taking cock in her blonde-tressed and extremely juicy cunt.
Jim coped, month after month.
Logical or not, Christiana didn't like Muriel; she resented her, and she pushed it. He kept the two women apart.. . .
Then came the Friday when he told his daughter-in-law that he'd be out of town all weekend again. She bitched, sulked. But he went, and when he and Muriel flew back Monday afternoon, they were married.
Christiana was shocked, but did not go into shock. Living in her father-in-law's house, there was no way she could throw a fit. She just acted sulky, and made herself scarce.
Problem: the house now contained two women, each ready and more than willing to cook for the one man. It was an easy enough matter to work out, but Christiana was unwilling and for a time Muriel was unaware of the stickiness.
Problem: Christiana's horn was rising. That served only to make the bosomy young brunette even bitchier. Biting her hp, Muriel stood it, and contained herself.
Problem: Muriel had more clothes than the younger woman, and a lot of them were a lot sexier, too. Christiana knew about the blonde's sexy underclothes and nightwear, too.
Problem: Christiana was very aware of the sexual activity that took place in the closed room she had used to visit, sometimes for the night.
Then Jim had to stay at the plant, monitoring and working on an inventory problem, and the two women were stuck with each other for the evening. TV was the obvious solution-but Muriel began talking.
"Christiana, we've got to find some way for you to stop resenting me so much."
The younger woman blinked, taken by surprise; she was obviously not as much into reasoning frankness as her.. . stepmother-in-law.
"I don't-"
"Oh please, Christy. There-your eyes flash and darken even when I call you by your nickname. You're . . . hungry for a man for one thing, aren't you?"
Christiana stared.
Muriel smiled. "Oh, I know. And I know something else. I've interfered with your life and your world in more ways than one, haven't I? That is-now I'm monopolizing Jim, and you haven't had any of that beautiful big cock of his in nearly two weeks."
Christiana gasped, stared, licked her lips.
"That . . . could be worked out, surely," the blonde said.
"But . . . how . . . how did you know-did he tell you about us?"
"No, Christy," Muriel sighed. "I'm not nearly so dumb as I look, and . . . you just told me. I had guessed, doing a little two and two-ing." She leaned forward in her chair, toward the other woman. "See, I know. I understand, Christiana, God how I understand! I'm a lustful, sensuous woman myself. I need love, and a man, and his lovely big erect cock in me, just as you do. We're a bit different in age, Christy . . . but I do understand, because we're two of a kind."
"But that's . . . I'm not . . . But I don't . . . " After those floundering false starts, Christiana broke off and sat, considering. Muriel watched the girl think, work it out in her pretty head, and the older woman knew that the brunette had never really thought about it, thought about how she was and what she was, discovered herself and shared such confidences with herself. Muriel smiled. She knew about that, too. She'd been there.
"I've . . . never thought about . . . me, that way," Christiana at last said, in a soft and wondering voice. Her eyes were wide with the thought, the realization. "A . . . sensuous and lustful . . . woman," she murmured, tasting the words and finding that they were good on her palate.
"Eye-opening, hm?"
The girl blinked at her. She nodded.
Muriel smiled. "Christy-when was your last period?"
"It was-what difference . . . what business is that of yours?"
"Easy. I'm not prying, and I don't think you're pregnant, for heaven's sake, I've seen your pillbox in the medicine cabinet. I took my last pill for the month night before last. I'm due to start tonight, maybe tomorrow. I just wondered . . . how close together we are."
She was lying. Her period had ended four days ago. Muriel was exceptionally libidinous during its course, and for a woman who loved cock up the ass and in her mouth, and semen in both places, a monthly was no problem-except that she wanted to be very certain she balled during it, at least twice!
"Well, we're not," Christiana said. Mine . . . mine's due in a few days."
Muriel knew that. She'd checked the pills in the girl's box.. . .
"But that doesn't make me any the less-" Christiana broke off.
"God, you heave beautifully. I've always wished I had a bosom like that." Muriel watched the girl's face change. Then she said, "And I know very well that doesn't make you any the less-horny is the word you didn't say, right?"
Christiana sat up straight, bit her hp. Her eyes flashed and her mouth came open to say something heated. She didn't say it. The girl turned her dark eyes down, but not before Muriel had seen moisture swimming in them.
"Christiana . . . Lord knows when Jim will get home tonight. But-don't give up the ship."
Christiana looked up sharply, with a jerk. Then she realized that showed her tears of frustration, and she looked down again. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Stay clean, and try to stay cool," Muriel told her.
There was a long silence in the Hunt living room.
When Christiana's head came up, it was again sharply. "You-you wouldn't! You couldn't!"
"I would," Muriel said calmly. "The problem, I mean the only potential problem, is Jim. We both know he likes you, more than likes you, and has.. . enjoyed, with you. I don't know how he feels about being married, though, and-"
"Well, I don't need your castoff man!" Christy Hunt snapped.
Muriel stiffened a bit. She'd gone far, tried hard. "I assure you that he is not my castoff man, Christiana. Jim is my man. He'll never be cast off, and we both know it. You can't have been here with the two of us, been around us, without knowing that I'm crazy about him! As to my suggestion . . . well. As I said, I understand and sympathize with your problem . . . I've been there! The two of you, you and Jim, have made Randy share you with his father, whether he would have agreed to it or not. I am suggesting that I'd share with you, too."
Another long silence followed. At last Christiana got up and left the room. With a sigh, Muriel sat back and stared unseeingly at the television screen. She heard Christiana blow her nose. Again. Then the busty brunette returned to stand in the doorway, one foot tentatively inside, as if suddenly fearful, unsure of territory. Muriel looked up at her, and she made sure her expression was open and friendly.
"Muriel.. . I'm sorry."
Muriel smiled. For a long moment they looked at each other. Then Christiana smiled too, though her lip was quivering. Muriel opened her arms, extended them. Christiana, starting again to leak tears, tried to pretend not to
Then she dashed across the room to be held, while she sobbed in both frustration and guilt.
After that, they talked, for over an hour. The two women parted and went to their respective beds at eleven-thirty. She wasn't, but Muriel affected to be asleep when her husband came in twenty minutes later. Stealthily, he prepared and came to bed. Only then did she come alive, to turn over, slide an arm across him, and begin suckling at his nipple.
A new conversation soon began, and Jim and Muriel talked quietly, in bed, until nearly two in the morning.
Next day, Christiana didn't appear to have slept a bit better or longer than the couple. That was Friday, and they were all worth little that day. The lights in the Hunt house were off early that night.
Christiana learned only later that it was a little after five in the morning when she was awakened. A large familiar hand was on her black-furred pussy, and familiar lips and tongue moved over her nipple.
She moaned, and with both sleep-warm anna pulled her husband's father tightly against her. They kissed, they nibbled and fondled. She was turned on and more than ready in very short order, but he was determined to stretch it a bit.
Slipping a couple of fingers easily up into the moist and fiery pit of her snug young pussy, he glided them in and out while she moaned and thrashed and clawed at him. Her dark hair flew as she whipped her head to and fro. Her legs rose, tensing, slammed down. The big upended bowls on her chest shivered and shook and speared forth their nipples in wanting, straining erections. As he continued his fingerfucking, she grew wetter and wetter, until his knuckles were slushing into the oozing pulp of her swollen sexlips.
Then he fastened finger and thumb to her nipple and squeezed and rolled it, while his other hand pressed and rolled her fiery clitoris. She came in less than a minute and lay weakly, gasping in a high, tremulous voice. Then, almost roughly, she grabbed at him, dragging, pulling him onto her between her lewdly spread thighs.
Her hand grabbed his tumultuously pounding erection. Her hips lurched, and she stuck the broad rubbery head into herself. With one swift movement that made her cry out, he slammed it all the rest of the way into her. He lay hard and heavy on her for a long while, with his burly cock rooted in her soft wet flesh.
Then he propped himself up on his forearms.
He sucked her head, and kissed and lipped each big breast in turn.
"Oh god," she murmured.
"Now move, Christy, move that sensuous body for me, on me-fuck yourself, you beautiful slut!"
She did. Lips parted, and nostrils flaring broadly and shrinking to flare again she hunched hard to assuage the burning in her crotch. Hard-tipped tits squashed themselves willingly, needfully against his chest, as she squirmed delightedly in total lewd, carnal debauchery. Up and down his stiff cock her vagina ran itself, the lips splayed and slurping, stretching along the pole.
Her breath began to come in hard blowing pants. Her eyes were glazed with helpless carnal desire. Her naked bottom swiveled and furrowed the sheet. She fucked herself for all she was worth.
He began to move a little, straining in. With her hips grinding against him as if she couldn't get enough, she felt her tissues spreading elastically around the huge knob of his intruding, marvelously filling spear. The silent, sexy man was boring in deep and hard, submerging himself in the sweaty-moist gap of her crotch.
The whimpering brunette sighed and groaned and squirmed her butt, flushed with a wanton lust that shook and heated her pink and white nakedness. Levering hips hunched to gain more of the delightful pressure of the hairy thighs crushing hers. She was blowing hard now. having all but exhausted herself, so anxious to be a superb lover and make it great for him.
It was something Muriel had thought of. She'd reminded Jim.
"She'll be super-anxious to please and be great in bed, darling. You're going to love it!"
He loved it.
Knowing she was tiring and barely able to catch her breath from her exertions, he pushed a finger down, running it over her cunt, poking it part way in beside his cock, sliding and slithering it around in her juices and sweat. His driving thrust slammed her down into the bed so hard they both bounced.
He kept it up, hilting her. Hunching and grinding, his finger tracing vaginal sap back into the crack of her sweaty ass, he plowed his broad tool in deeper and deeper, burrowing up her humping belly, which was heaving and wet with sweat.
Driving hard, his powerful hips pounded his dick in and out of his daughter-in-law to the limits of her straining young pussy, while his chest rode and ground down onto the heavy, plump half globes of her bloated tits.
His stickily coated finger cruised into her bottom's crack, found the tenderly tight little puckered bud of her anus, arid pushed in. She made a squeaky sound as, impaling her cunt, he impaled her asshole as well. Her hands jerked, wavered, clawed at his shoulders and back as she went wild, doubly pierced and loving it.
Hammering hips pounded his groin down on hers-and forced his finger farther and farther up her throbbing asshole. Through the dividing membrane he felt his own hard finger against his prick, and he groaned. The finger was lodged all the way up her now, deep into her burning rectum.
She moved on the hard, sticklike pressure up her anus. The girl's large firm buttocks became gimbals on which she rolled, rocking her hips, making his cock punch around inside her, abrading, dripping, wet-rubbery walls, while her center rocked and writhed on the fulcrum of his deeply invading finger.
She screamed.
He wondered if it was an honest reaction, or for Muriel.. . .
"God-your finger . . . your cock . . . I love it, I LOVE THEM BOTH, OH-OH-ohhh-nnnnnnnnnghhhhaaaaaaaAAAAAH!"
She came, grinding thus up against him. He felt her rectal canal clamp his finger, her climax contracting pussy grab at his cock as if furiously milking it. With a groan and a tensing shudder, he gave up his seed. A boiling slippery torrent of semen coursed into her vagina, and she jerked and twitched, sobbing in joyous pleasure, as she took each hard ejaculation of sperm.
Still excited, knowing what would come next, he lay and held her a long while, knowing she was drifting, high on pleasure and satiation, close to sleep. Slowly, he worked and wormed his finger out of her back. She grunted when it emerged from her asshole, grunted and shuddered with a great clamping of her rear cheeks. Then, pushing himself up, he drew his cum-slick penis out of her. It remained long and thick, though not rigid, now that it had blown its cap.
Planting a last kiss on each of her great breast mounds, he left her.
Muriel met him at the door to their room. Her eyes shone and her breasts danced with excitement. Her hand seized on his long penis.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, finding it coated and slippery, and before he had the door closed, his delighted, tremendously excited wife was slurpily drawing from his Gock his seminal coating, and the juices of another woman's vagina.
He coaxed and forced her over to the bed, where he sprawled.
While the panting little woman he had married played with his cock and balls and nursed hungrily at it, he kept their agreement: he told her every detail of his visit to Christiana's room
It was obvious that the quaking blonde enjoyed it all, enjoyed the fact and the thought of it, and the hearing of it from his own lips. She emitted a throaty chuckle on hearing of the finger with which he had impaled his daughter-in-law's asshole, and of the breasty girl's reaction to that rearward invasion.
Then, without preparation in her extreme excitement and desire, his naked woman rose above him and used her hand to tuck the new erection she had created-up her ass.
Sitting astride him and descending slowly, she moaned and tensed. Her whole lovely naked tensing body was shaken by nervous spasms. Up and up into her welcoming anal chute her descending body took him, until she was seated, gasping and moaning, on his thighs.
She flashed him a lascivious smile. "I've got it all, darling. Every last centimeter, superman, right up my back hole."
"You've done that," he smiled, gently caressing her marshmallow breasts, "you can keep it-and ride it."
"Oh baby, sweetheart, I intend to!"
And she did, jouncing, her tits flopping, her savage up and down thrusts driving and imbedding him in the wetness and burning friction in the supremely tight passage, while he listened to her whimpers of exquisite pleasure as massive, broadly swollen cock tore through the folds of her pulping anal sheath.
Her full soft tits bounced and shimmied wildly, so that he could actually hear their slapping against her, against each other, with sweat oozing off her frantically agitated body.
"I can feel it pulsing!" she told him excitedly. "It's beating like a heart, banging away inside me!"
He elapsed her breasts in his hands. "Inside your what?" he teased, adding pressure with each thumb.
"Inside.. . my.. . a-a-asssssssssss!"
"Your beautiful hot, hungry, cock-loving ass!"
"Oh God yes, all that darling, all that, and more!"
Suddenly, pressing her hands down on him and squatting, her soles flat and her knees high, she began turning. First she twisted her folded body to the left until she was almost in profile, then returned, gasping, and went the other way, grinding around on the axle of his upright erection, until she was showing him her other profile.
"Ogod-it's tearing me up . . . burning . . . I LOVE it!"
Her cunt opened up and pussy juices flowed freely. It streamed from her quivering vaginal mouth and down her leg, onto him, onto the bed. He watched her push two fingers into herself, begin driving them in and out in direct rhythm with her jacking of her widely distended asshole up and down the great pole of his cock.
Her belly jerked and trembled and she groaned loudly as she came.
Smiling, he toppled her limp form from him. She stretched prone on the bed. Moving atop her, his legs on either side of hers, he cushioned his belly on her buttocks, comfortable pillows, and easily pushed his broadheaded dick back into the hole where they both loved it best.
Stretching all along her back and imprisoning her arms with his, he fucked her that way a long while, until he was convinced he was never going to come, despite the marvelous sensation of his cock shuttling back and forth in her rectal burrow.
She had opened up there, wide and gaping, and she was intensely wet inside. The tensions in him were building and building, but he needed a little more.. . .
He pulled out, rolled from her, turned her acquiescent body over. On her back, she smiled, hoisted her legs in a totally obscene parting and uplifting of her streaming cunt and gaping asshole, and reached for him. He moved into the wide fork of her legs-and it was her little hand that tucked the bludgeon of his loins into her anus. It slid all the way in, at once, and both of them sighed happily.
Getting his arms under the backs of her thighs, he raised them until her full calves lay on his shoulders. She was tilted up, half doubled on her back-he was fucking down into her ass!
Her hand sprang up to his chest. His smile widened into a growing mouth when she seized on his stubby nipples and began turning them hard and red, tugging and squeezing, scratching and twisting. His body rose up and down, up and down, thumping down between the stanchion formed by her upraised thighs.
The inflowing crown of his taut, bulging sexual staff parted and smoothed out every internal crease, surging as far as it possibly could up her asshole-or rather down her asshole.
He pumped, and stiffened, groaning loudly when it hit him, and then he was pouring semen into her rectum, almost painfully.
None of the three Hunts was up that day before noon. . -
"Oh thank you, Countess," Christiana Hunt said, with a little curtsy. "From my beautiful mistress, that is a compliment I treasure. Uh . . . does Madame the Countess need help?"
Muriel was seated in a chair, her legs well parted, one bent at the knee with the foot planted on an ottoman. In that shamelessly salacious pose she was idly playing with her pussy, her wet fingers dipping in and out of the juicy cleft.
Both women looked like figures out of a particularly kinky movie, or like some of John Willie's artwork. They meant to; that was the idea. Most problems of the three people's living together in this house had been solved, or had evaporated, two weeks ago when Jim Hunt's wife had sent him to the bed of his daughter-in-law. Two days ago he himself had bought Christiana some sexy clothing, similar to Muriel's; just yesterday Muriel had come in with an assortment of packages, and gone off with the younger woman while Jim sat, wondering.
Muriel-Madame la Comtesse Lesbiana in this scenario she herself had dreamed up and discussed with Christiana, incorporating several of the girl's suggested modifications-wore her naming scarlet wig, with waves and curls past her shoulders. Just last night she had carefully scissored and, in the tub, shaved away every tendril of her pubic hair. The pink bulge of her pubis was thus deliciously and obscenely displayed, flaunting its violently pink slit and its slightly parted, red tinted lips.
As to her attire-unbelievably, mouthwateringly kinky.
Her full-sleeved, tight-cuffed blouse of black net was so sheer as to be transparent, showing and enhancing her soft breasts, which were both unbrassiered and painted. Their nipples, which she had fired up with lipstick of a hot pink shade, blazed through the sheer black fabric, stretched taut enough over their tips to appear gray.
Her black skirt of shining, leather-gleaming back nylon was long enough to cover her buttocks and pubis-when she stood; now, as she sat, it displayed all. It was also conveniently slit to the waist, on both sides. Her waist appeared extraordinarily tiny. That was not just as a result of the broad belt of black leather, but also of the fact that she wore a tightly laced and expensive waist cincher under it-a short corset of black doeskin leather: While it rose nearly up under her breasts, the wide belt was sufficient to conceal the cincher, even with the transparent blouse.
The black kid gloves were both expensive and impractical-for outside wear. They encased her arms past the elbows and were belted at the top with little silvery buckles.
"Madame the Countess" wore black opera hose, naturally, and black patent leather boots with four inch heels, the old stiletto style. The boots rose to her pretty knees. She made a thoroughly luscious, enticing picture, arid looked indeed as if she should be named the Countess Lesbiana.
Her "maid" had asked if she needed help.
"Just go on with your dusting, Colette," the "Countess" said in an equable tone-while she imbedded two fingers up herself, between pulpy soft puckers of wet flesh.
"Yes Madame la Countess," Christiana said, managing to keep a straight face long enough to turn her back on her "mistress" and play at dusting the bedside table. They were in Jim's and Muriel's room, the larger bedroom.
Muriel's painted lips stretched in an irrepressible smile as Christiana bent to dust the table's lower shelf.
While the classic maid's outfit usually consisted of a frilly white little apron over a long-sleeved minidress with an extremely plunging d�colletage, along with hose and spike-heeled black pumps and a frilly nurse's cap, Muriel had decided against trying to buy that sort of uniform. She feared that Christiana might balk at actually being dressed as a servant, or wonder if there mightn't be a serious idea in Muriel's mind about her being the older woman's maid.
So-Christiana wore crotchless pantyhose, black, and the "standard" old kinky shoes, pointed of toe, high and thin of heel, tied in front with pretty little black bows. And, like Muriel, she wore high gloves, though hers buttoned and were of shining black nylon that looked like leather. And she wore an incredibly sexy chemise.
Her back was almost completely bare, as were her shoulders and arms to the gloves. The frilly, lacy bodice stayed up over about half of the voluptuous bulges of her breasts because of a pair of shoestring straps that were tied behind her neck, long ends trailing down her naked back. Rib cage, abdomen, belly were encased, very low on her hips, so that the creases at each inner hip began the plumpness of her pubis. That, and just the tops of her thighs and buttocks, was covered by another gush of lace, very frilly and feminine.
The chemise was of peach pink nylon, and the fabric between bodice and "skirt" was completely transparent.
The girl's dark hair had been drawn back into a switchy ponytail bound with a large bow of black satin.
Not presently in evidence, her raven-furred pubis had not been shaved, though she had used scissors to clip the long fronds sufficiently to let her rouged cuntlips show through the black nest.
What was in evidence, and much so, as she bent deliberately with her back to the other woman, was Christiana's large bottom. The frilly little skirtlet fucked up with her stance, and the see-through peach nylon hugged the swelling cheeks of her large bottom. The smiling Muriel was gazing directly at and partially into the deep, dark division of the young brunette's buttocks.
Pretending to be unaware of her display and of the eyes of her "mistress," Christiana went on with her dusting. She used a feather duster with a long handle-a special one, over two inches thick. It was of smooth black plastic.
Pretending nothing, Muriel sighed softly and squirmed as her delving, gloved fingers fetched forth her copious vaginal oils and sent her desire spiraling ever upward.
Suddenly she rose and walked shakily over to seat herself on the edge of the bed.
"Colette?"
Christiana straightened and turned. Her eyes were wide and questioning, black brows high-arched. "Madame?" she responded, through lips roughed as deeply red as the mouth of a Thirties' film star.
"Come here, my girl, I need you."
"Yes Madame la Countess." And Christiana hurried over, almost spoiling the effect as she teetered a bit on the unfamiliar pencil-thin heels of the shining pumps. She stood before her seated mistress.
"Colette can be of some service to the Countess?"
"Yes! In the absence of the Count, as well as the gardener and the horse master, Colette can service her mistress."
Christiana giggled; it was a good line.
Muriel's face did not change, and the younger woman looked chastened. She bit her hp, fearful of having stepped out of her role and spoiled the scenario. She covered well: "My apologies to the Countess. Madame is most clever, for this early hour of the morning and so soon after rising." '
Actually it was Saturday afternoon, and contrary to the "script," the two women were not alone in the house.
"I do not need your appreciation of my early morning wit, Colette-I need the handle of that lovely sexy brush of yours."
Wide-eyed, Christiana-Colette held it up. "Thees, Madame?"
Muriel-Madame Countess was just able to avoid laughing at the sudden appearance of a hardly competent French accent. Spreading her black-stockinged and booted legs dissolutely wide, she nodded. Fingers gloved in black leather slipped in between her splayed thighs to tuck the flap forming the front portion of her side-slit skirt up, in her belt.
Standing before her, Colette stared. The forefinger of each of the Countess' hands slipped into the groove of her vulva, which widened with supple obedience. She tugged back wet labia that looked inflamed because of their coating of lipstick.
Displayed were the scalloped, deeply pink inner lobes, and the dark oval slot that tunneled back into her womb. Both inner and outer lips glistened with the seated woman's oily vaginal nectar. Sighing, she tugged to widen the oval slit into a wider one, almost a circle. Colette looked on with interest. Though she knew she was far from a lesbian, and that she was vehemently male-oriented, the young brunette felt a definite tingle in her pubic region.
This whole scene was sexy, and she was actually getting into it, thinking of herself as the maid of a whorish noblewoman, a courtesan who kept her husband busy in bed, as well as the gardener and the horse master, had laid several lords and, indeed, bedded the King. So busy had the Count been kept, according to the script they had agreed on, that Colette, the sixteen-year-old peasant who was very grateful to have gotten this pleasant employment as maid, remained a virgin. At present the Count was supposed to be off on some mission for King and Country.
And Christiana-Colette realized that she was definitely getting turned on by the sight of the other woman's opening her juice-brinmiing pussy-and by the thought of what she was soon to do. Licking her scarlet lips, Colette pressed her thighs together, with force.
"Now," her lascivious mistress said, shivering and throwing back her crimson-wigged head, "just ease that lovely brush into me."
Colette trembled. "Uh-which end, Madame?"'
Countess Lesbiana's eyes blazed at her. "Colette, you are a dumb ass of a peasant who does not know her posterior from an excavation."
With a chastened sigh of resignation, Colette looked down. "It is true, Madame. But-thees handle is so beeg around! Surely Madame's darling little, uh . . . " She broke off. Damn! She'd forgot the word she had so laboriously committed to memory. Why was it she could remember the hard one, le braquemart-the cock-and not the simple little word for vagina?
"My darling little con, Colette, is quite capable of handling that little brush. Have you seen the cock of M'sieu le Comte?"
"Oh NO, Madame!"
"Hmp. What about that big kidney tickler the gardener carries around between his legs?" "No, no, Madame!"
"Lord, what a girl. And the stabl emaster, that horny Jacques . . . don't tell me you haven't seen the womb-buster he calls a cock?"
"Madame, I SWEAR-"
The Countess sighed. "Colette, you will be punished. About a half-hour ago, perhaps a couple of minutes, I distinctly asked you to poke the handle of that duster up my needy con. Disobedient little wretch! This will mean two hours in the steel corset, my girl, hanging by your hair with the pins in your nipples!" "Oh Madame!"
Hurriedly bending, Colette pushed the end of the duster's handle into the widened slot between the slippery labia her mistress held tugged well aside. Colette's big tits nearly spilled out of the chemise as she bent, her thighs still pressed together around her own tingling snatch. She had no idea if the great moan that erupted from Countess Lesbiana was real or not. It didn't matter; it was a sound of sex, and Colette bit back a moan as she imagined the sensation of the cold length pushing into the opened and moistened mouth and rubbing along sensitive cuntal walls on its inexorable way into her squirming guts.
The handle was ten inches long. The two women had circled it, with nail polish, at the six-, seven-, and eight-inch marks. While her groaning mistress grunted and shivered and pulled at her pussylips, the brunette kept pushing.
Madame's receptive channel swallowed up the six-inch mark.
"Damn thing's not thick enough!" Countess Lesbiana complained.
"Madame, it is in you terribly f-" . "Shut up and push, you Gallic gash!"
"Yes Madame."
Colette shut up and pushed. The Countess groaned. The band of shining nail polish marking off seven inches began to ease into her gaping chasm. A great shudder rocked the seated woman's body. Both booted feet came up off the floor. Her eyes rolled, slid out of focus.
"UH . . . uhhhhhhh . . . " Then the Countess toppled over backward on the bed. Her legs rose high in the air, quivering, bent at the knees, her stilt-heeled feet pedaling gently, excitedly.
"Madame-"
"PUMP, SLUT, PUMP MY NOBLE QUIM WITH YOUR STIFF COCK!"
Bending forward with one knee planted on the edge of the bed, the young brunette pumped the handle in and out. Sticky juicy noises emerged from the handle-gripping vault and trembled on the air. The Countess groaned loudly and rocked herself on her naked ass. A leather-shod calf came to rest on the shoulder of her maid. The other waggled loosely in the air. Then it moved inward, slick skin sliding over Colette's left arm. The bending girl moaned and sighed when the spike heel began tracing invisible designs on her large, tight breast.
Cold plastic slithered in and out of the sprawled redhead's hot and juicy gap. The sounds of its squishing and of her groans were accompanied by the rustling noises of the sheet, which she furrowed with her rolling, writhing, bare butt.
It was unbearably sexy. Muriel had been pissed at Christiana's refusal to engage in any sort of real lesbian activity; Muriel had hoped to have the girl bent over at this stage, mouth to cunt, while the older woman plucked with both gloved hands at her massive tits. They had worked out a substitute scenario, involving this plastic handle and . . . other things.
With a great groan, the Countess shuddered violently throughout her body and jerked up into a position that was almost fetal. Her maid released her grip on the duster, watched the dripping handle ooze obscenely out df the deeply pink flower of her mistress' cunt, all naked of hair and incredibly sexy in its weird hairlessness.
A few minutes later, both women were twisting and writhing on the creaking, suffering bed. Every article of kinky clothing remained intact. Once again the duster's handle was immersed in a lake of syrupy ooze inside the older woman while she was sliding a gloved finger in and out of her maid's winking, wincing anus. Both women moaned and gasped, and an occasional little squeal rose from them. With one hand the Countess had hold of Colette's nipple, which she tugged and pushed in an incessant, milking motion.
It was then that the bedroom door opened and the entering man paused, staring at the cock-tightening scene of the two exotically clad women squirming all over the bed while they, did each other.
"Maintain your positions!" he snapped.
Countess Lesbiana and Colette froze, nipple in hand, handle in cunt, finger in asshole. The maid's upturned ass was aimed at the door; she did not look around. Her mistress stared around her at the man in the doorway. Jim hadn't bothered with a costume. He wore a pair of tight old whipcords, off-white, a skintight tee shirt that had been put through the dryer when it shouldn't have been, and the short black boots he wore to the office and stripped off seconds after he came home each evening.
"Mon dieu," the countess gasped, "my husband!"
Colette squeaked and shuddered. She did not look around but knelt as she was, with a leather-clad finger up her anus. It wiggled, just at the last joint.
"So THIS is what you do when I am off in the service of my king, Madam!" "Oh my lord, I-"
"SILENCE!" Jim-the-Count roared. He closed the door firmly behind himself. "And you, you sluttish Colette! So this is how you remain virginal at your advanced age of sixteen, is it? Playing the lesbian whore with my wife, leading her into the evil ways of Sappho!"
"Oh Monsieur," Colette squeaked, still without turning.
"Madam," the Count snapped, opening his pants, "you will spend this evening in the palace dungeon, astride the teethed sawhorse with your elbows bound together behind your sluttish back. As for this little peasant wretch from the provinces-it's back to her woodcutter's cottage and vengeful parents with her!"
Gosh, the young brunette thought, he's really good at this! I'm welling up inside like . . . like Old Faithful! Aloud she said, "Oh Monsieur le CountsPLEASE! No! Do not send me home! My father weel beat me and my motha weel bind me to the great oak tree out back with the clothespins on my poor neeples! Please, dear Count, oh please-anything but that!"
"Anything?"
The kneeling girl in the sexy peach-pink chemise shuddered. Two or three dozen ants seemed to be trekking around in her cunt. "W-oui, Count.. . anytheeeng."
Hoping he appeared slightly kinky at least, the Count discarded his pants but retained boots and the white tee shirt that hugged his torso, however modemly. He strode to the bed, his eyes fixed on the upturned and finger-pierced bottom of his wife's maid. Before him swung his penis like a pendulum, thick and fleshy and lengthening steadily, though not yet at attention. He was slipping on his driving gloves.. . .
Colette stared as he mounted the bed behind the head of her prostrate mistress. Her eyes widened when he came up over the Countess' upturned face, cock dangling in a slowly rising soft-on, and poised his hairy butt over the scarlet-smeared mouth. A gasp leaped from Colette's throat when her lordly master reached calmly out and seized one great melon of her bosom in his hand. The fingers, sheathed tightly in the perforated black doeskin gloves, were like thick black cables that sank slightly into the pink lace and the white flesh above it.
"Wife, you will kindly lick my ass and balls, or have your so-eager gap stuffed with nettles! As for you, you wicked peasant hussy-wrap that red-lipped mouth of yours around my lordly tool, and at once, or-it's back to the provincial forests with you!"
"But Monsieur le Count-"
He stared. "Ye-ess?"
Colette sniffed. With her eyes riveted on his pink rope of sexual flesh, now elevated almost to point at the breast he clutched, she began leaning forward. Reluctantly, the girl moved up astride her supine mistress-who licentiously kept her leathered finger in place, wiggling it inside the fleshy anal ring of the girl's upturned backside. The countess had released her grip on the brunette's breast. She was staring up at the dangling bag of eggs and the yawning cleavage of her husband's ass. Wet and cunt-pink, her tongue slipped out to trace over her painted lips.
The grinning man soon gained the oral and lingual attentions of both those singlely sexy women. The kneeling maid moved her head from side to side, moving a pink silver of tongue over and around his throbbing organ, savoring the
Strong male flavor and slipping his balls into high gear. Their rounded undersides were being licked with equally libidinous effect by his wife. His buttocks lay athwart her nose.
Meanwhile his gloved hands amused themselves with Colette's outsized breasts.
One by one, he fondled the buoyant balls in a constant excitation of the bare, unprotected masses of mammary flesh. A good half of each firm tit spilled forth over the top of her lacy bodice, the shoestring shoulder straps cutting tiny ridges into each of them.
She licked happily. The sheer delight of his massaging hands tightened their crests and created a burning sensation in both heaving tits. The girl felt the swift inner churning of heightened sexual desire. Her tongue slithered ardently over nicely veined surface, and the big stalk encased in that tight, silky skin stiffened even more.
"I told you," the Count said implacably, barely able to keep the tremor out of his voice, "to wrap your sluttish lesbian mouth around my noble organ, slut! I asked for my noble wife's tongue, not yours. Your disobedience will gain you two hours with your elbows bound together behind your back, with a nice cold chain running from your wrists between your legs and slimy sexlips up to the iron collar I shall lock about your naughty neck!"
"Ulp-l-lggl-l-lll," the maid said, shoving her mouth so far down the shank of his standing sex that she gagged herself with the turgid prick's large, plurnlike head.
At the same instant, he felt warm breath flowing into the crease of his ass. Next came a wetly tracing tongue, and the kneeling man entered Paradise. Warm, loving feminine mouth ran up and down his cock; warm, full feminine breasts filled his hands; wet, loving feminine tongue licked up and down his asscrease and playfully wiggled over his tight little ass-slot.
His wife was blind. Male haunches rested on her head. She breathed through her mouth, and she felt. She felt the moistness of the other woman's cunt, pressed against her body just below her breasts, so juicy that its warm ooze penetrated her sheer blouse. She felt the hand that tugged and squeezed and manipulated her breast, for Colette had gotten so excited she was barely aware that she was eagerly fondling another woman's tit even while she sucked cock with relish.
Meanwhile, the blind redhead licked ass.
The soft male hairs growing sparsely there in the hot crease were moist and shiny from the swirling of her tongue over them. Then the hot little tip of her wriggly tongue punched straight up into his coiled asshole, making him groan and lurch in magnificent pleasure as she opened him up anally with her thrusting tongue.
Twitching, fighting to keep from roaring lecherously blissful groans, he could hardly control his hands as they slipped behind the neck of the cocksucking maid and pulled loose the bowknot they found there. The weight of her rounded, truly massive breasts now tugged, and the slender straps whipped up her back and over her shoulders. Pink lace dropped onto the woman beneath her, and the brunette's large torpedo-shaped tits spilled succulently forth to dangle in plush pendants beneath her as she knelt.
Male fingers encased in cool, smooth leather clamped on each of those dangling tits. He began milking her, tugging, worrying her nipples into fattened, tingling knobs, plopping the fleshy masses up and down.
She sucked madly, strongly at his swollen organ. Her face slid up and down the whole blood-suffused shaft of meat. She drew at it with leeching lips. Saliva slithered from her mouth down the stem, and it pulsed and jerked, lewdly lipstick-smeared.
He was unable to be still under the impetus of that milking mouth and the marvelous wiggling stabs of the tongue that was now fucking in and out of his asshole. His blood tingled and raced in his veins, and he began moving, face-fucking.
The woman beneath him groaned, licked deeply up into his anus as buttocks slapped her face. Unnoticed, one of her hands went under Colette's thigh to her own clitoris. The other lifted up to cup beneath her man's moving butt.
With rocking hips, he began fucking the young brunette's girlish face, because he absolutely had to. More and more juicy red lipstick transferred itself from the ovaled mouth he screwed onto his cock.
With his hands full of breast and his ass full of tongue, the totally delighted man blew his balls with a delighted groan.
Sexy lips clung tenaciously to his squirting prick, milking it for every fiery drop of warm milk they could suck out of the lurching tube and gulp greedily down.
When at last she let it slip from her strained mouth, he moved back. His daughter-in-law remained astride his wife, licking her lips, while the blonde licked and sucked the wetness of his depleted prick.
The three of them soon trooped down for an enormous replenishing breakfast. Jim was urged to eat sexually-rejuvenating eggs and meat for protein.. . .
Later that afternoon, the three of them again in bed, he took his daughter-in-law's rearward cherry-while his wife helped. The young brunette liked it, after a while, and then loved it, for Muriel used her knowledgeable hand to frig the girl's clitoris while Jim's thick erection surged in and out of the virginal ass.
Thus Jim Hunt serviced and was served by two women, and thus he kept his son's sex-loving wife happy at home and out of trouble and mischief in seeking outside lovers.
And time passed, and at last Randy Hunt's hitch in the army was up, without his ever having left the United States. Though he had never wanted to be a gun-toting weed-smoking grunt in 'Nam, his years in service without leaving the continent were something he later bitched about, constantly.
Randy Hunt was pleasantly surprised when he returned to his family-more family than he had left.
His wife had become a woman, looking older and sexier and more beautiful. Oddly, his father looked no older; younger, if anything, as if his youth had somehow been rejuvenated and recaptured, though there were more gray hairs in the hair he now wore longer, and in his mustache.
As to his stepmother-Randy was astounded Surely it was against the rules for a woman of 36 or 37 to wear her lovely honey-blond hair long, to the shoulders, and to look so awake, so alert, so glowing and lovely. She also looked no more than thirty to Randy, and less than that to the waitress who, as the four of them celebrated with a imagine and lingering dinner one evening, assured them that she was serious in wanting to see both Christiana's and Muriel's drivers' licenses before she would serve them a drink!
"What about me," Randy asked. "Hell, I'm not even twenty-three-do I look like an old man to you?"
The young woman was shaking her head over
Muriel's license as she studied the birth date and worked out the blonde's age in her mind. "Amazing," she said. "You certainly don't look like an old man, but I thought-it must be the mustache."
"Hmp," Randy said. "Just because Muriel shaves!"
They all broke up. The waitress, after blinking nervously for a moment, joined in-and brought them their drinks. As the evening wore on, she brought them entirely too many.
"'s just not righ' to have a celebration 'thout gettin' drunk, after all," Randy commented, peering bleerily into the beautiful cleavage pushing up in his youthful stepmother's cleavage.
"You lose somethin', Ranny?" Muriel asked, leaning forward. The cleavage both deepened and tightened as her breasts tried to pop out of the royal blue dress, pressing lovingly together.
He wagged his head. "Nope! An' you sure didn', either!"
"That," his father commented, carefully leaving a tip that was considerably too large, "from a man who's married to the largest set of knockers in the whole dam' town!"
"Whole dam' state!" Randy said, leaning side-, wise toward his wife. Losing his equilibrium or at least appearing to, he leaned too far and his head bashed one of the great thrusting melons under discussion.
"Hmp," she said, "what about my mind?"
"Not as pretty," Randy said solemnly, "an' not as big, but I love it too!"
They departed unsteadily, with Jim and Randy arguing about which of them should drive. Randy avowed that he was the younger and had better reflexes, while his father said that he had the care learned with age. Muriel drove, and with the Fates smiling they all got home safely-and without creaming anyone else.
Another very pleasant surprise Randy received was his brunette wife's soaring libido, her hidden sexuality-and her superb behavior in bed.
On his very first night home, he was inside her eight minutes after they reached their bedroom, and was storming her clasping pussy with his cream less than two minutes later.
She surprised and delighted him then, by running her lips and tongue all over his slimy penis while he groaned and gashed and shuddered and stared in wide-eyed amazement and pleasure.
Up came that cock again, and she stayed right where she was, beside his outstretched left leg, one big breast crumpled over it, while she leaned across and mouthed his new erection.
He felt her tongue, crawling lingeringly over the bulge-veined underside, and it was better and far more titillating than any of the whores he had visited, better than Eddy Kippax's sister Rosemary, who had blown him twice one night during a party.
Her sexy mouth pulled hard at his big staff, and her breast felt marvelous, a hot weighty pillow on his leg.
His hips began squirming in a helpless agony of rapture as she nursed greedily at his bloated organ.
"God, oh god baby, sweetheart-that's great, it's great, I love it!"
She backed her mouth off the saliva-dripping tool and looked sensuously up his body at him. "My baby loves having his cock sucked?"
"I love you doing it, sweetheart-hey, when'd you start saying 'cock'? "
"I've read an unbelievable amount of pornography while you've been gone, darling. Trying to make me a sexpert for my man when he came back."
"It worked, it worked! Oh you're wonderful, baby-and Jesus, how I've missed these big milkwagons of yours!" He enveloped his hands in her naked, hot breasts. "I've thought about them all the damned time. Drove me halfway up the fuckin' wall!"
She licked up his cock staff. "And-what'd you do about it?".
"You know it, honey-I beat off like a sum-bitch!"
"Like this?"
"Ah! Uh, uh . . . easy, no no, don't DO that-I don't want it on me, I want it in you!" "Down my throat?"
A great shudder rolled through him. It was answer enough. With her hand wrapped around his balls, fingertips moving in constantly changing pressures, she returned to fellatio again.
Those soft feminine hands felt wonderful, as they fingered the sperm-laden rounds that stuffed his scrotal bag. Hot pangs of desire, pure physical desire, leapt up into his guts. The sex-oriented woman who had been a girl when he left sucked and licked and bobbed her head. She made love to his monumental erection with dainty tongue, nibbled at it with soft pink lips.
"Christy, Christy.. . oh Jesus Christy.. . "
Creamy, honestly hot semen pulsed into his eager woman's mouth. He heard her swallow again and again, drinking from the fountain of his cock. And she kept right on sucking, until he groaned in pain and made her stop. She wanted to play, he saw; she was wriggling around and fighting him.
He had been knocked out with orgasm; he bounced back fast. Hell, he thought, what're two cums on a man's first night home? I've been saving up over a week!
"Oh, you wanna play rough, huh?"
She squirmed and tried to dash her hand at his balls. He grabbed her wrist, bent it back, used her fingernails to scratch her breasts. She began moaning and quaking as her own fingers, clutched tightly in his hand and manipulated, raked over her nipple.
That brought him a swift new surprise: she came.
"Wow!" he said, watching her snake and whimper, sweat and twitch in her orgasm. His hands leaped back to her sensitive big breasts.
This time it was his thumbs he put to her nipples. With her orgasm, they had softened. That was a challenge.. . .
Pressing down hard with his gouging thumbs, he pushed the little lumps of erectile flesh back into her tits. Her abdomen twitched and rippled with slow, hard, rhythmic contractions that were like a hot hand squeezing her entrails. His thumbs pressed down, and in. She groaned and squirmed, working her feet restlessly, widening the V between her thighs.
Fascinated as much by the sight as by the feel of what he was doing, the lean, well-muscled young man pushed steadily. The resiliently white flesh of her silky jugs accepted their own crests and swallowed them up, the skin straining and seeming to become transparent.
Now she could only moan in a perfectly lovely mingling of pain and rapture while he ground his thumbs down into the boldly oversized tits he loved, trying to shove her nipples all the way through her.
Her hand found his cock, which was ropy, thick but not erect. She began pulling restlessly at it.
She gasped when he suddenly jerked back his hands. The strained, stretched flesh of her tits seemed to explode outward. It jiggled swiftly back into its former shape. Her nipples rammed forth, thick as grapes and just as dark.
"Beautiful!" he enthused.
Her hand pumped his penis, which twitched and grew, steadily.
Bending his head to her shivering mounds, he licked and suckled their nipples, drawing powerfully as if seeking milk. He sucked her breasts for a long while, and she pumped his prick. Nipples and cock assumed hard throbbing erections.
She tugged, and he moved. Her legs opened more. She pulled, and he moved, allowing himself to be drawn forward while he bent his back in order to keep his mouth on her breast. Then the broad shining head of his erection pressed sexily against the dark fronds of her bush. A tremble went through him. He felt the softness of her open pussy, the steaming heat in there and its wetness; he had filled it with semen only an hour ago!
It went into her, and they both gasped and lay still together, embracing, kissing, murmuring love.
She began to move.
The naked brunette flexed the well-toned muscles of her pussy, grabbing cock as with a flesh-sheathed vise.
"Wow!" he groaned out, and jerked back, then plunged back into her, hard. That great plunger ripped at the soft, tender tissues fining her quim, punched deep into the quiver-spasming folds of her cunt.
Again and again, while her cunt grew sloppy wet, he sank into it with deep penetrations.
It was a fuck that lasted and lasted, both of them growing ever more sweaty and panting for breath. After he had shot that third time, he lay like a dead man, while she lovingly licked his nipple-something she had learned, of course, from Muriel-and hand-fondled his spent penis.
The following afternoon she came slinking into the living room where he sat, reading the want ads. He stared. He dropped the paper.
"Holy SHIT!"
She was wearing the lacy, peach-pink "Colette" chemise, with the long black hose and the skintight knee boots of black leather that Muriel had given her. And a little golden chain around her neck, its glittering links vanishing into her deep cleavage.
They played on the floor for an hour, kissing, fondling, pressing, squeezing, dry-fucking, squirming and manipulating cock and tits and balls and ass and cunt.
He balled her there, on the floor where there was no give, and his body slapped hers and she got every last millimeter of cock, with his balls trying to crowd into the splay-lipped gap as well. Though his nipples were smaller than his father's-maybe from lack of manipulation, she mused-they were there, and she plucked them, twisted them, pinched and tugged as his body rose and fell onto hers.
She asked him to slip his finger up her ass. Surprised, he did, and found it wet and easy. He let her see his frown and questioning look.
"I'm afraid I've been playing with that a lot," she said, as if embarrassed "It's sexy. Tighter than my cunt-I can feel in there, really feel. I've been sticking my fingers and things into it-"
"And things?"
"Uh-well, the, ahhh . . . handle of the toilet brush, it's slim, and smooth and long enough for me to-uh . . . and a yellow marker-you know the highlighters?-I wore one of those all afternoon one day, and it just kept me turned on . . . oh baby I've MISSED you!"
His surprise didn't take his cock stand down a whit. He fucked her hard and fast, grinding his dick over his own finger up her asshole, and he came like a piece of heavy artillery.
Randy put it in; she wore four inches of plastic: el Marko watercolor marker, up her anus all the while she prepared dinner for the four of them. Her tight panties kept the thing in place. He took it out of her in the bathroom just before they ate, so she could sit comfortably, and she gave his cock a swift suck.
They retired early, with Muriel and Jim grinning, hardly surprised.
Randy spent the next hour playing with his wife's cunt and asshole, running his finger in and out of the marvelously elastic hole between her big shuddering hind cheeks, then sinking a thumb into it and two fingers up her quim and pumping the whole hand so as to frig both her holes at once.
When she was panting and whimpering and begging for cock, she asked him to stretch out and let her do the work. He did. Kneeling astraddle his outstretched legs, wearing-with her new knowledge of the sexuality of kinkiness -a soft, transparent and almost support-less bra, she reached down for his cock.
Her hand guided the stalwart column up and in as she sank down on it.
"Unnnngh! aowww-Christ baby you're-so . . tight!" he groaned.
Only after she was all the way down, seated on his legs, did his black-haired titsy woman tell him that his cock was ensconced in her anus. He went wild.
Dragging her off him, he fucked her ass from the side, from behind, and on top of her. That night he spermed off up her rectum twice, and the next day she gigglingly told him he'd given her so much enema she'd lost a pound, so far, in three trips to the bathroom. For some perverse reason that turned him on. He followed her into the bathroom. With her on her knees, bent groaning and shuddering over the closed toilet, he fucked her ass again.
She sucked him off twice that night.
In the morning, she held her giant tits for him while he fucked between their masses until the friction began to hurt. Then he plunged into her wet pussy and pumped off in its dark deep clutch.
He went half out of his skull a couple of nights later when, by accident, he found the door of Jim and Muriel's bedroom ajar. Randy was on his way to the bathroom. He'd resolved to get to sleep early tonight, skip the fucking, get out and go after a job tomorrow.
What he saw through that open doorway changed the angle of his dangle, and his mind.
Muriel was wearing the long red wig, and a skimpy little jet-black halter on a sliding chest band. The half or maybe third-cups looked like shining black leather. Below, she wore a pair of sheer black briefs edged at leg bands and top with pink lace-and with an open crotch that showed him the first shorn pubis he'd seen since that ice-blonde in Denver.
That was pretty sexy. That Jim Hunt sat on the edge of the bed, naked, and that his wife was standing, bending over, energetically fucking her own ass on Randy's father's cock-that was a lot sexier.
Randy pissed and went back and fucked like a rutting dog-with a squirming brunette wife who was definitely in heat.
With the edge off his stored-up desire for his wife after their long separation, Randy started taking more notice of his youthful-looking stepmother.
I sure was a dumb fuckin kid, he mused, to think people in their thirties couldn't be sexy!
His father noticed his interest, and, initiating the Lady Beth routine that Muriel loved, sent her after a beer one night, from the bedroom. He had just heard his son enter the bathroom, and he made sure Muriel went out and to the kitchen wearing no robe over what she'd had on: garter belt and fishnet hose, and the little blue bra-and-panties set with high heels, which made noise.
Jim knew that Randy peeped through the partly open bathroom door at the super-sexy blonde when she came back with his beer, because Jim peeped at the bathroom door through the partly open door of his bedroom.. . .
Later, he deliberately left the door open a crack, and was careful to bring Muriel off three times. She screamed in orgasm. There was no way Randy and Christiana could have failed to hear.
The next afternoon Jim went over to meet an advertising woman at the bar of the motel where she was staying, and they wound up back in her room, in bed. It was a good fuck. He told Muriel all about it that night, watching her get more and more excited.
"Have you-bathed, since then?"
"Sure. Before I left her room"
She sighed. "Oh well." She reached for his cock, slipped to her knees in front of him as he sat on the edge of the bed.-"I do miss the taste of another woman on this beauty, though," she said, and popped the beauty into her mouth.
Though her skin bulged in unnatural whiteness both above and below it, Muriel insisted that Jim tighten the laces on the white satin corset, again and again. She had bought the overpriced garment by mail, because it turned her on. Her breathing came with difficulty, he noticed, as he gazed at that fantastic wasp-waisted 1800's picture of woman-shaped woman. But she absolutely refused to take it off, or to let him loosen its tightly tied back laces.
Muriel was very proud in that corset, and she insisted that it was a constant sexual reminder, uncomfortably encasing her body from breasts to just above her pubis.
In the shimmering white satin sheath with its laces up the back, her waist was forcibly nipped from twenty-seven to nineteen inches. Her swelling hips flared in a mouthwatering, cock-tightening munificence of female flesh. Her buttocks jutted in constant invitation to fondling caresses and to penetration of the tight-pressed crack. Her full breasts were lifted and, because of the special garment's extreme waist reduction, the soft masses of bosom seemed more youthful, bulgy-and considerably larger than usual. Each thrusting creamy mass shook like putty with her labored breathing.
Because she knew he loved the way she looked but was made disturbed and nervous by her difficulty in drawing anything but shallow breaths, she tried to disguise that aspect of wearing the corset from Jim.
The corset, and the fact that she'd kept it on for two days, including all night long, were making him nervous. Oh, it was magnificently erotic, a perversely reshaping turn-on. But.. .
He tried to forget the But. The point was that Muriel loved the thing and its constant squeezing of her torso.
He wasn't about to deny her the unusual and frankly perverse thrills she sought. He had bound her last night as she wished, while she wore nothing but the corset-and the hundred feet of clothesline she had bought. Her hand had been trembling with lascivious excitement as she gave him the rope, at bedtime, and requested what the psychologists called "voluntary bondage," a definitely sexual game played by several million Americans.
Muriel had blown many dollars on photographs of bound women, sold with due secrecy and coyness by mail. Handing him one, she had asked him to try this. He had given her, her wish: to be bound beside him, all night.
The rope left angry marks when he took it off in the morning, and she exclaimed over them happily like a child examining her presents at Christmas.
It wasn't that Muriel needed bondage: ropes, corsets, or even domination, to get it off. It was just that she liked it; preferred it. That was enough. Besides, he found it exciting, too. People put the brands of "perverse" or "unnatural" or "obscene," Muriel told him, on things that embarrassed them, fascinated them, attracted them-but that they felt guilty about.
As it was more openly sold, she sought out the pornography that involved domination, bondage, whipping, even severe sadistic activity. She was hardly alone; more and more of that type of pornography appeared and was sold. Others sneered at it or condemned it-and watched the modern gladiatorial combats on television as football grew in popularity.
There was hardly anything sadistic about the corset, though he felt sure that the frankly sexual being who was his wife wished that he had forced her to wear it, rather than its having been her idea and her purchase.
She did look undeniably and unequivocally beautiful and desirable, with her hips, buttocks and breasts bulging in exaggerated super-woman-ness above and below the shining, taut-laced satin cincher that was twenty inches in length and an inch less, now, around.
In accordance with one of her little requested Lady Beth scenarios, for she did love scripted sexual games, she was dressed tonight in old clothes, from the trunk. The blouse was nine years old; the skirt was older than that. The air in their bedroom seemed to shimmer with electric sexual tension as her fascinated man awaited her sign.
With the radio on, he was reading a book written long ago-The Lustful Turk. She had paid five dollars for the paperback. Despite the fact that it was just as sexy as Muriel had said when she handed it to him, Jim was scanning and turning the pages impatiently, waiting. Waiting . . .
Seated on the bed, Muriel had been leafing through a magazine. She slapped it down.
"God, I'm restless!"
Jim looked at her, around and under the lamp. "Whatsa matter, sweetheart?" "I don't know. Shirt! I'm restless. Itchy."
He dropped the book. "Get up, Lady Beth. Strip, hit the floor on your back, and spread," he told her. "I'll give your kidneys a dick-massage, from inside."
She flashed him a smile. "Gawd! We've already balled like teeners this week. What I mean is I'm restless. I need-"
"I know what you need!" Lady Beth's master snapped. He "launched himself from the chair. "What you want is to know you're a woman, woman!"
He reached down, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to her feet. She came sinuously, uncoiling her lovely legs, and smacked into him with a whoof of forced-out breath. She rebounded slightly, and he reached out again.
"Here's what you want," he said.
His hand shot out to the white crepe blouse.
Fingers hooked in the V at the collar, he set his other hand against her chest, and he yanked. She groaned. The blouse tore. Buttons spewed. Having utterly ruined the blouse, he tore it from her and let it fall to the carpet in forlorn tatters.
What a fine way to dispose of old clothes: donate them to the Good Cause of Sex!
Her milky tits jiggled into view, a pair of full soft mounds that were very round, broad at their bases and dark at the tips. She sucked up a great breath, her lips pressing back against her teeth as her unbrassiered-and tightly corseted-upper body was bared with the sound of ripping, destroyed cloth and buttons rolling on the floor.
His hands closed on her tits. His fingers tightened around the jiggling bowls. His eyes glittered as he stared into hers.
"Tell me to hurt 'em!"
"Uh-oh.. . oh darli-master-r-r.. . "
He stroked those ripe breast globes with the utmost tenderness and gentleness,, enjoying as always the feeling of his fingertips on the silky, pearly flesh of them. She squirmed and licked her lips anxiously. He was being too gentle.. . .
Then she groaned and her eyes flashed excitement and happiness, for suddenly he grabbed her skirt, and yanked it as he had the blouse. This time he pressed with one hand against her pliant titflesh, and yanked again. The skirt ripped as the blouse had, splitting up and down as much with its age as his force, down and down, past her shaven crotch. Then it sagged, dropped, and puddled at her feet.
She was still groaning and shuddering, almost overwhelmed with delight and excitement, when he jerked her against him. His mouth crushed down on hers. His lips enveloped her mouth utterly as he strove to bruise her mouth. Her arms jerked, quivered; they leaped to clutch like claws at his back. Stripped to the kinky-sexy corset, she slammed her hips and finely swollen loins into his. This time he groaned, feeling sudden pain as she mashed her crotch against his bulgy balls and ground herself to him.
She crammed her tongue into his mouth; he chewed at it.
Her hands clutched and clawed at his back; he slid his down hers to threaten the cheeks of her butt with his nails.
She groaned and ground her naked, business mound into him; he thrust his leg between hers and brought it straight up to tease her pussy lips. Her whole body vibrated and jerked spasmodically.
"Ah-arrhhhh! Y-yeah, yeah, yes-do it, do it, do it to me, oh yes Jim baby, hurt my tits, make me your Lady Beth, your bed-slave, do it to m-unghh!"
He grinned in a flash of white teeth. His hands left her flinching buttocks. They pounced to her tits. Closing his fingers around the soft white globes, he squeezed, and began pulling.!
"Shove 'em out, Lady Beth, shove em out," he snapped, squeezing.
She groaned, she flinched, she smiled like a cock-starved whore. It hurt, and dear God how she loved it, needed it, how she loved him, her man, the man she'd got at last.
My man, she thought, squirming. His hurtful attentions to her rose-tipped tits had her whining and twisting uncontrollable. Weakly, helplessly, she obeyed, with more than willingness. Her back arched and she thrust out her exquisite breasts in meek offering to his hands.
His powerful fingers slithered out to the tips of the straining, outstretched masses of flesh propped up by the gleaming corset. He pressed. He pulled. His fingers torment-teased the nubby nipples until they stiffened into hard red points that thrust out between his fingers. Her throat erupted with hoarse gasps, and a radiant glow lit her face.
He kept at her nipples until the tumid buttons of those swollen, blood-filled crests turned red and throbbed and she knew they'd be sore, touch-sensitive,all day tomorrow.
Good, she exulted, it will remind me of this, and him, and keep me sexy all day!
Abruptly he released them They trembled furiously, but she sighed in sudden rehef. And looked forward to what he'd do next; her man knew what she wanted and needed.
He shoved her.
With a squeal, the near-naked blonde staggered back, pawed tits leaping gelatinously, naked thighs quivering. The backs of her thighs struck the bed.
He was pouncing after her, and even before she had fallen onto the bed, bouncily, he was grasping her. One hand slid around and under her to clutch the warm swells of her compact ass. The other gripped her surging, hairless vulva.
"Ah!" she cried, sagging, but grabbing at him too, hooking an ankle around his hip and thrusting at him with her corset-gripped belly. Panting and whimpering, she tore at his clothes and made a delighted cooing sound at the emergence of his rampant cock. Its silky skin was swollen and blood-suffused, and it was stretched tight over the large bulging glans so that it shone, already forcing itself far beyond the foreskin.
Her butt bit the floor when he pulled.
"The bed is for sleeping," she had said to him more than once. "The floor's for screwing-there's less give and I get more cock!"
"It doesn't do much for my knees," he had said, and she had promised to lick them for hours if necessary.. . .
Even as her hand grasped the big hot shaft stabbing from his belly, he was probing her fur-less vulva with it. He smiled. Her cunt was wet, of course. Grinning at her, he pushed two fingers straight up into her, as far as they would go.
She sagged onto the floor. One knee rose, quivering, twitching, its tendons standing out boldly. Her hand slid along his cock, wet at the tip, and tugged it forward. His fingers slid out and his cock replaced them inside her. It ran up that nice snug wet sheath that still gave him the illusion that he was dicking a girl who'd been a virgin until very recently, rather than years and years ago.
He sank it to the balls up her then, huge and hot and hungry to open her up and spurt her full.
"Ah-ohhh, oh that always feels so Goood!"
She ground her buttocks and arched her back to push up her tits. He stroked swiftly in and out between her well-straddled thighs, cramming his cock with voracious fervor up her quivering cunt, up and up with cervix-tamping force. Both her legs were up, and against his body he felt the flexing tendons and sinews of her strong thighs.
With his buttocks tightening and his toes thrusting at the bedroom carpet, he bobbed up and down in the fork of her uplifted thighs. Flushed with excitement, her face smiled sunnily, happily up at him even as he slam-banged her form with his.
The movements and sounds she made told him eloquently how much she loved it. A groan slipped out of him, a sound of pure pleasure and rutting lust, as she shoved harder.
She cried out when he pulled out of her, moved with swift willingness when he turned her over. She wanted it in back, and if it hurt a little coming in because he hadn't lubricated her anus, that was fine; she liked it, and it wouldn't hurt long.
He set the head of his organ, slick and dripping from her so-wet cunt, into her crack, and watched her anus make way for him. He was not violent, holding himself back, letting the thick wedge of hardened flesh fill her slowly.
While he gave her powerful anal muscles time to relax and accept, he let his eyes coast down the long sleek line of her back to the vulnerable-looking paleness of her neck where her hair had slipped away. Exposed were the tiny bumps of her upper vertebrae; that was sexy to him. Very womanly.
She sighed and twisted before him. The hot, fleshy pressure within her eased off around his penis. She was opening up, becoming wetter and wetter in the crevice where she loved his cock.
Feeling her hips commence to move in his hands, he switched his gaze from the back of her neck to the heaving rounds of her ass. He pulled nearly all the way out, paused, drove back in. His humping body smacked her buttocks hard and noisily, partially flattening them with each stroke. He felt that, and he liked it. He skewered her deep, up the back.
"Oh, ohh baby," he crooned. "I.. . I can take . . . all of that I can.. . get!"
He patted her swerving hips and tried to give her all she could take.
With that kind of encouragement, he began driving hard. She lurched with the rearward impact of his pummeling thrusts. Her whole body was fitfully twitching, her face obscured by the disheveled cascade of her golden hair. The squirming woman kept up her moans and her gasps, jerking and squirming in a hip-shuddering, tail-wagging motion, until he shuddered and felt it happening. He stabbed into her hard and deep in an intense release that bubbled up her bowels and left him feeling kitten-weak.
After a long while, he eased his limp, yet still long and thickened cock out of her distended ass. Pausing only to kiss one upward bulging hind cheek of the sighing woman, he rose and went to the bathroom
Jim cocked an eyebrow as he pissed. He had heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking from his son's room
It's time, he suddenly thought. And she's really turned on tonight, in that kinky corset-this is the time!
After flushing, he paused to listen. Yes, they were pleasuring each other down the hall, and he could imagine his son's naked body wallowing in the big-titted one he knew so well. But they weren't yet fucking. Jim hurried, smiling, back into his bedroom.
A few minutes later, Jim Hunt had sent his not-unwilling wife down the hall to join his son and daughter-in-law in bed.
Jim stretched out on the bed, smiling. He was sure Muriel wouldn't be back for quite some time. He was also sure that his thinking about what the three of them might be doing just down the hall, and his anticipation of hearing her "report," would keep him awake.
He was wrong and she awoke him when she returned to the room. He glanced at the clock. She'd been gone fifty-one minutes.
"Ha! You've been asleep, huh? I've been having-a ball!"
"I'll bet you have,'" he said. He was wide awake, and he sat up in the bed. "Tell me about it."
Glowing, her face bright with sexuality and delight and exaltation, she sat on the bed, naked but for her corset and hose-one of which was now laddered in two places.
She told him about it. His son and daughter-in-law had been on the bed, the room nearly dark; the drapes were tucked back to let in the moonlight. When Muriel had entered the room, Christiana had been on her back, big jugs wobbling, one leg up. Between her forked thighs, well back, crouched her husband, fingering her cunt and asshole simultaneously. Christiana was grunting and groaning, and they didn't hear Muriel's entry. She went over to the bed, and she smiled when she saw his balls between his parted legs.
She began playing with them, and he let out a howl as those strange hands came onto his body. "Muriel!"
"Don't mind me," the blonde murmured, fondling his balls and letting her fingers trail up and down his asscrack. "I won't bite." "But-"
Christiana came sinuously up into a sitting posture, smiling. Her hands rushed to her young husband's nipples. She began to turn and pluck at them, scratching the hard chest-plates all around the two twiggy nipples. He groaned, shuddered. Muriel, smiling, pressing her breasts into his back burningly, continued to mess with his balls and ass crease.
After that, not a word was said. The two women loved the man. Randy accepted. Christiana already had.
Christiana was determined, Muriel reported to her husband, that it would be she who won the prize in the unsated contest: Christiana made sure she got his cock in her. Eventually, he was on his back, well over to the side of the bed, with Christiana riding him, her big tits bobbing and jumping and her body taken by spasmodic shudders as it drove down on his standing organ, rose, plumped down again.
Muriel sat beside him, and she toyed with the other woman's jutting nipples while he watched that salacious activity with pleasure.
"I wasn't sitting on nothing, mind you," Muriel told Jim, and her eyes danced happily. "I had two fingers up my ass."
"Whose?"
"His. Randy's. I just had two of your son's fingers up my ass, darling. I just fingered your daughter-in-law's mammoth mammaries while she fucked your son. After he came, I licked and sucked her juices and his sweet cum off his penis. And we all loved it!"
"Slut!" he accused, his eyes merry.
She drooped her head. "Lady Beth is sorry, master. I-I try, but I am a slut. I'm so sexy. I just can't help it. I knew I'd be punished. But I couldn't help myself. And-my master does have a very sexy son!"
She had told him what she wanted, Jim knew. "I knew I'd be punished," she had said, hopefully. He knew it was a plea.
With the clothesline she'd bought, he tied his hypersexy woman, and he turned up her pretty backside and spanked it until she came and he had an enormous new erection. He plunged it up her ass.
Later, because she so obviously wanted to, he let her spend the night in her bondage.
Three days passed in the Hunt household, and during that time Randy got a job. He'd start the following week.
On the third evening, he quietly told his father that he wanted to have a talk.
"A celebration!" Jim said happily, with a grin.
"Sure," Randy said, returning the smile, but they both knew he wanted to talk, not celebrate.
The two men went to Grady's Bar, where they talked, over a flow of frosted schooners of beer, until past two in the morning. They returned to sleeping women, and both men were asleep within seconds after they hit their beds.
The four Hunts assembled for a late breakfast next day, which was Saturday.
"And what," Muriel asked, "did you two boys work out between you last night?"
Father and son looked at each other, then at Christiana, and finally back at Muriel, who was smiling slightly. Her grows were expectantly arched in a silent question.
"How'd you know?" Jim asked
Muriel flashed him a look of pretended hurt. "Come on. I'm no dummy, after all!" She lifted her hand, began to tick off points on her fingers. "Randy now knows that while he was gone, you kept his woman from going out of her mind-and probably from getting into some sort of an affair, which would have been dangerous, with an Outsider."
What a lovely salesmanship way to put it, Jim thought admiringly.
Jim said, "Yes, we talked about that last night."
"Among other things," Muriel said, and folded down another finger. "He also knows that you and I and Christiana all had sex, together, and more than once. And he and Christiana and I had a perfectly lovely time Tuesday night, as you know, Jim." She looked at Randy. "Your father sent .me. Not that I wasn't willing! And I narrated it all in detail to him, after I left your room."
Randy nodded. "I know. Dad and I talked about that last night."
Muriel sat back and made an expressive two-handed gesture. "Well, then. When you two guys went rather furtively off together last night, we gals knew you were putting your heads together about us-about all of us. And probably deciding, cooking something up together. Well?"
Again father and son exchanged a look. Both grinned.
"Well, yes," Jim said. "I suppose we may's well talk about it now as any other time. Once I have some more coffee."
Christiana took care of the coffee situation, and she and Muriel sat looking, waiting.
"First," Jim said, "we'd like to suggest pooling some of your money with mine, honey, to get a bigger house."
Muriel looked surprised, and hurt. "James Hunt! I love you, Jim. We don't have my money and your money. My money is yours. It always has been. And . . . that sounds like an absolutely delicious idea to me . . . Christy?"
Christiana pursed her lips. "A bigger house. For the four of us to continue living together?"
The two men nodded.
"How?" Christy asked.
"How what?"
"The four of us live together, how?"
"Oh," Muriel said with a salacious smile. "The arrangements. Four people in one house . . . "
"Oh," Jim said. "As a family."
"Sort of like All in the Family on TV," Randy said, and they all broke up.
"Hmp!" Muriel said, after awhile. "Your father is not only not a stupid bigot, he's also a sexy man with a good body!"
"And you have a job," Jim pointed out to his son. Then he looked at his wife, and tried to imitate Archie Bunker. "OK, Edit', can it. Let's go back to Christy's question." He looked at his daughter-in-law. "Randy and I discussed the possibility of our living together as a family, one family. A marriage of four. Now needless to say that's up to you, Christy, and Muriel."
Christiana nodded, but said nothing.
"Two men and two women," Randy said, carefully-and obviously-avoiding looking at his stepmother. "The two men belong to each woman. Both women belong to each man."
"Do-do you think we can handle it?" Christiana asked.
Jim met her question with one of his own: "Do you think you can?"
She looked at him, one eyebrow up. "Uh.. . I hadn't even thought about that. I-I was sitting here thinking about something. Something Randy and I've already talked about, yesterday." She looked down at the table. "That I'd hate not to, uh, get to make it with you any more, Jim."
Muriel chuckled. "Seconded."
Christiana heaved a sigh, and her big bosom jumped. "I think I should say it again, it's still apropos. Do you think we can handle it?"
"You keep answering my question with a question."
Jim looked at Randy, and Christy followed his gaze. The younger man grinned. Christiana looked again at her sexy, so competent and virile father-in-law. And she smiled.
"Yes! I'd like to try!"
They were all silent, thinking about it.
"And . . . and if it doesn't work out?" Christiana asked.
"Then some of us have to divorce the others," Randy said. "Like, you and I go get our own place. I've got a good job, now."
Christiana looked worried. "But.. . well, if it comes to that.. . we might wind up . . . almost . . . enemies!"
Jim sat back with a sigh. "Yeah," he nodded. "Randy and I talked about that. In that case-we'd be like most other families, the so-called 'normal' ones!"
The four conspirators nodded grimly, sympathetic with those others-as Jim had said, most others.
"Well," Jim said, sitting beside his son and looking at his wife. "What hasn't been done, or happened, is . . . Muriel and Randy, alone together." After a pause, he. switched his gaze to the young brunette. "Christy-can you take that?'
She didn't take time to ponder. "If . . . if my man can accept so beautifully the fact that I, uh, that Jim and I.. . "
"Balled," Randy put in. "Made it. Made out together. Got it on together. Screwed. Fucked."
Christy said, "Yes. And the same answer to the question: Yes, I can handle that."
Muriel and Randy looked at each other. Their eyes queried, silently. Her nod was almost imperceptible.
"Once it's been said," Randy said sensibly, "none of us will be worth a dime all day until.. . it happens."
Christy smiled at him, nodded. "I guess."
"So-" Muriel said, on a rising note.
Randy said, "Now."
They all sat still for a few seconds longer. Then Randy Hunt and his stepmother rose and left the kitchen. Jim and Christiana knew their respective spouses were going to one of the bedrooms. Neither of them said anything for awhile.
Then they began talking. For over a hah hour, Jim and Christiana sat, and talked, and drank coffee. Then they both rose, and stripped, and hand-in-hand they went to join the others.
The house was not huge, but it was big. Too, it was out of town, though not way out in the country. There were trees, and shrubs, and a sprawling yard the men moaned about having to mow. The house was big enough for the women to make similar noises about having to keep clean. The basement was finished, and with little shudders and in an excited voice, Muriel murmured to Jim about fixing it up for "games." The games she was thinking of, he knew, were voluntary bondage. Not "voluntary bondage and sex." Bondage was sex, the same as breast-fondling and kissing and other non-fucking activities were.
The master bedroom, huge, was equipped with a huge bed that still left plenty of floor-space. There was other new furniture, and some . . . devices.
Anyone who could have crept onto the grounds and put up a ladder and somehow seen through the thick drapes at the window of that big bedroom on the second floor, would have been astonished and surely shocked at the way the two couples celebrated their moving into the new home.
For they were not two couples; they were one quartet.
They didn't plan a scenario; that would come later; it was part of Muriel's Thing. This time what happened just happened. Soon the four bodies had sorted themselves out into a salacious jumble.
Wearing absolutely nothing, the big-busted brunette lay on her back. Her head was turned slightly to one side; in her mouth was her father-in-law's cock. Her hand raked the underside of his balls, while her cheeks sank in, pumping. He was bent well over her, sucking one thick nipple jutting above a high-mounded breast.
Also naked, Randy sat on the bed beside his wife, propped up, his legs stretched out. His insistent finger probed blatantly between the puffy lips of her luscious, dribbling cunt sheath. It went deeper into her, began jiggling. The quivery girl turned and ground her hips in rhythm with the thrusting stabs up her cunt, sucking cock while she arched her spine and cried out with bliss-and with desire for larger pussy-probe than she was getting, even with the extra finger he squelched into her wet gap.
Randy's other hand contained a soft pale breast, which he was squeezing rhythmically as if milking the lovely mass of woman flesh. It's blond owner, smiling and sighing softly, wore a corset, black shining leather, that was cinched down to eighteen inches. She also wore black pantyhose, crotchless and with another hole in back to display her long ass crease and the inner portion of each pretty cheek.
While her hand slithered up and down the long shank of the young man's cock, her mouth gripped with teasing gentleness around one of his furry balls. She tongued it, rolled the solid, meaty oval around inside her face, drew suckingly on it, sighed around it. Releasing the thoroughly wetted testicle from her mouth so that it flopped down over her chin, she slipped her open mouth in around its twin and, with a steady suction, drew it into the titillating chamber of her face.
Jim shivered and groaned as his son's wife nursed his erection slowly, letting her wetly clinging mouth slide smoothly along the staff. Her splayed lips ran all the way up the long distended column to the glans. She let it prod her throat, then withdrew, and began sliding her face forward on it again.
Tensing tremors ran through his naked body and he groaned with ever rising lust.
He'd had all that hotly suctioning mouth he could stand, without blowing the back of her head off with a strongly shot gush of semen, and that he wanted to save awhile. His heart was beating wildly as he eased back, drawing his thick, slick tool out of her face. She was reluctant to let it go, and her lips pursed out, clinging, while her head moved after him. Then he broke contact, and his emerging cock slurped free and hurled a droplet of her saliva into the air as it sprang free of her face.
Both Muriel and Randy looked up sharply at the sound of a meaty slap of flesh on flesh. But the sound didn't herald any S & M activity between the other two. Held fast by powerful suction and tugged free only by his backing a step, Jim's granite-hard prick had snapped back like an overstretched rubber band, to slap his belly, hard.
Dropping swiftly to his knees beside the bed, he plunged his open mouth over the pink button atop Christiana's breast.
She groaned and rolled her eyes up as she was treated to the same sort of hard sucking action she had just been giving. Her hand slid over his cheek, fingers writhed through his hair. Then her arm went over the bed and her hand was lost to sight.
While the kneeling man sucked and licked her stiffening nipple, her fingers slipped around his wet hard-on and began a slow up and down glide.
He lifted his head. "Easy," he warned. "That thing's primed to blow up."
She giggled, and her great mound of titflesh pumped up and down at his face. "Oh," the girl said, "sorry." Her fingers relaxed. But she kept her hand where it was.
She sighed and moaned-twitching in libidinal restlessness, while he milked the hot pink flesh of her quivering nipple with his teasing teeth.
Randy was staring. "That other big milk-gourd looks . . . lonely," he said.
His wife cried out and jerked wildly when he popped his fingers out of her soft slit and wriggled up higher alongside her. Then his head come down, close to his father's, and with tongue and lips scooped her other breast's soft crest into his mouth. It was immediately treated to a swift back-and-forth tonguing and began to pulse as it thickened.
"Oh-ahhh, ohmmmmmmmm," the girl sighed, wagging her head. Never had she dreamed of having two loving male mouths on her breasts at once; of having both nipples sucked and licked simultaneously! It was threatening to drive her mad with passion and bliss. Their activity was never the same. While the father sucked, hard, teasing the base of the nipple he drew at with his teeth, the son whipped his tongue back and forth. It was like a wet paddle, flailing away at her quivering, twitching left breast-crown.
For a moment Muriel felt left out. Then, watching, she smiled. She saw both Christiana's hands come up and down. The girl pressed each adoring male head down into the pulpy flesh of her big breasts. Meanwhile a vibrant twitching assailed her firm little stomach, and Muriel saw the darkened pink lips of the girl's cunt tremble, slightly opening and closing while a thin rivulet of clear fluid oozed forth.
The smiling blonde extended a hand and began stroking those fluttery sex lips, fingertips fluttering over their thick glossy pelt of curling black hairs. She traced out each parted, swollen flange, tickled between them to tickle teasingly at the scalloped lobes within those lips whose moist inner surfaces were bright red and twitchy with lust.
Christiana was moaning and sighing in a continuous stream of sound that pulsed on the passion-humid air of the big bedroom. She could not close her mouth; could not still the constant flexing of her legs, the futile pushing of her heels against the furrowing sheet. Her muscles quivered, as did her arms, so forcefully was she pressing the two male heads down into the resilient turrets of her chest. Both men were gasping for breath as their faces were pushed into warm tit-flesh.
Meanwhile the naked brunette sighed and squirmed at the erotically teasing sensation of the soft hand moving constantly over her firmly resilient cleft and its soft lips.
Then the other woman began caressing and rolling Christiana's clitoris, and the brunette squealed and went tense all over.
Knowing woman fingers pressed and stroked the pulsing, fluttering little nubbin of skin that was the key to her deepest joy, and she jerked almost frantically, with a violent shaking of the fleshy balls of her chest. The two men clung tenaciously to their pointed crowns, nibbling at each lust-enlivened nipple.
A great feeling of sensual exhilaration filled the young woman and rocked her brain. Her teeth were bared in blissful pleasure. Her belly quaked with her labored breathing and with the tightening of its youthful muscles in sexual tension. Her entire turned-on body was assailed by carnal surges of sheer blissful delight.
Muriel had two fingers inside her now, fingers that were hot and inundated with a ceaseless flow of vaginal nectar. She smiled, her eyes staring intently down at the way her daughter-in-law writhed her pussy madly on those impaling fingers.
Lips nuzzled her tits; teeth teasingly raked the crinkly flesh of swollen nipples white tongues lapped wetly at them; paired fingers like a slender cock slurped about inside her heated cunt. The sensation of it all, the rapping of her clitoris by Muriel's knuckles as the digital "prick" pounded and pistoned in her wide-open pussy filled the girl with an exquisite ecstasy that kept her groaning and panting in passion.
With complete erotic concentration and love of female amulets and their pretty peaks of erectile tissue, the two men worked at her breasts. Each horny tit-sucker nibbled at one tensing crown as if it were a rare red fruit and he a connoisseur, a gourmet of mammary flesh.
And hot wet fingers sluiced in and out of her weeping, hotly contracting vaginal trench.
She wailed, went rigid. Her words emerged as gasps, sounding as if she were trying to talk while holding her breath.
"I'm going to come . . . to COMMMMME . . . I'm ma-a-akinnnnng it-t-ttt.. . "
"Come, baby," the lascivious blonde smiled, jiggling her arm more swiftly and with more pumping force. "Commmmme, commmme . . . BITE!"
Christiana shrieked. Knuckles pounded her twitching, tumescent clitoris. Three fingers slugged steadily and ruthlessly into her gaping, steadily oozing and burning hot cunt. And now both men tightened their teeth about her quivering titty-tips, and she went sailing off into space.
The intensity of her shattering climax brought a gurgling sound from deep in her throat. Her body hunched and arched, forcing both male heads up in the total release of her lust.
She jerked and writhed and moaned as though enduring exquisite agony, as electric fire seared her crotch and rippled through her belly.
Slowly Muriel eased her triad of fingers out of the distended wet oval of the other woman's loins. Slowly, each male head rose, their lips and titillating tongues taking gentle leave of her nipples, which, like her clitoris, began to shrink as she relaxed in after-climax.
She lay as if dead-except for the hard panting that rocked her body and jiggled her sweat-filmed breasts.
Muriel didn't wait. Already she was moving up the bed, beside the girl. With a sexually aroused fervor, she toppled her husband's son onto his back and fastened her full lips over the violently reddened head of his cock.
He groaned loudly and straddled his legs wide on either side of her kneeling form. Under the voluptuous stimulus of that soft mouth that loved cock and showed him so with ardor, his hips arched and wove and his eyes bulged. Both his hands slid through the silky blonde hair that tumbled down over his thighs, slipped down, found her naked panting tits, and fastened on them.
They felt strange to his hands. His wife's were huge and solid, with only their own weight pulling them slightly down when she stood erect. Their firmness was the same as a pair of asscheeks when clenched. The soft breasts of his father's wife, though, felt not only strangely small and encompassable by his hands, but flexible, easily molded, soft as little pillows of foam rubber. To compound the stirring contrast with his wife's swollen jugs, the spongy buttons tipping the soft breasts he now clamped in his spasming fingers were large, thick; larger than Christiana's, though set like turrets on far smaller mounts.
Fascinated with the feel of them in his hands, he worried their swollen, rubbery flesh with both hands. With insatiable insistence, she clamped her mouth around his hard-on and sucked with ah her might, at the same time bobbing her head up and down to fuck her face.
Jim stared at his wife and his son. His eyes dropped, fever-hot, to the supine body of his daughter-in-law. She lay still, her eyes closed and her abdomen fluttering. The sweat-sheened brunette looked as if she'd been poleaxed, and might not recover from her massive, triple-attention orgasm for days.
Before him his raging cock seemed to have swelled beyond anything it had ever achieved or aspired to before. Had the enormous goad had a mouth and voice, it would have been screaming for submergence in something hot and damp and friction-producing.
Practically running, he rounded the bed and came onto it behind the bowed body of the kneeling blonde with her face stuffed full of his own son's hard prick.
She jerked violently when she was summarily stuffed at the other end With one thrust of his lean male hips, his hand guiding his aching staff, the man behind her opened the cleft of her cunt and filled it with thick, swollen cock Quivering and clasping, silky-soft and crimson tissues molded themselves snugly all around the m-sliding shaft.
"Glglglgllllll?" she groaned out; it was the only sound she could make around Randy's face-stuffing chunk of male meat. Then hard male hips and lower belly banged into her butt with a heavy impact, and she had to devote all her attention to keeping from gagging or strangling, as she was knocked forward onto the mighty staff that dived happily into her throat.
The last thing Jim wanted to do to this woman he loved was cause her more discomfort than she requested. With both hands, he drew her hips back, to fetch his son's prick up out of her gagging throat. Then he held her there while he soaked his steaming tool in the resilient warmth and humidity of her vagina.
He fucked her almost desperately, from behind.
Meanwhile her eagerly grasping mouth was sucking noisily, milking avidly at his son's thick prick. And the young man's hands, just as eager, were working steadily into the buttery flesh of her dangling breasts.
Jim's big hands held her too, clung to her hips and held them in total submission to him and his movements while he plunged his burning shaft up her warm, slippery innards. Juices spattered from the gaping, swampily sucking mouth of her cunt.
She ground her body back against him, loving the heavy, thick pole of flesh that rushed in and out of the pulsing hole beneath her gyrating ass-cheeks.
He squirmed in near-frenzy behind her, straining and jerking as he pumped her with the violence of his lust.
Christiana's eyes blinked open. For a time, the supine brunette with the two large swelling slopes on her chest stared up at the ceiling. She heard groans. Randy's voice, gasping as if in pain. Oh no, not pain. She knew the sounds.
Juicy, lubricious lust! Jim's voice, breathing hard. Slippery wet sounds, in two "voices."
All three of them are . . .
I'm being left out!
She turned her head in the direction of the sounds-and the heat-liberated aroma of sexuality, linked bodies-and stared at them. Her stepmother-in-law was sucking her husband's cock. Her father-in-law was at the same time skewering the kneeling blonde, from behind.
Wow! Muriel's getting cock from both ends! And she thought, maybe in both ends, though Christiana couldn't be certain in which of the blonde's ever-ready receptacles he was grooving himself.
Her hand slipped down to her pussy. It was hot and wet. Like a dream, it came back to her. They had all three done to her . . . done for her. Now-what can I do for them?
Just.. . play. She moved over to the rutting trio, and she began to play. Her hands slid over Muriel's bowed body, pressed under to tickle her clit, slid upward to her breasts, squeezed her husband's hands, which were already there and constantly amove. She caressed him, plucked at his nipples, knelt up and rammed tit into his mouth. The girl pumped her torso then, fucking his mouth with her big breast. Then she backed away, smiling, and moved down past Muriel, meanwhile giving her another swift clitoral fondle. Reaching around his tensing, hollowing hips, she took hold of Jim's swinging balls and pressed and rolled them, feeling the extreme wetness his cock was dragging out of the other woman's richly juicy vaginal pocket. Kneeling up, Christiana jammed her breasts against him, pinched his nipples, reached down between his loins and Muriel's upturned backside, and teased the root of his plunging prick. It was fun, she thought, being a free agent this way, helping them to drain every drop of pleasure from their sensual coupling-that is, tripling.
She watched Jim's hips move back and back, so that more and more of his thick sexual stalk came into view. The big veined shank not only shone with the blonde's cunt-juice, it dripped with the clear slippery fluid. Muriel cried out in bereavement as she was bereft of all his cock. It bounced up between them.
Smiling happily, Christiana made herself of use. Her fingers pressed down on the broad stalk of her father-in-law's tool, until the arrow-shape of the crown was pressed into warm female ass crease. A little lower-and the head was nosing right against that tiny little hole, the slightly puckered and diminutive crater that was Muriel's anus . . . and, Christiana knew, the older woman's favorite place of impalement.
Wonderingly and in total fascination, Christiana watched Jim's cock begin to disappear. Shorter and shorter it grew, as hot tight asshole happily swallowed it up, well-greased with cuntal liquid. Then it was gone. The brunette watched how Muriel's buttocks began to bulge outward as the man's groin and belly pressed hard into them.
His cock was in all the way, lost up her asshole.
Grinning salaciously, Christiana stretched out beside the other woman, and reached in under her. Her ringers began playing happily all over the gaping, slimy, heat-radiant hole that Jim's cock had just left. The brunette found the blonde's go-button. Again and again, Christiana pressed that wobbly node of tensing, hardening flesh.
Muriel came, again and again.
Randy groaned; he was suddenly getting a lot less attention from his stepmother's passionate mouth.
Jim groaned too, but in desperate lust. He was fucking in a mad fury, in terrible need, fucking his big truncheon wildly in and out of the kneeling woman's excretory channel while he himself quaked from head to toe. Now and again his passion was titillated the more by the feel of the younger woman's fingers touching the base of his cock on its partial withdrawals, lightly pressing up against his swinging balls.
He swung his hips back and forth, reaming up and down the wide-stretched channel of her back, lancing her bowels with hard male meat.
A mighty tremor rocked her as she came still again. Her body glistened and ran with sweat and she remained on her knees only with difficulty. And still he fucked, and still Christiana rubbed and squeezed her pussy and tickled her clit.
The creamy, enticingly rounded ovals of her butt were spread wide apart to admit the drilling length of his maleness, the fabulously expanded rod of hard flesh he buggered her with.
It was as if a hand punched him low in the gut. Christiana's fingers squeezed his balls. They spewed their burning load up, up along the distended tube way that ran the under length of his cock, through the tiny hole in its tip.
He cried out. Semen burned as it jetted from him and into warm, receptive rectal flesh. It went on and on.
Then he felt his body quivering weakly against her buttocks as the last dregs of his boiling masculinity flowed from his body into hers.
Knowing she had it all and feeling weak as an hour-old kitten, Muriel collapsed sideways and lay there, semi-curled up. Depleted cock plopped from her semen-oozing ass-dangled. Jim slumped, and he too lay on his side, panting.
Christiana and Randy stared at each other.
Then Randy grinned.
Christiana returned the salacious, entirely happy smile.
She went to him, on her knees on the bed, and bent low. Her hands came in, her fingers twitched; she seized her own big dangling tits and pressed them closely, hotly around the swollen mass of his cock.
While he moved a little, she tit-fucked him happily. She loved doing it. Tremors shook her creamy, dimpled belly. She knew he loved it, too, and it was fun, exalting, to make him gasp and hunch into the tunnel between her tits.
They plied his cock constantly in and out between the balls of resilient, milky flesh, relaxing their rounded masses, letting them drift slightly apart before she crammed them together again with her hands to encase his prick in their heat and sweaty wetness.
Christiana threw back her head. A hand was tickling at her cunt. She didn't know whose it was. She didn't care. It was good. She loved that, too. Oh God, had ever a woman been so fortunate-to have married Randy, and now she had three lovers, three bodies to fondle and caress and play with! And . . . three others with hands to play with hers.. . .
Hot hard young cock went off in hard gushes, and Randy groaned and writhed. His prick jerked, lurched, spurted and spurted to drown her sexy pink jugs in a flowing sea of sticky sperm. The hot milk splashed over her tits, dribbled down them, dripped salaciously off one rosy crest.
Randy fell back, groaning.
It was then that the new thing began, the further voluptuous development of their unbridled four-way sexuality.
Muriel liked the taste and the slippery sensation of Semen on her tongue, in her mouth-and here was a whole shining sexy load of it going to waste!
Tugging Christiana around and down, the blonde began running her pink tongue over the girl's huge chest-balls, lapping up the semen and the salty sweat all at once, working thoroughly to cover the breasty masses and get every droplet and tiniest stain of male fluid. Sighing, smiling, Christiana closed her eyes and accepted, and her hands naturally began toying with the other woman's more normal-sized breasts. Their bodies writhed and pressed together. Their hands glided, explored. Having got all the semen with her lascivious licking, Muriel stayed on at her post. Her soft lips opened, covered a lustfully twitching, achingly erect nipple, and sucked it delicately and sweetly, with pleasure.
When the two naked males at last aroused themselves, waking as if from a delirious sleep, they were astonished at the perversely lubricious scene that greeted their eyes-and their eyes widened and lost the glaze of satiation.
Their women were on their sides, holding each other, lasciviously curled together. There was a name for it-a title: 69. Muriel's loins curled and pressed to Christiana's loving mouth, while the brunette squeezed and pressed her buttocks; Christiana's thighs pressed against Muriel's face and lapping tongue, while the blonde's hand sank a finger into the girl's anus and wiggled it.
Exchanging a look, father and son began letting their hands glide up and down over rumpled cockflesh until each penis was a hard, urgent-looking staff for penetration. Then, on their sides behind the women loving each other on that great bed, they penetrated.
Randy's thick impaling dick slid into the gripping-and swiftly receptive-asshole of his stepmother. Jim's rock-hard tool slipped, not quite so easily, into the same channel in the other woman. And the four of them continued the celebration of their becoming one family, one unit.
That was back in 1970. The Family has two kids now, in the big house out on Standiford Road, and all six of them seem constantly glowing and ecstatically happy. All four adults call the kids "ours."
