I'd have no troubles if it wasn't for my big, fat prick. For twenty-three years it's caused me more grief than a wife. The troubles were small when I was a schoolboy: the cane on the seat of my pants for fingering up a little girl while she stroked my prick. But now I'm a big boy I'm in real hot trouble. My big, fat prick doesn't give me a moment's peace.
Paradoxically, I wouldn't be without it for anything in the world!
But it's balled up my whole life. My prick has got personality and ideas of its own. It often refuses to obey me. Our plans are sometimes so divergent that we're in violent conflict. And I always lose out. My prick's so strong and vigorous, I get carried along by it like driftwood in a mill race.
My present troubles were aggravated to explosion point by my prick's interest in Janet. Personally, I want no part of Janet. She's not a bad girl, but she's got grave defects. Although she's only twenty-two, with youth on her side, she's as ugly as a girl can get. She's brunette, with a good figure, but is as hairy as a bear. In a couple of years she'll be shaving every day. And as is so often the case with ugly girls, she's man-crazy. That makes her dangerous. If a man gives her a kindly smile she makes plans to walk him up the aisle. Shell make some man a good wife. But not me! If I met Janet socially I wouldn't dare speak a civil word to her. Anything less than an insult from a man she interprets as a come-on.
But I knew Janet in the worst way possible. She was the boss's daughter!
The Boss has been trying to marry her off since she was a teen-ager. He hasn't succeeded. A couple of weeks ago the Boss resigned himself to an unmarried daughter and decided she'd have to earn her living. The Boss made an appalling decision. He employed her in our office as his Personal Assistant!
The decision was calamitous. Our small business is highly specialized. I'm the Boss's right-hand man. We publish pop songs and make records. We manage to pay the rent, wages and entertainment expenses. I'm the hinge-pin of the set-up. I've been twanging a guitar since I was five, and have a flair for guessing public taste. Every day I look through piles of pop music and choose songs I believe will please.
I haven't been wrong yet. I've always selected pop tunes that have sold enough records to cover expenses. But I could be wrong one day. Then we'll have a warehouse stuffed with records we can't sell. But on the other hand; I might get lucky. I might choose a tune that gets into the top ten.
I'm happy at my work. It's the only job I know. But the moment Janet was ushered into the office by her father, my days in the business were numbered.
The Boss introduced us and I was too polite to look pained at Janet's ugliness. But I did notice the strong smell of cunt that began to pervade the office. When we shook hands Janet's hot fingers held mine so firmly I had to tug hard to break her grip. While the Boss told me that Janet would be learning the business;, I tried not to be repulsed by the sweaty black down on her upper lip, the hypnotic stare of her eyes through pebbled glasses, and the big mole on her left cheek that had a long hair sprouting from it.
The Boss set Janet to work in his own office entering items in the account books. Then he went out on business. He handles Production and Sales. I stay in the office searching for a winner among the submitted song-sheets.
He'd been gone ten minutes when Janet came through to my office to consult the files. It took only two minutes then for it to dawn on me how dangerous she was.
She was a sex-bomb. Every open pore of her dark skin oozed unquenchable desire. Every slight movement of her thighs wafted a thick cloud of cunt-fragrance across the officer Worse. When she had her back to me, and I couldn't see her face, her sexy allure hit me like a shell. She had a lovely, perfectly-proportioned figure, and was acutely aware of it. She wore very high heels, a wisp of a mini-skirt, skin-tight panties that showed under her skirt hem, and a blouse as delicate as tissue paper. She opened the lower drawer of the filing cabinet and stooped over to root through it. She had a beautiful, firm little ass. Her legs were parted and as straight and as stiff as ramrods. When she stooped and her mini-skirt rode up high, her tight panties displayed the creases -under her buttocks and a segment of bottom. Her pantie gusset was drawn so tight it looked painful. It also looked damp. From either side of it, luscious long cunt-hairs curled out. I stared as though hypnotized. She knew exactly what she was doing to me. No girl has ever stooped so long over a filing cabinet. My prick stood up in my trousers and gibbered.
From that moment onwards my prick and I waged a battle. There were a hundred good reasons to stay clear of Janet. I knew them all. I could set them out clearly on paper. Any man in his right senses would agree that Janet should be kept at arm's distance.
But my prick wouldn't agree. So long as Janet was around it gibbered, roared and rampaged. It wouldn't let me concentrate on my work. I spent most of my day in the office, sweating as though in a steam bath. I drooled so much anticipatory prick-juice I had to change my underpants twice a day. But I was fighting a losing battle. If my prick and I could have gone our separate ways, I could have kept out of trouble. But we were inseparable, and that was my downfall. No matter how clear-headed a man is, once his prick stimulates his glands until adrenalin is racing through him, he's a dead duck.
I was doomed from the start. I should have known it. I've never yet gotten the better of my prick. The miracle is that I held out so long. But even the delay helped soften my resistance. I got used to seeing Janet around the office, day after day, I grew accustomed to her ugliness and didn't blanch every time I saw her. There was even a fascination about that black down on her upper lip when she pouted. She had beautiful lips for pouting. And when she I took off those pebble-rimmed glasses her eyes were f quite attractive. I even began to find her black mole fascinating. The long hair that sprouted from it was delicately spiraled, like the hairspring of a watch.
When I finally succumbed it was complete capitulation. She was in the Boss's office. I had to go in there to get a drawing for a record sleeve. When I entered, Janet was standing with her back towards the door and stooping over her father's desk. Somehow, I always found her stooping over. My underpants were sopping wet with prick-juice, my cock was burning against my belly and I was drunk with the musky smell of cunt that steamed out from between her legs. It happened as I circled around the desk. She moved back slightly and my prick gave an eager, quivering leap towards her. It rushed across her buttocks. Just a touch. But that was all it needed. Then I was behind her, grinding the shaft of my prick in between her buttocks. She sprawled forward over the desk, braced her hands upon it to get leverage and then ground her cute little ass right back at me.
I'd been tantalized, teased and tortured by her tormenting ass for endless hours. Now I had it! Everything else was abruptly of no importance. Her beautiful straining ass had become my whole world!
She was hot for it Heat lashed out from her buttock cleavage like a blast furnace, scorching my prick even through my pants. At once she started snorting and panting as she frictioned her ass up and down against my prick. I pulled her blouse out of her skirt-waist, slid my hands up under it and around front of her. She didn't wear a bra. Her tits hung ripely, richly swollen and quivering. I cupped them and she whimpered. Her ass thrust back at my prick with increased fervour.
I forgot where I was, I forgot everything except this moment.
I wanted her naked. She wanted it too. I tore her blouse off, ripping away the buttons. Great tufts of black, underarm hair sprouted from her armpits, glistening with sweat and steeped in the smell of woman. The smell sent me a little crazy. I pulled down her skirt and panties together. They were a rolled-up wad when they slid down her calves. She stepped out of them without ceasing to grind her bare bottom against my prick. One urgent hand explored behind her for my belt buckle. But I didn't need her help. My trousers and sticky underpants were down around my ankles in a split-second. As I stepped out of them my eager prick was probing her crotch.
It was a smoking hot, stickily-clinging haven. My prick yelled delight as it probed into the thick, black bush and ferreted for her cunt. What a cunt! It grasped me greedily, sucked me in, basted me in cunt-juice and simmered me in hot, vaginal membranes.
She'd been stewing my prick from the day she'd stepped into the office. Her cunt had been waiting so long for this that when it grasped my prick and caressed its knob, it was frenzied. Its frenzy sent me. I gave a loud shout and pulled powerfully on her tits, using them for leverage to ram my cock into her.
She had a wide and knowledgeable cunt. It chuckled with delight as I spurted, but with each spurt it took a stronger grip upon my shaft, pulling on it and sucking the sperm out of me, making it jet high up inside her. Every time a dollop of hot spunk tore out through my knob and splattered over her cervix she gasped: "Lovely!" I shot and shot. She writhed, heaved and wailed. And when I could shoot no more I sprawled upon her wearily. My cheek rested upon her perspiring shoulders, her sweaty breasts filled my hands, and my prick was stuck so high up inside her I feared I'd never get it down.
The room rang with our labored breathing. After a time I said huskily: "I didn't know this was going to happen!"
She'd known all the time it was going to happen. She was practical. Although still recovering from one orgasm, she whispered, "It was lovely. Do it again up the front. I like that best!"
My prick was steeped in cunt-juice and simmering beautifully. I still had a semi-hard-on. I placed my hands upon the small of her back and levered away from her. My cock came out with a "PLOP", like a cork from a bottle. Trickles of our mingled love-juices ran down the inside of her thighs.
She pushed herself up and turned to face me. She wasn't wearing glasses and her eyes were swimmy with emotion. "It's lovely doing it on a table. There's all kinds of gorgeous stresses and tensions." Her hands went to my prick, fondling and caressing. "It's burning hot. Fuck me silly with it, Mike!" She gave me a brisk rub-up that got my prick quivering. Then she sat up on the desk and drew her legs up high until her heels were on the desk too. She held her knees and strained them wide apart. Then she smiled secretly as she watched me watching her.
The way she was sitting, with her legs splayed wide open, starkly displayed all her hairy crotch. Hairy is inadequate to describe the great, thick, black bush she wore between her legs. It looked as though one of the Beatles was down there having a nibble. She might have been wearing a rug between her legs. I don't usually go for hairy women. But this excessive hairiness was strangely moving. And frustrating too. I'd have to forage deep in that jungle for its sweet meats. She sat braced back on her arms and watched me with tender, wistful eyes. My hand went to her crotch. The hairs weren't springy. They were soft, smooth and long. They were so long most of them had been rammed up inside her cunt along with my prick. She was hot there, with a glycerine stickiness. She gave a dreamy sigh as I fumbled around, running my fingers along the valley of her cunt and drawing down the hairs from inside her vagina. If I'd had a comb, I could have made a neat parting. But I had to do it with my fingers. I burrowed into the hairy wilderness, straightened out tangles, made a parting and smoothed the hairs flat. Her glistening, wide-open cunt looked very red when seen through the parting in her raven-black hairiness.
She was impatient. Tuck me again, Mike!"
I was impatient myself. I held my prick and steered it's knob into the heart of that glistening, mushy redness. She grabbed my shirt and peeled it up over my head. I was as naked as she was then. "Do it slowly, Mike," she panted. "Put it in and then let it soak. Make it last!"
She had a way of talking about fucking that could make a man come without even touching her. I stroked my knob slowly up and down inside her cunt-crevice. She whimpered and strained her knees apart. Presently she gave an experienced little loin-wriggle and then thrust. The thrust lodged my knob neatly into her vagina dimple. "Slide it in slowly," she panted. "Very slowly!"
I slid in slowly. The sweat stood out on my forehead. Her cunt was so tight it was like forcing my prick into an undersized rubber, full of Vaseline. But I got it in. Right in up to the hilt. The hot constriction of her vagina strapped my prick into a strait jacket. Her furry crotch was so wet that cunt-juice coated my thighs and belly with icy stickiness.
"Do it my way, Mike!" she whispered in my ear. She lay back on the desk, thrust her groin up powerfully against mine, and then raised one leg high and draped it over my shoulder. She took a deep breath and draped her other leg over my other shoulder. Her heels pressed into the small of my back.
"This is lovely, Mike!" she breathed ecstatically. "Now fuck me gently. Slowly in and out. Make it last!"
I made it last. It was so enjoyable I wanted it to go on forever. When I went up on tiptoe I could get wonderful leverage. When I leaned forward, and the undersides of her thighs bore my weight, it caused a cunt-stretching tension that sent her. While I was frictioning steadily, using long, slow strokes, she had two or three little orgasms. Her loins writhed and seethed around my prick. I frictioned on steadily while bubbling cunt-juice made gurgling, squishy sounds. She was drooling so much cunt-juice that when my dangling balls rubbed upon her Brownie it was as though they were soaked in oil. They were hot, slippery and steeped in the thick juices.
This was one of those rare moments when me and my prick were in perfect accord and harmony. We both fucked Janet. We fucked her beautifully, and we fucked ourselves. There was a blissful eternity of time while my prick and I tiptoed hand in hand through blissful clouds of joy. Then ecstatically, we surrendered ourselves to the peacefulness of aftermath.
Janet still had her legs draped over my shoulders. My flappy prick was still firmly clenched by her cunt But we were both happily exhausted. She smiled up into my eyes. "Lovely, Mike. Lovely!"
"Well! Well! Well!" said a loud, brisk voice behind me.
I cringed.
The office door closed. "Sorry to interrupt," said the Boss happily. "I had no idea you two were so close."
The world tumbled down around my ears. I withdrew, leaped for my underclothes, and drew on my jockey-shorts and my pants with trembling hands.
The Boss watched me, smiling benignly. Janet was neither surprised nor disconcerted. She slid off the table and stooped for her panties.
"I'm delighted," thrilled the Boss heartily. "I'm overjoyed!" He rubbed his hands gleefully. Then he went around behind his desk, sank down in his chair, pulled out the bottom drawer and produced a box of cigars. He politely waited until I'd pulled my shirt down over my head and then offered me one. "Good Havana cigars!" he told me. "To celebrate," he added, as he held a match.
I drew in smoke and coughed. I gave him a sickly smile.
Janet was oblivious to both of us. She'd pulled on her skirt and panties and was completely absorbed in buttoning her blouse with the threads of the ripped-off buttons.
"Sit down, Mike," said the Boss. He gestured grandly to the client's chair.
I sank down into it unhappily. I was glassy-eyed. I could have murdered my prick.
"Well! Well! Well!" said the Boss again. The words afforded him immense satisfaction. "I've been blind," he said happily. "Just think. It was happening right under my nose and I didn't know!"
I stared hard at a book on his desk. Once again my big, fat prick had landed me in the shit.
"I'll be frank, Mike," said the Boss. "Janet has dozens of wealthy suitors. But I'm happy her heart rules her head. We both know that money talks. But money isn't everything. And I wouldn't have it any other way, Mike. I trust you. You know the business, and as my son-in-law you'll build it up over the years into a flourishing, prosperous enterprise."
I nodded glumly. I took a quick glance at Janet. Her face was impassive. She was entirely absorbed with her blouse.
"Exactly when are you thinking of getting married, Mike?" asked the Boss. "Have you fixed a date?"
"Not yet," I said hollowly.
He frowned. Then his face cleared. "What about it, Janet? It's the woman who decides these things. What are your plans? When will you take the big step?"
Janet seemed more interested in her blouse than in marriage. She said disinterestedly, "I'm in no hurry. We can leave it until next month, if Mike wants."
"Mike won't want to drag on and on," said the Boss. He beamed at me with fatherly understanding. "You don't want to waste time, do you, Mike? I know just how a young man feels."
"No," I said hollowly.
"You don't want a lot of bother or ceremony?" he suggested.
"No."
"Well. That's settled then. It'll be a very quiet affair. I'll fix it all up tomorrow. It's ten days for a Registry Office marriage, but three days with a special license." He eyed me sharply. "You're not in that much of a hurry, are you, Mike?"
"No."
"Then, that's settled," he said contentedly. "A quiet Registry Office marriage, and then off on your honeymoon. I'll take care of costs. My wedding present to you both. All expenses paid wherever you want to go. Have the honeymoon of your lives. Then, we'll see about putting you on the Board of Directors, Mike. How's that?"
"Fine," I said hollowly. 'Tine."
Janet had got her blouse adjusted. She sat on the edge of the desk and combed-her hair. "Where will we live, Father?"
The hem of Janet's mini-skirt was in her lap. He frowned. "Pull your skirt down, Janet. You're a big girl now." Then he relaxed back in his chair. "Mike can live with us until you find a little love-nest."
"You're sweet, Father," cooed Janet.
The Boss looked at me. He expected me to coo gratefully.
"Thanks," I said.
"Don't mention it, Mike, You're one of the family now!"
I got to my feet. "If you'll excuse me," I said huskily. "There are urgent things I must attend to."
"All right, Mike. Off you go, I'm sure Janet has plenty of little secrets she wants to tell Daddy."
I wandered back to my office like a man in a trance. I sank down into my chair trying to believe this had really happened! I could hear splintering wood, the rending of metal and the crumbling of masonry. My world was still falling down around my ears.
It was all the fault of my big, fat prick! Such fury overwhelmed me I was tempted to drag it from its lair, lay it upon the desk and beat it to a pulp!
Perhaps some men would want to marry the Boss's daughter and take over the business, even if the girl was Janet. But they wouldn't have my problems!
I was already engaged to marry Lillian on the twenty-fifth of the month!
Lillian was a dish, and very sexy. We'd been sweethearts since we were teenagers. Our parents were friends from way back and our families were marrying us. Any rupture between Lillian and me could only cause a big family upset.
I was trapped. If I didn't marry Lillian I'd hurt my parents. If I didn't marry Janet I'd be out of a job. That was serious. Music is the only business I know. The Boss could throw me out and ruin me in the pop world forever by saying I'd lost my touch.
There was a knock. Janet sidled in, locked the door and ran to me. She dumped herself on my lap, flung one arm around my neck and burrowed her teasing tongue into my ear. "We're lucky, Mike," she breathed. "Dad's had to go out. He won't be back for a couple of hours." Her hand went to my groin, rubbed up my prick, unbuttoned my fly and groped inside. "We've two hours!" she thrilled, wriggling around until the wet gusset of her panties found my fingers.
"Let's do it with you lying on the desk and with me on top," she thrilled.
I met Lillian in Piccadilly Circus and we had a few drinks in a Shaftesbury Avenue tavern before we went on to an Italian restaurant in Soho for spaghetti.
"You look tired, Mike," she said sympathetically. The waiter poured wine and discreetly retreated, leaving young lovers in intimate conversation.
"I am tired," I said. "A very busy day at the office!"
She nodded understandingly. Her hand rested tenderly upon mine. "How is business, Mike?"
"Up and down."
"After we've married you'll have to work harder and ask for an increase, Mike. I've got my job but basically everything depends upon the man. I mean, if we're going to have children ... ?"
I nodded glumly.
"And we do want children, don't we?"
Again I nodded.
Lillian was perfect in bed, and I enjoyed going places with her. But mostly I enjoyed her in bed. This marriage business had crept up on me craftily over the years. I'd never thought of marriage. I'd never said one word about it. But everyone took it for granted and our parents had made all the plans. There I was, sitting in a restaurant with my future wife and feeling trapped. Lillian was a fine girl. I loved fucking her. But this business about babies, working hard and accepting responsibilities had nothing to do with fucking!
As Lillian talked on about the flat we must rent and how our parents would help us with the payment on furniture I became gloomier and gloomier.
"Mother's got the license from the Registry Office," she told me. "It won't be a showy affair. Just our families and a few friends."
An icy finger touched the tip of my spine. The Boss was taking out a marriage license for me and Janet in the morning. What if he applied to the same office that had already issued a license for me to marry Lillian!
I began to sweat. I couldn't marry both of them! And the truth was I didn't want to marry either of them. I was happy in my work, and happy getting around in my spare time. Like any healthy young animal I loved fucking. But fucking's got nothing to do with getting married. Yet two huntresses were closing in on me simultaneously? and I could see no way to escape.
"You're not yourself, tonight," said Lillian.
"I'm fine," I croaked. "I've had a busy day!"
She smiled confidently. "Don't worry. Ill soon put you in the mood."
I shared a little pad with Dave Powell. He's Third Radio Officer on a passenger liner and is away weeks at a time. We only use the pad for screwing. When he's home for a week or so he has the exclusive use of it. When he's away I use it.
The pad wasn't the Hotel Ritz, but it had a strong bed, a bouncy mattress and an annex with a wash= basin.
"I shan't see much of you the next couple of weeks," said Lillian, as she unzipped her skirt "I've so much to do. My wedding dress to be fitted, and clothes for our honeymoon." She shrugged off her blouse and bra.
"I have things to do too," I said bleakly.
"Mum and Dad will arrange the reception, but I'll have to help."
"Of course." I felt like a condemned man listening to the details of my execution.
She was stripped naked now. She eyed me sympathetically. "You must have had a bad day at the office. You are tired."
My cock dangled limply, as sad and sorry as I was. Janet had sucked me off three times and made me fuck her twice before I'd left the office. But it was the trapped feeling that made me, and nay pride, so despondent.
"Lie down, darling," said Lillian with a businesslike air. "That's right." She knelt on the bed beside me and stroked my forehead. "I'll soon make you feel good," she promised.
Lillian loves fucking. But she's ruthlessly methodical about it. She'd make a mental note she was going to fuck Tuesday. Then on Tuesday, she'd fuck, and fuck all night. Nothing would deter her from it. But if she never planned it, fucking never entered her head. Every time we met it was automatically a fucking date. My big fat prick has a mind of its own. It likes to keep busy. Very often my prick was worn out when I met Lillian. She was accustomed to me having a tiring day at the office. But she was always so set on fucking when we met that she'd taught herself re-arousal techniques that always got results. Even when I hadn't an ounce of spunk left in me, she'd work on me until my prick was hard enough to toss herself off against.
"Relax, Mike," she soothed. I closed my eyes and she devoted her attention to my cock.
It was as flabby as a used condom filled with water. That didn't deter her. She placed it upon my belly with its knob pointing towards my head. She rested her hand upon it and roly-polyed it upon my belly. Her other hand teased into my buttock cleavage, fingered my Brownie and played with my balls.
I was a sad, sad man. My youthful, zestful hunt for cunt was nearing its end. The grim, grey walls of matrimonial imprisonment loomed larger every hour. Janet had sucked me dry of spunk before I'd left the office so I wasn't at that moment a wild, rip-roaring lover.
But that stiff prick of mine has incredible reserves. I scowled as it traitorously responded to Lillian's caresses. We could have stood shoulder to shoulder and withheld what Lillian was after. She might even have got so mad and frustrated that she'd storm away. But no. The traitor betrayed me. The bastard twitched happily, shrugged off our worries and leaped around like a puppy that's eager to play.
"There! You see!" Lillian said triumphantly. "I know exactly what you like best!"
I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, or to my prick. But now it was standing up she could work on it with both hands. She frictioned its skin sheath up and down with one hand, and stroked the fingertips of her other hand around the crown of my knob. That was lovely. My prick showed its approval by drooling. Lillian dabbled her fingers in the drool until they were soaked and then smeared the goo all over my knob and down around the shaft. This was when my prick and I buried the hatchet. I hated the bastard for getting me into a mess. But I had to approve his instinct for nosing into pleasure. I launched myself into adventure with him.
Lillian's sticky hands frictioned my cock so inspiredly it leapt in her hands like a wild thing. She crooned over it and loved it. She painted her nipples with my love-dew, using my knob as a paintbrush. She sloshed it up and down between her breasts, painted her neck and chin, then held it a suspenseful split-second while her tongue moistened her lips. Then her clinging cunt-like mouth closed greedily over my knob and bathed it in hot saliva.
Lillian was a champion sucker. Janet had drawn out all the spunk I'd had stored in the pit of my balls. But Lillian's delicious sucking stirred up my inner reserves of spunk and brought it flooding into my balls. It seethed there, hot and eager to cooperate in my climatic spurting.
Lillian slobbered my knob out of her mouth. She looked at me with dreamy eyes. "It's hot and throbbing, now, Mike. Are you ready?"
"Ready."
She straddled my chest and eased forward until her pussy was poised only inches above my mouth. She lowered herself slowly. The hot, sexy smell of cunt invaded my senses while her wet cunt-lips stroked my cheeks. She moved her loins with boneless grace, like a snake. Her dangling cunt-lips drew a sticky pattern on my face. She painted a moustache on my upper lips., gave me sideburns, and then a beard. Then she brought her pussy down squarely upon my mouth. She gave a soft grinding movement that plastered her cunt-lips over my lips and kept grinding her loins until my lips and chin had sunken into her hot mushiness. She kept grinding my mouth into her cunt until my mouth was full of her drool. She eased up now and again to let me breathe, and swallow. Then she slid down me, her cunt-lips trailing over my chest and down my belly. By the time she reached my groin my torso was filmed with glistening love-goo.
She excited herself so much doing this that when she poised her cunt-lips over my knob she was trembling with impatience. She lowered herself slowly. Dangling cunt-lips enveloped my knob hungrily, nibbled eagerly and then gulped. She didn't prolong penetration. She slid right down my shaft, straddling and sitting upon me squarely. Her cunt-lips were spread out over my pubic hairs and her hips ground around until she was firmly settled in the saddle. She clamped her thighs tight against my flanks, took a big deep breath, and then tightened up.
She's the only girl I know who can do it. She can loosen up her cunt until my big, fat prick slides in easily right up to the hilt. Then, once it's embedded deep inside her, she can tighten up her cunt. She tautens muscles that constrict the walls of her vagina. It's a wonderful feeling. It's like having my cock strapped up in a straitjacket made of hot, sticky cunt-membranes. She tightened up so beautifully, the constriction made me sob with pleasure.
And that was only the beginning! She took another deep breath. Her cunt was a lace-up corselet. My prick was laced up tight. But she went over the lacing, found slack and drew it in.
I daren't move. I lay perfectly still, quietly whimpering my joy. The delicious constriction made my prick burn and it grew hotter every second.
She took another deep breath. She tightened up for the third time. There was almost no slack to take up. It was all increased constriction. The throbbing length of my prick was gripped by a powerful, fleshy vise that magnified my prick's throbbing a hundred times.
"Heady!" panted Lillian. Her voice was low and husky.
I grunted.
She began to move.
She rode up and down. It wasn't a frictionlng movement. The walls of her cunt were welded so closely to my prick that they moved up and down together. It was this that made Lillian's strait-jacking cunt so unique. If there'd been even slight friction in addition to the delicious constriction, I'd have been spurting instantly. As it was, her clinging cunt held me poised on the brink of orgasm. I simmered happily, suspended a heart pulse away from ecstasy.
The most wonderful moment in love-making is the split-second before spurting. Lillian's fucking technique, and crafty cunt, maintained us both at that high, erotic pitch for an incredible length of time.
I could never calculate how long she kept us poised on the knife-edge of orgasm because my pleasure was so great it was a mindless eternity, It could have been a thousand years that we were both completely absorbed by pure, physical sexual ecstasy. I never knew how many times she came while she held my prick in that delicious vise. Perhaps, like me, she came only once, and with me. Or perhaps she had dozens of little orgasms. But it was always Lillian who decided when I would come. She achieved it by slackening the cunt-lacing around my prick at a crucial moment, and allowing her cunt-walls to friction my prick, as well as constrict it.
She howled aloud when I came. My spunk might have been molten gold pouring into her. She was sitting astride me but as I began to spurt she hunched up and flopped down on me, her breasts plastered over my chest and her cute little ass stuck up high and pistoning furiously.
Even when I'd finished shooting, her tight cunt wouldn't release my prick. It gripped even harder, squeezing, wringing out my prick, shaking it out and then squeezing even tighter. By the time she collapsed, emotionally exhausted and lying upon me limply, my prick felt it had been through a wringer.
There were drawbacks. One fuck with Lillian drained more energy out of me than half-a-dozen fucks with other girls. I too was completely exhausted and drained of strength.
But I felt deliriously happy too.
But only for a short time. And then, while my prick curled up sleepily, I remembered that life is not only fucking.
The traitor didn't care. He was happily satiated. He lay flabbily contented within Lillian's cunt, joyously steeped in hot cunt-juice.
But me. I sprawled back with Lillian's dead weight increasing every moment, and depression swamping over me as I recalled my problems.
How could I marry two girls at the same time?
It wasn't possible.
But it was equally unthinkable not to marry them!
CHAPTER TWO
Dave Powell, the Ship's Officer who shared the expenses of my pad, was in port. His boisterous exuberance conflicted with my despondency as I sat dolefully on the bed. He was healthy and sun-bronzed, flexing his biceps before the mirror. "A ten-day voyage and ten pussies," he crowed. "I hardly got time to sleep. Sea air does something to women. They prowl the decks, straddle-legged and begging for prick. If you pass a woman in the corridor she sticks out her hip so it brushes your cock. They lean over the deck rail, looking at the sea and stick out their ass when you pass.'"
"I need advice," I told him, "I can't marry both. So what do I do?"
He flexed his muscles and admired them. "What advice can I give?" He hadn't a worry in the world. "You've done it now. It's like jumping off a cuff. You can't go back and start again. You should never allow the word 'marriage' to be spoken. If you do, you're doomed. No woman lets a man escape a marriage promise, except when he gives her everything he's got to get rid of her!"
"Don't criticize," I growled. "Give me advice. I've stepped off the cliff. What do I do now?"
He shrugged. "Obey the force of gravity!" He cupped his balls with reverence. "Look at this scrotum. Isn't it a beauty! You should see it tighten when a girl licks it!"
"Your balls are fine," I said. "But how many years do you get for bigamy?"
"About five years," he said with heartless cheerfulness. "You've brought it on yourself. You screw the same girls too often. It gets to be a habit they don't want to break. So they make you talk marriage and then it's money or your life."
"I've explained how it happened," I said desperately. "I didn't mention matrimony to either of them."
"Too bad, Mike." He shook his head sadly. But he didn't care a damn. "Be like me," he boasted. "Fuck 'em and leave 'em. I don't have your trouble. I flit from one cunt to another, and sample them all." He stroked his prick lovingly. "Ain't that a beautiful erection!"
"It looks just like my bastard prick," I gloomed. "It's always getting me in trouble."
"Not mine!" He patted it fondly. "We fuck 'em all. No hang-up's, no emotional entanglements and no wedding bells. Look how the bastard's twitching; it's straining on the leash! D'you know why? There was this specialty dancer aboard who's doing the London clubs. She dangled her cunt under my nose every day of the voyage, but I held off until she was walking down the gangway. Then I took her telephone number. Right now she's in her hotel room getting perfumed and fragrant-smelling." Again he patted his knob fondly. 'This monster's dying to wallow in that fragrance."
"You hard-hearted sod!" I complained. "Help me. Let me introduce you to Lillian. She's a lovely fuck. Screw the ass off her so she gets a taste for a different prick. She might slow down on the wedding bells so she can sample other pricks."
"Don't be stupid," he scoffed. "Women always grab at matrimony. After the ceremony they can get any hot cock they want. Anyway, I can't spare the time. There's this specialty dancer, a couple of other passengers cunts, and those three sisters I screwed on my last leave. They're sex-bombs! It was a girlie-girlie feet-up until I nosed in. They sucked each other silly. But when my big prick got busy it drove them wild. They'd never tasted hot cock and couldn't get enough of it. We locked the door and threw away the key for three days!"
"Can't you squeeze in Janet?" I pleaded. "You should see the long, black hairs on her cunt. You've never seen them so long, nor so black. They're very special!"
"Fuck Janet," he said bluntly. "I wouldn't go near those two girls wearing chain armour. They're dynamite. They've got their prey in their sights and fingers trembling on the trigger. I don't want my head mounted in a little suburban home!"
"You're a shit, Dave."
"Sure. A happy shit. A free-wheeling, free-fucking shit. Is it my fault you're stupid and hog-tied? Should I shove you over and lay my head on the executioner's block?"
I sighed. I was asking too much of friendship.
"Be like me," he lectured. "Fuck 'em and leave 'em. Take this specialty dancer. She'll be a lovely fuck. She did her act on board. All she wears is silver halos on her nipples, and a sequined cunt-gusset that fits it like a glove. It's held up by a slender silver chain that's pulled up inside her bottom-cheeks. She's got a lovely ass, and her bones are India-rubber. She dances and twists herself around in ways that aren't possible." His eyes shone. "D'you know the first thing I'm gonna do? Stand behind her while she bends over with feet astride. I'm going to make her stick her head right through between her legs and suck my knob. I'll touch-up her tight ass-hole while she's doing it!"
I sighed. I wouldn't get any help from Dave. And I was late for the office.
"The pad's yours for the next few days," I said and drifted towards the door.
"I'll keep in touch," he promised. He was fascinated by his quivering prick. He stroked it lovingly.
CHAPTER THREE
I'd overstayed my lunch hour but the Boss beamed benignly. "Get the executive habit," he chuckled genially. "Long lunches give a man confidence. He feels he's running the business, instead of clocking in on the minute." A week earlier he'd ranted like Hitler when I was five minutes late.
But now I was a prospective son-in-law he could afford to be magnanimous. He'd already fixed it for me to marry Janet the same day I married Lillian, but an hour later and in another part of London. If I had a car, and a police escort blasting a path for me, I'd just make it.
The Boss put on his hat. "They're cutting a new disc at Appletrees," he told me. "Ring there if I'm wanted. Meanwhile, find me a smash-hit." He chuckled and slapped my back. "We've got to pay for your wonderful honeymoon some way!"
He hurried away. I tiptoed to my office and slipped inside. Janet was in the Boss's office. I hoped she hadn't heard me.
A vain hope. Five seconds later my door opened. She smiled lovingly, her eyes enormous behind her pebbled glasses. Sweat glistened on her moustache, and the long hair of her mole sprouted aggressively. The temperature soared and the smell of cunt gushed out at me from between her legs.
"I've been thinking, Mike," she said solemnly. "We mustn't screw in the office. It's too dangerous. It'll give the business a bad name."
I couldn't believe my ears. I was reprieved. Yet she made sense. Yesterday, two nuns had wandered into the office with a charity collecting box. Nobody was around so they'd peeked into my office. Janet had me braced back over the desk.
The nuns were so shocked they just stood there, gaping at Janet's frenziedly pistoning buttocks. Then they screamed like train whistles and ran for their lives. During the afternoon a wholesaler had walked in on us. He wanted to make a deal for stocks of old records.
Janet had me on the floor at the time, straddling me, with her head towards my feet. She'd just brought me to the boil. As I spurted she climaxed. The wholesaler was a worldly man. He waited until her convulsions ceased. Then, when she relaxed and ground her loins around so her tight pussy would re-arouse me, he'd coughed politely. "Excuse the interruption. I'd like you to know I've called." He thrust a visiting card into Janet's sweaty hand. "There's no hurry. I'll look in another time." He'd raised his hat and left.
No harm had been done. But a lot of people in our business are squares. They might feel us too frivolous, and un-businesslike.
"You don't mind do you, darling?" Janet asked tenderly.
I could have shouted with joy. Pumping spunk into Janet for most of my office hours seriously interfered with my work. And I had Ruth to think about too. She was a standing date. But I wasn't so stupid I showed delight. I scowled. "It's a shame!" I shrugged my shoulders. "You're right of course. We must protect the business."
"I don't want to disappoint you, darling."
"We'll get together some time," I mumbled.
"So while we're in the office we'll just play with each other. Then you won't feel frustrated."
"Play with each other?" I asked faintly.
She locked the door. "Bring your chair over and sit down. We won't undress. If anyone knocks we can open the door in seconds. Callers won't be suspicious!"
She sat me primly on a chair and sat facing me. Her knees touched mine. She took off her glasses. She had lovely, melting eyes. "You do love making love to me?"
"Love it," I whispered.
She unzipped her dress to the waist, exposing her beautiful breasts. She leaned forward, her hands upon my thighs. Her breasts hung like luscious fruit. She closed her eyes. "Fondle me!" she whispered dreamily.
My bastard prick twitched happily. And I shared its eagerness. Her gorgeous, dangling breasts screamed out to be fondled. A delicious quiver ran through her as my fingers tingled upon satin skin. I fondled her left breast first. I cupped it in my hand and raised it until its full weight nestled in my palm. The skin was warm and moist. I slid my other hand up into her armpit, teased the sweaty hairs and then trailed my moist fingers down to her breast, getting a good grip on it from above, as well as from below. I squeezed rhythmically. She hissed and arched towards me.
A firm, substantial breast provides considerable scope for fondling hands. I fondled her breast in a dozen different ways. I held it firmly, lifted it high and circled it around. I pulled it downwards with increasing pressure until the pectoral muscle was strained taut. I tumbled it with my fingers so it bobbed up and down, shivering like jelly, I stretched it like elastic, relaxed it, and stretched it again. I did so many lovely things, she whinnied and enjoyed a small orgasm even before I touched the nipple.
Janet's nipple was quivering with exquisite sensitivity. Her breast was so toned up, the nipple felt frustrated. Its halo was very large and pink, and stood out from the milky skin of her breast. The halo was normally crazed with wrinkles. But eagerness strained it taut until the wrinkles were ironed out and the pink skin was satin-smooth. The nipple was enormous. It stood out starkly, very hard, and flushed dark red. It was as stiff as my prick. Every wrinkle was ironed out by the tension of its erection. Its dome-shaped crown was ultra-sensitive and the first whispery touch of my fingertip gave her another little orgasm.
That nipple was a joy to work on. I teased, tantalized and taunted it. I pinched it with finger and thumb, wound it up, and then unwound it. I pulled it upwards and downwards, then outwards and sideways. I rolled it with finger and thumb like a cigarette. Then I used both hands, fondling the breast as well as its nipple. It was so moving she hunched forward, yielding up her breast in a sensory-drugged coma. She had so many little orgasms, so quickly, it was like one long climax.
I love making a girl come, fondling her until she's faint with pleasure. It's a thrill to know every fiber of her body "is responding to my stimulation. I was enjoying myself so I took my time. I finger-teased her nipple until it was the core of all her sensuous pleasure before I leaned forward, eased her dress off her shoulders and kissed bare skin. She jumped as though I'd branded her.
I trailed my wet lips down to her armpit and burrowed into it. My senses were intoxicated by her hot, peppery woman smell. It excited me and my tongue foraged avidly, licking into the deepest hollow of her armpit filling my mouth with black, glistening hairs and even chewing them to squeeze out their essence. She had a strong sweaty taste that was an aphrodisiac. I sucked her armpit until it was licked clean of all flavour. Then I ran my tongue along the pectoral muscle, and licked over the slope of her breast. It was tormenting ecstasy for her , ... and for me.
Her breast had its own, womanly, peppery, milky flavour. I licked it clean, right down to the halo. And when I licked under it, into the crevice caused by breast overhang, the flavour was so strong I licked in a blissful, post-climax-trance. I turned back to the enormous, taut nipple. I made a feast of it. Having it throbbing in my mouth turned me delirious. It was out of this world for her. I licked it so lovingly that she responded gently, her little orgasms like sighing breezes. But when I sucked frenziedly she climaxed with wild, orgiastic writhings.
I slobbered her tit out of my mouth. It hung heavily, glistening with my saliva, its enormous nipple still erect and darkly flushed. But it had tired from so much attention and I turned to her other breast. I weighed it in my hand. It was full and creamily soft. But she pulled my hand away. "Make me feel nice in other ways, darling," she whispered. She leaned back, closed her eyes and let her arms hang limply at her sides.
Her knees were touching mine and her skirt was rucked up. The skin on the inside of her thighs was very soft, but sprinkled with long, sleek black hairs. Her legs were clamped together. I placed the blade of my hand in the crevice between them and she jumped as though I'd let off a pistol. Then her thighs slowly parted under the weight of my hand and it sank between them until I could stroke the insides of her thighs. The soft skin there was ultra-sensitive. As my fingertips whispered across it, her thighs parted even more. Presently both my hands were whispering up and down inside her thighs which were splayed so wide apart her hip joints were almost out of their sockets.
She was wearing pale blue nylon panties and with her legs wide-splayed the gusset looked six inches wide. It was sopping wet, swimming in glistening drool that trickled down on to her skirt. Long, black cunt hairs sprouted out either side of her panties and were stuck to her wet thighs. I'd been inhaling cunt aroma so long my brain was steeped in it. But smelling it hot from the oven made my senses swim anew.
I was all alone. Janet was far, far away, sprawled back limply, breasts heaving and her wide-open legs an enchanting, total surrender.
I ran my fingertips up her calves and up along her quivering thighs, hooked them in her pantie waistband and drew it down. Her cute little ass lifted up in reflex action. But peeling her panties away from her crotch was difficult. The nylon clung like wet flannel, There were liquid, glupping sounds, and her knees and calves, as well as my hands were slippery with goo when I peeled off her panties over her shoes. At once her thighs strained wide again, starkly exposing the hot, pink slit within her crotch. She'd squirted so much cunt-juice it filmed her groin as well as her thighs. Her bush of thick, long hairs was soaked in sexy juice. She slumped back looking as though a bucket of molasses had been sloshed over her cunt. I wadded up her panties, mopped up the puddle on her skirt, and dropped the panties on the floor. They landed with a weighty splash. I didn't mop up her crotch!
She looked drugged, the way she sprawled back, with her legs shamelessly wide-flung. I pulled my chair up close until my knees were touching her chair. I slid my hands under her buttocks, lifted and pulled her towards me. She slid lower in the chair and her bottom rested on my thighs. Her legs hung down either side of me and her hairy crotch was within easy reach. Her cunt gaped, steaming and giving off it's pungent, intoxicating aroma. Long black hairs clung to it like a treacle curtain. I parted the hairs, stroked-them upwards and pressed them flat over her groin and abdomen. A lot of the hairs that lined her slit were snarled up inside it. I drew them out and smoothed them over her thighs. When all the hairs were smoothed away I got my first good look at her crevice.
What a gorgeous cunt! My blood boiled. Her outer love-lips were swollen up ripely with desire, all creamy-skinned and burning. She had a little orgasm when I took them firmly between fingers and thumbs and pulled them apart. Her inner love-lips were stuck to them and came apart at the same time. They looked like thick rose petals with crinkly edges. I ran a tantalizing forefinger around and around the crinkly edges. It slithered sweetly in the hot juice and her loins pistoned gently in response to the stroking. It was a lovely pussy to fondle. It was so sensitive, and thrilled so easily, my excitement was continually soaring. Merely whispering the tip of my finger around the crinkly edges of her love-lips made her come. When I gripped them with fingers and thumbs, and strained them apart with increasing pressure, she had a monster orgasm. When it was over her crotch looked even bigger. It gaped open like double-doors, her love-lips sagging weakly on their hinges. The mushy interior was big enough to sink my fist into.
It was her idea we play with each other. I was happy for her to have all the orgasms, and I enjoyed playing with her. But it was also self-teasing. I had a tremendous erection. My cock was trapped tight inside my pants and the bastard drooled with glee, convinced that all this stimulation must end in climatic ecstasy.
What a pussy! Spread open Mice an enormous mussel! I ran my fingers around inside it as though scooping cream out of a cup. Its slippery hotness made my prick twitch. I stirred her up, whisking my fingers around busily. She gasped and panted and her hips jerked every time I fingered an extra-sensitive spot. Her loins pistoned and her belly sucked in and out. I whisked faster and her pistoning loins pumped out love drool in a steady trickle.
I stirred her up like pastry in a pudding basin. She was working up to another climax and I could tell by the way her muscles tautened that it would be a big one. I wanted it to be a big one. I kept whisking. My fingers became an eggbeater. Love-juice foamed, frothed and squelched, its slippery texture thickening to cloying stickiness. Foam lathered up around the rim of her pussy while my stirring-up fingers met increasing resistance as the mixture thickened. It was almost clotted when she climaxed.
It was a bronco-bucking climax. Her loins reared up and lunged forward so powerfully her crotch hit my stomach. She rammed it against me with powerful bearing-down movements that almost forced me backwards off my chair. I grabbed her buttocks and clamped her crotch against me to help keep upright.
What an orgasm! She had at least a dozen long, convulsive spasms. Each time, hotness scalded my skin. When she finally collapsed, sprawling weakly with her pussy stuck right under my nose, my shirt was drenched with drool. It was such a mighty orgasm it finished her. She lay limply. Her limbs were as heavy as lead. It was a long time before her shuddering gasps eased to deep breathing.
I wanted to play with her again. She wouldn't let me. She sprawled limply on my lap for all of five minutes before she disentangled herself, found a hand-towel in my desk drawer and mopped up, "That was gorgeous, Mike!" Her beautiful eyes were dreamy and her flushed cheeks radiated happiness.
"It's a lovely pussy," I said sincerely. "Let me fondle it again."
"Not right now, Mike. Anyway, now I want to do you!"
She safeguarded against interruptions. She wiped away the drool on her hairy calves and thighs and smoothed down her dress. She wrapped up her gooey panties in a towel and put them away in a drawer. Then she drew up a chair and sat down alongside me.
"I'm going to tantalize you exquisitely, Mike," she promised.
I sprawled back happily and my prick yelled 'Tip-pee!" It was already so excited my pants threatened to split as it strained erect.
"Look at him," she cooed. "Isn't he patient? Quietly simmering all this time, waiting for his turn!" She touched its knob lightly with her forefinger. Even through my pants it felt like the kiss of an angel's wing.
"I love making a fuss of you," she confided. "I feel nice and dreamily relaxed now, so I don't want you to touch me. Yet. But I love making you excited." Her fingers rested lightly upon the shaft of my prick and gently slid it up and down. My prick twitched and throbbed. "Nice?" she asked.
"Like you said. It's tantalizing pleasure."
"It's nice for me too," she said dreamily. "I press my thighs tightly together while I'm doing it. It's groovy."
"Can't I slide my hand up your leg?"
"Not yet, darling. It's nice as I am. Just a gentle thigh-squeezing." Her fingers went to my belt, pulled, and unbuckled. Deft fingers snapped open the top button, my zip opened down to my groin and my fly sprang open. A white Jack-in-a-box tent sprang out through the opening.
"I daren't pull down your trousers, Mike. Somebody might call. It's different for me. All I have to do is stand up and shake down my skirts. You'd have a terrible job with this monster tangled up in your underclothes.' "Don't worry," I soothed her. "We're not fucking. It's simply playtime."
Her hand went to the rounded crown of the tent. Her palm descended squarely upon it and circled around softly. The tent grew another two inches and the fabric strained to splitting.
"It's burning hot, Mike," she said dreamily. "Even when it's all swathed up."
"It doesn't have to be," I pointed out.
"But I do want to tantalize you, darling." She used her forefinger, gently scratching its nail around and around the top of the tent. The sensations communicated to my knob through the material of my jockey-shorts were delirious.
"I'll make you come very slowly, Mike."
"Fine," I murmured. My eyes were shut and my face imbecilic with joy as delicate nail-scratching tantalized me with excruciating exquisiteness.
"I'll work you up slowly. I want this big monster throbbing and swimming in love-juice. I want all its lovely, hot cream spurting into my mouth and flowing down my throat. All those gorgeous vitamins swelling me up with desire."
She was talking herself into a little orgasm. Her chair creaked rhythmically as she squeezed her thighs together. There was the squishy sound of wet love-lips rubbing against each other, and the smell of cunt was suddenly very pungent again.
Her fingers pried coyly, found the trap to my jockey-shorts and stole inside. They circled around, rustling the short-and-curlies as her finger and thumb opened like pincers. They found the fleshy stub of the root of my cock, and closed around it. My prick quivered mightily, threatening to tear out through the roof of the tent. Her fingers and thumb slid up the shaft until they could grasp it firmly. "It's so powerful it's frightening, Mike," she whispered.
I grunted. I wasn't in the mood to talk. I relaxed in the arms of sweet sensations.
She used her other hand to pry the tent pole out from within the tent. The traps of jockey-shorts are made so a flabby prick can be easily extracted from its lair. But my bastard prick was standing at attention, and pulling it out through the trap got it tangled up and half-throttled. Janet wrestled grimly but only succeeded when my jockey-shorts split. That was an advantage because when she tucked them down under me, my balls as well as my cock were starkly exposed.
Not for a moment had she slackened her grip on my prick. Her fingers steadily tightened, squeezing strongly. The lower part of a cock's shaft is its least sensitive area. She knew about pricks. Her tight squeezing there, with a hand that didn't move, maintained pleasurable sensation in a low-response erotic area. It was a stabilizing influence, steadying any tendency towards a climatic upsurge. It left her-other hand free to perform its special magic. Its forefinger teased up and down the blue vein and her grip around my cock seemed to tighten. But it hadn't; it was my prick swelling with joy. Soft fingers whispered up and down my shaft, circled around and around stealthily, and crept up to my knob, My knob twitched. Her fingers teased up over it, slithered across its crown and probed into its tiny orifice. I was breathing so deeply I snorted. The very core of me was deliciously tantalized. Between my legs was a hot oasis of wonderful sensations that skillful fingers artfully intensified.
The probing forefinger became moist and sticky and circled more widely, spreading the slipperiness, often returning to the orifice for more love-drool. The whispery touch of the slippery finger made every nerve in my body scream with joy. Her other hand squeezed rhythmically, encouraging love-goo to flow. Her forefinger often went back to the orifice. Her hand was as hot as my knob, and she kept squeezing and dabbling her fingers in my drool.
She painted my cock right down to its root Then she circled it with finger and thumb and frictioned up and down. My love-goo oozed copiously and her hand was bathed in it. The more slippery I became, the more easily she frictioned. And the better she frictioned, the more I oozed. When my prick was well-juiced up she used both hands, skimming them up my shaft, and slithering her goo-soaked palms across the knob. She was an artist. She knew to a hair-breadth how to rub me up without letting me come. My cock swam in prick-juice, and my balls floated. She cupped them in one hand and tumbled them around like slippery eels. Her magical fingers performed a wonderful variety of sexy tricks. She really did play with me! My prick was her toy. She massaged, rubbed, tweaked and frictioned. She had both hands stroking in opposite directions, while caressing my balls and my knob simultaneously; she gripped firmly and gave long, stretching tugs, and then nursed and stroked it soothingly, after its rough treatment. Again and again she almost brought me to the boil, but slackened off at the last instant. But my pleasure finally reached the explosion point.
She gauged accurately. "Darling," she whispered. Her hands were quite still, gripping my shaft restrainingly.
I gave a low groan.
"You're ready to go?"
I nodded dreamily.
"Give me a minute, darling."
The magic of her fingers melted away. I opened one eye. She adjusted her chair conveniently and crossed her legs so she could squeeze her pussy between them. She licked her lips in anticipation. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd tucked a napkin into her neckline. She reached out like a greedy kid lunging for a cookie. Both hands grasped the lower part of my shaft firmly as though she was scared it might jump off my lap. She took a deep breath and her head came down. Her lips parted and her open mouth hovered over my knob. She huffed.
I closed my eyes and cooed. My prick drooled. Her long, hot tongue curled around my cock and greedily lapped up the goo. She replaced the goo with saliva. It was like having my prick washed down and repainted. She saved the knob until last, licking it clean, pursed her wet lips into a big pout and pressed the pout down upon my knob. The pout slithered over my knob and then it was bathed in a swirl of hot saliva.
My prick gave a great lunge and almost escaped her detaining hands. It rammed deep into her pout and its knob almost plugged up her throat. She jerked her head up, still clutching my shaft with a powerful two-handed grip that ensured no more prick-thrusts. Then she held my knob lightly in her mouth, swirled her tongue over it, bathed it in saliva and sucked gently.
Heaven was my big, fat prick simmering in the mouth of a girl who sucked like an angel. This was heaven. Janet sucked like an angel.
I lay upon a hazy cloud of exquisite sensation, floating ever higher while her swirling tongue promoted me ever upwards, deliriously swirling in hot saliva with delicious tonguing until I was not drifting, but soaring, faster and faster, speeding like a jet plane that's turning into a rocket with all-absorbing suction to which I yielded wildly, spurting and spurting, jetting higher and higher with every spurt while the wild stabbing of my prick was beautifully restrained. My prick reared up like a maddened bronco but her powerful, two-handed grip mastered it. She clung to the monster, absorbed its unleashed strength as it surged out at her, sucking and swallowing hot liquid oysters with loud soup-gulping relish.
Her hands and mouth clung to my prick like a clam. My spasmodic, spurting convulsions tried to tear me free. But she clung tenaciously, possessing me completely, and sucking like an angel. As I spasmed, she sucked with the same degree of suction that I spurted. Her body became part of mine, and what I fed into her mouth she swallowed as though it was hers. As my spasms diminished her sucking adapted, gearing down intake to synchronize with output. When I lay back limply, her cheek rested upon my abdomen and my flabby cock nestled happily inside her mouth. She gave me precisely the right amount of time to recover, then pulled my knob out of her mouth. She sat up straight. "Do I suck nicely?"
"The best ever."
She reached for a hand-towel, wiped a streak of come off her chin and then cleaned me up. She dried my short-and-curlies, playfully tweaked my balls as she wiped away her saliva and then wrapped up my limp cock in the towel. She squeezed it to dry it, as gently as a mother handling her babe. She tucked my prick away inside my jockey-shorts, arranged them carefully, zipped up my pants and' buckled my belt. "You came beautifully, Mike," she approved. "I couldn't have swallowed another drop." Her eyes glistened. "It's a lovely flavor. It's got me all excited again."
As she re-arranged her chair I saw a wet stain on the back of her skirt. Her pussy-squeezing thighs had yielded results.
She sat facing me, legs spread wide, her shoulders braced against the chair and her arms hanging limply. She closed her eyes. "Lick me," she sighed.
I knelt and slid up her skirt. As I lowered my head into a hot musky mist of pussy-fragrance I reflected that playing with each other was a lot of fun. But I wouldn't get much work done.
Then as I closed my eyes blissfully and the tang of musky cunt tingled on my tongue, she spoiled everything.
"It'll be wonderful after we're married, Mike," she said dreamily. "You'll be able to do this every night!"
CHAPTER FOUR
I saw Ruth every Wednesday evening. She was twenty-eight, blonde, curvaceous and ... comfortable!
She lived on the fifth floor of a high-class block of residential flats. I strolled around the block first to make sure the coast was clear. Ruth's husband visited his factory in the Provinces every Wednesday. He stayed overnight. If there was any change in his plans, Ruth placed a book on the windowsill hi front of the curtains. Tonight, as on most Wednesdays, there was no book in the window. So I rode up in the elevator and rang her doorbell.
She was expecting me, freshly bathed and perfumed and smelling of honey-dew and roses. She'd placed glasses and a bottle of Scotch on the bedside table, and a bowl of ice-cubes. She sat me down on the bed and stripped off her negligee. All she wore under it was a wispy, transparent slip. It concealed none of her nudity, but tantalizingly draped her nakedness.
Ruth was older than me but very sweet and ... comfortable. Her motherly tenderness permeated our love-making. A man needs variety in his fucking. A switch of cunt is important to him. A woman's character shows in the way she fucks. A cold and callous bitch, even if she's as hot as a stove, betrays her selfishness even when she's gasping and writhing in the throes of climax. Her fingernails claw into your buttocks, showing she doesn't care a damn about you so long as she gets what she wants. The clinging-vine type of girl, who's all surrender, submissive and dependent, shows it down between her legs. Her pussy clings submissively, whining for love and affection, even while you're pumping spunk like a maniac and stuffing her full of it.
Ruth was motherly, a tender, affectionate, comfortable fuck. She was understanding and self-sacrificing. If I couldn't have raised a stand I could have told her without fear of ridicule or contempt. Then she would have soothed, comforted and tried to make me better.
I was good for Ruth too. I gave her what she needed. She'd told me her husband was a cold fish. He fucked every night regularly, the moment they got into bed. He simply rammed it into her. He tossed himself off inside her pussy in thirty seconds, pulled out, turned over on his side and went to sleep. It was like driving a nail into a block of wood with a few hard bangs. Then he was finished. Often she was as dry as a bone when he climbed into bed, with her love-lips stuck together. It didn't make any difference. He never fondled her with his fingers. He simply flattened her with his weight, forced her thighs apart with his knees, angled his cock between her legs, and thrust. He never brought her within shouting distance of an orgasm.
But she'd grown used to him hammering home a nail every night. She was resigned to it. She waited until he was snoring, which was within a few minutes of screwing. Then she juiced-up her pussy with the spunk he'd shot into her, and gave herself a leisurely toss-off. She made do that way. But she lived for our Wednesdays. It provided her sex life. I too enjoyed our Wednesdays. I was content with her undemanding, unselfish, motherly attitude.
I was especially anxious about tonight. I wanted my troubles listened to with a sympathetic air. I wanted to be consoled. So, while she kneeled and removed my shoes, I told her about the jam I'd got into with Lillian and Janet.
Ruth liked to undress me. She did it patiently, like a mother getting her lad ready for bed. She tucked my socks into my shoes and placed them neatly on one side. She unraveled my tie and smoothed it flat before she hung it over a chair back. She simply undressed me. There was nothing sexy about it. Even my big, fat prick, standing up like a red truncheon, she handled quite sexlessly as she eased the waistband of my jockey-shorts down over it, and out from under my buttocks. By the time I was naked she'd heard my sad story.
"What am I going to do?" I wailed.
She punched up a pillow and pressed my head back comfortably. She sat on the side of the bed and looked at me with big, soulful eyes. "You have got yourself into a jam, Mike."
"I don't know what to do."
"It won't make any difference to us," she comforted me. "I'll always want you to call around. Even if you're married to a dozen women!"
"I know, Ruth, but that's not the problem. I can't upset my family and cause a big scene. But I can't afford to lose my job either. It's the only work I know, Worse. I don't even want to be married!"
"You'll have to marry sometime, Mike," she soothed, teasing her fingers across my nipples. "You can't .be fancy-free all your life."
"I might marry one girl," I said. "But I can't marry two." I looked at her pleadingly. "What shall I do, Ruth?"
She smiled tenderly, but her face was cloudy. "I can't advise, Mike. It's difficult. If only money was involved, you could marry Janet, and take over the business. But I know how awful it can be if you're estranged from your family."
"I'm trapped," I groaned.
"Can't you get the two girls together and explain the position? Let them decide between themselves what's to be done."
I shuddered. "They'll both hate me. They'll crucify me. I'll be out of a job and my folks won't want to know me."
"But you'll be free," she pointed out. That was tome. I decided to give her suggestion some thought. But later. Right now the soft stroking of her fingers was having its inevitable effect My big, fat prick was heating up adrenalin and pumping it into my blood.
Ruth held the hem of her slip with crossed hands, pulled it up over her head and stripped it off. She had big, soft, fleshy tits that hung weightily. They swung heavily as she kneeled on the bed, hovering over me. "You're a lovely boy, Mike!" she whispered. Her mouth came down, lips brushing my forehead and cheeks and browsing down to my mouth. It was a very affectionate kiss, and deeply moving. Her big tits were fleshy cushions lying heavily upon my chest. When she stopped kissing, she Lifted up until her breasts were dangling, the big nipples whispering across my chest as she swung her tits from side to side. They were a motherly symbol; big, milky and softly enveloping. She used them to caress me, lowering herself until I could feel the full weight of each breast resting upon my chest Then she slowly trailed them down to my belly, and swirled them around. She trailed them up to my chest again, draped them over my shoulders and then teased my lips with the dangling nipples. She held one breast with two hands, squeezed it tight, and fed as much as she could of it into my mouth. I sucked happily for a time, and then she fed me the other tit.
She massaged me with her tits. She trailed them over my ribs, my thighs and my groin. She smothered my head between them, dangling one each side and raising up and down slowly until I could feel their heavy softness with every screaming nerve cell.
Finally, she got around to my prick. Her ample, fleshy tits played with my prick as dexterously as Janet's magic fingers. My cock strained taut, chortled, thrilled and throbbed. She snarled up my knob and balls in her cleavage, making a hot, snug package tightly wrapped up in clinging mammary flesh, My prick's drooling heightened the sensations, turning her flesh slippery so my prick and balls slithered around in their hot wrapping. Then, while she kneeled and clamped her glistening breasts around my prick, massaging it, she angled her ass around to face me.
She wanted what she couldn't get from her husband. A finger-fuck. It was no chore. She was very blonde, and hairless. She shaved every few days. I rested my fingers on her thigh and ran them up her hairless cunt. It was hot and juicy without even being touched. I opened up the outer love-lips and probed. She had a deep crevice. It was like thrusting my fingers into a purse of hot Vaseline. I fumbled around, locating myself by sense of touch. I identified the slippery walls of her vagina vestibule, the crinkly love-lips, the hard pea of her clit-bud and the dimpled entrance to her vagina.
She loved being fingered. Even while I was merely getting the feel of her she mewed with pleasure, wrapped her flabby tits around my prick and massaged it furiously. She loved being fingered so much I made a fuss of her. I toned up her love-lips first, running my fingers around the slippery, crinkled edges until she was quivery, and then pinching and tugging them between fingers and thumbs. She bad a couple of little orgasms while I was doing it and then my fingers probed deeper, running around the walls of her vagina vestibule, frictioning briskly until they ran with love-juice, and simultaneously applying subtle pressures in different places. I worked deeper into her crevice, circling my finger around her vagina dimple and then squeezing three fingers up through it. Once my fingers had penetrated the ring of muscle at the entrance to her vagina, I separated them and wriggled them around. She had a big, loose vagina. Having her husband's big, fleshy nail driven into her every night had brutally stretched her pussy instead of pleasurably exercising it. The entrance muscles had lost their elasticity so I tried to tune up their sensitivity with gentle finger-stretching. Her pussy responded gratefully, flooding with drool and contracting convulsively. But a weekly exercising session can't repair the mishandling of years. She'd always have a slack cunt But I didn't have to worry because she had her own special screwing method.
When she was ripe for orgasm. I withdrew my fingers from her vagina and stroked upwards to the clit-bud. It was hard and quivering, enveloped in soft membrane and so slippery it kept escaping my fingers. Finally I got a grip on it, held it tight and used the ball of-my forefinger to stroke back and forward across its crown.
After the touching-up I'd given her, this pressed the trigger. For seconds every nerve in her body tensed rigidly, with loaded explosive tension. Then she detonated. But it was an internal explosion! All the wonderful things that happened to her, were cooped up inside her. The only outward symptom was the way her thighs clamped together, crushing my hand up inside her crotch and squeezing it powerfully while she suffocated my prick with her big, fleshy tits. Her loins throbbed and she uttered low shuddering gasps that punctuated her climatic spasms.
It was a lovely orgasm so satisfying she had to rest after it. Her face was still flushed pink and her damp hair stuck to her cheeks when she set out the glasses and poured some whisky. Then she sat on the bed and stroked my belly while we sipped our drinks and she got her second wind.
When she set down her empty glass I knew she was ready. I finished my drink quickly. She straddled me, kneeling astride my head and crouching low to lick my knob. I licked her too. But this was only warming up. I'd cooled off while drinking whisky, and she needed a little arousal after her big orgasm. So we sucked each other only a short time before she scrambled around, stacked pillows under my bottom and positioned herself strategically. She squatted astride me, facing me, and lowered herself. She opened herself up with one hand, and steered my knob with the other. It was a swift, hot, slippery glide up inside her. It was a big pussy. It opened up greedily and gulped in my cock without any fuss. Her thrill came from stretching her love-lips apart and then plastering them over my pelvis. She ground down hard, still stretching her love-lips apart so she could get good pressure on her clit-bud. When she was squarely seated in the saddle she leaned forward and took her weight on her hands with her fleshy tits dangling, and their big nipples brushing my chest. My prick was right up inside her, stewing in pussy-juice. Her vagina clung limply to my shaft. It couldn't grip tightly. But it didn't matter because Ruth's way of screwing didn't involve movement. She didn't employ friction to make me spurt. She used a slow, subtle stimulation that was a long, blissful voyage among the stars.
I played with her nipples and got her panting. Her hips writhed and her love-lips slithered around on my pubic hairs. She didn't rise up and down my prick. Instead, she circled around, grinding her clit-bud against my pelvis. While doing it she had a little orgasm. Her hot vagina raged around my prick and copiously secreted hot drool over it. My cock simmered contentedly, cooking slowly. She pushed herself up straight, and ground down powerfully. Her face was flushed and dreamily serene, and gurgling, squishy sounds bubbled in the union of our crotches. Then she leaned forward again and fed her tits into my hands. I played with them and twiddled the nipples until she had another little orgasm. It thrilled through her quietly, boosted the temperature of her vagina and cooked my prick more quickly.
All this would have driven a sex-starved man crazy. But I wasn't sex-starved, and this slow, simmering build-up was bliss. She kept having little orgasms. Her love-juice bubbled and boiled around my prick, boosting it relentlessly to sizzling point. She must have had half-a-dozen orgasms before I was steamed up enough to boil over.
I was panting and ready to go. She knew it. She was wound up high by her little climaxes and avid for a big orgasm. All she needed was the trigger of my spurting spunk.
"I'm coming!" I panted.
She leaned right back, holding her nipples and pulling on them hard. Her eyes were closed and her face was drawn. The way she leaned back placed special subtle pressures upon our pleasure spots. She gasped in unison with me as seed bubbled, surged and spurted furiously, and my loins thrust upwards savagely.
She was waiting for that thrust. She met it head-on, her pussy driving down hard over my cock. She sprawled forward, her arms around my neck and her big tits squashed between us as we pistoned.
The ecstasy of orgasm is usually so overwhelming that it creates superhuman physical response. Scientists who have studied orgasms, report that adrenalin races through the blood, the heart beats twice as fast, and all erotic areas become acutely sensitive. Those enjoying climax sometimes appear to be unconscious.
I was wafted away into sublime bliss. I may well have been semiconscious, because I only vaguely became aware that something was wrong. Ruth was gasping, sobbing and grasping me as 'though she'd fall off the edge of the world if she let go. Her hot breath blew on my ear and filled it with wetness. Yet I had a strange, vague feeling that something was amiss.
That we weren't alone! That there was trouble!
I fluttered open my eyes. My senses hadn't betrayed me. A dark man with a wispy moustache was smiling at me over Ruth's shoulder. I knew he couldn't really be there so I concentrated upon him with my sluggish senses. He didn't go away. I was seeing him. And there was other movement too.
Ruth felt my tension. She swiveled her head around. For a time she was frozen. Then she said bitterly. "Roger. You bastard!"
"Please, Ruth! Don't be crude," he reprimanded in a pained voice.
Another figure edged Roger to one side and something clicked.
"Get out of here!" screamed Ruth.
Another click. The man grinned happily. His camera clicked again.
Ruth tore away from me. Her breasts were stuck to my chest and they peeled away with a liquid, sucking sound.
Wispy-Moustache swam back into my vision. Forgive my intrusion, Mr. Davis." His voice was satin-smooth. "I'll wait in the lounge for you to Join us."
Ruth scrambled off me, I propped myself up on my elbows. Three men were filing out of the bedroom. Wispy-Moustache was last. He turned: "We're taking your clothes, Mr. Davis. We'll return them in the lounge."
"Bastard!" screamed Ruth. A pillow hit the door as it closed behind him.
I was thinking more clearly now. "Your husband?"
"Creeping in like that!" She was crying with chagrin. "And bringing two men to watch!"
I swung my legs around off the bed. "Is it a trap?" I asked anxiously.
She tore open a wardrobe and pulled on a long concealing dressing gown. "I could kill him!" she said furiously. "Cameras tool"
I stood up. I was worried. We'd been caught in the act. The only bright spot was that Roger didn't act like a jealousy-crazed man who'd cut my balls off.
"Come along," snapped Ruth. She seethed with anger. "I've something to tell him. I don't interfere with his fun. And he's not going to meddle in my affairs!"
"I can't go in there like this."
She gave me one of Roger's dressing gowns and stormed through to the lounge. I followed sheepishly. The three men were lounging in armchairs. A tray of drinks was on the table and they held glasses. Roger politely rose to his feet smiling; the gracious host! "What can I offer you, Mr. Davis?"
"How dare you!" stormed Ruth. Her eyes blazed and her cheeks flamed. She lashed him with words. But he simply stood there, smiling and waiting for her to run out of breath.
"All right, Ruth," he managed to interject soothingly. "I've listened patiently. Now let's sit down calmly and talk it over," He looked at me. "Whisky, Mr. Davis?"
I nodded numbly.
Ruth snorted and threw herself down in a chair.
Roger poured drinks for me and Ruth. Then he settled down in a chair and carefully crossed one leg over the other. "I hope I don't need to go into details," he said quietly. "The facts are clear. These gentlemen are my Legal Adviser, and my Confidential Agent. They are my corroborative witnesses. And, of course, we have photographs."
"You've been mast efficient!" sneered Ruth. "It's typical of the way you do everything!"
"I like things neat and tidy, my dear."
"You want a divorce?" she demanded.
He smiled gently. "Obviously."
"You sneaky bastard!" she scorned. "You couldn't sit down and talk it over quietly with me, could you!"
"Would you have given me a divorce?"
"Of course."
"But on your terms. That wouldn't have been at all satisfactory. I have no intention of being stripped of everything simply to get rid of you."
"You mean, money-grabbing bastard!"
"I'll treat you fairly," he said mildly. "You'll be provided for. But I must protect myself against your extortionate demands."
"Why do you need a divorce? I've given you a home and everything else you need."
"I've decided a complete environmental change is essential to me."
"It's that red-headed bitch whose hairs I keep finding on your jacket!"
He smiled complacently. "Naturally, that's an accusation I deny!"
"She's twisted you around her little finger. Now she insists you divorce me, and marry her!"
He smiled smugly. "That is also something I will deny."
Ruth gestured her disgust. "All right, Roger, Do your worst!"
"Now we're making progress," said Roger amiably. "Let's now discuss future procedure so we all know where we stand. I propose to pack a suitcase and leave here together with these gentlemen. That prevents any risk of you claiming I have condoned your adultery. I suggest you will be wise not to contest my application for divorce on grounds of your adultery. I will make adequate provision for you. But without any written agreement. You must accept my word you will receive a monthly check. I will also permit you to keep on the apartment, and retain the furniture. You have financial resources of your own so there's no reason why you should experience any economic difficulties, unless you are extremely foolish. Does that make everything clear?"
"You cold-blooded skunk!"
Roger smiled and nodded as though he'd been complimented. "It's civilized to arrange everything efficiently." He looked at me. "I regret you have to be involved in this unpleasantness, Mr. Davis. But you must have known some risk was involved."
I glowered. I sipped my whisky. I said nothing.
"Mr. Gray, my Legal Adviser, suggests unpleasant publicity can be avoided if you will sign a simple statement," he told me. "Would you care to take over, Mr. Gray?"
Mr. Gray was a seedy little man with a bowler hat jammed down over his ears. He opened a large briefcase, pulled out a folder, adjusted steel-rimmed glasses on his thin, sharp nose and began to read.
It was a long statement, full of whereofs, whereas and heretofores. It was supposed to be a full confession written by me. I must have been watched from the day I met Ruth. They had every detail, my name, address, where I worked, and every date I'd called around to fuck Ruth. It even mentioned the book in the window, to warn me away if her husband was at home. It even recorded how I'd once come over the front of her skirt before she'd had time to take it off. She'd had to send it to the laundry and I suppose they'd fixed to have all her laundry analyzed. The only thing it didn't describe was our methods of fucking.
Mr. Gray handed me the folder and passed me a pen. "If you'll just sign here please, Mr. Davis."
I stared incredulously. "I'm not going to sign this!"
His eyebrows arched high in shocked surprise. All the cog-wheels were meshing neatly, and now I was trying to throw the machinery out of gear. "I strongly advise that you should, Mr. Davis," he warned sternly.
"It's a confession of adultery" I objected. "I'd be crazy to sign it!"
Roger smiled secretly. "You'd better explain, Mr. Gray," he said.
Mr. Gray cleared his throat. "A straightforward confession signed by both parties will facilitate court proceedings enormously. Do I -need to point out how painfully public it will be to prove all this disagreeable evidence in open court, using eyewitnesses. And then, of course, there are the photographs. They will be conclusive evidence to any judge. But they are unlikely to make him feel well-disposed towards the Correspondent."
Mr. Gray painted a clear picture. Sign the confession or a crowded court would hear every detail of the intimacy between me and Ruth. The picture rang warning bells for Ruth. "Sign it, Mike," she said disgustedly. "Roger wouldn't be here without first having every loophole blocked up."
"How well you know me, darling," Roger murmured.
I signed the confession. A paragraph below my name said that Ruth admitted every detail of my confession was correct. Mr. Gray passed the document to her. She signed it angrily and Roger smiled smugly.
"Then that's that!" said Roger. He rose to his feet. "I'll pack a few things now, and send somebody around later for the rest of my clothes." He looked at me and was slyly spiteful. "I don't think they'll fit Mr. Davis."
"Get out," flared Ruth. "Let me see the back of Mr. Gray adjusted his glasses and blinked at me through them. "You'll be notified when to appear in court, Mr. Davis."
I stared at him. "Me. In court? Why?"
"You're the Correspondent,"
There was a queasiness in my belly. "You mean I've got to stand up in court and tell all about this?"
"I'm afraid so, young man," said Mr. Gray sternly. "You can't expect to get away scot-free. Naturally, I must protect my client from unpleasant publicity. So inevitably, you must be the object of my mud-slinging."
I thought of Lillian and Janet. I was pledged to marry them both and now I'd be headlined in the newspapers as a Correspondent.
"I'll go easy on you, Mr. Davis," comforted Roger. "I won't press for heavy compensation."
"Compensation?" I gulped.
"A guilty Correspondent must compensate the aggrieved husband," said Mr. Gray.
"Don't worry. I won't put the screws on too hard," said Roger.
"How ... much?" I whispered.
"What do you think, Mr. Gray?" asked Roger.
"If it's your wish, we'll make it very low. We'll make it the very minimum it's wise to ask. A mere symbol. Say ... ten thousand dollars."
I couldn't breathe. Ten thousand dollars! A fortune. I couldn't raise half that. "Impossible," I choked.
"Don't worry," comforted Mr. Gray. "We know you haven't the money. But legal problems find their own level, like dirty water. You won't be able to pay. So a writ will be issued. You'll be made bankrupt. Don't worry about a thing. It will all be done for you."
I was gasping. "You'll make me bankrupt?"
"Pure routine. Anyway, you might be lucky," consoled Mr. Gray. "That item in your confession about a warning on the window-sill might tickle an editor's fancy. A four-page spread in a Sunday newspaper, where you confess all your other methods to deceive aggrieved husbands, might earn you enough to pay the compensation."
Roger went into the bedroom to pack. The photographer pointed to a pile of clothing. "That's yours," he told me. I dressed in a daze.
Roger came out from the bedroom swinging a suitcase. He was bright and jaunty. "Shall We go, gentlemen?" He snickered. "Leave the lovebirds together."
Ruth turned her back on me. She told Roger in a strained voice. "Take him with you. Take him with you!"
I wasn't hurt. I knew exactly how she felt. I felt the same. Right then I never wanted to screw again in all my life.
We went down in the elevator. Roger stood in front of me. He smiled mockingly. "How's your prick?"
My prick! My big, fat prick! Once again it had got me into an almighty jam.
"Fuck my prick!" I said. "Fuck all pricks!"
"Interesting," he said whimsically. "So you're a pervert too? Do you think we might add that to his confession, Mr. Gray?"
"Balls!" I told him. The elevator gates slid open and I strode away.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was so early in the morning that Dave was asleep. I had to ring the pad doorbell three times before he opened up.
"I've got to talk to you, Dave," I said urgently.
He backed away, taking the door with him. I slid inside and closed the door behind me. He was naked and his cock hung limply, showing he'd had a busy night. He stumbled to the narrow bed and sat down. It was a warm morning and the only bedcovering was a thin sheet. All I could see of the girl under it was her black hair, her cheek and one bare shoulder. She stirred lazily as Dave's weight sank down upon the mattress. Then she rolled over and sat up, holding the sheet against her breasts so it just covered her nipples. She eyed me with sleepy interest.
"Lucy. Meet Mike," Dave introduced.
"Hello, Lucy."
"Hello, Mike."
"What's eating you?" demanded Dave, "This is no time to dig me out from the hay."
"I'm in deep trouble, Dave," I panted. "What do you know about the law?"
He rubbed his jaw and looked wise. "A judge once said 'the law is an ass'."
"About divorce?" I persisted.
His eyes became sharp. He looked at me penetratingly. "Trouble with a married woman?"
"The worst way, Dave. Her husband and two witnesses jumped us. They've got photographs too."
Dave rubbed has jaw some more. Then he scratched his groin. Lucy made a mewing sound to remind him she was still around and he slid his hand under-the bed sheet. I watched it glide down over her belly until his fingers were inside her crotch, with his palm resting upon her pelvis. Lucy grunted contentment.
Dave shook his head slowly. His hand moved gently and rhythmically. "That's bad, Mike. Real bad! Once you're trapped by the legal eagles you're a dead duck."
"I signed a full confession," I admitted. "They had all the factual proof they needed. If I hadn't signed they'd have yelled the intimate details from the house tops."
"You're in bad trouble, Mike," he told me.
He was telling me!
Lucy's hands slid down under the sheet to her parted thighs. Dave wasn't rubbing at the right place. The bed sheet clung to her damply so I could see her perform the age-old girlie gesture of tugging at the folds of skin on either side of her pussy until his fingers were lodged precisely where she wanted them.
"It'll be even worse if you employ legal advice," Dave told me glumly. "He'll be an extra shark, tying you up in legal knots and skinning you of everything you've got."
"Tell me this, Dave," I panted. "How long have I got? When Janet and Lillian learn I'm a Correspondent, there'll be hell to pay!"
"There'll be hell to pay when they find out you've fixed to marry both of them," Dave reminded me.
Lucy purred. Dave's stroking fingers were giving her all the right, lovely sensations. Her hand crept out from under the bed sheet, slithered over his thigh, found his shrunken cock and cupped it delicately. Her hand stroked rhythmically.
"What do you know about these things, Dave?" I asked. "How long before the balloon goes up?"
He scratched his head. "They've got to draw up a complaint and register it. That'll take time. Lawyers are always slow preparing documents. They charge by the hour."
Lucy's caressing fingers were obtaining excellent results. Dave's prick responded sluggishly and then quickened. It uncurled, stretched lazily and flexed its biceps. Then it stood up, growing thicker and taller. Its increased substance enabled her to get a firmer grip on it. Her briskly stroking fingers then seemed to be manufacturing prick before my eyes. It swelled, thickened, and tautened. Its knob glowered aggressively, large and darkly flushed. It stood up sharply at an angle of forty degrees, conveniently poised for manual manipulation. She rested her elbow on his groin while her fingers stroked up and down.
"How long?" I persisted.
"A couple of days, maybe," he said.
"A couple of days!" I screamed. "That's no time at all!"
"That's the legal side," he said regretfully. His face was sad because he had to paint such a black picture. "Don't forget your written confession. That could be worth something to the newspapers."
"The newspapers!" I choked. "They wouldn't do that!"
"The best way to keep their client white, is to blacken you thoroughly," he pointed out. "But they won't dare approach the press until they've registered the adultery claim. So you've got a couple of days."
I wanted to dig a hole and crawl into it. Everything was hitting me hard, all at once. My world was coming to an end.
Yet, despite my problems, my big, fat prick was turning traitor again. Here I was, bowed down by grievous problems, and the stiff bastard was becoming hypnotized by Lucy's fingers. They were like a flamenco dancer's fingers, long, slim and sensitively delicate. I could almost feel their tactile subtlety as they caressed Dave's prick. Some women just grab a prick and rub it up. But she was fondling artistically, each slim finger working with a whispery touch. Her hand was long and slender, and her wrist arched gracefully. She wore a gold bracelet with a dangling lucky charm. She arched her wrist, her fingertips lightly held the top of his knob and while she frictioned with a tantalizing butterfly touch, the charm swung and brushed across his shaft. Dave's cock twitched each time.
My prick strained erect inside my pants. It was enjoying a vicarious thrill watching Lucy play with Dave. And the bed sheet had fallen down to Lucy's lap. She had lovely breasts. The nipples were pink and taut, and becoming tauter even as I watched them. The skin of her belly sighed rhythmically in time with Dave's stroking fingers. My prick identified so completely with all that was going on I wasn't sure what I wanted to look at most; Lucy's stroking fingers, her swollen nipples, or her gently sighing belly.
"What am I going to do, Dave?" I pleaded, faying to over-rule my prick.
Again he scratched his head. I could tell tie wasn't concentrating on my problem. Prick-juice trickled from the orifice of his knob and Lucy's thumb smeared it around the dark red crown. "Let's ask Lucy," he said. "What do you think, Lucy?"
Lucy wriggled her hips to encourage his stroking fingers to deeper penetration and said low-throatedly. "I don't know anything about the law. I can only see things from the woman's side. Don't stand there uncomfortably, Mike. Sit down." She patted the bed beside her.
"That's right. Make yourself comfortable," invited Dave.
I sat on the side of the bed and Lucy's hand rested consolingly upon my thigh. It burned my skin right through my pants. My prick twitched. "I'm sorry, Mike," she said sincerely. "I think you're in real trouble."
"You don't have to tell me. But ... what do I do!"
She slid her fingers along my thigh, stroking it. "This married woman will make you marry her," she stated, "No woman gives up a husband unless she has another in the bag. That's a fact you must accept. Now. If you try to back out she'll be so mad she'll destroy you." Lucy shuddered for me. "Don't risk thwarting her," Her fingers moved gently on my thigh.
"Mike's not shy," Dave told her. "We might as well relax while we're talking."
At once Lucy's fingers slid up to my fly. My zipper hissed, her fingers feeled inside, finding their way by instinct, circled around my prick and drew it out. "That's better," she sighed. "I've been on tenterhooks, seeing it bulge and wondering what it looks like." Her fingers, were magical, stroking me and Dave with a slow-beat rhythm that kept us gently simmering. "You can stroke my nipples if you like," she told me, both her hands moving with the oiled smoothness of precision machinery.
"As I was saying," she continued. "You've asked my opinion, and I'll give it, as a woman. She'll carve your heart out if you don't marry her after the adultery publicity. I know I would. And about the others. It's terrible for a girl to be jilted. Especially when the date's fixed and the license granted. Any girl would be terribly hurt at being left at the altar, But if it transpires that another girl's involved, her hurt is transformed to hate. You couldn't blame her for wanting to cut off your balls then." Lucy gave a pleased gasp as I increased the pulling pressure on her nipple until it stretched taut like chewing gum. I released it, and her entire breast snapped back with a little "plopping" sound.
"The other breast!" whispered Lucy.
"I know all that," I said gloomily, stretching out her nipple. "Don't rub it in. But what do I DO?"
"You're uncomfortable," said Lucy. "I can't get at you. Take your pants off."
"I can't stay long," I said. "I mustn't be late for the office!"
"With your troubles you're worried about being late at the office?" jeered Dave.
He was right. Whatever I did couldn't make my troubles worse. And my big prick was gibbering so angrily I had to give way to it.
"That's much better," said Lucy dreamily. Her elbow rested upon my groin and her delicate fingers tumbled my balls with the same exquisite tenderness that her other hand fondled Dave's prick.
"You'll just have to weather the storm, Mike," said Dave. "Heave to. Run up a storm-sail. Batten down the hatches. Then curl up in your bunk below decks while the storm rages around you, and hope you survive."
"How come you never get into jams?" I asked bitterly.
"I'm careful not to get involved," he said promptly. "Take Lucy. She loves screwing. So we get together from time to time and have a ball. That's right, isn't it, darling?"
She revolved her hips. "Can you push two fingers up inside me while the other two are stroking?" she asked. "That's ... fine. Ah! That's it. That's lovely!"
"This India-rubber snake-dancer, for example," Dave told me. "I didn't have time to screw her aboard. But we had a session in her dressing-room yesterday afternoon. She's unique! The tightest, asshole! While I rammed into it she bent forward. She got her head and her shoulders so far in between our legs she could nib her tits on my ass. My prick was lodged inside her while she was doing it! Imagine the sensations! But I don't get involved, see. I could be in her dressing-room this afternoon, ramming it into her while she contorts every which way and that way. But I'm smart. I don't make a regular thing of it. We'll screw again next time I'm on leave. And if she's not around, there's another hundred cunts that are wet and ready.
"I'm wet and ready now," mentioned Lucy.
"You always are," said Dave. "How's Mike?"
"Like you. Wet and ready, too. Hot, hard and throbbing!"
"You fuck her," Dave told me. "I prefer to be sucked off in the mornings."
"I should get to the office," I mumbled. "I'm already late."
My prick almost slapped my face.
"Look at it this way," reasoned Dave. "You're a condemned man. What will happen will happen. You might just as well enjoy your last supper."
His logic was remorseless. I yielded to It. My prick leaped and crowed.
Dave stripped down the bed sheet. Lucy was everything I'd imagined; slim-thighed, satin-skinned and loins glowing with sexual virility. Although she was a brunette her only body hair was the sleek black fleece upon her Mount of Venus.
"Isn't she sweet?" asked Dave, sticky fingers gliding in and out below the black fleece.
"Lovely!" I confirmed hoarsely.
Lucy gave my cock an extra little rub-up to show she appreciated flattery.
"She's got a lovely tight ass-hole," Dave said proudly. "Ain't that right,-honey?"
Lucy flushed coyly and lowered her eyelashes. "Make a sandwich of me, if you like," she suggested delicately.
"No deal," Dave said flatly. "I want to sit back for a long, slow suck-off. I've got to ease down on the athletics. I've a date with those three sisters after lunch. Climbing all over them is more tiring than climbing Mount Everest."
Lucy sat up and took charge, arranging the scene to her satisfaction. She sat Dave with his back flush against the head-board, and his legs drawn up until he was almost squatting on his heels. His prick stood up like a cricket stump. Its knob quivered with anticipation.
Lucy was as sinewy as a cat. She knelt in front of Dave with her chin all but resting upon his knob. She spread her knees wide apart and her cute little ass pointed up at me provocatively. She instructed over her shoulder. "Juice up my Brownie before you slip it in!"
I knelt behind her. She curved her spine beautifully until her bottom pointed up at the ceiling. She splayed her legs so far apart her bottom cheeks stretched the cleavage between them into a shallow gully. The pink ring of muscle around her Brownie winked mischievously. I moved in, rested the ball of my finger upon her Brownie and whispered it around and around. She gasped and quivered. Then her head went down, then it was Dave who gasped and quivered.
I'd have finger-teased her Brownie a long time. But she was impatient. There was a slobbery, squelchy noise, her head came up and she said indistinctly over her shoulder: "Do it with your prick, darling!"
My prick was doing it almost before I knew about it. It became a runaway horse. I fought it hard, used the curb on it, mastered its headstrong plunging and its desire to gallop and reined it down to a gentle .cantor. Lucy's cleft began a good two inches away from her ass-hole. It was mushy and sticky. I nosed it with my knob, soaked it in drool and then painted the goo all over her underparts right back to her Brownie. It wasn't long before she was well juiced up. So was my prick. I whispered its knob around 'her Brownie, pressed, and probed gently. Lucy gasped delightedly onto Dave's knob and he whimpered.
I was intrigued by Lucy's Brownie. It was amazingly tight. I circled my knob around it and probed persistently. There was pleasant tension and stretching, but I couldn't lodge more than the tip of my knob within the muscular ring. It was a frustratingly tight ass-hole! But it was great fun trying to squeeze into it. She gave little jerky hip movements to show she appreciated my persistence. I probably would have penetrated her eventually, with her cooperation. But she didn't want it. She'd enjoyed my probing and thrusting, but had resisted penetration. I realized it when she slobbered Dave's knob out of her mouth and whispered urgently. "Now my other hole, darling!"
My prick sprang forward like an Olympics sprint champion. Before I could rein in, it was halfway up her vagina. My knob was hot, tender and slightly flayed after so much Brownie-probing, so I eased it in the rest of the way slowly. It was a tight pussy with delicious suction. She hunched over conveniently, with Dave's knob halfway down her throat and her bottom ramming back hard against my groin. I skewered her beautifully. She brought her hands down between our legs and tumbled my balls. I wrapped my arms around her, cupped her tits and stretched out their nipples with fingers and thumbs. She had ultra-sensitive nipples and as soon as I stretched them she stepped up the action. Her loins and bottom bore down powerfully against my prick and she got a two-handed grip on my scrotum. She drew it up under her, stretching it tightly over her love-lips. Simultaneously, her sucking became a greedy gulping that sent Dave. He gave a long, deep groan that slowly climbed up the scale until it was a high-pitched screech.
Surprisingly, Lucy came before me. I felt the stiffening tension in her loins as she braced herself for her spasm. My prick tore free from my restraint then. It swelled up magnificently and spewed spunk riotously. Lucy sucked Dave's knob frenziedly and her pussy sucked my prick. Dave's high-pitched screech became a keening wail punctuated by gasps as he spurted in unity with me. Lucy's body became a deliciously writhing receptacle for our spunk, eager for ever more of it.
When it was over we were all sweating. I edged back drawing my prick out from Lucy's vagina, watching it emerge with long, silvery threads of spunk and pussy-juice clinging to it. Lucy slobbered Dave's prick out of her mouth, turned over and sat upon the edge of the bed. She pressed one hand to her crotch and her eyes were dreamy. "Gosh! That was gorgeous!"
Dave was still squatting on his heels. He stared down at his prick with pride. "Look at it," he said admiringly, "It's still stiff, If Lucy worked on it now, before it turns flabby, it would soon be ready for the starter's pistol again!"
Lucy's hand closed around it and caressed it skillfully. "I know what to do with pricks," she said, slightly nettled.
"But go easy," warned Dave. "Take it slower next time. Don't suck me dry. I've got a date with those three sisters."
Lucy's other hand stroked her pussy and she eyed me artfully. "Don't you want to rub me up, Mike? Keep my vagina blocked up; otherwise the spunk trickles out. I want it inside me so my vagina can absorb it. Spunk is awfully good for a girl's vagina. It keeps it healthy."
There was a tremendous battle waging between me and my prick. But he'd taken a knock-out punch and I temporarily had the upper hand. I climbed off the bed. "I've got to get to the office," I panted. "I'm late already."
"Let me suck it," pleaded Lucy. "Quick, before it's too flabby. Stick it in my mouth. I'll soon lick it up."
"No," I said firmly. "I must go."
Lucy was pained. "Don't you want to try my tight ass-hole?"
"Of course. But I can't now. I'm in all kinds of trouble!"
She knew I was determined. She shrugged her shoulders sadly and frictioned Dave more briskly. She rubbed-up herself more briskly too. "Just when I'm feeling really nice," she pouted.
I pulled on my trousers. "Will you be here between five and six, Dave?" I asked.
"I'll have those sisters climbing over me then."
"Okay if I use the pad at that time?"
"Sure. I'll be back late. Who's the dame?"
"Lillian," I confessed, flushing.
I hadn't been able to avoid meeting Lillian. She was hot between the legs and wanted a quick screw before seeing her dressmaker at seven o'clock. Using the pad would save the price of a hotel room.
"When will you call me?" asked Lucy as I pulled on my jacket.
"When I'm clear of problems."
"Don't leave it too long," she scolded, turning back to Dave.
As I closed the door she was swallowing Dave's knob while her fingers whisked furiously inside her crotch.
CHAPTER SIX
I was an hour late at the office. The Boss was inwardly fuming. But he worked up a sickly smile and said mildly: "Don't overdo the Big Executive act, Mike. There's a great pile of songs on your desk that isn't getting smaller,"
I went to my office and got to work. The Boss wasn't going out before lunch and that saved me from Janet ... , almost! She invented excuses to come into my office and tantalized me out of my mind. She was wearing a slightly longer skirt today, but only because she wasn't wearing panties. She kept digging into the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, her legs wide apart as she stooped over, and her eyes watching me between her knees, relishing her impact upon me.
I sweated and my prick drooled and reared up, clamoring for action. Every time she stooped the back of her skirt rode up, completely exposing her bare bottom. But it wasn't her bottom that made my prick drool. It was the deep, dark crevice sandwiched within it. Her thick, curling hairs were a steamy black forest amidst which I glimpsed a glistening red mush. Its musky aroma wafted out at me, suffocatingly tangy, making my senses swim.
All morning Janet was in and out of my office, brandishing her dripping pussy like a starter's flag. She got a kick out of watching my face, and knowing I was coming in my pants. I tried to concentrate on work. It was impossible. All the round, black music notes swirled together in my brain and became a hairy, black cleavage exuding pussy fragrance. When Ruth telephoned I was lucky that Janet wasn't in the office.
"I must see you, Mike."
"I'll ring and fix a time, Ruth."
"It must be now!"
"I can't get away. I'm in the office."
"Lunch time, then. I'll be waiting."
"Listen, Ruth. I've so many things on my mind. Let me ring ... "
"Don't argue," she snapped. "This is serious! Come as quick as you can. I'm waiting]" She hung up before I could protest and Janet breezed into the office at that moment! She smiled, twirled, her skirts flew high and then she bent over.
The top of my head steamed!
The Boss went to lunch just before twelve. The moment he'd gone, Janet was in my office and locking the door. She took off her glasses, shook out her hair and gazed at me with hot, sultry eyes. The sweat on her moustache glistened wetly and the black hair sprouting from her mole bristled. She ran over to me and before I could get up pulled my cheek against her belly. Her fingers toyed with my hair and the smell of pussy seeping through her frock was so powerful I almost swooned. "Pa's grousy today," she reported. "It's the second time you've been late. He thinks you're taking advantage."
I saw a faint gleam of hope and snatched at it. "If he wants to put obstacles in our way ... " I began.
"He wouldn't dream of it, Mike." Her voice was tender. "He's only concerned about our future. He wants the business to flourish. That means hard work. And you must admit he's sensible, Mike. It's a good business. But you'll have to put your back into it to make it grow. I mean, we'll have all kinds of expenses. We'll need two cars so I can get around, and I do love nice things, darling. You wouldn't have me drag around in just any old thing. And clothes are so expensive. Good clothes, I mean. And Mama has good taste too. We wouldn't dream of wearing sealskin. But good fur coats are expensive, so the business can't be neglected. And then there's the children. I'm old-fashioned. I want at least three or four. That means a nursery and a nursemaid, who'll have to have a uniform, and there's schooling too. I mean, Mike, you simply can't afford to slack!"
"The Boss told you to give me a pep talk?" I asked bitterly. I spoke with my cheek against her belly. My hot breath huffed through her skirt on to her skin. Her fingers tightened convulsively on my hair.
"It would show that you were willing if you got in an hour early," she mentioned. "And you could easily work late a few nights each week. After all, the business will have to keep all of us!" But my huffing breath shunted her thoughts on to another track. "We must be quick," she added. "I mean we're wasting time." She angled between me and my desk, pulled up her skirt and eased her bottom on to the desk. Then she drew her legs up until her heels were resting upon it too. Her knees spread wide apart and her pussy gaped, red-lipped amidst a black jungle of sticky hairs. She braced herself back on her arms and closed her eyes. "Suck me, Mike," she whispered.
I pulled up my chair and sat face to face with it. Those long, black, glistening hairs made my blood race. I smoothed back the hairs to either side, making a wide parting. Then I took her love-lips and strained them apart, opening her up until the glistening inner membranes were strained taut. Her vagina vestibule was laid bare, almost turned inside out Her vagina dimple palpitated like a little mouth gasping for breath and her clit-bud stood up, vibrating like a tuning fork. Pussy fragrance wafted out at me in thick-smelling waves that took my breath and turned my bones to rubber. Her lovely, furry, drool-soaked pussy huffed an irresistible welcome. I went deep into it. I was so obsessed by it I tried to wallow in it. My nose, mouth and chin plunged so deep into mushy, sticky softness .that her love-lips were plastered wetly to my cheeks. She gave a deep growl and as I drowned happily in tangy cunt-mush her heels swung up high and came down over my shoulders. Her knees crossed behind my neck, crushing my face even deeper into her core, and almost suffocated me.
I might have suffocated if she hadn't instantly climaxed. Her legs were possessed of convulsive strength as she crushed my face into her pussy, and I couldn't have escaped. Her loins pumped, bearing down powerfully and grinding my mouth over her Vagina dimple while it spurted love-juice straight on to my tongue like a fountain. I sucked gleefully, thrilling at the tangy taste, even though I was sobbing for breath. I swam in pussy essence and floated away into Cuntdom. I was turned on by her sexy secretions like a junkie with three shots of horse in his veins. Only when my lungs were bursting did I begin to struggle desperately. But by then her spasms had diminished and her thighs had lost their steely strength. Her legs dangled limply over my shoulders. "Lovely, darling," she panted as I came up for air. Her face was glistening with sweat and the armpits of her dress were two wet half-moons.
I said nothing. She hadn't even given me time to breathe. She'd crammed my face into her pussy and instantly squirted love-juice into my mouth. But if she wanted to give me credit for being a super-lover, I'd accept the role.
"You sent me, darling!" She unhooked her legs off my shoulders, slid her hands down into her crotch, squeezed her love-lips together and ran her fingers up along their edges, sealing them shut. "Now I'll do you!"
My prick screamed. Yes, please!
I said worriedly. "I'll take a rain-check, Janet. Your Pa's already sore at me. I'll get off to lunch."
She didn't hear me. "All morning I've been longing to suck you off!" She slipped down off the desk and her hands went to my fly. "I'm crazy about your hot spunk." My fly was open and she had my prick out. She 'pulled down my trousers to get at me better. "Relax, darling," she urged.
Suck it slowly! yelled my prick.
I surrendered-abjectly. "Suck it slowly," I told Janet.
Her tugging at my pants prompted me to raise up. She peeled them down off my feet. I wondered vaguely what would happen if we had a caller, but it seemed quite unimportant. She pulled my knees apart, kneeled between them, rested her elbows upon my thighs and held the shaft of my prick with one hand. Her other hand tumbled my balls and probed a finger up into my Brownie. Her long wet, tongue licked lingeringly up my shaft and over my knob.
She had a hot tongue with a slightly abrasive texture. I had the crazy feeling she thought I was an ice-cream cone she was licking to a point. I was well beyond the point of no return and I relaxed limply in my chair, my arms dangling while my prick eagerly offered itself up to her lips and tongue. She used a new technique. A long, long lick. Her tongue probed right in under me and gave teasing little wet probing pushes at my Brownie. Then she lay her wet tongue flat upon it and then drew it up slowly in one long lick, right up from under me, over my scrotum, licking through the cleavage between my balls and then up the shaft to my knob. That long, long lick was so moving it had every nerve cell quivering. Those long licks drove me crazy. She licked me up to the very point of climax and then stopped dead. She looked at me tenderly, her eyes swimmy. "You're beautifully toned up, darling."
"One more lick and I'll come."
"It's a lovely prick to lick!"
"Enjoy yourself, I can take it."
She blew gently. "Does that cool it?"
"It's only simmering now."
"Don't shoot unless- it's right inside my mouth. I want to feel your seed bubbling inside your balls. I want to feel it shooting up through the shaft. I want all your come in my mouth. Every drop. When you start to come your knob swells enormously; your cock comes alive, rearing up and spurting. That's when you're all mine. All of you. You're there, in my mouth, my prisoner. All your strength and power spurting into my mouth, gloriously. And that does wonderful things to me. Even though I'm only crossing my legs and squeezing my thighs it can make me come tool"
Then what are you waiting for\ howled my prick.
"You suck beautifully," I told Janet.
She took a firm two-handed grip on my shaft and her head bowed. Her mouth came down, a hot, wet enveloping octopus that swallowed up my knob. Her grip was firm, her fingers clenching tightly and restraining me. Her head went up and down, and she sucked. It was like screwing into the hottest, tightest, sweetest pussy I'd ever probed. She pursed her mouth and as her head went up and down, her lips tightened around my cock like the ring of muscle around the entrance to a vagina. Her mouth was full of hot saliva and my knob was steeped in it. She swirled her tongue around my knob and teased its orifice, adding prick-juice to her saliva. She sucked deliciously and boosted me slowly higher and higher. And then I was there. Hovering on the brink!
She knew it. She tightened her grip on my shaft and sucked with redoubled fervour. My spunk spurted. She gulped, swallowed the first oyster and was ready for the next She gulped avidly and happily.
She sucked me to a gentle standstill, then held me in her mouth while my prick calmed down and relaxed. It curled up cozily in her mouth. She drew her head up and away from it. It slid out slowly. She held it with her lips to make it stretch a little, and gave it a kiss. "It's beautiful!"
I was all out of spunk and my prick was drooping. I became aware I was naked from the waist down. I reached for my trousers. Janet eased my feet into them and pulled them up around my waist. "We'll do this every morning, when we're married," she said, starry-eyed. "It'll leave something of you with me after you rush off to the office. Then, when you get home late at night, I'll be toned-up, eager for you."
I closed my zip and made for the door.
Her voice was a wail. "You're not going!"
"I've had no breakfast," I muttered. "I must snatch a quick lunch. I'll be back soon."
Her face was a study in dismay. "Play with me a little first."
"When I get back."
"But I want it now. All that stuff in my mouth has got me excited. Just a quickie!" To add weight to her plea she raised the hem of her skirt up over her belly. My prick opened one eye, stared and stirred. The long, red glistening slit amidst the black hairs of her crotch was almost irresistible.
But Ruth was waiting for me with a pressing problem. I unlocked the door. "I won't be a minute," I panted. "Hold everything until I get back!"
I quickly closed the door on the irresistible vision of Janet with her skirt pulled up high and displaying her burning pussy. Without that tantalization, my prick yawned, curled up and went to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ruth's comfortable, motherly nature had undergone abrupt transformation. When she answered the door she snapped: "Don't stand there like a fool so everyone can see you." She pulled me inside, slammed the door, then scuffed along the corridor to the lounge, leaving me to follow her. She wore men's slippers that flapped like a seal's flippers, and a grubby bathrobe. She was bundled up like dirty laundry.
"We've got to talk," she said. Her eyes ran around the room looking for something she didn't find. She hadn't glanced at me once. Her hair was straggly and her face shone with over-night cream. "We might as well talk in the bedroom," she snapped.
The bed was disarrayed and the window shut There was the musty smell of woman's sweat that's simmered under blankets all night. She pulled down the bedclothes, bunched up pillows, flung off the bathrobe and stretched out stark naked. Her eyes kept running around the room as though scared mice would scuttle out from the. floorboards. And she couldn't keep her hands still. They shredded invisible linen. "We've got to talk this over," she said.
"I'm sorry it's all a mess, Ruth."
"I'm sorry too," she snapped. "That doesn't help, does it?"
"When your husband's calmed down," I said, "you have a talk with him. Explain how sorry we are. Try to smooth it over."
She snorted. "A waste of time. He doesn't have to calm down. He's as cold as ice. He's been planning this for months. We walked right into it!" She glared. "Don't stand there looking awkward. Sit down."
There was only one place to sit. On the bed.
Take your clothes off!" she said exasperatedly.
I undressed moodily. I'd never seen her like this. Where was all her motherly affection?
"Now we can talk," she said, as I sat on the bed. She took my hand, guided it to her crotch and pressed my fingers into her crevice. "Keep stroking," she ordered. "Gently! Don't go mad!"
She was dry, but almost at once she moistened. My prick was half-hearted but as soon as her crotch became squishy, and my fingers sank into hot membranes, it alerted and quivered.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," she told me, less acid now she was enjoying a soothing friction. "But I've got it figured out. It'll solve your problems too, Mike."
My heart leaped.
"We must act quickly," she said. "I can't let him show me up before my friends. I'll send a letter to everyone saying we've agreed to separate, and that I'm going to marry you. That'll catch him on the hop. He'll tell everyone he's divorcing me, but I'll spike his guns. Everyone knows I can't stand him. And we'll get married right after the divorce."
The word marriage made me cringe. "You said it would solve my problems, Ruth?"
She was surprised I was so dumb. "Don't you understand? You just tell those girls you're marrying me. Don't be scared. They can talk to me if they want. I'll soon tell them!"
There was anguish inside me. "What about my family?"
"Relatives are always a bother. You must learn to live your own life. They'll come around in time!"
"And my job!"
"That's no problem. I have a little business. It's nothing to do with Roger. A hardware shop. I'll put you in it. As soon as you've learned the business I'll sack the manager. How's that?"
"Fine," I said numbly.
"I won't be receiving the money Fm accustomed to," she pointed out, seeking my sympathy. "But you're strong, Mike. You're intelligent too. There's many ways you can make the business pay more. We've two lazy youths doing nothing around the shop. We have to have them because occasionally something heavy has to be lifted. But you could do their job in a quarter of the time it takes them to load a van. That would save their wages. And why pay overtime? If you get in early you can open up, and lock up too!"
"If I get in really early, I could scrub out the shop and save charwoman's wages," I suggested.
She didn't suspect sarcasm. "You won't have tune," she regretted. "There's so many things to do outside business hours, stock up the shelves, prepare deliveries and write invoices. You'll keep the books, of course."
"It seems like a job I can get my teeth into."
"It'll be time-consuming, Mike. But you'll get used to it. So tonight I'll post off this letter telling everybody we're getting married as soon as I get free from Roger. I'll put a notice in the newspapers too."
What was the point of arguing? I didn't want to marry Janet, I didn't. want to marry Lillian and I didn't want to marry Ruth.
I didn't want to marry anybody! The closer I came to marriage the more it looked like a treadmill. There were three of them now planning how I'd work myself to death while they lay in bed and ate chocolate creams. But that advertisement worried me. Ruth might put it in the evening papers.
"Announce it in the Sunday Times," I said. "During the week people only scan the newspapers. On Sundays they lie in bed and read it from back to front."
"The Sunday Times" she agreed.
I sighed with relief. I'd averted Nemesis for a few days.
"So that's that, Mike," she said with the air of having arranged our future.
"I'll still be a Correspondent,"' I pointed out. "Where do I get a thousand pounds?"
She gestured airily. "Don't worry. You don't own anything, do you?"
"I've a few pounds in the bank."
"So. No problem. After we're married everything will be in my name. Even when they make you bankrupt they can't get anything. What belongs to me is mine; they can't touch it for your debts. So don't worry!"
"But although I'm bankrupt, I'll still have to pay?"
"The court can seize a percentage of your wages. But we'll fix that. I'll pay you only a small wage. What they'll get out of it won't be worth collecting."
"You're clever, Ruth. You think of everything!"
She was flattered. She smirked. "Not many men can get the better of a woman."
I was still stirring her up and her pussy was squelching nicely. She'd disposed of business and was shunting her thought onto sex. "Now let's talk about you and me, Mike!" A warmer note softened her voice. She'd fixed it all. I was to marry her and climb up on the treadmill. I'd work sixteen hours a day, most of it heavy laboring, and I'd be paid peanuts. If I was real good maybe I'd have enough pocket money to buy a Coca-Cola in a cafe. Now I had to sex her up to prove my gratefulness.
"I missed you terribly yesterday, Mike," she said softly. Her fingers strayed to my thigh. My prick twitched happily; the bastard! "I missed you so much!" She'd been waiting all week and then Roger had brutally broken up our session. I didn't doubt she'd missed me.
"A strange thing happened this morning, Mike," she said dreamily. "When you don't hurry away, as you did yesterday, I'm happy to wake up alone in the mornings. I'm used to Roger climbing over me and putting it in. But, this morning of course, he didn't. Not that he ever gave me pleasure. I always had to give myself a thrill, afterwards. But ... " she flushed.
"You can get into a habit, even when it isn't pleasurable. I missed that hot, piercing feeling." She was stroking my cock beautifully. "Do it the way Roger did it," she urged. "Put me in the mood." Her fingers tightened on my cock and pulled it about like a drill sergeant shoving a raw recruit into line. My pride resented it. But my big, fat prick had no pride. It didn't care that it was being humiliated. And I had to go along with it. I climbed over her the way she wanted, poised, and then hammered a nail up inside her. Her calves twined around mine, her fingers gouged into my bottom cheeks and she wriggled around to get comfortable. "That's it!" she said with satisfaction. "Now screw me!"
It was like screwing a slippery jelly. Roger's nail had stretched her crevice into a horse's collar. My prick couldn't touch sides.
Her fingers pressed the rhythm she wanted into my bottom and her loins pistoned demandingly. "Screw me," she panted, "Screw me!"
Where was the Ruth I knew? Where was her motherly affection, her tender undressing, .the happy lounging back while she simmered my prick in her hot pussy-juice, and bubbled her little orgasms around my knob?
Ruth's character had changed. And her screwing style had changed too. I was surprised she .could feel anything at all. But she must have done because her fingers kept gouging into my bottom rhythmically, almost thrusting my prick up inside her. So together we hammered my nail into her while she had lots of jolly little orgasms. It Was fun for her, but frustration for me. But finally she had a big orgasm and afterwards went completely limp. Her legs splayed apart bonelessly and her hands flopped at her sides. But she urged: "Don't stop! Don't, stop."
She wasn't even being frictioned by my knob. It skimmed up and down inside her almost afloat in pussy-drool. She could only be getting stimulus from my pubic bone, which was grinding rhythmically against the union of her pussy-lips. I concentrated upon grinding my pubic bone into her. "Lovely, Mike" she whispered, her face dreamy. "Lovely." She was still as limp as a dishcloth but was having a chain of little orgasms. They ran into each other.
"Wonderful like this, darling," she panted. "In the future, we'll always do it this way."
Even my prick shuddered at those words. Now I was on a sex treadmill. She wasn't exerting a muscle. I was doing everything. And she was content for this to go on indefinitely. All it needed now was for me -to pop a chocolate cream into her mouth.
I was sweating with frustration and my prick was fuming. It had dug away non-stop a long time and was frantic for recognition. "Suck me, Ruth?" I suggested.
"But it's so lovely this way, Mike. I don't want it any other way!"
"How about you rolling over? I'll go in up the back. It'll be a new thrill."
"You are enjoying this, aren't you, Mike?" There was reproach in her voice that could easily become anger.
"Yes," I said. "But ... "
"Don't forego your own pleasure to please me, darling. This makes me very happy. And don't hold back on my account. When you can't hold back any longer, don't be afraid to let yourself go. I'll probably have an orgasm too."
Hold myself back! I couldn't even rub myself up!
"You move beautifully," she whispered. "You thrill right through me!"
I was screwing nothing, stabbing my prick into melted grease. This was the end of Ruth. Once I got out of there I'd never come back. She could stick her tread milling shop and her tread milling cunt up her ass. Only one thing prevented me getting up and, leaving at that moment. My big, fat prick. It was sobbing and wailing with frustration. It craved satisfaction. At least it was inside a pussy, and wouldn't leave it.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. I masturbated without using my hands. I pictured a beautiful film star. She smiled at me warmly as I approached, her lips red, and her blouse molded to her firm breasts. The hard nipples prodded through the fine fabric. When my fingers went to the button below her cleavage she pursed her lips in breathless desire. I unbuttoned quickly, and pushed back her blouse. She stood proudly, hard breasts flaring at me, nipples taut and arrogant. She smiled and her long tongue moistened her ripe lips. My hands went to the zip of her skirt and she stood astride, her hips sturdily receptive. The zip hissed and the skirt whispered down her slim thighs. She stepped out of it. Her eyes were challenging and she smiled provocatively. She thrust out her pelvis and a shallow depression formed in the middle of a satin-skinned belly within which her navel nested coyly. Her panties were a wisp of flimsiness, a mere triangle with bows on each hip. The flesh glowed through it warmly except where the opaque panties were strained so tight it outlined the ripeness of her love-lips, and the crevice between them. I stared entranced and she responded sexually to my admiration. A small wet stain appeared on the crotch. It grew rapidly, expanded quickly, thickly coating her love-lips. They glowed warmly through sticky nylon that had become transparent. Beads of glistening drool gathered within her crevice and began to trickle down in long, silvery threads. My fingers went to the panty bows. I tugged. The dainty triangle fell away from her groin, the crotch still clinging stickily to her love-lips. I adored the sleek, black hair that fleeced her Mount of Venus while I watched the crotch slowly peel away from her love-lips. Then the panties dropped down between her parted thighs and I relished the bared, slipper)' love-lips, demurely parted and expectant. I took a deep breath. I stepped forward. I rested my hands on her hips. I whispered my fingers down over her cool buttocks and then gripped them tightly. She gave a deep sigh and thrust her breasts hard against me. The nipples rubbed and rolled against my chest like little pebbles. She was panting and her hips were braced expectantly. I took another deep breath. I poised. I lunged. I went deep inside her. Right up. Right home. It was explosive. I was suddenly spurting. And Ruth was sobbing in my ear as she erupted too. Her arms flung around my neck, crushing me in a chocking embrace. Her legs twined around me, her ankles crossed and her heels bore down upon my buttocks.
I shot and shot. I fucked a dream girl. Fucking a dream is better than no fuck at all. If I'd depended upon Ruth's pussy to trigger me off, I'd have been there yet, still hammering away with my nail.
I was exhausted. Not from coming. But from the sheer physical effort of pistoning my loins so long. I couldn't understand how Roger could have lived with it. Perhaps he'd screwed a dream girl every night. But one that he'd trained to make him come within seconds.
"That was lovely!" said Ruth, smoothing her fingers across my wet brow. "It was good for you too. I can tell. You're so tired!"
"It's you," I said. "The way you love would tire any man."
"You flatterer you!" She giggled coyly.
My legs were rubbery and my back ached.
"Have a little nap, darling," she soothed. She brushed my damp hair back off my forehead.
I opened one eye and looked at the clock. Half-past-three. I'd been due back at the office hours ago. But even if I rushed back I'd only have to climb on Janet's sexy treadmill.
"Wake me in an hour," I murmured, and closed my eyes.
I was asleep before I knew it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ruth shook me awake. "A cup of tea, Mike. It'll freshen you up."
I looked at the clock. Half-past-four. Just time to meet Lillian at five o'clock. I sipped the tea and eyed Ruth warily. But she wasn't going to be a problem. She'd got dressed.
"Don't mind me, Mike," she said. "Make yourself at home. Do whatever you want. I'm drafting the letter I'm going to send out."
I showered and drank a second cup of tea while I was dressing. Ruth glanced up absentmindedly as I drifted towards the door. "Going out, Mike?"
"I must look in at the office. I've been out all afternoon."
"Don't stand any nonsense from Janet. Tell her straight out how things are. If you wait until tomorrow we can see her together."
"I'll tell Janet myself. It's the only way."
I closed the door of Ruth's apartment with my heart hammering in relief. I'd escaped! Whatever happened, even if all hell broke loose, I'd never go back to Ruth!
I arrived at Tottenham Court Road subway at five minutes past five. Lillian was tapping her heel impatiently. She eyed me grimly as I hurried towards her. "You're late!" she snapped. "You knew I've only a little time to spare. A wedding dress isn't like any old dress. It needs special attention!"
A miracle occurred. I avoided telling her to stick her wedding dress up her fucking ass. "I got away as soon as I could," I apologized.
She took my arm possessively, like a cop taking a man into custody. "I told you not to be late," she lectured. "You know I've got so little time; and everything to get ready."
It was her idea that we should meet for a quick poke. It was her pussy that was burning for hot cock, But she talked as though I was lucky to have the chance to screw her.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
The pad."
She sniffed. "Isn't Dave home on leave?"
"He's not using it this evening."
"I was looking forward to a comfortable hotel room!"
"Hotels are expensive. The pad doesn't cost a penny,"
"The bed creaks. And there's not room to swing a cat around!"
"But we'll be saving money." That consoled her.
"I want to talk about money," she said. "I've opened a bank account. Let me have all you can save. It'll soon mount up."
She had opened the bank account. But it was my money that would be paid into it.
"I've got good news," she announced as we walked to the pad. "I'm doing everything to help you, yet you can't even be on time!"
I looked duly chastened for being five minutes late. "What's the good news?"
"Sergeant Tompkins retires at the end of the month."
"Who's Sergeant Tompkins?"
"I told you about him!" she said irritably. "You never listen to anything. Our office block is closed from eight in the evening until eight the following morning. We've a night watchman from midnight until eight. But from eight in the evening. until midnight, it's Sergeant Tompkins. Now he wants to retire."
"So what?"
"I can get you the job!" she thrilled. "The extra money will make a tremendous difference. After you leave your office you can have a quick supper and get there by eight o'clock. You'll be finished at midnight."
"Me! A night watchman!"
"It's a wonderful chance," she thrilled. "I've worked so hard for you, telling the personnel manager I know just the man to take on the job when Sergeant Tompkins leaves."
"From eight until midnight?"
"And there's nothing to do!"
"Six nights a week?"
"There's a snag about Sunday," she admitted. There has to be a night watchman all the time. So on Sundays it's from twelve midday to midnight."
"All this after I leave my office?"
"You'll have a couple of hours break," she pointed out. "I'll make up sandwiches for you in the morning. There's no point in eating out; it's too expensive."
"And then I get home at one o'clock in the morning and get up bright and early and go to work?"
"That's what I'm trying to arrange," she confessed. "But there's a slight snag. The regular night watchman starts at eight in the evening until four in the morning. But I'll talk to him. I might persuade him to change."
"Otherwise?" I asked grimly.
"It won't be so bad," she consoled me. "You'll relieve him at four in the morning. It'll mean going to bed early. But there's a big advantage. When you finish at eight you'll be within walking distance of your office."
"This is good news?"
"I wish you'd be more appreciative. Don't pull that face when you come up to the office. You'll be lucky to get the job!"
"I'll die if they turn me down!"
"All you have to do is sit drinking coffee," she said. "Occasionally you walk around the building. There's nothing to do. Nothing! So you can earn double money!"
"Double money?"
"Remember my cousin who works for an advertising agency? They're always sending out circulars. They give out the work to old people. They pay so much a thousand. All you do is fold up the circulars and put them in envelopes. It'll be something to do while you're sitting around."
"Isn't there something I can do with my feet at the same time?"
"Don't adopt that flippant attitude, Mike," she snapped. "Face facts. We'll have big expenses. Especially when I'm having a baby."
I stared at her hard. "We haven't had a baby yet."
She almost stamped her foot. "We're not getting married just for the fun of it. I'll have the home to look after. I don't intend neglecting it by going up to the office every day!"
We'd reached the pad. She said her last words on business. "I've said you'll call lunchtime one day next week to ask for the job."
With all hell ready to break loose over my head any minute, next week was a million years away, "Sure." I said. "You fix it."
I locked the door in case Dave came back early and opened the window to let out all the smell of the lusty passion Dave and Lucy had generated after I'd left them. Lillian had lined up the economic treadmill where I could step on to it easily, and now she switched on to the sexual treadmill. She sighed, all tender and loving. "I've been longing so much to be with you, Mike!" She slid her arms around my neck and molded against me, rubbing her pelvis so subtly against my prick I could easily have been convinced it was me doing the rubbing! "Forgive me being a teenie-weenie bit hurt you were late," she pleaded. "It's because I want to spend as much time with you as possible."
I rested my hands on her cute little bottom and jerked her up tight against me so her grinding pelvis could rub my prick more stimulatingly. There was something about Lillian that sent me. If she hadn't snarled me up in weddings and night watchmen's jobs, I wouldn't have had any squawks about her.
"Do nice things to me, darling," she whispered.
"What nice things?"
"Undress me. Slowly. With restraint. Not as though you want to screw me, but as though you're undraping me, and admiring me." Her hand feeled between us and found my stubby prick. "You do want to make me .feel nice, don't you, darling?" she wheedled, frictioning my cock briskly to make sure I gave her the right answer.
"Of course."
She must have cherished dreams she was Cleopatra. She. struck a pose and stood with queenly grace in front of the mirror. She admired herself. "Undress me slowly," she whispered.
At the back of my mind was the realization everything would soon blow up. This was our last session together and out of sentiment I wanted to make it memorable. I went along with her kinky mood and became her Nubian slave, attending upon her servilely, and humbly disrobing her. I unzipped her frock and eased it off her shoulders while she struck different poses that -enabled me to tug the sleeves down her arms and skim the frock down to her feet. When I got her slip off I realized she was showing me a new kinky facet. She was wearing old-fashioned type stockings, and a slender girdle over black net panties hip-tied with red ribbon bows. She made faces in the mirror, gave herself a come-on look with upraised eyebrows and a jerk of her head, and then a shy, long-lashed downward glance expressing embarrassment at an improper suggestion. Then she stuck out one thigh towards me with the saucy charms of a strip-teaser.
It was fun. I kneeled and whispered my fingers across creamy, sensitive skin as I snapped the suspender tab. I ran my fingers around her thigh to unsnap the other tab. I rolled down the stocking with exaggerated slowness, making such a tight roll it almost couldn't roll over her knee. I rolled it down her calf and over her heel. She stretched out her foot, pointing it artistically. I kissed each toe, then kissed up her calf to behind her knee, and then up her thigh to the slender fold of belly flesh that overlapped her suspender girdle. I licked across her belly, kissed down her thigh to its stocking top and removed the other stocking.
"You're so gentle, darling," she breathed. "You know exactly what I want."
The girdle was a dainty wisp. Its hook snapped free at a touch and my hands went to the red bows on her hips. She wasn't so kinky, I decided. She was my dream-girl, the dream-girl I'd screwed while I was fucking Ruth. My fingers tugged and bows unraveled. Black net whispered down between her thighs revealing a neat, black triangle and creamy skin. The luscious smell of pussy wafted over me and my hands slid behind her bottom. I pulled her against me with her crotch panting its hotness into my mouth. "Suck me, darling," she choked. "Suck me!"
She wanted a slow suck-off and stood with her knees pressed together and her fingers gripping my hair and pulling if I burrowed too deep, too fast. It wasn't until she was sure she was getting a slow, lingering suck around that she eased her feet apart. She wanted me to lick up and down her love-lips. She'd probably had a hot and itchy pussy all day. Her love-lips were swollen and acutely sensitive. She trembled at my licking and when I held one lip between my lips and ran my tongue around its crinkly edge, she went over the top. Her hands ground my face into her pussy and her loins pistoned smoothly, pumping pussy-juice into my mouth.
I was surprised how much that orgasm tired her. Her knees were trembling when she pulled away from me. "It was gorgeous, darling!"
"It's a lovely pussy to suck."
"Why don't you get undressed?"
"I've been busy. Hadn't you noticed?"
I stripped off my pants while she unsnapped her bra. Her breasts tumbled out, heavy and lifeless, the nipples shrunken up into their halos. She climbed on to the bed tiredly and splayed out like a starfish. "That really sent me, Mike," she confessed. "Well do it lots of times after we're married."
"If the envelopes and circulars don't get in the way."
"Don't be petty, Mike," she reproved. "Whatever time you get home at night I'll always be ready and waiting for you."
The mattress sagged beneath my weight. She reached for my prick and frictioned expertly. "You've made me feel so lovely. Now I want to lie back and be screwed silly." She closed her eyes and parted her legs.
The sexual treadmill!
I climbed over her thoughtfully. I was learning a lot today. Sex is supposed to be fun. A man, and a girl, and long hours of ecstatic bliss. But marriage changes all that. The woman offers herself up to sensory stimulation while the man labors with fingers, mouth and prick to provide her pleasure. If he happens to shoot while he's doing it, he's earned a bonus.
"Don't make me come too quickly," she warned. "Make it last."
My pride insisted I should break up this one-sided session. But my bastard prick hadn't any pride. It was eager to snap up any trifle thrown to it. So I juiced up my knob in her pussy crevice, pressed it against her vagina dimple and slid in slowly. Her breasts were sweaty under my chest and her damp hair tickled my nostrils. But my prick twitched contentedly now it was sheathed in the sticky sleeve of her vagina.
"Screw me," she whispered. "Screw me slowly." She sounded like Ruth, lying there limply and wanting the nail hammered home. And she didn't flex a muscle! That was serious. She has a crevice as big as Ruth's if she doesn't tighten it up. It was the way Lillian straddled me and tightened up her vagina like a strait jacket that made screwing with, her so perfect. But tonight it was different. She was breaking me in like a house-pet. Now the wedding date was fixed I had to learn to screw the way she wanted. My prick pistoned up and down inside her non-gripping vagina a dozen times. "Tighten up a little?" I whispered.
"Not with me under you, darling. And it's so lovely this way, isn't it?"
"You don't want to get on top?"
"I want you to enjoy yourself. This is just right! Screw me!"
I tried. My knob skimmed up and down in hot pussy-juice. But I couldn't tell by touch that I was even inside her pussy. "Lovely," she panted. "Lovely." Like Ruth, she stretched her love-lips apart so my pelvis applied rhythmic pressure to the union of her love-lips.
The Sexual Treadmill!
I wouldn't ever come this way. I thrust in and out magnificently, tossing myself off against nothing. She mewed with delight but my prick whimpered in frustration. It was all wrong. Men are supposed to get most of the fun out of screwing a girl. But I was sweating like a miner in a salt mine, while she mewed with pleasure. It could go on all night-or forever, if something didn't happen! She was so far away into dreamland even fitting her wedding dress wouldn't get her off the bed. My prick stabbed in desperation and my knob wept despairingly.
"Tighten up a little," I pleaded.
"That's just right, darling," she panted. "Lovely! Screw me, Mike. Screw me silly." There was only one alternative. My dream girl. That's what wedding bells came down to. A dream girl. I concentrated and pictured her in three dimensions and. three colors. My mind was a roving camera prying into every nook and cranny of her beautiful body ax I undressed her, zooming in for microscopic close-ups of exquisite plum-coloured nipples, so taut the wrinkles were strained out. And her navel, a deep, dark, dimple glowing with the mysterious secrets of woman. And her pussy. Her luscious, red-hot crevice, steaming with passion and wafting the musky aroma of pussy into my nostrils. And lovely wet, love-lips clamping around my knob, clinging and frictioning deliriously, faster and faster until I was crazy with the upsurge of spurting, that was spurting, spurting, spurting!
Lillian howled. Her arms and legs flung around me. She clung hungrily, an octopus absorbing me into her maw. Her loins sucked, while her belly rippled, flowed and washed over me like a hot tide. Site squeezed every last drop of spunk from me and then collapsed.
My prick twitched resentfully, insulted by pseudo-screwing that wasn't far removed from masturbation. It hunched itself in disgust and let itself tumble out into the sticky coldness of the outside world.
"Lovely, Mike," she whispered. "Well always do it this way."
I grunted.
"Well make time for it, Mike. Even if you are home late it's worth losing a little sleep, isn't it?"
I grunted.
She sat up abruptly in great alarm. "My dressmaker. I'm late." The wedding gown was suddenly the most important object in the world. She sprang off the bed and in her haste wiped her pussy on the bed sheet. She pulled on her clothes frenziedly. "Walk me to the subway, Mike," she ordered.
She could have coaxed me to lie back and relax, since she had to hurry off. But no. The wedding date was fixed and my role was being clarified. I must escort her around to prove I was a worthy husband.
Wearily, I reached for my trousers.
CHAPTER NINE
Escorting Lillian to the subway was a turning point in my young life. Straws can be placed one by one upon a camel's back until it finally breaks. But I was more like a donkey before its legs buckle.
I escorted Lillian to the subway station, bought her a ticket and waved after her as she hurried to catch a train. She'd given me a gentle loss on the cheek at the barrier and her last words had been, "Don't worry. I'll fix the night watchman's job." There was a jaunty spring in her step. She was no longer bothered by a hot and itchy pussy.
When she disappeared from sight I turned away from the barrier and found myself face to face with Carol.
My belly lurched. I mustered up a sickly smile to meet her accusing glare. "Hello, Carol."
"Who's that girl?"
I gestured airily. "A girl from the office."
"Do all the girls in your office kiss you?"
I frowned and tried to look unjustly accused. "Now wait a minute, Carol. Don't make a big scene out of nothing."
"She did kiss you!"
"On the cheek. Only a peck. It's ... sociable!"
"You've just left the office?"
"Working late," I confirmed.
"I've rung and rung," she snapped.
"We don't answer the 'phone after hours."
"We must talk, Mike," she said flatly. "Let's go to your pad."
"Dave's on leave. He's using the pad."
"I don't mind Dave hearing what I've got to say, It's terribly important!" She was quite capable of causing a scene in public. She was in a terrible mood.
"All right, Carol," I soothed, "But if Dave's busy you'll have to pacify him."
"Don't worry," she said grimly. "I'll deal with him." She held my arm with the possessiveness of Lillian.
Carol was sweet but sexually out of step with me. It's rarely possible to know if a girl is physically right the first time. It needs half-a-dozen sessions to form a sound opinion. I'd learned Carol was passable if I was very randy, and if there wasn't other pussy around, but as a regular screw she just wasn't in my league. But it's difficult to explain all this to a girl. Once they get the taste of hot cock, and get stars in their eyes, they can't listen to reasonable arguments. Carol was so highly strung and emotional I hadn't even tried to talk to her frankly. I'd simply faded out of her life. I hadn't seen her in six weeks. When she'd telephoned the office I wasn't there. Those times I'd unluckily answered the phone myself, I'd said I was busy and would ring back. In time, she'd have got the message and stopped telephoning. But escorting Lillian to the subway station was a turning point in my life. Carol happened to be at the same subway station!
"You haven't tried to give me the brush-off, have you, Mike?" She held onto my arm with fingers of steel.
"Don't be crazy," I blustered. "I've told you how it is. We're rushed off our feet. We're cutting discs for three albums. Then there's the publicity to send out to the provinces. I haven't even had time to crap."
"I was hurt," she confessed. "It's so long since I've seen you. The days have dragged!"
"I wanted to telephone. But it's been hell. Like now. I've just finished and I'm ready to drop. All I'm fit for is to curl up in bed."
"I won't keep you long, darling. But there's things we must settle." There was suppressed urgency in her, like she too had a hot, itchy pussy. She was almost dragging me along. She knew the way to the pad better than me.
She sighed with relief to find it empty. "Better lock the door," she suggested. She sniffed delicately. The smell of sweat, spunk and pussy-drool could have been cut with a knife. It was only twenty minutes since Lillian and I had walked out. "Somebody's been here," she said. Her nostrils quivered like a bloodhound's.
"Dave has a girl friend," I mentioned.
She crossed to the bed and examined the tumbled bed sheets. Her nose cringled. "Some women are so filthy! Look! You can see how she wiped herself!"
"Perhaps she was in a hurry."
"No decent girl behaves like that!" She stripped off the bed and remade it, changing the top sheet. "I'm not fastidious," she said. "But I do like to be clean."
"Cleanliness is a virtue," I said piously.
She eyed me thoughtfully. "It's been a long while, Mike," she said. It was a pleading invitation, as if she was saying. "Please, Mike. "Please screw me." My weakness is that I'm sensitive to other people's feelings, especially women's. She humbled her pride and asked me to screw her. I couldn't hurt her pride. Also, I had guilt feelings. I had given her the runaround. And my big, fat prick was twittering excitedly like an aviary of birds. I blundered. "I've missed you too, Carol," I said.
The next moment she was in my arms, rubbing her tits against my chest, one hand resting upon my bottom and the other in between us, grabbing the throbbing within my pants and caressing it.
"You're not too tired, are you, darling?" she coaxed, Her fingers frictioned my knob briskly.
Of course not, shouted my prick.
"Being with you excites me," I murmured. "Even though I'm exhausted, I want you,"
"I can tell," she said confidently. She increased her speed of prick-friction to make sure I didn't backslide, Without my being aware of it, we were drifting toward the bed.
Carol's a sexy piece of tail. There isn't anything that doesn't thrill her. She loves hot prick. But she loves it most of all in her mouth. She's a natural cock-sucker. That became increasingly evident during our love-making sessions. She favored her preference to a marked degree and our sessions ceased to be screwing sessions and became solely sucking sessions. Her cock-sucking obsession gave me no cause for complaint. A long, slow, suck-off can be more ecstatic than a straightforward screw. But the reason I'd given Carol the runaround was because of the way she sucked. It could have been just right for other pricks. But it was all wrong for my cock. It was lovely while she licked my Brownie, and sucked my balls. She tongue-washed my prick with a lusty joy that was exquisite stimulation. And when my knob was in her mouth, and she was swirling saliva around it, I couldn't fault her. But at the supreme moment, when I began to spurt, her timing went haywire. She brought me to climax as beautifully, if not better, than most girls. But her treatment of my prick during climax was all wrong. Orgasm is the fulfillment of all stimulation. The ecstasy of orgasm depends upon long, orgiastic spurtings. But that was where Carol failed. Her lust for spunk was the cause of her failure. She was too greedy. And she had lips and a mouth like a suction pump. She couldn't wait for me to spurt. She robbed me of the ecstasy of hot seed jetting up through my shaft and shooting gloriously into her mouth. Instead, she sucked monstrously, a fraction of a second before my prick muscles catapulted spunk out of my balls. It meant that I didn't shoot into her mouth. My spunk was sucked out of me. It was pleasurable. But I was deprived of that magnificent feeling of completeness every true orgasm should have. I corrected her. I explained it all carefully. She nodded eagerly and said she understood. But she couldn't get the timing right. When she licked me up, it was glorious. But every time I came, it was an anticlimax. Eventually, it became a disappointment. But by then she'd firmly established her preferences. It had become routine that we had three suck-offs to one screw. I remembered this as we fell on to the bed, our fingers stripping each other. Her breasts popped free from her bra as she pulled my prick from my fly. Our clothes melted away and we were embraced in the way she liked best, her pink love-lips panting expectantly under my nostrils while she held my prick with both hands and painted her mouth with its drooling knob.
I vaguely attempted to screw her, but she was too adroit. Without seeming to manage me at all, she got what she wanted; my head between her legs and my knob in her mouth. When she'd swirled her tongue around it a couple of times, me and my prick were one hundred percent in favour of continuing the activity.
She made herself comfortable and passed pillows down so I got comfortable too. We'd devised a system of lying conveniently close to be licked, while our hands were free to do other exciting things. She snuggled my prick in the cleavage between her breasts and massaged my knob in the soft, sweaty flesh while her tongue teased, licked and probed my Brownie. I wrapped my arms around her cheeky little ass and while my tongue tip probed the union of her love-lips, my fingers pried her buttocks apart and teased her Brownie. It was very pleasurable, lying leisurely, licking and laving each other, stimulating with exquisite sensations, and boosting ourselves higher and higher. The higher I was boosted the more wonderful my sensations. But despite my pleasure as my knob was beautifully licked, dissatisfaction simmered within me. And the closer I came to boiling point, the more apprehensive I became.
We climaxed together. She always arranged that. She'd had numerous little orgasms while I was licking her out, but she could always whip up response to my orgasm with a big orgasm of her own. We poised on the pinnacle of ecstasy. I was drunk on the taste of pussy. I had one love lip in my mouth and sucked it while I licked across the crown of her clit-bud. My knob quivered, my prick strained, gathering its resources to spurt, and her clit-bud gave a tiny hiccough and tried to climb right up inside my mouth. It was perfect until that moment.
And then she sucked!
She sucked like a demon. It was tremendous suction. She could have sucked a banana clean out of its skin. Her grandmother must have taught her to suck eggs when she was a babe in arms. She'd have drained dry the Pacific without taking breath!
My spunk was primed to spurt. A fraction of a second more and it would have jetted up through my shaft with deliriously hot fury. But she sucked first! My bewildered spunk was whirled up by her suction, was drawn up through my shaft before it knew what was happening, and was trickling down her throat before it even knew it had arrived.
Her licking had been so stimulating that I spurted copiously. But my last three or four spasms were an anticlimax almost too painful to bear. My sperm was sucked out of me! Even after I collapsed limply, she still sucked on greedily, absorbing my last few drips of drool.
She was dreamily satisfied. I wasn't. I felt as though she'd used a stomach-pump on my balls. We lay quietly for a time, my cheek resting on her wet, spread-open love-lips. Now my prick was flabby she'd crammed all of it into her mouth. It was a sorely disappointed prick, but it was content to curl up in such a moist, hot haven. Presently she slobbered my prick out of her mouth, sat up and held it with both hands. She worked on it delicately, a caressing arousal that would quickly get me in the mood again. "I've been wanting to be with you for so long," she said blissfully.
"Me too." I propped myself up on one elbow and strummed my fingers between her love-lips.
"I love your cock," she confessed. "I love its taste of spunk."
"Let's do it differently, next time," I suggested. "Let's screw. I love screwing!"
"If you want," she said with the air of a martyr. "But I did warn you. Now, it's happened."
My flabby cock uncurled and stretched itself. "What's happened?"
"What I warned would happen. I'm pregnant."
It took a few moments to sink in. I gulped. "Pregnant?"
"It's only to be" expected," she said calmly. She concentrated on my prick. It was coming on nicely, stubby and starchy. "I wanted to talk to you about it personally, Mike," she said. "I didn't want to talk on the telephone. And ... I was dying to see you!"
I felt faint. Are you sure?"
"It's six weeks," she said. "There's no doubt. I had a frog test."
It was all coming back to me. And- while cold shivers ran down my spine my big, fat bastard prick expanded and throbbed without a care in the world.
I remembered my last session with Carol. I'd already decided to give her the brush-off. But I was going easy and making this last session memorable. I wasn't happy. She'd sucked me off three times in a row, but rubbed me up again beautifully so I was ready to go again. She'd moistened her lips and opened her mouth.
"No," I'd panted. "Let me screw you!"
She'd looked up at me with big eyes. "But I've stopped taking the pill."
My prick was burning to probe her pussy. "There's no risk," I said.
"There's always risk. The way you screw, Mike, I'll have spunk so high up inside me it'll be running out of my mouth."
I want to fuck, stated my prick flatly.
"Don't you like screwing?" I asked Carol.
"Of course. But it's dangerous."
My artful fingers were steaming her up, and cunningly softening her resistance. "It's not dangerous. I'll pull out."
"But ... will you?"
"Of course."
"Suppose you don't? Suppose I click?"
Let me get inside that cunt, screamed my bastard prick.
"You've nothing to worry about," I reassured her.
"I wouldn't have an abortion," she'd said firmly. "I just wouldn't! How would you take care of that?"
Don't play around, Stupid, screamed my prick. Get a move on. Let me get inside. This suspense is driving me mad!
"I'd take care of you," I said. I must have been out of my mind. "And the kid too."
Carol looked down and fluttered her eyelids. "You mean ... you'd marry me, Mike?"
"Of course."
"I wouldn't take advantage of you, Mike. I wouldn't want you to feel trapped, or marry me because I was in the family way."
My prick was leaping in her hands like a wild thing. Her cunt, Man! it screamed at me. Inside her cunt!
"I wouldn't be trapped, Carol," I'd whispered. "It's what's been at the back of my mind for a long time."
She'd lain back then and spread her legs wide.
That was the scene I remembered and strangely, it was being repeated. My bastard prick was screaming. The cunt. Let me get inside her cunt!
"Don't feel trapped, Mike," she said. "I won't hold you to your promise if you don't want to marry me. But I do want the kid to have a name. That's the least you can do. Give it your name!"
The cunt, Man! screamed my prick. The cunt!
"We'll get married," I told Carol and my prick reared up triumphantly as she rolled over on her back and spread her legs wide.
It all seemed very different fifteen minutes later. I lay limply on her sweaty body with my limp prick squeezed tight between her clenched thighs.
"I knew I could rely on you, Mike," she said happily. She wrapped her arms around me in an affectionate embrace devoid of all sexy feelings.
My bastard prick had crept away leaving me to cope with all the trouble it had stirred up. The awfulness of everything swamped over me. Two girls I'd fixed to marry, a husband who was fixing to brand me in the newspapers as a Correspondent, and now the mother of my child! I made a tentative attempt to escape this new burden. I chuckled. "Did you think I wouldn't want to marry yon, Carol?"
Her arms around my neck squeezed me to her. "Not for a minute, darling. I know you meant what you said."
"But not all men are reliable," I pointed out. "I might have copped out."
"Not you, darling!"
"There was always the possibility."
"It never entered my mind, Mike."
"But just suppose ... ?" I licked my lips nervously. "Just suppose I'd changed my mind. Suppose I'd said I didn't want to get married?"
"You wouldn't, Mike. I know you."
"But ... just suppose!"
"Why worry about something that will never happen F' "I'm curious. How would you have reacted?"
"It would never have arisen, darling. If you were that sort of man, I'd have known by instinct. Then there wouldn't have been anything between us."
"But suppose your intuition had been wrong? What would you have done?"
For the first time she considered my question carefully. "A man like that would be a louse," she said. Her voice was loaded with disgust.
"Lots of men are louses. What do you do about them?"
"If a man is a louse, and takes advantage of a girl, she has to pay him back. She owes it to herself, and all other girls."
"How would you do it?"
"There're a dozen ways, darling. A girl isn't helpless. There're paternity orders. That makes him economically responsible for the child. That's only the beginning. There's breach of contract. There're a dozen ways a girl can repay a louse. By the time he wants to call quits and marry her, it's too late."
"Too late?"
"Well, the girl gets a lump sum granted by a judge, she's got a paternity order for the child, and she's got her liberty. She'd be mad to pass up all that and marry a louse. She'd make him sweat it out, earn the money to keep her and the child. She doesn't have- to do a thing!"
"You'd go through all that, Carol?" I asked. "You'd throw a man to the legal eagles?"
She was melting in my arms. "I wouldn't dream of doing it to you, Mike. I'd never have to think about it. You're not that type!"
I pinched her cheek affectionately, "What time is it, Mike?"
I told her. She swung her legs around off the bed, abruptly all agitation. "I'm late. I promised to meet Mother. I must rush, Mike. I'll see you tomorrow to fix everything."
I watched her dress moodily. Tomorrow! Another marriage certificate!
"Shall I call you at the office?" She tucked her breasts into her bra.
"No!" I took a deep breath. "I don't know where I'll he," I said lamely. "I'll meet you somewhere."
"Meet me here," she suggested. "Say ... seven o'clock? Then we can kiss and cuddle before we go to dinner and clinch our plans?"
"Fine," I said hollowly.
"Poor darling," she sympathized. "You're so tired. Don't walk me to the subway." She held my cheeks and kissed me on the forehead, starry-eyed and terribly happy. "You'll see, Mike. We'll be very happy!" She gave my limp pecker an affectionate farewell squeeze and hurried to the door.
"We'll get married later this month, Mike," she mentioned over her shoulder. "We don't want it to seem like a shotgun wedding, do we?"
CHAPTER TEN
I lay back, stacked pillows under my head and glowered up at the ceiling. I thought first of Janet's pussy with its long, black hairs, then Lillian's vagina which could tighten up around my prick like a strait jacket, and then of Ruth's pussy, boiling and bubbling explosively around my simmering cock until it spurted magnificently. Then I thought of Carol, sucking like a maniac to dredge up the vitamins to feed the embryo growing in her belly. My prick could handle the screwing side of it all, with gusto.
But all these four pussies had more than prick on their minds. They had plans. Plans for me! And having learned about those plans I was shivering in my shoes. My mind scurried around like a rat in a maze, trying to find an escape route. But there was no escape! I knew it now. I must resign myself to the consequences of my innocent actions. There was no way of avoiding trouble. The axe was about to fall. And fall hard!
I stared down at my big, fat traitorous prick. It curled on my belly, flabbily disinterested in my problems. Yet my future was intrinsically involved with my cock. It played a dominant role in everything I did. It was headstrong, obstinate and often blind to all reason. I wondered how the big bastard would react if I never again let it smell, or feel pussy.
It curled up. flabbily upon my belly, self-satisfied and indifferent to my many problems while I was bowed down with gloom. I prodded it with my forefinger, like a girl who was curious to test its emotional state. It flopped sluggishly, refusing to be budged. It was a -girls prying finger it wanted. That made me furious. All my prick thought of was sex! I grasped it with fingers and thumb and frictioned briskly. It was startled. It propped itself up on its elbows and looked at me with surprise and interest. It didn't respond. It wasn't getting the right sensations. I was teasing all the right pleasure spots, but it lengthened and thickened resentfully. It was almost indignant!
I frictioned determinedly. This was the way to keep out of trouble. Milk my prick of spunk so often that it wouldn't meddle in my affairs. Furthermore, once my prick was erect, jerking myself was enjoyable. Not so much as being sucked by a girl, or being juiced up by a pussy, but pleasurable. The kind of pleasure that can go on a long time. My prick was won over; its indignation melted. It towered, ready to accept more of the treatment. I closed my eyes dreamily and gave it slow up-and-down strokes. My hand was a sad substitute for a clinging pussy, but it did prove I could scrape along without a girl. A physical girl, that is. But I had to have my dream girl. She was hunched over my cock and it was her hand caressing it. Presently, I'd let her suck it, and then she'd straddle me.
I was drifting away and my cock was simmering nicely. Vaguely I heard the door open and close when Dave entered. He'd be surprised I was playing with myself, but I'd explain why after I'd shot my lot.
A bell-like voice said: "Sorry to interrupt. Are you expecting Dave?"
I opened startled eyes. I froze, my hand petrified in mid-stroke. She was dark and vivacious, her eyes bright with amusement.
"You're Mike, aren't you? You share the pad with Dave?"
I sat up and swung my legs around off the bed. I flushed. "I thought you were Dave."
She put me at ease. "Don't be embarrassed, I too love playing with myself. I do it all the time. I was shy the first time my roommate caught me at it. But I soon got over it. We play with ourselves now while we're sitting and talking."
I arose but she waved me back. "Don't stop. That's a beautiful hard-on. Don't waste it."
"You've come to see Dave ... ?"
"I'm Georgette. We had a very casual arrangement; if I happen to be free, I might meet him here." She smiled. "I've half-an-hour to spare. If Dave had been here ... "
Dave had mentioned Georgette. She was a model. "Dave's got a heavy date this evening," I said. Those three sisters would be keeping him busy, I reflected.
She examined my prick, her eyes dancing. "Shall I go then?"
"I hope you won't."
"Shall I draw up a chair and watch? I've never seen a man using his do-it-yourself kit." She had a lovely teasing smile.
"I'm not good at it," I confessed. "How's your speed?" I patted the bed.
She glanced at her wristwatch. "Only half-an-hour," she warned, unzipping her skirt and letting it slip down her legs.
She was a photographer's dream. Her waist was slender and fragile in contrast with her hips, which were sturdy and capable of powerful loin-thrusts. Her legs were long, and very shapely. Her bottom was small and very tight. When she got her blouse off I was even more impressed by her big, round breasts. They were large, but braced up by strong pectoral muscles that made them jut aggressively. Her thimble-sized nipples were dark pink. She giggled, sat beside me and reached down between my legs. Her fingers and thumb circled around my cock low down at the root. She squeezed it affectionately. Her other hand went between her own legs, a skilful finger-stroke along her pussy-crevice separated the love-lips, and then her fingers sank deep into the crevice. She stirred it up. "This is just like being at home with my roommate."
"You've a lovely body, Georgette."
"Thank you, kind sir." She frictioned me with a long, caressing rhythm that was very moving.
"Your body's made for loving."
"It has played that role in the past" Amusement bubbled in her voice.
"I want to make love to you, Georgette." She had magical fingers. And the hand between her own legs was as busy as a buzz-saw. It made lovely, liquid, sloshy noises.
"You want to fuck me?" Her eyes danced.
"I'm dying to fuck you, Georgette."
"I suspected you'd finally get the idea," she giggled.
"You dislike the idea?"
"Your idea has its virtues, lover boy, TMs big prick is wasted in your clumsy hands."
"What are we waiting for?"
"I've only got half-an-hour. We mustn't take long, so I'm juicing myself up first."
"I can do that." I reached across her thigh. But she nudged my hand away with her elbow.
"I'm sure you could. But you'd be too slow. I know the right places, the right pressure and the right speed." Her hand was now a blur between her legs. Her fingers made splashy sounds and the musky smell of pussy took my breath.
"This is a lovely prick," she approved. She slithered the palm of her hand over its crown with every upstroke. "It's so hot too! It'll be lovely having it spear up between my legs."
I was craned over her groin, fascinated by the skill of her strumming fingers.
"Almost ready," she said cheerfully. "Listen. I want to be screwed my way."
"It's a special way?"
"I like fucking all ways. But tonight I'm in a mood, and since we've only a short time ... That'll do it!" she decided. She withdrew her hand from between her legs, trailing sticky threads of goo. She offered me her fingers and watched happily as I licked each one clean. "Let's get ready," she said, getting up abruptly, her grip on my prick making me stand too. "Lots of pillows," she ordered crisply. She scampered around collecting cushions off chairs and stacking them high in the center of the bed. She placed the two bed-pillows on top of the pile. "Wait while I get ready." She knelt, positioned her navel on the top pillow then sprawled forward. Her weight crushed down the cushions but when she stopped sinking it was as though she'd draped herself over a clothesline, her hips and breasts dangling one side, her groin and thighs on the other. She rested her cheek upon the bed and beckoned me. "I'll suck it a little before you start."
I kneeled on the bed, and she grasped my cock and guided it to her mouth. Her ripe lips parted, her tongue swirled saliva around my knob, and her mouth closed around it. She sucked blissfully. I closed my eyes and the top of my head steamed. It was gentle sucking, like a babe sucking its mother's breast. It was more affectionate than stimulating. Much too soon she slobbered my prick out of her mouth and mentioned: "I love to have the taste of prick in my mouth while I'm being screwed. You can start now!"
I kneeled behind her. Her beautiful ass was humped up high and her thighs splayed apart. She was juiced-up and didn't have to be fingered. I probed with my knob, exploring hot nooks and crannies.
"That's it, Mike! Go straight in. All the way!"
I had to kneel up with my belly curved over her buttocks to get in. The way her belly was bowed over the cushions curved her vagina into a semicircle. Her vagina was burning hot and very tight. Penetrating its curved length gave me startling new sexy sensations. My erect cock doesn't curve. Forcing my straight prick into her curved vagina was the most exciting pussy penetration I've ever made. Finally I was home to the hilt, not knowing if my prick had been curved, or her vagina straightened. But the sensation was so good it wasn't important.
"Gorgeous, Mike!" she panted. "Mould yourself over me!"
I leaned forward, my abdomen upon her back and my chest upon her shoulders. Two of us draped over a clothesline! I nuzzled her hair and nibbled her ear. Her big breasts hung heavily; I squeezed them and rolled the nipples between my fingers and thumbs.
Tour cock's burning!" she panted. "It's ... lovely!"
"I'm scared to move. I'll shoot my head off."
"Don't move!" she whispered. "Yet!"
She moved. As I humped over her, my legs were between hers. She brought her calves parallel with mine and hooked her insteps around my ankles. My sensation of being staked out increased when her hands closed over mine, gripping them as I squeezed her breasts.
"Rock!" she panted.
I tried to ram my prick in and out. Instantly her feet clamped tight around my ankles. "Not fuck!" she panted. "Rock!"
I got it then. The stack of cushions was the pivot upon which we hung! I rocked.
It was wonderful. Having my prick simmering in her hot pussy while I rocked backwards and forwards provided all the wonderful sensations of screwing without its exertions.
"Slowly!" she panted. "Make it last!"
I rocked. I floated. I almost fainted. It was like swinging, swinging forward with wonderful exhilaration, and at the high zenith, swinging back, my slight movements giving impetus for the next upward swing. Then up and up, the world dropping away, and glorious hovering suspense before the sweet plunge downwards and the uprushing earth and hot softness.
I rocked until her pussy boiled around my furiously erupting cock, "Rock!" she screamed. "Fuck!" she shouted and her sweaty, clenching buttocks squelched and squished and shuddered and jerked. Her curved vagina clung fiercely to my straight prick and spurted scalding cunt-juice over it until my jetting spunk tore up into her like molten seed.
We collapsed. That was a screw to beat all screwing. Although her drool was still bubbling and seething around my prick she was as limp as a dishcloth. She was exhausted. I was too.
"Let's lie quietly, side by side," she panted.
I pulled away. She remained with her cute little ass stuck up like a mountain peak. I pulled the cushions out from under her and she collapsed weakly. I lay beside her, touching the full length of her sweat-filmed body. My flabby prick lay upon her bottom. Presently she squirmed around to face me, tits to chest, belly to belly and head to head. She was recovering fast. Women do. "That teas lovely, Mike," She made it sound like I was a chef who'd served up a dish she particularly liked.
"You've a lovely pussy."
"But it needs a prick like yours to make it respond!"
I snaked my fingers into her wet crotch and stroked her slippery love-lips. Her fingers found my flabby prick and moved rhythmically.
"You're very lovely, Georgette."
"Any girl will look lovely to a man while she's stroking his prick."
"I'm pleased you came tonight."
"Better than playing with yourself?"
"Out of this world."
"I liked it too, Mike."
My prick was thickening and stiffening, stretching itself to attention. She let go of it.
"Don't stop," I urged. "You've a lovely touch."
"I don't want you to get worked up. You'll be disappointed."
"I want to rock with you again."
"Sorry, Mike. I warned you. I've only half-an-hour. I must go in a few minutes." Her mind was made up. It must have been an important date. I strummed her pussy zestfully, hoping she might change her mind. She clamped her thighs tight. "I'm sorry, Mike."
My prick howled in dismay. "When do I see you again, Georgette?"
"We'd better not. You're a nice boy, Mike. I could like you too much. I wouldn't only want your prick. I'd want you too. All of you!"
"Meet me tomorrow," I urged.
"I don't want to start something I can't finish."
My prick screamed. Fix it. Fix it somehow!
"What is it you can start, yet not finish?" I asked.
"I know me, Mike. I screw around. But it's only until I find Mister Bight. Then I'll want to stay with him."
She's got a luscious pussy! screamed my prick. Fix it!
"How do you know I'm not Mr. Right?"
"You'd be too free and easygoing, Mike. You don't want to settle down."
Think of tomorrow, screamed my prick. Think of that luscious pussy draped over a mountain of cushions!
"Who says I don't want to settle down?" I demanded.
She studied me coolly. Td like to think you meant it, Mike."
This is your chance, screamed my prick. Grab it!
"A man gets tired of screwing around too," I said. I listened to myself saying it. I was horrified. I was talking myself into another jam. But I couldn't stop myself. Cock adrenalin was flooding through my mind. "You're sweet, Georgette," I said softly. "Every moment I'm discovering you anew."
"You're a nice boy, Mike. I wish you meant what you say."
"I do! Listen. London's full of pussy. Every time I stamp my foot a dozen twats scamper out from the woodwork and grab my prick. It's not your pussy that fascinates me, Georgette. It's you!"
She'd become startlingly loving and tender. "Really, Mike?"
"I've never quite felt this way about another girl."
She's groggy, approved my prick. Now the knockout. Then screw her again.
"I think ... I think I love you," I stammered.
Georgette pulled away from me. Her eyes shone like stars. "I hate to go, darling. If I'd known I'd have cancelled. But I can't let these people down."
"Tomorrow?" I insisted.
"Of course, Mike." Her eyes were serious. "You'll have time to think things over. Perhaps by then you won't want me."
"I want you!" I insisted.
Tomorrow," she agreed. "Shall I come here?"
"About seven," I said. "Afterwards we can go out for a quick snack and come back."
She pressed my shoulders down against the pillow when I tried to get up. "Let me slip away quietly, darling. It'll be easier that way." She patted a pillow under my head, closed my eyes with soft fingertips and arranged my half-hard-on upon my belly. She gave the knob a little kiss then dressed.
I watched her. She did have a lovely body. Tomorrow! gloated my prick. We'll probe her lovely pussy to its depths! She leaned over me and gave me a lass full of womanly affection and tenderness. Then she slipped quietly away.
I lay back contentedly. My prick gave an eager little leap when I thought of Georgette's curving vagina.
And then abruptly I remembered that Carol too was calling at seven o'clock. My prick shrieked in despair. Stupid bastard! it yelled. You've balled it all up!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was midnight when Dave arrived. I was relaxing and stroking my prick, and fantasizing with Georgette, and my dream girl. My prick drooled but that was all. I couldn't successfully toss myself off. I needed a girl around even if it was only for the smell of her pussy.
Dave looked terrible, white and shaking. His eyes were deep-set and anxiety creased his forehead. He flung his jacket on a chair. "It's a bastard life!" he said. He stripped off his shirt.
I wasn't surprised he was pale and weak. Those three sisters climbing over him must have tired him. "Georgette was here," I mentioned.
"Fuck Georgette."
"I did."
"Then you're stupid! Who wants a prick curved like a boomerang?"
"It was a unique experience," I said coldly. I resented him adopting a veteran's attitude. "I intend to repeat the experience."
"You think you've got troubles!" he choked. "I'm so deep in the shit it's up over my head."
"What's bothering you, Dave?"
"Those three sisters!"
"Don't ask me to help out. I'm already stuck with four cunts I can't-handle."
He dropped his trousers and showed me his cock. It dangled limply, very red and very tender. "Look at that!"
"It's a little overworked," I agreed. "But that can happen to any prick."
"I found out something I didn't know until today. They're nymphomaniacs. They can't be satisfied. They're wolves. They eat me alive. I've been fucked, sucked, tossed off and milked dry of spunk every way they know. And they're still ravenous. They've been at me non-stop all afternoon and evening. They've only just let me go. They'd kill a healthy man in a week."
"Why worry," I said. "You fucked 'em. Now you can leave them."
He sat on the bed beside me moodily, pulling on his prick to see if he could get a response. "I'm trapped, Mike," he said in a voice of doom.
"Balls. You're sitting pretty. It's me who's in the shit."
"You don't know the worst," he gloomed. He dropped like a lily over a grave.
"I'll swap with you!"
He looked up quickly "Would you?"
"Like a shot. Four girls I'm supposed to marry this month, and a husband citing me as a Correspondent."
"I'm even worse off," he said. He threw up his hands in despair. "You can't trust women! We were merely having fun, the four of us fucking and sucking gloriously. That's all there was to it. Now they've plunged me into the shit and are holding my head under." I stared.
"Two of them have clicked!" he said bitterly. "They've got it all neatly recorded, and are witnesses for each other. It happened on my last leave."
"Didn't they take the pill?" I asked, aghast.
"They said they had. I fell into the trap. Now | they've got me. They've presented an ultimatum. I'm to marry one, but live with all three! The one I don't marry will apply for a paternity order to keep me legally tied up." His eyes glazed. "Think what it means, Mike! I've got to support three women, and their kids! Moreover, now I'm in the bag, they've shown me their true colours. There's no satisfying them. They're nymphos! Every leave they'll devour me like cannibals. I'll be carried aboard ship on a stretcher. They destroy all the fun in screwing. They'll drain me dry of wages and spunk."
"And you warned me not to get involved!"
"I was only screwing around," he moaned. "How does all this marriage business come into it?"
"It steals up on you," I sighed. I had gloomy knowledge of it all.
"I was merely happily screwing. Now ... there's all this marriage trouble! I can't take it, Mike. I'll blow my brains out."
"I'm in the same shit," I said.
"There's one way out," his eyes gleamed.
"There is?" I asked hopefully.
"I'll stay aboard. I'll never set foot ashore! I'll be a shuttlecock, batted from port to port." His eyes glowed happily. "That'll fool them."
"Lucky bastard!" I said enviously.
"I was smart," he said. "I didn't tell them I'm shipping out tomorrow. They're cooking lunch for me. But I'll be down river on the high tide when they wonder why I haven't turned up. They'll never get their claws into me!"
I eyed him with admiration. Then I thought of my own problems. "Dave," I said. "About that gun to blow your brains out?"
He frowned. "I haven't a gun."
"Then what do I do?" I wailed.
He studied me thoughtfully. Then a slow grin spread across his face. Having become involved himself he now understood how easily I'd become involved. "Mike," he said. "Can you carry a tray loaded with glasses?"
"Eh?"
"Ship out with me, Mike!" he said enthusiastically. "We'll both go down river on the high tide. I'll fix it with the Purser. You'll be a steward on my ship!"
My eyes were misty. "Dave. You're a true friend!" I was a coward. I was running away. But I could start a new way of life!
Yet, even while I arranged details with Dave, my traitorous prick tried to obstruct me.
What about Georgette? it kept screaming.
The ship was a luxury cruiser. When it cast off from Greenwich, nosed out of the Thames Estuary and butted into the Channel chop, the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. I was beginning a new life. The sea air was bracing, and the rolling of the ship a sensuous lullaby. The Captain was Dave's friend and I'd been given a cabin of my own, half-a-dozen white jackets with brass buttons and three pairs of black trousers. I had four duty spells of three hours with an hour's break between. But my working hours were staggered so that I found myself working around the clock. The work was easy. I walked the decks taking the passengers' orders, and collected drinks from the bar. I usually earned a tip, which was useful because I wasn't paid wages. I wasn't even on the ship's crew list. The Captain was turning a blind eye to my existence.
Dave wised me up on handling pussy. "Be selective," he urged. "Don't snap at the first piece of tail flourished under your nose. There's so much pussy aboard you can pick and choose. Keep away from the rich old bags. They're the most aggressive. They have their hand in your fly and your prick out before you know it. But you can't believe a word they say. I've been through it all. They suck your cock with diamond necklaces dripping over their bare tits and tangling up in your short-and-curlies. And between sucks they'll tell you that in port they'll set you up in a penthouse, with a chauffeur to drive you around. That's crap. The sea air makes them cock-hungry. They'll promise anything to ensure hot cock throughout the voyage. But once they're ashore it's different. They may invite you around for a quiet session but you'll have to pay your own taxi fare."
My ears pricked. I'd burned my boats behind me. My only money was the tips. I needed capital. "Can't I ask the rich old bags for cash?"
"A waste of time," said Dave. "If you ask bluntly they're offended. Then you have to soothe their tears, and they vaguely promise a present you never get. If you ask for a loan they're eager to help you. But they've only two pence in their purse because the Purser looks after their valuables. And somehow, they never do find time to ask the Purser to open up his safe. The richer they are, the tighter they are. The sea air does it. They're twenty times as generous with their cunt but a hundred times tighter with their dough."
"Who wants an old bag, anyway?" I said glumly.
"But just once in a while you find an old bag with a gold-lined pussy and a little gold rubs off onto your prick every time you screw her. There're no hard and fast rules. You have to play it by ear. If it's only pussy you want, some of the old bags are the best. But if you want to pick up a little scratch too, you've got to use your wits."
"I need some money behind me, Dave."
"Then nympho, married women are best, those wives with an insatiable crotch and a husband who's a slosh. They've worn out their husbands, who in pure self-defense keep themselves pissed so they can't get it up every time their wives want. Those wives are ravenous for cock, and their husbands are so pissed they can easily wheedle money out of them."
"That sounds interesting," I decided.
"But watch it. Don't play the field openly. You know how monogamous women are. They talk and then gang up on you. The word goes around that you're a ponce and for the rest of the voyage not one woman will let you near her."
"You said pussy was easy aboard?"
"Only when you know the ropes. Paying pussy is easy too. But you have to use your head as well as your prick. Single girls are best. They're not getting it regularly and are screaming for hot prick. But they've got more pride than married women and won't make a loan unless you give a really convincing story. And whatever you do, keep away from the Beauty Queens."
"Beauty Queens?"
"The prettiest half-a-dozen, single girls. Men swarm around them, setting up deck-chairs, pulling them up out of the swimming pool, buying them drinks and queuing to dance with them. Those girls are besieged by pricks, I don't know why, but it's always that way. The Beauty Queens are deluged by pricks while the rest of the women prowl the decks like hungry leopards. The only time to tangle with a Beauty Queen is if you're so hot for her, you can't live without it. And then you have to work hard proving you're better than the competition."
"You tell it different now to the way you told me ashore," I accused.
He looked at me sadly. "You're overlooking something, Mike. You're you. And I'm me!"
I bridled. "You cocky bastard!"
"No, Mike," he said patiently. "I'm a Ship's Officer. I walk the deck in my white uniform and I burn up under all those hungry eyes riveted upon my crotch. Pussy can't resist an officer's uniform. Even the Beauty Queens fight for seats at the Captain's table. I often can't taste my food for the smell of hot pussy steaming up from under the table. Every time I go to my cabin I have to send a steward in first to chase out any hot pussy that's got undressed and crawled into my bunk. D'you know that every voyage the girls run a sweepstake? Each time they score with a Ship's Officer they pay a pound into the kitty. The girl who scores most, scoops the pool. It gets to be a pretty big pool. When land's sighted competition gets fierce and it's a jungle below decks. Any girl an officer meets in a corridor is liable to have his prick out and up inside her for a two-minute screw so she can improve her odds on winning the kitty."
"How do I get to be a Ship's Officer?" I asked wistfully.
My around-the-clock timetable stopped me seeing much of Dave. Occasionally I glimpsed him pacing the bridge, or casually striding the deck, looking magnificent in his white uniform. The women's heads turned like men in Soho studying a hustler's strut. But Dave wasn't my nursemaid and I had to find my own feet.
By the time the ship had steamed through the Channel, turned left around the north coast of Spain, weathered the Bay of Biscay and docked for twenty-four hours in Gibraltar I knew the prices of all drinks, could balance a tray on one hand, knew which was port and which was starboard. When the ship steamed out into the Atlantic, to my astonishment it was as smooth as a millpond. The sun was hot, the passengers lay around in swim-suits all day, and the cooks in the galley worked stripped to their jockey-shorts. But sex didn't rear up until we'd rounded the tip of Africa and set course for the Canary Islands. It took a few days for the sea air to enliven the passengers, smother self-consciousness, breed conviviality and make pussies itch. I used those few days to size up my stock-in-trade.
Each shift I worked different decks. This widened my range of passengers, who usually put down roots and sprawled in the sun in deck-'chairs they always occupied. I mentally selected three married pussies. One was a redhead, about thirty-two, and a lovely figure she showed off in a wispy bikini. But she had a big mouth crammed full with enormous teeth. She was an easy-going woman, but when she smiled, which was much too often, she looked like a horse snickering. Her husband was about thirty-five, well-made but flabby. He sat perched up at the bar and soaked from morning until night as though he'd wagered he'd drink the ship dry. There was only the merest hint of a bulge in his swim-trunks and he'd have needed to dry out for a week, and employ hustlers to work upon him, before he'd get a stand. I observed how redhead's pussy got itchier and itchier. First, she sprawled out long-leggedly, watching the men who walked past through dark sunglasses. Later, she removed her glasses and stared at the men boldly. Then she began calling out cheeky comments to those she'd met casually. Finally, she engaged them in conversation, inveigled them into sitting down to have a drink. Her husband couldn't have cared less. If he was drawn into the conversation he'd make an effort and say a few words. Otherwise, he sat with a glazed expression in his eyes, his tilted glass spilling whisky over his thigh.
Nobody gave the redhead a tumble. There were reasons. She was married, and male passengers went after the single girls. Also, there were four or five Beauty Queens aboard and each trailed behind her a large school of admirers with open mouths and bulging cocks. And then, there was the redhead's big teeth. She laughed too often. Only a Texan wearing boots and spurs could have felt at ease with her. In desperation she worked at it too hard. Her gushing eagerness frightened off many men who suspected a catch to it. Eventually she took on the silent, brooding alertness of a cat stalking a bird.
That was when she noticed me. I'd always eyed her with interest when I served her drinks. She had good tits and a firm belly. When she was stretched out in her deck-chair, her bikini cut across her abdomen so low that auburn curlies peeped out from it. While she basked in the sun I suspected she fantasized. She moved her ass subtly against the canvas deck-chair, drawing her bikini up tight beneath her crotch. Sometimes it was so tight it showed the deep crease within her crevice. Often there was a little wet patch there. Simply looking at her gave me a hard-on. It showed through my tight, black pants. I kept my face turned away from her while I served her husband's drinks so she could study it. I was a mere steward. But I made her aware that passengers weren't the only men who had pricks. She began ordering twice as many drinks and kept me fetching and carrying like a shuttlecock. While I served her she chatted with me and surreptitiously studied the bulge of my cock. I answered her bantering with double-meaning sentences, and boldly admired her. She loved that. She sat in all kinds of poses that showed off her figure. She'd artlessly learned my working schedule and called me two minutes before I was due off-duty.
"Steward."
"Yes, Ma'am?"
"I'm going down to my cabin, number two-seven-three. Bring down a long cool drink, please. Lemonade, dash of gin and ice." She looked at me expectantly. She knew what I had to say.
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm going off duty."
She smiled easily. "Then why don't you just bring my drink down anyway? Bring one for yourself too. You've been so rushed I'm sure you'd like to relax."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am. That's not possible. There's a steward for cabin service." There are strict rules about cabin service and I didn't want to cause a strike.
Her face fell. "What a pity." She was all out of ideas and looked at me hopefully.
"If you wish, Ma'am, I could personally bring a bottle to your cabin. That wouldn't involve steward service."
Her eyes shone. "That would be lovely, Steward!"
I'd saved enough tips to buy a bottle of whisky. She opened the door, closed it behind me and as I placed the bottle on the table, I heard the door lock click. She was still wearing her bikini. She'd set up two tall glasses. I sloshed whisky into them. She shouldered me on one side. "You've been working hard. Sit back and relax and let me wait upon you for a change!"
I relaxed in an easy chair while she added water to the whisky. She brought my glass to me, looked deep into my eyes when she handed me the glass and then sat opposite me. Her tits swelled out provocatively from her wispy bra. "My husband's no company!" she sighed. "He's always sloshed. I long for a quiet drink with somebody interesting."
"Has he got business worries?" I sympathized.
She sniffed. "He's never done a day's work! The fat dividends roll in every year." She scowled. "It's better he doesn't poke his nose into the office, Then we might have troubles!"
"May I risk causing offence?"
She narrowed her eyes. "Must you?"
"I think you're very lovely!"
Her tension melted away. "You are sweet. What a nice thing to say!"
"You're so lovely yet he just sits there and drinks and doesn't even see you! I can't help it. It makes me boil inside."
"You're a dear boy," she said tenderly. Concern showed in her eyes. "You must be hot in that stuffy jacket. Take it off and make yourself comfortable?"
I wore nothing under it. She admired my smooth-skinned torso. "You're beautifully muscled. Charles is all flabby flesh."
"That's because I have to work hard. I don't mind so long as I can earn the money for the operation."
"Operation?" Her eyebrows arched.
I invented a sister. "It's a spine injury. She can't walk. It means months of specialized hospital attention. So I save every penny. In a couple of years I'll be able to put her right,"
"You are a sweet boy." Impulsively she placed her hand upon my knee. I looked down at it. I tried to control myself. I shuddered with the effort before I gave way to impulse. I seized her hand and kissed it.
She came right up out of her chair and stood over me, pressing my cheek against her belly while her fingers stroked my hair. "You sweet boy," she said huskily. "You are so sweet."
My hands rested on her satin-skinned back just above her bikini. No more than that. If I made her work at seducing me she'd have a sense of responsibility. "You're lovely," I whispered into her hot belly. My huffing breath sent a shudder rippling through her.
"Dear boy!"
I raised my head slowly and looked up through the twin swell of her bra cups into her eyes. "You're so understanding," I said. "I'm so happy to be with you. I want to sit and hold you in my arms. May I?"
"For a few minutes," she said huskily.
We sat on the bed. I slid my arm around her bare shoulders and pulled her cheek down upon my chest. Her auburn hair tickled my nostrils and her breast nudged my belly. I kept my prick under control by deliberately not thinking about pussy. That gave me an advantage because she couldn't think of anything else. When she realized I intended simply sitting there she sagged her weight against me until it bore us backwards.
"This is better," she whispered. "I can lie in your arms more comfortably." She swung her legs up on the bed. "Make yourself comfortable."
We lay side by side. Her tits prodded my chest and her shoulder wriggled until her bra strap was under my hand. If I merely twitched my fingers a bare tit would pop out at me. But I tenderly kissed her forehead, and her closed eyelids, sighed wistfully. "It's lovely simply to be with you!"
"I'm Gloria," she said. "What's your name?"
"Mike."
Her fingertips ran up and down my spine, drawing sensuous patterns. Then she massaged her tits against my chest and gently eased one leg over mine. I raised my knee. She wriggled again and was astride it. I raised my knee higher and my thigh pressed hard into her crotch. She bore down against it. "We shouldn't be doing this," she said breathlessly. "But I'm so drawn towards you."
"I'm drawn towards you too, Gloria. But I don't want to endanger your happiness."
"You're making me happy now!" Her crotch bore down more powerfully on my thigh. Her pussy was burning. Even through her bikini and my pants it was glowing like a torch.
"But ... your husband?" I protested.
"Don't worry about him, Mike."
"But you're so lovely. He'd be terribly hurt if ... "
Her caressing hands were very urgent. "He doesn't appreciate me, Mike. He doesn't know how to love me. The truth is, he can't! He's always so stewed. He couldn't make love for a thousand dollars."
I was incredulous. "Not with a lovely woman like you?"
"Love me, Mike," she choked. "Hold my breasts. Kiss them!" Her shoulders wriggled, trying to snag her bra strap in my fingers. I ran my fingers down between her shoulder to her bra strap. She gasped as it snapped open. Then I eased the straps off her shoulders and pulled the bra out from between us. She gave another gasp and her sweaty tits slithered all over my chest as she clasped me to her tightly. Her hot crotch bore down with tiny, squelching sounds. I could feel the stickiness even through-my pants. She was hot stuff. She'd demand hot cock six times a day and play with herself in between. I ran my hand down her spine and her belly arched in powerfully against mine. I eased my fingers into her bikini and molded them over the curve of her bottom, pressing down and adding pressure to the bearing-down of her crotch. That sent her. She clung to me savagely while spasms raced through her, riding my thigh like a rocking horse. With every spasm she gave a deep-throated growl. When it was over she clung to me with her heart hammering and it was minutes before she could talk. "I don't know what came over me," she whispered.
"You came all over my thigh. You're sticking to me!"
"It's been such a long time, Mike. My husband neglects me."
When a woman has an orgasm with a man, their relationship changes dramatically. "I love you coming," I said.
Her hand snaked between us, snapped open my trouser button and zipped down the fly. "Get comfortable, Mike," she said, pulling down my pants.
I lay beside her. We were both gloriously naked. She held my prick with both hands and rubbed its sticky knob into her navel while I bathed my fingers in her sticky pussy.
"You don't mind me being sexy, Mike? You don't think I'm too demanding? I love to be played with, like this. Do that two or three times and I'm really in the mood."
I moved around to get at her better. I lay on my back with one thigh drawn up. She lay with her bottom against the inside of my thigh with my prick standing up against her belly. When she splayed her legs apart I could get right into her. Her red-haired pelvis was a mound of hard bone. My fingers rustled through the springy hairs, curved over the bone and squished into hot, mushy crotch. She sighed deliciously, gripped my prick convulsively and abandoned herself up to me.
She wasn't hard to please. She was a glutton for orgasms and didn't need to be titillated. It was enough to shove four fingers into her clinging mush and strum briskly. All of her pussy was highly responsive. She climaxed every few minutes and then widened her thighs instead of clamping them tight, so I'd carry on rubbing her up into her next orgasm. No wonder her husband got sloshed! She was a man-killer. She needed a machine, not a husband. When she'd had half-a-dozen climaxes my fingers were tired. But when I eased down my strumming she gave a despairing wail that broke my heart. I shifted around adroitly and got my thigh rammed up high in between her legs. Our bellies ground together and her wet pussy-lips were splayed apart over ray thigh. I drove it up hard into her crotch while she bore down. It gave my fingers a rest while she tossed herself off half-a-dozen times on my thigh. That took the edge off her appetite. She clung to me with my prick crushed against her belly while she took a breather. Her crotch was scalding hot and my thigh so wet she rode up and down like it was a greasy pole. "I'm a sensuous beast, Mike," she whispered.
"A lovely beast."
"You've got me in the mood! It'd be lovely if you kissed me!"
I swiveled around until her soft belly melted against my chest and her red curlies tickled my chin. Her wide-flung thighs opened up her pussy like a deep cleft. I licked around, tonguing up juice and she had an instant orgasm. But she handled my prick delicately, cushioning it between her breasts and giving only an occasional, lingering lick across its knob to keep it simmering. She was scared I'd get tired before she'd been satisfied. But sucking her was a pleasure because it was so easy. Merely running my tongue along her crevice made her climax. Licking around her love-lips made her come, sucking one love-lip into my mouth and nibbling it gently gave her an orgasm. She kept going off like a firecracker, one orgasm blending into the next, her loins pistoning gently and rubbing her hot crotch into my mouth. She became as wet as a rainy day. Her thighs swam in drool and my cheeks ran with goo. I'd licked her off a dozen times before her fingers gently intervened between her pussy and my mouth. "Shall we have a little rest, darling?" she said huskily.
I slid up alongside her and she snuggled into my arms. "You make me feel so lovely, Mike."
"You are lovely," I said dutifully.
"Make love to me, Mike," she panted. "Like a true lover!" She gave my prick a quick rub-up, pushed its knob down into her groin and rolled over on her back. I kneeled between her parted legs while she circled my knob around inside her crevice, frictioning nicely and bearing down until my knob rested squarely upon her vagina dimple. "Come into me slowly," she panted. "I love feeling you enter."
I had to enter slowly. She probably spent most of her time playing with herself. But rubbing up her love-lips and clit-bud didn't stretch her vagina. Probing my knob into the ring of muscle around her vagina entrance was tough going. And sliding up into her was like boring my own hole. Her hot, stickiness resisted until I feared I was tearing her. When I was right inside my cock was so tightly sheathed every pulse of blood increased the constriction. Her finger-tips, pressing into the creases of my bottom, strained powerfully, trying to cram more of my throbbing prick up inside her. "Slowly, Mike," she said dreamily. Her eyes fluttered and looked up into mine tenderly. "Can you kiss my breasts at the same time?"
Her tits were slippery with sweat and very pliable. I pressed them together and pushed them high. They were so soft I could mould them together until their taut nipples touched. I licked them both. She quivered. I kept licking, and her hands slid down my buttocks to my scrotum, teased my balls and bathed them in the love-juice trickling out from her pussy. It was all very enjoyable, and I was keeping my big prick under reasonable control. I'd almost gained my objective so now I could give my prick its head. Her two taut nipples, squashed together, were as inviting as two iced cherries. I sucked them into my mouth and laved them with my tongue.
She whimpered. "Fuck me, Mike. Fuck me!"
The words she used, and her tone, set me off. I'd been holding back. Now I let go. I reared up on her, skewering her powerfully and her gasps of ecstasy were a spur. Her loins pistoned frantically while she writhed, and I crammed her tits into my mouth and chewed them while she all but thrust my dangling balls up inside her Brownie. My hot spunk surged through my richly expanding prick with a sweet agony that split us both apart. I couldn't get enough of her, and she couldn't get enough of me. We writhed, clung and tore at each other, and when it was over we were exhausted.
She stirred beneath me. "Do you want to pull out?" she whispered.
I slid down her sweet-slippery body and withdrew my prick slowly. Her vagina was so tight my cock stretched. It was still thick, but flabby. I kneeled up and it bowed over. Her eyes were soft and shining. "That was lovely, Mike. Why don't you sit astride my chest?"
I straddled her, my knees tip under her armpits, her breasts squeezed together between my thighs. She pulled my prick towards her mouth and her eyes held mine as her tongue tantalizingly laved my knob. My prick twitched and her eyes gleamed. "It responds beautifully, Mike."
"It knows what it likes!"
She swallowed my knob into her mouth, sucked gently a few moments and pulled it out. She watched it quivering excitedly and oozing little droplets of love-juice. "Does it often respond?"
"When you make it respond."
"I mean ... that is ... how many times can you come?"
"Often. If you work on me between orgasms."
She swallowed my knob into her mouth again, sucking and licking simultaneously. My prick thickened and stiffened and stood up so rigidly she couldn't crane her mouth forward enough to hold it. She licked around the knob and down the shaft to my balls. "It's lovely now! Use it to play with me. I love that!"
"Sorry, Gloria." I said firmly.
Her eyes widened. "No?"
"I must work. I've just time for a straight in-and-out."
"Must you go?"
"I work all the hours I can. I need the money! I love being with you. But you do understand!"
Her eyes were swimmy. I didn't know if she was crying for herself, or my fictitious sister. "Things will improve, Mike," she whispered. She grabbed my prick and pushed it down to her groin. I slid down with it until I was kneeling between her legs. She closed her eyes, buried my knob in her crevice, whisked it up and down for a minute and then came very, very satisfyingly. "That's it, Mike!" she choked. That's lovely! Now you do it. Hold it with both hands."
"I haven't the time," I said firmly. I leaned forward and-went straight in, so forcefully she gave a gasp. She almost didn't know what had happened until my prick was rammed high up inside her. I grasped her floppy breasts, pushed them high and squeezed them together. "It's got to be a quickie." I said and licked her nipples. They tasted salty. I licked them again. Her eyes rolled up and showed the whites. "Fuck me, Mike," she panted. "We'll make some arrangement. Fuck me!"
I held her firmly and drove deeply until she gibbered and clawed at my shoulders. Every spurt of spunk seemed to draw sandpaper across the quick of her sensitivity. She quivered and jerked like a marionette. The ecstasy of it was too much to bear and every muscle in her body strove to restrain my last spasmodic convulsion.
I drew away from her. She was splayed out limply, her breasts heaving. I'd wiped my prick clean on the bed sheet and had climbed into my pants before she had the strength to prop herself up on her elbow. She looked at me with melting eyes. She was a picture, with her big tits hanging heavily, her red hair falling across her flushed cheeks and her thighs glistening with love-drool. "When will you come again, Mike?"
"Whenever I can. I don't have much spare time. I help out in the kitchen if I can. I need every penny I can earn."
She pouted. "Don't you enjoy being with me?"
"It's heavenly."
Her eyes were brooding. They narrowed. "Perhaps I can help, Mike; if it's a question of money?"
I drew myself up stiffly. I tried hard not to be offended. "It's very kind of you," I said. I reached for the door handle.
"I didn't mean it like that, Mike," she wailed. "Please listen. I just thought ... perhaps I can make you a loan ... I would like to help you."
"I'm not offended," I said softly. "I'm just a little hurt." I jerked the cabin door open and was outside before she could answer. I strolled away whistling cheerfully. I'd planted the seed. Now it was up to her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
We docked in the Canary Islands and when we steamed out again into the Atlantic, I had another two married women on the hook. It needed ingenuity to handle three pussies without any of them suspecting the others existed. My prick was delighted at its regular ration of pussy. But only because I used my head and conserved my stamina. Gloria was easy. She was so happy being fingered she didn't even notice I tossed her off instead of screwing her. Vera was easy too. Her husband was a slosh and she'd given up all hope of sucking his prick to erection. Her standby was a vibrator. When she wasn't on deck she was sure to be splayed out on her cabin bunk whisking a vibrator up and down inside her crotch. But she preferred a man to wield it. She'd developed a strong affection for her vibrator and wasn't much interested in screwing. But she did like a prick thrust up her ass-hole while her pussy was vibrated.
Paula was a tougher proposition. She liked being fingered, being licked and being screwed. Most of all she liked being licked. She was a champion cock-sucker herself. I had to suck her off often and quickly. Otherwise, she'd have sucked me to a standstill before she was satiated.
The business side was tricky but promising. Gloria persuaded me to accept a loan of two hundred pounds. To preserve my pride, Gloria charged interest and the loan was to be repaid within three years. She'd drafted out a contract which I'd sign. The snag was, she couldn't give me the money until we reached port when she'd have it wired to her from her London bank. She sincerely wanted to help me. But when the voyage was over and her pussy less itchy, she might revise her plans.
Vera hadn't money of her own. But whenever her sloshed husband drew cash from the Purser, she got into his wallet. She was always giving me ten- and twenty-dollar bills. "The drunken bastard never knows what he does with his money. I'd rather you have it, than see it wasted on drink."
Paula insisted on lending me five hundred dollars ... without strings. She'd written a check and I had it in my pocket. But I couldn't cash it until we docked. There was no way of knowing if it would bounce, or if she would stop it. It was a gamble I was willing to take. Licking into her juicy pussy while she sucked my knob was so delightful I'd have no scars if the check did bounce.
With three prick-hungry women after me I had to take care not to get used up. If I'd been a passenger, I'd have tumbled all three with carefree joy. But I was getting money from them and it made me uncomfortable. But I avoided feeling like a male prostitute until I tangled with Amanda. She was a rich pussy, a widow. I'd had a number after me, but I'd taken Dave's advice and ignored their ploys. But Amanda was different. I'd served her a number of times and she'd treated me like any other waiter. She was nudging fifty, but had a good, firm figure. She was always beautifully dressed and dripped with jewelry. She was gracious, aloof and always mixed with the best people aboard. I wasn't even aware she'd noticed me until she asked, after I'd served a drink: "When are you off duty, Steward?"
"In twenty minutes, Ma'am."
She looked at me steadily. Her eyes were a light blue. "Come down to my cabin when you're free. Number seventy-two."
I was startled. I didn't know what she wanted. "I beg your pardon, Madam?"
Her eyes didn't leave my face. "We're on board ship, Steward. I think we both know what I'm talking about. Don't we?"
I gulped. "Yes, Ma'am?"
She dismissed me coolly. "That's all, Steward."
I couldn't run to Dave for advice. I had to see it through myself. She left the deck ten minutes before I went off duty. I went down to her cabin as soon as I could. She opened the door, then closed it behind me. She was wearing a very respectable full-length dressing gown. But she'd let down her hair. It tumbled loosely over her shoulders. She pointed to the table. Her voice was toneless. "Look at what's on the table, Steward?"
There were three ten-dollar bills neatly laid out. I stared at them. I looked up at her. Her blue eyes were bold. "You can pick them up and put them in your pocket, Steward. Or you can walk out."
I took a deep breath. It was money! I scooped it up and tucked it away in my pocket. She nodded approvingly and her fingers went to the buttons of her dressing gown. She opened it up, shrugged it off her shoulders and threw it on one side. She wasn't wearing a stitch underneath it. She went to the foot of the bed, sat on the edge of it and then lay right back. She opened her thighs wide. She said softly. "Kiss me, Steward."
She wasn't bad. She had a firm, compact body. Her breasts were small and well-formed with only a slight suggestion of sag. Her belly was soft and flat, and the skin on the inside of her thighs was creamy. She'd scissor-trimmed her pubic hairs to a close-cropped triangle, and her outer love-lips were ripe and- milky. The crevice between them was fascinatingly dark and mysterious.
I threw off my jacket and pants and kneeled down between her legs. She sighed with satisfaction as I browsed my lips over her inner thighs. "That's the way, Steward. Kiss me. No fingers."
I guessed correctly she was a single-climax woman, contented by one big orgasm. I could tell that from her pussy. She hadn't been playing with herself in anticipation of my visit. Her crevice was closed up tight like a clam. She wanted me to lick it open. Her big, milky outer love-lips made it a beautiful pussy. There were hollows in her groin either side of her pussy and I teased them with the tip of my tongue, relishing the peppery tang of a woman's perspiration. She moaned. I didn't rush it. I licked around her outer love-lips and coated them thoroughly with saliva before I teased my tongue into the crevice between them. Only then did I get the first taste of pussy. It wasn't strong because her inner love-lips were stuck together. But they swelled up as I licked deeper into her crevice and soon they flowered from between her outer love-lips like fleshy petals. I licked up one side of them, and down the other. Quivers ran through her, and her flat abdomen gave little jerks. Soon the fused together petals were standing up starkly, flushed red and glistening with my saliva. She was well away in dreamland by then. Her head was slack and her hands grasped her breasts so tightly the flesh swelled out between her fingers.
I paused for a tantalizing moment. All of her became rigid with suspense. Then I ran the tip of my tongue along between the edges of the pink petals, probed it into the crevice and peeled the petals apart. The taste and smell of pussy was much stronger then and excited me. My tongue became eager and she gave excited, little moans as it probed deeper, licking up and down the petals to separate them completely. The moment she was opened up the smell of pussy was overpowering. The juice that had been sealed up inside, flowed freely. My greedy tongue lapped avidly, gathering up the drool, and her loins began a pistoning movement that soared her high.
I had her. Her pussy was the core of all her emotional tension and I could have made her climax within seconds. But I had thirty dollars in my pocket and wanted to give her maximum pleasure. I tongue-teased her skillfully, licked her gently, stimulated her enormously but avoided sending her. She had a very musky woman taste as though her pussy essence had been distilled especially to intoxicate me with its strong aroma. I licked up and down between her petals until they were hanging open and quivering. Then I licked them back flat against her milky outer pussy-lips. Then she was a wide-open crevice, smoking hot and quivering. Her clit-bud stood up like a pink pea and her vagina dimple trembled, and glistened with the juice that dribbled from it. I could lick deeper into her pussy now. But I still didn't send her. I teased my tongue around inside her vagina vestibule and she panted so desperately she all but snorted. I licked her up until she quivered, writhed and throbbed. I circled the tip of my tongue slowly closer to her vagina dimple, probed into it, relished its bubbling love-drool and then thrust my tongue inside as deep as I could get it.
She couldn't take any more. She went. The orgasm welled up inside her, her thighs strained apart and I swirled my tongue up to her clit-bud and clamped my mouth down over it. I sucked her clit-bud into my mouth, laved it with my tongue, swirled saliva around it and clung to her grimly while she soared high.
What an orgasm! Her thighs clamped my mouth deep into her crotch while her heels rammed down upon my back as though she was trying to drive all of me up inside her. Her loins reared up off the bed with every spasm. My face was buried so deep in her pussy I was an integral part of her climax. Love-juice bubbled, gurgled and squirted around my cheeks as her urgent thighs ground my mouth ever deeper into her mush. She enjoyed a dozen, long convulsive spasms before she collapsed, her legs falling apart just in time for me to come up for air. I filled my lungs and plunged down into the hot, glorious mush again, as happy as an alcoholic in a wine cask. I floated in pussy-juice, swallowing and inhaling it until I was drunk and cunt-happy. I burrowed deep, lapping happily. Then her hands came down upon my head. She pushed me away. As I suspected, she was a one-orgasm woman.
She looked out for the count. There was a bottle of gin on a shelf. I poured myself a drink. Presently she brushed her moist hair off her forehead and pushed herself up into a sitting position. She sat with her thighs wide apart and her pussy gaping open. "There's a hand-towel in the shower stall," she told me. I got it and she wiped herself dry.
"Let me do it," I offered.
"No. I'm hypersensitive now!"
"Shall I kiss you again?"
"I couldn't bear it again, today." I knew that by the way she handled the towel. She held each love-lip very tenderly between finger and thumb, and dried it very delicately. Finally, she pressed the inner love-lips together, then ran her finger and thumb up and down them, sealing them shut, almost as though sealing an envelope. She threw away the hand-towel, stood up and stretched herself. She had a trim body but her nipples had shrunken shyly. "Now you," she said. "Lie on the bed."
I was on a good thing. Thirty dollars for sucking her off and I could make her climax in minutes if I wanted. If I could earn it without wear and tear on my prick, so much the better. "If I've made you happy, I'm happy too," I told her.
She pointed. "Lie down."
I stretched out on the bed. "You don't have to bother with me," I said.
"Lie back!"
I lay back. "It's not necessary," I said. She wasn't listening. She opened a drawer and took out a pot of Vaseline. She sat beside me, opened the pot, scooped out a large dollop of Vaseline and greased her hands.
"Honest," I said. "You mustn't bother about me."
When she'd filmed her hands she sat where she could get at me easily. My prick stood up like a truncheon. She held it delicately, smeared Vaseline around the shaft, over my balls and scrotum and right back to my Brownie.
"Honestly," I protested. "You don't have to toss me off so I won't feel frustrated."
"It's beautifully hot," she crooned. "Young and virile. What do you think I'm paying you for? I want it throbbing, expanding and leaping in my hands. I want to possess it, provoke it and tame it."
I realized then that being tossed-off was part of the deal. She'd got me beautifully greased up. She set to work. She'd handled hundreds of pricks. She was expert. She did everything except make my prick jump through hoops. She made it twitch, leap, throb, jerk and expand to a size I wouldn't have believed possible if I hadn't seen it. She brought me to the brink of climax and held me there until she was ready. Then, while she stroked orgiastic spasms out of me, she watched the pulses of spunk jetting up through my shaft fascinatedly. My seed splattered over her dangling tits and she milked my knob until there was no more juice to flow. I sprawled back weakly, my prick shriveled. She lay it upon my belly and looked down with satisfaction at the glistening dollops of come clinging to her breasts and trickling down over the nipples. "You come beautifully," she told me. "It tones up the flesh and gives breasts youth and vitality."
I was so tired I was content to relax and watch her massage my spunk into her breasts until her fingers were dry and her creamy skin pinkly flushed. She cupped one tit, lifted it and sniffed at it delicately. Her slow, satisfied smile betrayed her thoughts. With her tits snugly encased in a bra, she could walk around inhaling the body-heated aroma of male spunk.
She stood up, tossed me a hand-towel and put on her dressing gown. "That's all, Steward," she said briskly. She sat at her dressing table, making up her face while I wiped my prick clean of Vaseline and got dressed. I cleared my throat. She looked at me through the mirror. "The same tomorrow, Steward?"
"If you wish, Madam."
"The same every day," she confirmed, and turned her attention to her eyebrows.
I was jubilant when I closed her cabin door. Now I had a regular, well-paid job. But I wished she didn't toss me off so expertly. I was already late for Paula and if she cock-sucked me too enthusiastically, I might not be able to get it up at all for Gloria.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was living gloriously. This was a new, and a wonderful life. By the time we'd glided through the Panama Canal and cruised out into the vast Pacific I'd settled down very happily. Being a steward easily beat sitting in a pop music office. I had everything going for me. Every day the sun shone magnificently, and at night the velvet sky blazed with great stars. I was stacking up cash too. I'd learned the ropes and become selective. I handled my cards so well I even played hard to get. I stopped visiting Amanda for three days in a row. Then she cornered me and upped the price to fifty dollars to be sucked, and then toss me off. My prick was having the time of its life. It was deluged by pussy and whenever it flagged from too much activity it could depend upon desperate, affectionate girls to stimulate it to renewed interest. Sometimes I made more money in a day than I'd earned in a month at the pop office.
I'd broken with my old way of life and its problems. I was gloriously, gloriously free. My future was rosy. Dave had talked to the Captain and when we docked in Australia I'd get a seaman's card and become a crew member. If I worked hard for a year I'd save enough capital to set up my own pop music business. But who'd be so crazy? Should I give up my steward's job to be trapped in London's concrete jungle?
The ship steamed on into the heart of the Pacific. I was truly happy and had only minor conscience pangs. I planned to send money anonymously to Carol. She might guess who it came from, but could never trace me. In time, Lillian would marry and I'd make my peace with my family. I couldn't do anything about Janet but whoever took over my job would be hypnotized by Janet's beautiful ass, screw her and become the Boss's son-in-law. Ruth had no money problems and could always find a lover when she made the effort.
So I was at peace with myself. I'd squared my conscience and everything was wonderful.
Except that the sky suddenly fell on me, smashed my hopes and dreams, and plunged me into suicidal despair.
Dave was waiting when I came off duty, pale and shaking. His voice quavered. "Something terrible's happened!" I knew it must be bad. It needs an earthquake to shake him. He'd brought a bottle of whisky. "Take a big slug before I tell you," he warned. "You'll need it." When he poured, his hand shook so badly the glass clinked violently.
We both took a gulp of whisky. I held mine in my mouth, its fiery bite stinging my tongue. Then I swallowed slowly. It burned all the way down my throat and into my chest where it expanded into a big, warm glow.
"Ready, Mike?"
"Ready."
"The Captain's a good friend," he told me. "He's tipped me off. We'll be arrested when we dock in Australia."
I felt sick. "Us? Arrested?"
"The Captain had to confirm by radio that we're aboard. When the gangplank goes down, well be taken into custody."
I gulped Scotch. It didn't help. I was as cold as ice. Shivers ran though me and my blood congealed.
"They're all after us, Mike," he said mournfully. "They've all joined forces and employed lawyers and detectives. They know we've shipped out together and all of them know about the others. We're deep in the shit, Mike. I didn't tell you everything. It wasn't only the three sisters! There's a married woman whose husband walked in on us; and another girl who's suing for breach of promise."
I took another gulp of Scotch and thawed a little. "I don't see how they can do much."
"They've done everything!" he roared. "They've figured out every angle. They're throwing the book at us. Perhaps they can't prove all the charges but they've made them. The Australian police are loaded with paternity orders, breach of promises and charges of bigamy and even fraud! They've obtained extradition orders and we'll be sent back wearing handcuffs!"
"They can't, Dave," I protested. "We can prove ..."
"They've ganged up on us," he said miserably. Tour girls and my girls. And their families! They want our hides. They've all kicked in money to make sure they get them. The sheer weight of the charges they've thought up has worried the Australian police. So even before we're extradited to Britain we'll go to jail. The Australians are all set to arrest you as an illegal immigrant."
I congealed again. "How bad is it all, Dave?"
"Looking on the best side we may escape prison. But we'll be skinned of everything we own and made bankrupt. We'll forfeit our wages for years to come in breach-of-promise and paternity contributions."
"Can't we jump ship?"
"Not a chance. We don't dock until we reach Australia. As soon as we're inside the three-mile limit we'll have the police and Immigration Officers aboard." He eyed me gloomily. "If you can swim three miles you'll have a chance. So will the sharks!"
"At school I once swam two hundred yards," I said morosely. "Since then I'm out of practice."
"We're dead ducks," he gloomed.
"Just when everything looked so rosy," I groaned.
"All we wanted was to be young, and carefree."
"It's my big, fat prick that got me into this mess," I gritted.
"My stiff bastard's fucked me up too," grated Dave. "If we'd known sooner we could have jumped ship in Hawaii."
"Isn't there some way?"
He shook his head. "We're fucked!" Then abruptly he was deep in thought. His head came up and his eyes widened. He'd had inspiration. "Wait a minute, Mike," he yelled. "We do have a chance!"
We were three thousand miles out in the Pacific and it was uncanny when the ship's engines stopped and the screws ceased to thresh. It was suddenly very silent. The ship creamed on under its momentum, its speed slowly diminishing. So many passengers lined the deck on the starboard side that the deck inclined. A loudspeaker addressed the passengers in the tones of a travel commentator.
"We are now approaching the beautiful, unique Island of Fluga-Huga, known to Polynesians as the Island of Eternal Fire. Do not be alarmed the engines have been stopped. Our momentum will carry us some miles before we begin to drift. By then we shall be opposite the entrance to a small lagoon. The ship cannot approach close to the island because of underwater rocks. But on the rare occasions that ships do stop near the island, its inhabitants paddle out to wave a welcome."
I shouldered through the throng at the ship's rail and studied Fluga-Huga. It was a green island with tall palm trees and wide, white-sand beaches. The lagoon was turquoise blue and as still as a mirror. There was a small break in the reef where Pacific rollers thundered and foamed.
"You will see three canoes paddling out," mentioned the loudspeaker. "The natives are a very happy hospitable people. Regrettably, or perhaps luckily, only small craft can approach the island. For this reason it has remained almost untouched by civilization. Passengers may wish to throw gifts into the water that the natives will dive for them. Pen-knives, men's leather belts, ladies' compacts with mirrors and combs are highly prized. These simple, happy people have no use for money or clothing."
The ship was moving very slowly now. We could see spray spurting from paddles as the canoes skimmed through the water on an intercepting course. I had one eye on the bridge. Dave couldn't see me but I saw his signal. I slipped away from the rail, descended to the lower deck and met him at the port rail. "Ready?" he asked.
"Ready."
The passengers were watching the approaching canoes and nobody saw us strip off our clothes.
The loudspeaker blared again: "The simple people of Fluga-Huga are completely uninhibited and possess no false modesty. Flowers in their hair, and garlands around their necks are the only adornment they use. It is noteworthy that all the paddlers are female. Fluga-Huga is sometimes called the Women's Island because of its ratio of ten women for every man. The tribe was once very aggressive and warred upon all its neighbors. But the other tribes united and only the women folk escaped and a few males survived the perilous voyage to this island."
I was down to my jockey-shorts. I looked at Dave as he pulled his off. "Completely naked?" I asked.
"You won't need pants where you're going!"
A rope ladder was hanging over the side. We went down it and dropped the last few feet into the water. Dave started swimming away from the ship. "Hurry," he called. "We've got to keep clear of the screws."
We swam away from the ship, turned and swam parallel with it. Dave had timed it nicely. Soon, the great propellers turned and water boiled up behind the ship. It glided forward, steadily increasing speed.
Dave swam with powerful strokes. I followed him. The ship drew away and revealed the canoes. Their occupants were still diving for gifts. We swam towards them.
I was gasping, at my last breath. I'd swum further than I'd, ever swum in my life. A canoe loomed up before me and I grabbed. The delighted girlie shrieks were deafening. Beautiful dusky faces and bobbing tits loomed over me. Many soft brown hands reached down and held me. I was pulled into the canoe like a landed fish. Lovely eyes and flashing teeth swarmed around me. I tried to sit up but I was pressed firmly back. A dozen hands simultaneously held my prick and a dozen girlie voices shrieked in curiously accented English: "Fooky-Fooky!"
The Southern Cross blazed in the velvet sky of a tropical night. The lagoon glittered like a mirror and the palm trees fringing the beach threw proud, stately shadows.
I lay upon a coconut mat with cushions under me. Dave reclined with the same manly grace. Around us thronged beautiful, naked Polynesian girls. On the beach a suckling pig roasted on glowing embers and its aroma wafted to us. In the firelight "Fluga-Huga" girls danced a traditional Polynesian hippie number. Their naked breasts shone with sweat and their bellies and thighs writhed with an ease that made the grind-and-bump shows of Soho look like kindergarten pantomime.
The girl on my right dipped her breast into a coconut shell and withdrew it coated with a pinkish cream. She brought her breast to my mouth and teased my lips with its nipple. I opened my mouth, swallowed the nipple and licked up the cream with relish. It tasted fishy. Probably crabs' eggs. She recharged her breast and the girl on my left fed me a breast tasting of anchovy and olives. I moved to a more convenient position because the girl sucking my knob was obstructing the girl who was licking my scrotum.
Dave asked dreamily: "How do you like the menu, Mike?"
"Delicious! It's the flavour of tit that makes it so piquant!"
"You know what I want served with my roast pork?" he asked. "Pussy sauce! I want them to shove mashed mango up their twats, whip it up into a paste and spread it on slices of roast pork. What do you think?"
"Pussy goes with anything," I told him. "Pussy and pork. Pussy and bacon, pussy and fish and chips."
"Can you tell them apart yet?" he asked.
"The girls? Or their pussies?"
"It's bewildering, Mike. There're so many. That's what makes it great. We'll never get bored."
I snapped my fingers and pointed to my mouth. A girl wearing a garland of lotus blossoms around her neck smiled happily. She stood astride me, bending her knees and poising her pelvis. She tilted a gourd of fermented coco wine until the sweet, amber liquid ran down between her breasts, flowed over her belly, coursed through her hairs, trickled down through her parted love-lips and dripped into my mouth. It was nectar. Pussy juice and alcohol!
"Try these, Mike," recommended Dave. A girl was holding a platter of clams. Another girl took one, rubbed it up within her juicy crotch and then popped it into his mouth. "This is civilization!" he sighed happily. "None of that shit about getting married and working hard. This is living! Us, and two thousand beautiful pussies. You and me, and our pricks worshipped by two thousand lovely cunts."
I gestured to one of the girls that she should dangle her tits on my belly and drag them lightly up and down. "We don't even have to learn the language, Dave. They seem to know by instinct exactly how to please us."
"We may have a problem later," Dave warned. "It's natural that the girls cook, fish, grow vegetables and do everything. But once in a while we may like to fish ourselves. We've got to make them understand we like exercise occasionally." He tapped the head of the girl who was sucking him and gestured. She eagerly squatted astride him with her back towards him. She sank down slowly, guiding his prick into her crotch. Then she flexed her thighs and rode up and down his shaft smoothly.
"Isn't that a perfect movement?" Dave said, entranced.
Giggling girls ran over to us from the cooking fire, bearing platters of roast pork. They held up thin slices between finger and thumb, blew on them to cool them, and fed them into our mouths.
It was delicious. I made tiny thrusting movements with my loins. The girl sucking me got the message. She squatted astride me, her back towards me, fed my knob into her crotch and then gently slid down my shaft. My big fat prick chortled happily as it simmered within her hot pussy. I made another tiny loin movement. She flexed her calf muscles and rode up and down with greasy tantalization.
"We might as well stay here for the next hundred years," suggested Dave.
"I'm in no hurry to move on," I agreed.
"Tell you what I'll do some time soon, Mike," he said dreamily. "I'll exert myself. I'll roll over on top of one of these girls. I'll make a big effort. I'll fuck her!"
