Amy loves it everyday; Amy loves it every way; and when she gets it, boy they say, "Amy is the greatest lay."
The child's rhyme ran through her head, causing her to giggle to herself. They'd been whispering that behind her back for years now, but she no longer cared. In less than a week she'd have seen the last of them, God willing. They wouldn't be around to hassle her with their dirty jokes, their grabby hands.
"Freddy, stop that, you promised," she suddenly announced, pulling violently away from the freckled redheaded young man whose deep-blue eyes now opened wide in an annoyed and astonished stare.
"But I thought you liked it. You always said you did," he protested, turning off the air conditioning unit in the car and settling back on the front seat. He reached for the glove compartment, opened it wide and found a crumpled pack of cigarettes. "Want one?" he asked as Amy crossed her arms and glared straight ahead.
"No thanks," she said in a suitably snippy voice, staring at the ghostly reflection her face made in the windshield. The only source of illumination around her came from the glowing dash and the red and burning tip of ash at the end of Freddy's lit cigarette.
"I don't understand what I did wrong, what's gotten into you tonight, really I don't, Amy," he told her, studying her reflection in the windshield, just as she was doing, before turning his eyes back to stare with obvious and heated longing as she sat next to him on the front seat.
She was angry all right, that he could tell. But even with her lips pursed tightly with annoyance, her brows lowered and her eyes more like narrowed slits than her usual big and open saucers, he still couldn't stop thinking of how good she was, what a fantastic time he always had in bed with her, or on the front seat of his car, for that matter, since he was yet to convince her-this evening, that is-to return with him to town and back to his own apartment.
But there was no point in denying that everything about her, just the way she was put together, turned him on, and incredibly so. She was the best ... the juiciest little piece of ass he'd enjoyed in quite some time and now, he didn't want to let her just slip through his fingers without a fight.
"Come on, Amy. What did I do wrong, for God sakes!" he exclaimed, nervously blowing smoke rings up towards the roof of the car.
She glanced over at him and sighed deeply. He was an okay guy, she knew, nice enough in an ordinary mediocre way, though nothing to write home to mother about. Of course, she never wrote letters anyway, preferring to call long distance and reverse the charges.
"You didn't do anything wrong, Freddy, nothing at all," she said in a bored and exasperated voice, slouching down against the seat of the car.
"Then what's the matter? Why didn't you let me continue?" he asked, stabbing out his cigarette in the ash tray near the steering column.
"Go ahead, continue. I won't stop you," she told him, clenching her hands into fists, knowing it was no good, that she still needed it even if she knew Freddy didn't care two shits about who she was or what she felt inside of her.
And she had to admit to herself that he wasn't all that awful, certainly not a fumbler, not particularly awkward or inept in his moves. So when he moved back to her and hungrily pressed his lips against her mouth, she resigned herself to what she knew for sure would soon be taking place.
The front seat of the car was cramped and it didn't go back far enough to make things particularly comfortable. But that too no longer seemed to matter. In fact, even as she felt his tongue wiggling its way between her lips, licking in and out of her mouth, she knew that soon enough, less than seven days in fact, she would have seen the last of Freddy, the last of Delancey State Teacher's College, and the last of raised eyebrows and snickers that had seemingly followed her around school, ever since she'd arrived as a freshman, four years before.
So now, as his eager hands came down to press hotly against the surging outline of her firm and succulent young breasts, she didn't push Freddy aside, as she had done a few minutes before. She couldn't be angry with him, not when she'd come to expect nothing unusual about either his personality or his performance.
Go ahead, do it, anything, you little prick, she said to herself as he kept squeezing and fondling with her jugs, trying to unbutton her blouse to get his hands on her naked and unfettered boobs. She never bothered with a bra, despite what some of the other girls she knew might say or think about that absence of undergarments.
And now, Freddy had little difficulty undoing one mother-of-pearl button after another, pulling her blouse open so that in the dim glow of the illuminated dashboard he could see each firm cone-shaped jug straining forward, capped by taut and distended pink nipples.
These he tweaked with both hands, pulling gently and excitedly and cupping her breasts in his palms so that he could rotate his hands against her boobs. She stirred on the seat and closed her eyes, concentrating on the undeniable pleasure her body was slowly beginning to feel and experience.
She didn't think of Freddy, but associated the pair of hands now glued hotly to her boobs with someone else, a person who figured in all of her dreams, the kind of man who would some day come for her and make her whole and one with herself. But until that happened, the dirty stories about her would continue circulating behind her back, the nasty rhyme would continue to be chanted in fraternity houses and dormitory rooms.
There was no getting away from it, except to get away from school, and in less than a week she would have her diploma and her freedom. At long last, she told herself with a wry little grin, trembling as he slid his face down to lick past her chin and neck, farther still until suddenly she moaned as she felt his warm moist lips sliding over the rounded upsurge of her boobs.
She remembered the television commercial about the freshest girl in town, and how they had made use of that too, referring to her when they talked about it, how she had the most well-used and yet still the freshest snatch on campus, always open for investigation and penetration.
Maybe it was true. Maybe the fact that they called her a nymphomaniac had some bearing to it. But she'd never had problems coming and she remembered reading in one of her general psychology texts that a woman who was promiscuous but never came was a nympho, not someone who was always and invariably able to achieve an orgasm, if not two or three climaxes at one sitting.
Who knows, who the fuck cares, either, she said to herself and kept her eyes tightly shut, moving up and down on the seat and getting off on the way redheaded Freddy was lapping away at her tits, licking each firm fleshy nipple, sucking them up between his lips and then rubbing his firm raspy-edged tongue and the edges of his front teeth along their taut swollen length.
A low-pitched moan of pleasure escaped her lips. Freddy interpreted this to mean that she was loving it, that even though she'd pushed him away before, playing what he thought was just a ridiculous game of hard-to-get, what she really needed was exactly what he wanted and intended to give her.
Nothing could stop him now and he kept at it, stuffing her tits into his mouth, tasting their slightly salty flavor, inhaling the mixtures of scents which came off her body. There was the smell of the floral based perfume she favored, that and the more natural aroma of sweat and feminine musk.
Even as he slid his lips over one swaying jug and then the other, he already had his eager fingers on the hem of her pleated skirt. And when he slowly began to pull it up past the caps of her dimpled knees, Amy made no move to stop him, knowing exactly what would soon be taking place.
She needed it, as much as she always did. If anything, that single moment of release and orgasmic pleasure was worth all the hassles she had to put up with and contend with before it occurred. But what mattered was the climax, that escape from her humdrum reality, a flight into another world where being the freshest girl meant something good and fine, not a term of disrespect and sarcasm.
So she let Freddy do what he wanted with her, knowing that in the end she'd come out on top, the winner, the one who always managed to get her way and come. He fumbled with her skirt and hauled it up around her waist as she swayed in front of him, arching her back and pushing her jugs deep inside of his lapping mouth.
His tongue was one of his best parts and he was learning how to use it, improving his sexual technique and seemingly with each passing second. For the more he worked on her titties, the more turned on she became.
Amy lifted her tight little rump off the seat of the car, just long enough for him to get her skirt up around her waist. It was now bunched up and she spread her legs slightly, feeling the way her pussy was getting hotter and juicier with each successive lap of his probing slurping tongue.
He didn't slide his face down between her legs, not yet at least. With one exploring hand he pressed his fingers down against the damp meaty swelling between her long and supple thighs, feeling the way her fleecy pubic hairs rustled and scratched against the nylon.
He rubbed up and down over the crotch of her bikini briefs, her cunt lips squishing open and shut from the invading pressure of his hand. Oh shit, she's unreal, such a fucking hot little nympho, he thought to himself, so turned on, so hot to get into her panties that he could barely control himself.
Feeling her cunt behind the front of her undies was making him respond as heatedly as Amy was doing. He could feel his cock leaking pre-come, drooling sticky pre-seminal fluid all along the length of his burning shaft. His crotch was damp and sticky, swollen with tumescent excitement. Any second he'd rip his zipper down and haul his pecker out into the open, knowing exactly what to do with it.
But before he even had a chance to pull it out of its painful and throbbing confinement, Amy suddenly reached out with both hands and pressed her fingers down against his shoulders, shoulders that were neither wide and burly nor narrow and chicken-chested. Of medium height and average build, Freddy was neither fat nor skinny and his body responded like a well-trained dog, a welloiled machine, obeying the unspoken command signalled by her fingers.
She pushed him down and smiled to herself, pleased that she would get her way. But that too she always achieved, no matter how aroused or after their own pleasure her dates might be. And Freddy was no exception, obeying her as she pushed him down towards her crotch.
He shifted position on the seat, crouching down and kneeling alongside of her thighs. And then he buried his flushed and eager face right between her supple legs, inhaling the wickedly arousing perfume of her crotch and using his tongue to lap up and down across the jutting outline of her hidden pubic mound.
"That's it, Freddy," she told him. "Dig right on in and eat me out good, you little fool."
He ignored her jibes, not interested in what she really thought of him. He was out for himself, if that hasn't been obvious to you until now, wanting to bury his meaty cock right between her legs. But he knew Amy well enough to understand what she was doing, deriving her own brand of pleasure first before allowing him to take his delight from her succulent young body.
And succulent it most assuredly was, her cunt already juicing up, leaking hot rivulets of oily sap which oozed down along her dilated and gaping cunt furrow. She whimpered with pleasure as she felt his tongue licking up and down the front of her undies, moving right between her cunt flaps.
He even managed to push some of the nylon right between them so as to hit against the very tip of her knobby and wiggling clitoris. "Yes," she panted with growing excitement, "ohh, do it baby, more, suck it, suck me good. Rip my panties off and dig your tongue right inside, hurry, hurry you little cocksucker!"
No girl he'd gone out with, no chick he'd balled in the past, had ever spoken to him like this. None had been half as demanding or sexually insatiable either and Amy's heated words only served to draw him out of himself, to give him a kind of needed confidence as he reached for the top of her panties, able to see where the elastic had become unraveled as it pressed around her hips and waist.
Amy strained forward, pushing her hips towards his mouth and as he pulled off her undies she could already visualize what it would be like having his tongue digging right inside, down into the wet and overheated depths of her juicy box.
"That's it, all the way," she instructed him, not content until her panties were down around her ankles. She leaned forward and pulled them free, tossing them onto the back seat and spreading her legs apart even wider than before.
And as he got ready, he opened his eyes wide and stared with delight. Having seen her cunt before, he still wasn't bored or blase about it, the triangular thicket of dark-blonde fur enticing him as much as it always did. Each twin drooping outer lip was thin and ragged-edged, the folds of flesh irregular as he gripped them with the tips of four fingers.
Then, holding onto their wet and slippery surface, her cunt folds already inundated with her leaking juices, he pried them gently apart and rammed his hot probing tongue right inside. He hit a raw nerve of pleasure and she cried out with delight, pressing his head down and holding it in place.
Freddy couldn't have been more pleased to be of service.
His nose and lips and chin were buried down against her meaty pleasure parts and her cunt gave off a hot musky and spicy scent, one he inhaled as greedily as he now strove to lap up her abundantly flowing vaginal juices.
He slurped and sucked them into his mouth, his tongue digging down between the opening he had made, investigating her reddened and pulpy vulva. And when he found her clit, standing stiffly between her twin minor cunt lips, he didn't think twice or hesitate to suck it right between his lips.
The friction and heat of his lips and tongue against the swollen bud of erectile tissue made her pant all the more excitedly and she bounced up and down on the seat, trying to spread her thighs even wider apart, not content until his tongue was plunging and darting like a wild steed, a bronco bucking in and out of her twat.
Despite her model's figure, long and accentuated, there was a definite fleshiness and voluptuous quality to her body as well. And in particular, she didn't have the bony hips, twin protruding pubic horns, that so many thin girls unfortunately possessed.
Her pubic mound was well padded and plump and the dense foliage of her love nest only served to complement and not camouflage the meaty red flesh of her naked and burning snatch. Freddy's tongue dug deeper inside, hitting against her shuddering vaginal walls.
It triggered an autonomic response, her cunt muscles palpitating against his invading tongue, shuddering and squeezing back and forth like the flapping wings of a butterfly. More juice streamed down to coat his tongue and flow down his throat and Freddy groaned loudly, reaching down with one hand to try to unzip his fly.
His cock couldn't be confined any longer and he fumbled and tore the zipper down, unbuckled his belt, undid the top button of his trousers and pushed his pants down, trying to shove his underpants down at the same time.
"Not yet you won't," she warned him, slapping his hand aside, not about to let him get away so quickly or easily. "Just keep licking, Freddy my boy. I'll tell you when I'm ready, not before."
She enjoyed putting him down this way, not liking his impatience, something she saw as selfish and greedy. After all, she was eventually going to give him what he wanted, so there was no reason in the world that he couldn't be a little more giving and cooperative as well.
Suitably rebuffed, his cheeks stinging with embarrassment for being put down, Freddy nevertheless continued where he'd left off. He slid his hand back and splayed her cunt lips back apart, his darting tongue now moving at a quick surging rate, pistoning and plunging in and out of her gaping hole. The heat of her box made him pant and he kept at it, knowing better than to stop.
Amy was getting off on his cunnilingual technique. Her ass bounced up and down on the front seat and she glanced down between her legs, ignoring his carrot-colored hair, watching the way he was pressing his freckled face flush against her box. Her muff was burning, tingling with the pleasure she was feeling. Each time he drove his tongue deep inside to invade her cunt, she thought that everything was coming in on her, her body rippling as if it was being buffeted by waves.
"Oh do it, more. That's it, lick, lick my cunt, Freddy. Use your fingers now, plus your tongue. Oh that's it, stick it right inside, perfect, perfect," she cooed as he slipped his index finger down into place, right alongside of his probing tongue.
The dual pressure, the twin sensations of his wet fleshy tongue and long bony probing finger, only added immeasurably to her own pleasure. She swayed up and down, using her cunt muscles to their best advantage, feeling a climax rearing up at the back of her pussy like a miniature tidal wave about to flow down the entire length of her vaginal canal and burst out into the open with explosive inundating force.
It was time, she knew and she let go of his head then and pulled him forward. "Just sit back. You know how it's done, I hope," she giggled, swiveling around so that Freddy was able to take her place as she sat, at least temporarily and for the moment, behind the steering wheel.
He didn't waste much time after that.
The order having been given, he tore at his trousers and underwear, shucking them both down as far as he could, past his knees until they were bunched up confiningly but not annoyingly so around his ankles.
Amy glanced over at him and shuddered as the young man pulled his sweater and shirt up, tugging at them and twisting them tightly around his chest and armpits. And then she giggled, as she always did when she found herself staring at his reddish-haired crotch. Somehow, the color of his pubic hair amused her, looking rather startling and out of place, his boner arching up stiffly out of a forest of wiry reddish-hued body hair.
Freddy, needless to say, didn't appreciate her sarcasm. But he wasn't about to complain, either, knowing that he was finally going to get his rocks off, and the best way there was, as well. So now he looked at her, his eyes wide and questioning, one hand wrapped like a security blanket around the base of his swollen tool.
"Freddy wants to fuck me, doesn't he?" she asked, sitting there with her legs spread and her cunt looking at him so invitingly he began to blush as he nodded his head vigorously up and down.
Laughing once again, Amy moved back into position. Freddy pushed the seat back as far as he could to give them both more leg room. Then, she scampered onto his lap, resting her tight little ass against the tops of his thighs, his cock rising up and rubbing right against the dilated and gaping furrow of her pussy.
It felt as hot as her muff and the sudden pressure, the friction between cock and cunt, made her tremble with excitement. She knew what she wanted, what he wanted from her as well, and now she wasn't about to disappoint either of them.
Wiggling against his ass, she finally slid up and leaned forward, bracing herself with her hands flat against the padded dashboard. He reached down and took hold of his cock once again, trying to maneuver the rounded glans right between her cunt lips.
Amy swayed hotly and glanced down, watching the way he was trying so desperately to cram his hose into place. And when he didn't succeed as effortlessly as she would have liked, she pushed his hand aside and did it for him.
Inclining forward she thrust back down, trying to trap his glans into place. A second backward motion did the trick and she knew, an instant before she felt it entering her, that she had made contact. For at that split-second, Freddy vaulted towards her, crying out with excitement.
"More, please, all of it, Amy," he whispered, breathing hotly down her neck, swaying back and forth and pushing his cock forward.
She thrust back down and watched it slipping slowly into place, spreading her cunt lips wider apart. It was not the easiest position to achieve, but certainly the most comfortable one in light of their surroundings, for the car gave them rather limited room to move.
And the more she leaned away from him, the deeper his cock slid inside of her. She could feel his balls rubbing deliciously against her bum furrow and she squeezed her thighs together, capturing the base of his cock and exerting even more stimulating pressure.
And then he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her pelvis back, making her stroke so that she was riding his dick, panting as it finally slid as deeply as it could inside of her. Yes, now it's okay, she thought to herself, feeling his cock-shaft rubbing hotly along her cunt walls, making her pussy shudder and tremble in response.
He sucked on the nape of her neck and kept bouncing back and forth, pulling her back towards his hairy crotch. The tops of his thighs scratched the cheeks of her ass and then his hands slid higher to squeeze and toy with her tits, tweaking and pulling on her hot stiff nipples and causing Amy to groan with undeniable excitement.
"Yes, move, move it," she moaned, pushing down and meeting his frenzied cock-strokes halfway. She kept her eyes glued between her legs, getting turned on merely by watching the way his penis slid in and out of her gaping snatch.
Each successive stroke made her more aroused and she felt her cunt burning from the relentless pressure, his tireless performance pleasing her to no end. Back and forth they moved, rocking on the seat, moaning and clawing at each other.
Amy was going to get off, and in no time at all, feeling the way his cock was stuffed inside of her but somehow, wishing there was more, wanting to be really stuffed as no one had yet been able to do for her. So she had to accept Freddy's equipment, his cock of average size and thickness.
It still did the trick, even if it wasn't a huge well-hung piece of meat, capable of pounding up inside of her shuddering muff, and soon enough triggering the first of what promised to be several orgasms, one following another in quick and potent succession.
"Yes, now, oh fuck do it, more, pound it into me, yes, play with my tits, too," she panted, crying out as her climax came over her and a fresh gush of sap coated his dick.
Her cunt muscles fibrillated against the sides of his surging boner and as Freddy felt her getting off, he redoubled his efforts, rubbing up against her, loving the way her ass tickled his nuts and her pussy seemed to clutch like a hand around the entire stiff and burning length of his rigid boner.
"Oh more, more, fuck me, fuck the shit out of me!" she screamed out, wailing into the night as his dick moved up and down, rubbing hotly and energetically along her throbbing cunt walls. Her climax made her skin glow, suffused with red and she was breathless as she whistled between her clenched teeth and flowed with the electricity of her orgasmic pleasure.
Behind her, Freddy was almost there as well, about to let loose his own brand of erotic bliss. He heaved his joint as deep as he could, leaning against her and moaning as he felt his nuts rubbing and frictioning along her damp and sweaty anal furrow. Any second he was going to get off and he tried even harder, jarring against her and pounding in and out of her juicy twat.
Cunt juice dripped down onto the seat of the car, making her crotch and his groin wet and slippery. Their flesh rubbed against each other, coated with a thin liquid layer and she was coming a second time when she felt Freddy stiffening behind her.
"Yes, do it, shoot, shoot it into me!" she yelled, squeezing her vaginal muscles as tightly as she could as he heaved forward and stopped moving, knowing that the moment he had long awaited was finally at hand.
Nothing, nothing at all, could stop him now that he had reached the point of no return. His wild cries deafened her and he clawed at her tits and flung her down against his all but naked body, stiffening and convulsing as she felt the first hot gobbets of semen pouring up into her stuffed and twitching pussy.
It was hot and gooey and she loved that as much as everything else about getting balled, feeling his cock shuddering, ejaculating one thick wad after another. Come splashed and sprayed inside of her pussy, denching her vaginal walls and then oozing down to cover his dick and her cunt with sticky milky-white cream.
She kept working her muscles again and again, nipping and milking his throbbing cock-shaft, feeling him panting and burning against her. And when the last ejaculation shot through him and the final dribble of cream splattered against her muff, he sank against her, pressing his head along her back and shoulders as he gasped for breath.
Amy leaned forward, panting too, trying to pull her head together. Her legs ached from the cramped position they had been forced to assume, though it was actually her fault, since she hadn't wanted to make a big deal and go back to his apartment.
This way, they'd both gotten what they wanted and now she wanted to get back to her room at the dorm, take a nice hot shower and forget she had ever met Freddy in the first place. He'd served his purpose, just like so many young men in the past had done.
And that, in a nutshell, was the crux of her self-annoyance and displeasure. For more than anything, or perhaps as much as she needed to come, Amy Witney needed to be with a man who turned her on. And that meant in bed, as well as out.
CHAPTER TWO
Funny how strange fate is, she would think to herself for months after, because it had been the merest whim, the merest chance that had caused her to glance at the bulletin board outside of the dean's office, two days after she'd said goodnight for the last time to the redheaded young man who had given her the benefit of his airconditioned car and his essentially adequate sexual performance.
Due to receive her diploma and teaching certificate, Amy knew that she really wasn't excited about entering a classroom, even if she had majored in elementary education, educationally equipped to deal with third-graders.
The whole idea of teaching had, in fact, never appealed to her. But Delancey was the only school that had accepted her to begin with, and so she'd had no choice but to follow its program and requirements. Her mother thought the education credits she earned would give her the chance to support herself, for she was not financially equipped to do it any longer, having exhausted the meager estate left by her husband, Amy's father.
But Amy didn't have any fears about surviving. She knew that she hated the idea of teaching, wanting to work at a job that was more glamorous, if not rewarding. And that was how she happened to pass the bulletin board by the dean's office.
She was on her way to discuss her problems with her guidance counselor, though she suspected the man would have little if any pertinent or salient suggestions to make on that score, for the school was geared entirely to the process of turning out teachers to fill the many vacancies existing in the state's educational system.
The notices on the bulletin board by the suite of administrative offices caught her eye and she stopped and began to look them over. It was then that she saw something that made her heart flutter with excitement.
Quickly, glancing around just to make sure no one else was noticing, she untacked the index card she'd scanned and stuffed it between the pages of her notebook, hoping no one else had seen it, not wanting to be beaten to the job before she was given half a chance to prove herself, to prove her abilities as it were.
And less than an hour later, after she had made a hurried phone call, an interview was arranged for the following week, just a few days after graduation ceremonies. It was the one thing that kept her going, right until the moment her diploma was pressed into the palm of her hand and she descended from the platform in her cap and gown, the unknowing recipient of her mother's joyous tears.
Amy had insisted that her mother not bother to make the trip and Mrs. Witney had reluctantly agreed, especially after her daughter had informed her that she had a round of job interviews to make before returning home.
But it was, in actuality, only one interview she had set up and it was all she could do to control her impatience and expectations, hoping against hope that Mr. Blake Clayton would find her suitably qualified to handle the job he'd written to the school about, the position advertised on the index card pinned on the bulletin board right outside of the dean's office.
"Husband-wife team illustrating and writing children's books needs research assistant for live-in position. Combination of library work as well as general responsibilities. Must be well versed in fields of primary education and child psychology."
That had been the wording on the card she had stuffed into her notebook. She'd called the number listed, introducing herself and ending up arranging an appointment to see Mr. Clayton in person. He and his wife, as well as their two children, lived less than a hundred miles from the Delancey campus and right after graduation, Amy boarded a bus, having shipped the bulk of her things downstate, where her mother still maintained a private house and a vacant bedroom for her absent daughter.
But Amy was not destined to return to her mother's loving arms, at least not for the time being or the immediate future.
* * *
She took a taxi from the bus depot, giving the driver the instructions Blake Clayton had told her over the telephone. The very idea of being involved in writing, in the world of publishing, excited her far more than teaching had ever done.
And the Claytons lived in a middle-sized city that had all the advantages her home town lacked. On top of that, she'd be able to save a considerable amount of money, not having to worry about paying for her room and board.
But, on top of that, the final clincher had been Clayton's voice when he'd picked up the receiver after the third ring. She could still hear it in her mind and she smiled and sank back against the seat of the cab, crossing her fingers and hoping that he and his wife would find her qualified, exactly the kind of young woman they had in mind.
He hadn't told her much about the job, but that didn't seem to matter to Amy. It was the voice that had won her over, conquering her, or just about. For what she told no one but herself was that Blake Clayton's voice had the same ring to it, the same sound as the voice she had been hearing in her dreams, the voice of the man who would take her away with him, the perennial studly Prince Charming who peopled her reveries and gave her the strength and push to wake up each and every morning.
It was almost as if each day was part of a search, looking for this dream person. So when she had spoken to Clayton, she had recognized the voice, ready to follow it to the ends of the earth. That was what Amy told herself as the cab now turned down a narrow tree-lined street with pleasant one-family houses on either side.
Near the end of the block was the Clayton residence and after she had checked her instructions, comparing the address with the numerals nailed to the front door, she paid and tipped the driver and opened the door, swinging her legs over the side and getting to her feet.
He helped her with her bags, but it wasn't until he'd pulled off that Amy rang the doorbell and tried to look her prettiest, smoothing out her shirtwaist dress and pulling her shoulders back to improve her posture.
A moment later she could hear footsteps echoing on the other side of the door and she held herself steady and tried to calm down, barely admitting to herself that she was perhaps more interested in seeing Blake Clayton face to face than she was in anything else, the job included.
But it was not Blake who greeted her as the door swung open. Instead, she found herself looking up into the open and ingenuous eyes of a rugged and handsome teenager, a boy sixteen or seventeen years of age.
"You must be Miss Witney," he told her, motioning her inside. "I'm Chuck Clayton. My father's expecting you. He's in the study."
"Thank you," she murmured, impressed with her reception, with the teenager's easy and winning way about himself. She followed him through the vestibule and into the living room of the house, finding herself admiring the modest yet tasteful furnishings, but not nearly as much as she was admiring Mr. Clayton's son.
You're impossible, she told herself. But nothing could change the fact that she always looked at men this way, judging them with a critical and evaluating eye, just as they invariably judged her. And Chuck Clayton, she told herself, was someone not to take lightly. If his father was anything like his son, well ... we'll worry about that later, she thought as he led her to the study, knocked lightly and then pulled the sliding French doors back, inviting her inside.
Behind a campaign styled desk she saw the man she had spoken to and even before Chuck closed the sliding doors behind her, even before Blake Clayton got to his feet, a smile etched across his lips, Amy felt weak, almost faint.
Her knees seemed to buckle and she gasped, swaying slightly just as he saw her staggering forward. "Are you all right, Miss Witney?" he asked with alarm, grabbing hold of her elbow and pulling her upright, supporting her as he helped her to the tuxedo-backed leather couch that dominated one wall of the book-lined study.
"I ... I think so. The air, on the bus. It was very close. I just have to catch my breath I guess," she said quickly as he let go of her and she sank down onto the leather sofa. Her skin felt on fire, as if the spot where he had grabbed hold of her was singed. His touch had that kind of effect, for the only reason Amy had felt suddenly faint was because she had found herself staring at the very image of the man she was certain she had seen in her dreams.
He was not an exact likeness, but looked so similar that she found the coincidence-like his voice on the telephone-almost too hard to believe. "Are you quite sure you're all right, Miss Witney?" Blake Clayton asked again, sliding down to sit next to her on the leather sofa.
His thigh touched her leg and she froze, once again feeling the electrical heat of his body, a kind of animal magnetism that made her feel weak and more confused than ever. Glancing over at him, Amy found herself staring into his dark and piercing brown eyes.
Nervously, or so it seemed to her at the time, he swept his hand through his thick curly black hair, leaning against the back of the sofa and staring at her intently. "Feeling better?" he said with a warm and open grin, a friendly look which did much to put her at her ease.
"Much," she laughed, feeling foolish just because for a moment the reality of her situation had seemed to exist more in a dream than in actual waking life. But now she began to pull her head together, still marveling at the extraordinary nature of Blake's physical similarity to the man she had always imagined, conjured up for herself in her dreams.
She had always been attracted to rugged outdoorsmen, that kind of physical vitality and brawny good looks setting off a chain of bodily reactions so that now she could feel it happening to her all over again, the dampness between her legs, the way her heart was beating at a rapid rate.
Blake didn't look at all the way she had pictured a writer of children books. Rather, he was far more athletic appearing than intellectual and now he reached over and patted her on the shoulder, beginning his interview without further ado.
Later, she would hardly remember what she had said to him, answering in a drugged and monotonic voice, all eyes to the way he gesticulated wildly with his large powerful looking hands. The muscles bulged out from beneath his oxford cloth shirt and he was more of a man than she had ever enjoyed in her life, the kind of stud she'd imagined in erotic fantasies, having never known one in real life except in the movies.
But now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, she was face to face with the kind of virile and studly middle-aged man she had always wanted to know, and on an intimate level, at that. At the age of thirty-five, it seemed to her that Clayton was just reaching his prime and although later she would find it hard to remember what she had replied to his questions, at the time of the interview she chose her answers succinctly and coherently.
The more he talked to her the more turned on to him she became. Amy wondered what kind of man he was, out of his clothes and away from his typewriter, that is. She wondered too if he was just as aroused by her physical presence and if he had a good relationship with his wife, a woman she was yet to meet.
"What are the other responsibilities you spoke about?" she finally asked him, fantasizing that he would sweep her up in his arms and tell her she was going to be his mistress, going to live in the house and service him whenever they each felt the urge.
But instead of replying that way, he shrugged his shoulders and once again waved his hand around the room. "General work. Helping my wife around the house, sometimes taking the kids to school if we can't make it. That kind of thing."
"I see," she said with a nod of her head, not annoyed by the notion that aside from helping him with his work, she would also assume duties not unlike those assigned to an au pair girl, general housework and the like.
And she knew, even then, that if she had her way with Mr. Blake Clayton, she'd never be called upon to wash a single dish, not for as long as she lived in his house. Now, as she regained her confidence, knowing the job was hers even before it was offered to her on what she saw as a silver platter, Amy crossed her legs and smiled flirtaciously.
No longer could she put up a mask, acting like an innocent coed. She had to have Blake Clayton, and on her own terms, not his. Outside the study she could hear his son puttering around the living room, but Chuck's presence on the other side of the door didn't put a damper on her desires.
If anything, they only inflamed them, fanning them higher as she thought of the teenager, curious to know what he too was like, stripped of both his clothes and his conventional and polite airs. And when she caught Blake glancing appreciatively at the long fluid line of her calf, the way the skirt of her dress had now risen up above her knee, she smiled broadly and swiveled around on the couch to face him more completely.
"So, you see," he concluded with a nervous stammer in his voice, trying not to stare too hard at the revealing glimpse of her supple thigh, "that's what the work will entail. I think you have all the qualifications, Miss Witney, so it's really up to you. My wife, Joan, has left this entirely up to my own good judgment and discretion."
"In that case," she laughed, "all I have to do is send for the rest of my things and be shown to my room. Is that not so, Mr. Clayton?"
"Blake," he smiled, extending his hand so that she was forced to shake on it. "I think you're going to find your work here very rewarding, and satisfactory as well, I may add."
"I'm sure I will," Amy replied, watching Blake as he got to his feet. The loose misshapen bulge behind the front of his trousers still gave little indication of having responded to her close physical presence.
But that too she knew she would take care of, and the sooner, the better.
* * *
Inside of an hour all the necessary arrangements had been made and Amy found herself installed in an upstairs bedroom, already well on her way to becoming a permanent fixture in the house. That same night of her interview she met Joan Clayton, Blake's wife, as well as their fifteen-year-old daughter, Cindy.
It was, she could immediately tell, a family of uncommon handsomeness. And what pleased her was that Joan responded to her without the slightest hint or trace of jealousy. If anything, she seemed to admire Amy the way Amy hoped Blake would soon be doing.
And soon was the word of the hour, for she hadn't even put her head down on the pillow that night when her life began to undergo a remarkable change. A change, she would come to see, as one she had been waiting for perhaps all of her young life.
She was undressed, sleeping in the nude as was her usual custom, about to reach for the night light near her bed, when her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a gentle knocking on her door. "Who is it?" she called out, not speaking too loudly, hoping it was Blake who was waiting outside of her door, impatient to be alone with her.
But instead of hearing his hearty and ringing basso voice, she easily recognized the more subdued though similarly low-pitched tones of his son's voice, saying, "It's Chuck, Miss Witney. Can I speak to you for a moment, please?"
"Certainly. Come on in. The door's unlocked," she told him, snuggling down under the covers as the door opened and Chuck Clayton stepped inside.
She had learned during dinner that Chuck was to be a senior at the local high school, a boy who had turned sixteen about six months before. Now, closing the door behind him, he stood there, his hands crossed behind his back, affecting a modest, shy and unassuming demeanor.
"I ... I was just wondering if you could tell me a little about the school you went to, Delancey. Next year I apply to college. I'm going to be a senior in September and well, I was just wondering what State was like, if you don't mind," he said to her.
"Not at all," though she found his timing rather unusual, for the question could certainly have waited until the following morning. After all, he hadn't even started his senior year yet, having just completed his third year of high school a week before.
Under the covers her naked body began to feel flushed and clammy. But she didn't dare pull the covers back to get air, not with Chuck Clayton standing there by the door. Finally, she motioned him to the edge of the bed, sliding over and prop ping the pillows up behind her back.
She pulled the covers higher, but not before Chuck was able to see her lush and naked breasts, flashing before his widened eyes for an indelible split-second as she pulled the blankets up to her neck and shoulders.
"Come, sit, don't be shy," she laughed and he sat down on the edge of the bed, right where she had made room for him. He was wearing pajamas and a bathrobe and even as she began to tell him about the college, her eyes were glancing inquisitively at his lap, curious to know why he had folded his hands there, for they seemed to be hiding something, something she knew quite a lot about.
Nevertheless, she kept up a running stream of conversation, telling him the pros and cons of State, the fact that it was basically a school geared to turning out teachers, not a liberal arts college in the true sense of the word.
But she didn't want him to leave the room so quickly, for it was quickly dawning on her that Chuck was sitting on the bed not to hear a lecture about Delancey, but to be able to speak to Amy firsthand, without anyone else around.
Whether he would make a move or not was something she didn't know, but she wasn't about to sit around and wait too much longer, either. As for Chuck, Amy had psyched him out pretty accurately. Ever since he'd answered the door, inviting her inside the house, he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her.
He knew his parents had advertised for a research assistant, but he'd never expected them to hire a girl like Amy Witney. Everything about her turned him on and now he sat with his hands folded demurely in his lap, hoping she wasn't able to see the effect she had made on him, the instant he'd caught sight of her tits.
For now, his cock was throbbing hotly behind the front of his robe. He pressed his hands down against his stiff and burning erection, not wanting her to think he was a pervert or something. Just sitting there next to her, the heat of her body permeating the bedcovers and radiating out at him, was having the desired effect, one he was afraid to reveal to her.
He didn't want her to think he was just a kid, but he also was afraid to make the first move. But that, as things turned out, was right up Amy's alley. Whether she was a corrupter of the morals of youth was a question we won't bother to pose or even answer. Let it suffice to say that the more she talked, the more she stared at young Chuck Clayton, the hornier and more aroused she was fast becoming.
"And of course, about the only good thing about Delancey is that there are twice as many girls there as there are guys. That's great for you because," and she leaned closer as if she was telling him a secret, "you'll be able to fuck anybody you want, just like that." She snapped her fingers and giggled, leaning back against the pillows as the covers slid down a few inches off of her neck and shoulders.
The tops of her lush creamy-white jugs were suddenly in plain sight, the very edge of her cleavage visible as well. She didn't fail to miss the way the teenager's eyes opened wider and smiling to herself, knowing that this evening she would have to be the aggressive one and take things into her own hands, she returned his stare with just as heated and open an expression as the one Chuck was now flashing at her jugs.
That he was blushing meant nothing and her eyes slid down to return to his lap. He still had his hands pressed down against his crotch, though by now she was quite certain of what he was atempting to conceal and hide from her view.
"Did I shock you?" she asked him. "Because it's the truth, you know."
"No, no you didn't shock me," he stuttered, blushing even more hotly as a result of her penetrating stare.
"I should hope not!" she exclaimed with a laugh. "I mean, you're going to be seventeen your next birthday. I suppose you know all about these things, the birds and the bees, I mean. That's what life's all about, you know."
"Of course I know about ... about sex I mean," he told her. "I'm not a baby, a little kid, Miss Witney."
"Amy," she corrected. She reached out and patted him on the shoulder and felt the way his body was warm and trembling. "My goodness, I think you may have a fever, Chuck." And saying this she pressed her hand against his forehead. "Yes, I think you do. Do you have a thermometer in the house? I took a course in practical first aid and since the flu's going around, we shouldn't take any chances. I'd like to take your temperature, if you don't mind."
"There's one in the medicine chest," he told her.
"Well, just bring it here and leave everything to Nurse Witney," she said with a broad and unassuming grin. He got to his feet, glanced back at her and hurried from the room.
The instant he closed the door behind him, Amy rubbed her hands together and giggled. Conquering the boy like this was turning her on incredibly and she had a vision of herself corrupting the entire household in the weeks to come, from son to father, perhaps even mother and daughter.
Joan Clayton, the more she thought of it, had eyed her with far more than just passing interest. Consumed by her daydreams, knowing that the next few weeks were going to be crucial ones, she hardly heard the door opening again.
Chuck held the thermometer, clutched tightly in one hand. He closed the door behind him, locked it for no apparent reason except one that Amy was already dreaming up in her feverish little head, and moved back to the bed. He started to put the thermometer into his mouth and under his tongue, but Amy snatched it quickly from his hand.
"That'll never do," she told him, wagging a cautionary finger. "They taught us in school that oral temps are never half as accurate as rectal ones."
"Rectal?" he said, raising his eyebrows in consternation.
"That's right. Here let me have your robe. I don't have anything on and it's chilly in the room." She watched him reluctantly slipping his arms out of the sleeves of his robe, turning his back on her as he got to his feet and surreptitiously tried to conceal the way his cock was poking up against the buttoned fly of his pajama bottoms.
But Amy didn't miss a trick, knowing exactly what she as well as Chuck was doing. And when he handed her the robe she told him to turn away, slipping out of bed and hoping he'd take a peek at her as she quickly pulled the robe on and tied it loosely around her waist, loose enough so that when she told him it was okay to look he could immediately see even more of her jugs, visible on either side of the low-cut opening of the loosely tied bathrobe.
"Just get over your embarrassment. After all, I don't want to treat you like a little kid. I'd like to think of you as a man, like your father, not a little red-faced boy," she said to him, instructing Chuck to lie down on his stomach.
Just taking control of the situation like this was turning her on all the more and by now her cunt was aflood with sap, hot rivulets of oily juice dribbling down the inflamed and twitching walls of her muff.
She could feel her heart beating more quickly and her erotic desires were reaching new and maddened heights. She wanted the boy, wanted to have him service her every sexual need, but not before she had seduced him, gaining both his confidence as well as his sexual devotion.
Having no doubts that she could easily accomplish these aims, she waited until the red-faced youth was lying on his stomach, stretched out on top of her bed. He turned his face to her, his eyes wide and questioning, not even understanding what was coming off, what she was about to attempt to do to him.
Playing the role of Nurse Witney to the hilt, she shook the thermometer with one hand, reading the temperature indicated by the line of mercury. Chuck said nothing, not really understanding what was about to take place.
When she had gotten the thermometer past body temperature, she moved back to the bed. "Now push your pajama bottoms down so that I can take your temperature, Chuck," she told him in an offhand and casual tone of voice.
"My pajama bottoms?" he said.
"Well, I certainly can't take a rectal reading if you don't push them down. But if you're embarrassed, I don't even see why you bothered to come to my room tonight, to begin with. After all, I didn't invite a little boy here, you know."
More embarrassed than ever, more confused as well, he turned his head away and gave in to her demands, reaching down to push his bottoms off so that within another moment she found herself ogling the twin muscular cheeks of his dimpled and boyish ass.
She moved closer, seeing how they were covered with a kind of peach fuzz of fine downy hair, golden as opposed to the dark-brown that grew long and shaggy over his head and covered his ears to the nape of his neck.
Amy trembled, got up on the bed and gently pried the boy's buttocks apart. She felt the way he was stiff, holding his breath and she smiled wickedly to herself, loving the way she was corrupting him and taking his innocence. She had a feeling that Chuck was still a virgin and this only delighted her all the more as she took hold of his buns and pulled them gently but firmly apart.
His anus was puckered like an unopened blossom, a swirl of short golden hairs surrounding his narrow sphincter opening. She was disappointed when she could not see his balls, for he had no doubt arranged his cock and nuts before pushing his pajamas off.
Now, all she could see was a thick tuft of wiry brown hair visible at the bottom of his anal furrow and she gently inserted the thermometer as he winced and trembled with a mixture of embarrassment and undeniable sexual fervor.
But she was not to keep it there too much longer. A moment later she withdrew it and held it to the light. "No, you're fine, temp's normal," she told him. "But it's better to make sure than to take a chance. Don't you agree?"
He nodded his head, making no move to pull his bottoms back up around his waist. Rather, he seemed to wait for her and he didn't have to wait too much longer, either. Amy, having guessed the teenager's shy and embarrassed nature, decided to indoctrinate him and not to wait for him to assume the naturally aggressive and masculine role.
She'd gone too far already and so without another word, she moved back onto the bed and quickly crouched between his legs, pushing them wider apart as he shivered and held his tongue. "Perhaps all you need is a little backrub, to get rid of your tensions," she said to him, immediately pressing her hands down against his buns, fondling his nether orbs and loving their warmth and muscular resiliency.
Afraid to look back at her, wondering if she was thinking what he was, Chuck merely nodded his head and closed his eyes, basking in the pleasures his body was beginning to feel. Her hands tickled and toyed with his buns and then massaged the backs of his thighs.
But when he felt her pushing the bottoms of his pajamas all the way off, he no longer had any doubts. Amy Witney was seducing him and he couldn't believe it was happening! But happening it indeed was and afraid of breaking the mood and the spell cast between them, he remained passive and unmoving on the bed as her hands slid up and down along his legs, her eyes glazed over with excitement.
By now her cunt was sopping wet and she could feel her cunt walls fluttering, sending thick trickles of sap leaking down to ooze out of her dilated gash. Droplets of musky sap dripped down along the tender white flesh of her thighs, the insides of her legs trembling with excitement that made her entire body ripple and shiver with delight.
She stroked up and down, feeling the muscles swelling and bulging on his brawny legs. If the rest of his body was as well-developed as his thighs, she knew she was in for a rare bout of pleasure. His thick-set legs were boyishly hairy and from the waist down he seemed much older than his years.
And the more she worked on his legs, ignoring the rest of his body, at least for the time being, the more aroused the two of them became. It was a game she took great comfort and delight in, pushing his legs wider apart and finally able to see the edge of his hairy and wrinkled scrotal sac, pushed up and almost hidden from sight.
She slid the tips of all ten fingers down along the ticklish inner surface of Chuck Clayton's thighs and he winced and trembled nervously, feeling the way his hard-on was pressed up against his stomach, already leaking pre-come as copiously as Amy's box was leaking cunt juice.
When will she do it? he thought to himself, wanting to turn around and grab her, but afraid of making the first move and eliciting a negative response from the young woman. So he maintained his silence and held his breath.
Gingerly, she slid her fingers higher up along the insides of his trembling thighs, gently running the tip of her index finger back along his sweaty anal furrow. His silence delighted her and she knew he was getting so turned on that any second he'd have to respond.
Her finger gently moved up and down his bum furrow, tickling it as she rubbed the tips of her other fingers over the bottom edge of his scrotum. It was time, and Amy knew better than perhaps anybody else when games had to end and realities begin.
So it was thus that she suddenly took hold of his waist and it was thus that Chuck was finally able to serve the function he had long wanted to utilize, for up to this very moment his cock had not been touched by anyone other than himself and himself alone.
As it turned out, things were due to change, and dramatically so, at that.
CHAPTER THREE
Feeling her hands pressing down around his waist, Chuck froze, hoping against hope that the time had finally arrived. Everything she had done to him up to this moment meant shit, in light of what he hoped would soon be taking place.
And soon enough it did, for without another word she spun him over, opening her mouth and smiling with a look of delight and excitement. The boy was now lying on his back, his thick rigid cock arching up straight along his lean washboard stomach.
"My goodness, Chuck!" she exclaimed. "Does it always get this big?"
He blushed hotly and nodded his head, wishing he could draw up enough nerve to pull the robe wide open. He wanted to see her in all her lush naked glory, but he was both too astonished by the rapid turn of events as well as by her heated reaction to his nudity and his cock in particular, to make a single move.
But if Chuck wasn't able to enact his desires, Amy certainly was able to do whatever she wanted. And what she wanted at that moment was to ride the youngster's pecker, amazed and delighted by the size and thickness of his manly tool. It put Freddy's to shame and if Chuck was as well-hung as this, possessed of a little more than seven inches of amazingly thick man-flesh, she now had little doubt that his father would be far more equipped, perhaps possessing something she'd never enjoyed before, a good stiff nine-inch cunt-rammer.
So now, even as he lay there with his dick drooling pre-come and his eyes glazed over, staring heatedly at the way the outline of her jugs rose and fell, half-seen through the opening in the loosely tied robe, she deftly unbuttoned the top of his pajamas and he pulled it right off, baring his smooth and hairless chest, his muscles bulging out with definition and vitality.
"What a little stud you are," she giggled, sliding over so that she was now straddling the tops of his hairy thighs, resting on her knees and the backs of her legs.
Having never gotten this far with a chick before, despite his physical good looks, Chuck could only blush all the more. And as his downy boyish cheeks turned red, Amy slid her fingers down to the tie of her robe, unknotting it and pulling the robe wide open.
It was Chuck's turn to stare and stare he most certainly did, all eyes to the sudden and torrid display of pulchritude and lush femininity. "Do you like what you see, Chuck?" she whispered, eyeing him intently and delighted by his obviously positive and excited reaction to her nudity.
She slid her arms out of the sleeves of the robe and tossed it over the side of the bed, arching her back so that her tits rose out at him. His eyes moved up and down her body, his mouth dropping open involuntarily as he kept staring.
Never before had he seen a naked woman, except when he peeked at his sister, and once his mother, when they had stepped out of the shower and were drying off in the bathroom. But now, other than the magazines he bought which he used to jerk off with, he realized that he had never known a girl all to himself, alone with her.
And Amy, despite the fact that she was in her early twenties, still struck him as a girl and not a woman. Her narrow waist and flaring sensuous hips formed a decidedly provocative border around her pussy. It was to her cunt that he now directed his unblinking and unwavering gaze, all eyes to the triangular and fleecy mound of blondish pubic hair, sparse curls forming nearly a straight line across the top of the inverted triangle and then thickening and darkening over the visible major lips of her muff.
The hairs which grew over the lips of her twat seemed tipped with moisture, wet and tangled and pressed down along her barely dilated cunt furrow. There was a definition to her box he hardly remembered seeing when he'd spied on his sister, a meatiness that he found tantalizing and decidedly edible.
In fact, he was going to do just that, bend his head forward and pull her towards him so that he could feast upon the abundant musky liquids streaming down the walls of her overheated snatch, when she lifted her plump white ass off of his thickset thighs and got ready to angle her box down into position.
"You sweet darling must still be a virgin," she whispered hotly. Besides being turned on to Chuck on a physical level, the very notion of seducing the boy, of taking his virginity and thus his boyish innocence, only served to inflame her passions.
He lowered his head in shame, as if she had cursed him out and put him down as a person not worthy of accepting the gift of her body. But she smiled and pulled his chin forward, admonishing him with her blazing eyes.
"There has to be a first time. Even your father was a virgin once, in case you haven't realized it," she told him. She reached out then and wrapped her fingers around the base of his dick. He shuddered from her touch, pushing his hips forward and panting with excitement.
Just having her hold onto his cock like this was having the desired effect, getting him off in no time at all. She slid her fingers through the wiry thicket of black pubic hair, hair which was thick around his groin, merging with the hair along the inside of his thighs, but stopping abruptly right below his navel.
The rest of his body was smooth and boyish, though from the waist down it struck her as if another body had been grafted onto his torso, a body that was several years older, far more physically developed and mature.
What a shame he hadn't been balled yet, she thought to herself, determined to change the youngster's status, and derive considerable pleasure for herself at the same time. She held onto his meaty rod, marveling at his thick cock and the way the flesh was smooth and hot. And then she pulled it towards her, stretching it forward so that as she lifted her ass off of his legs, she was able to rub his circumcised and leaking glans right against her pussy.
He trembled and his teeth chattered as he felt her rubbing his cock head up and down along her narrow cunt furrow, lubricating it with her abundant sticky juices. Her cunt liquids mingled with his dribbly pre-come, coating the head of his pecker with a thin layer of viscous lubrication.
But it was the sheer fact of touching her cunt, of having his meat rubbing delightfully and tantalizingly against her pussy, that got him going. He panted, afraid of touching her, his fingers itching to reach up and press against her lush firm jugs.
As if she could read his thoughts through the look of sexual hunger reflected in his eyes and emanating like radiation from his entire body, Amy smiled hotly and let go of his cock, just long enough to take hold of his wrists and move his hands forward.
When she let go of them, he knew exactly what to do.
He clutched her jugs as if they were handles, giving him physical as well as emotional support. His palms rubbed briskly over each taut and swollen nipple and Amy moaned with excitement as she pushed herself forward, wiggling from side to side and trying to trap the glans of his virile young poker right inside the vestibule of her box, the entranceway that was her pulpy vulva.
Her clit was standing at stiff and rigid attention. Though she would certainly not have minded a good bout of cunt-lapping, she had her mind on more immediate concerns; the primary act, penetration, insertion, balling like two animals until they both came in a blaze of screaming shuddering glory.
So it was without further hesitation that she pushed her crotch forward. She trembled as his fingers grew more daring. He licked the tips of his fingers, reacting hotly and instinctively, as if to take care of her needs even as she attempted to take care of his own randy sexual appetites.
For as he rubbed her nipples with his moistened fingertips, she was attempting to cram the head of his pecker right into place. Chuck glanced down between his legs and held his breath, watching the way she was pushing her cunt forward, the meaty raggedy-edged outer flaps of flesh spreading slowly wide in order to press around the head of his dick.
"Just watch, learn from my lessons," she giggled, enjoining him to be as quiet as possible, lest his parents or his sister discover what they were up to. Something told her that no one would real ly be upset about it either but she still didn't want to take any chances.
After all, this was only her first night at the Clayton house.
But she was the kind of hot-blooded young woman who knew what she wanted and knew exactly how to get it as well. And Chuck was a most apt and willing pupil, eager to please, eager to prove to her that he was still a boy, even if he only was sixteen and a half, and a virgin at that.
But the latter category would not remain with him for too much longer, not the way Amy was working at it. She pushed nimbly and agilely forward and he gasped, straining and pumping towards the promise of fulfillment.
Her cunt lips spread wider apart and suddenly he was inside, flush within the narrow pocket that was the vulva of her cunt. He could even feel the button of erectile tissue that was her clitoris. Tender and swollen, it rubbed right along his pisshole, eliciting an immediately heated and deranged response.
"Oh it's so hot, so wet too," he whispered, looking up into her narrowed eyes.
But she had her eyes between her legs, not on his face, luxuriating in the pleasure which was coming back to her, the way her pussy was responding heatedly and instantaneously to the pressure and friction of his leaking and bulbous glans. The mauve-tinted head of flesh was filled with trapped blood and like the head of a mole it seemed to try to bury itself farther and farther inside.
"That's it, watch the way it's disappearing, right down into my pussy," she whispered, wideeyed and wildly aroused as the pressure increased steadily with each successive upward thrust of the teenager's hips.
Her muff grew hotter and then her vulva merged with her vaginal canal. The head of his cock seemed to nose about at the narrow entranceway, feeling its way inside with blind insistence and heated determination.
Amy pushed herself forward, still gripping his dick firmly around its hairy base. She held it nearly upright, angling and aligning her muff down so that she was slowly able to slide right down on top of his joystick, riding it like a fireman going down a pole.
Only this pole was made of flesh and blood, rather than molded steel. But it was nearly as hard as steel, or so it felt to Amy at the moment. She thrust forward and he whimpered, begging eagerly for more, savoring the way his cockshaft was now half-hidden from sight, the tightly stretched skin along his pole rubbing slickly and briskly along her vaginal walls.
"That's so good, the way it feels, so wet and so sticky, too," he panted, finding it hard to believe that this was all happening, taking place, and right in his own house, as well.
But it was happening, all right, and happening to him. There was no way to deny his raging excitement, both on a psychic as well as on a physical level. For one, he was no longer a virgin, tasting poontang as his friends called it, for the first time. And two, he was loving every minute of it, balling a girl several years older than him, a woman perhaps, and turning her on as much as she was exciting him.
There was certainly no lack of compatibility between them, none that could come to mind. Amy threw her head back and moaned, pushing down as the walls of her shuddering muff were stretched wider and wider apart.
"That's it, push up, watch and feel it moving inside of me," she groaned as he strove to fill her box with every last inch of hard and virile dong.
And fill it he soon enough succeeded in doing.
With a last strenuous downward thrust, a motion matched by Chuck's energetic forward lunge, the two of them were finally joined and coupled as tightly as nature and their bodies would allow. The entire length of Chuck's dick was buried inside of her pussy, luxuriating in the myriad sensations which came back to him through his raw and enervated nerve endings.
He could feel her cunt muscles rippling, clenching and then loosening their hold all along the length of his hidden cock-shaft. More juice streamed down along her vaginal walls to lubricate her trench and coat his slick pecker with slippery liquid. And as he pushed forward, panting and straining, the heat of her box made him grunt with excitement.
Their crotches were flush against each other, dichromatic-black hairs tangled with dark-blonde fleecy ringlets of cunt fur. He tweaked each stiff ruddy nipple and groaned with desire, watching the way Amy slowly lifted her ass off of his grisly thighs, his cock appearing and then disappearing as she pushed down and sat on his dick all over again.
"You're doing fine, kiddo," she told him, holding onto his shoulders for support as he now started to stab in and out, pumping forward, straining and rising up before her. She pulled her legs out from under her and stretched them out alongside his body, the two of them forming a boat that was hinged at the middle.
Chuck bit down on his lower lip, grasping her hands and intertwining his fingers with hers. They held onto each other for support and each time he thrust his hips forward, she responded by pushing back down and wiggling and corkscrewing her hips from side to side. "More, keep going," she told him, loving the way his cock was filling her, exerting pressure on her vaginal walls and making her juice up with an amazing amount of sap.
But what she wanted was the good old one-two, in-out and so even as they rocked back and forth and his eyes bugged out with delight, hitting into her pussy adeptly, watching the way the opening into her muff was stretched wide, her cunt lobes stuck around the sloping rounded sides of his pecker, she gently began to urge him over onto his side.
He kept his hose stuck down into place, filling her pussy as he rolled onto his side and she slid one leg back behind her and then another. Once she had succeeded in stretching out on top of him, Amy thrust her pelvis down and felt his dick ensheathed up to the hairy root.
"Now roll, keep rolling," she hissed between clenched teeth, trying to keep his cock in place even as they reversed their positions. She worked her vaginal muscles as firmly and tightly as she could, gripping his penis and keeping it buried deeply inside of her pussy as they heaved over and she felt herself rolling onto her back, Chuck moving eagerly to get into position on top of her.
He lay there, panting, pressing his lips against her mouth, driving the wedge of his tongue right between her lips even as he drove the wedge that was his hammer-headed cock down into her pussy. In this frontal position he was able to achieve maximum penetration.
And when Amy felt the head of his bulbous and blood-engorged dong gently tipping her womb and hitting against the very end of her vaginal canal, something few guys she had balled had ever been able to achieve as their dicks were never quite long enough to fill her to that marvelously complete degree, it triggered a whole new set of reactions;
She clawed at him, raking her nails over his back, scissoring her legs open and shut so that when she closed them as best she could she was able to trap his firm rounded and hairy scrotal sac, tickling and toying with it as if she was clutching it with both of her hands and not the muscles of her thighs.
"Oh it's so good. I can't hold back much longer," he whispered, rearing up and bracing himself. He pressed his palms flat on the bed on either side of her, dug his, toes down into the mattress so that he wasn't pressing his entire body against her nubile figure and then started to pump like the man, the stud she knew he would soon enough become.
He was a pony now, on the verge of maturing into the stallion she imagined his father to be. But even as a pony he had the moves and the more he worked on it, the better his technique became. He had a knack of spearing his cock straight down, then swaying and wiggling his buns from side to side so that he exerted a delicious pressure against her left vaginal wall and then the right side of her cunt.
And when he thrust down, his nuts tickled her buns. She spread her thighs even wider inside, holding onto his neck and shoulders and begging hotly for more. "You're gonna make me come. Keep going, again, again," she whispered, afraid to speak any louder lest the walls had ears.
But no one was up and about, no one was listening to their wild and lusty love calls. He drilled and hammered wantonly, a madman feeling his oats, savoring the fact that here he was fucking, and fucking an "older woman" at that.
And when Amy started to come, when she told him that she was creaming and getting off for want of a better way of phrasing it, he couldn't have been more delighted or proud of himself.
I made her come, he thought to himself, pounding even faster than before. He lowered his head, but instead of lashing his tongue across her knockers, kept his eyes glued between his lifted legs. He couldn't stop staring, amazed at the sheer process of insertion and penetration. Just the way his cock was sliding in and out, squishing loudly each time he plowed into her, added immeasurably to his pleasure.
When she started coming, writhing on the bed and lifting her legs to lock her ankles over the small of his heaving bucking back, he dug in and out with dog-like strokes. He jabbed as if she was a bitch in heat, heatedly and frenetically, gasping but unable to stop himself.
"Yes, pound it into me. Oh fuck me, fuck me harder, harder, Chuck," she wailed as her cunt burned and itched with unbearably delightful pleasure. She was coming and she didn't want the ecstasy of her release to ever end.
And if Chuck kept doing what he was doing at that moment, she knew that one orgasm would begin to merge with another. Cunt juice spilled down the walls of her undulating muff as if a dam had broken, releasing a virtual lake of oily spicy sap.
"Does it feel good?" he whispered, eager to please her, to prove to her that he may have been a virgin less than fifteen minutes before, but that now he was well on his way to learning his "trade," his sexual pyrotechnics and youthful and tireless skills.
But Amy was lost in another world. She nodded her head vigorously up and down, unable to speak as a low-pitched wail of ecstasy escaped her lips. She tossed and turned on the bed, caught up in volcanic and tumultuous forces and unable to control the spastic and convulsive muscular contractions which rippled throughout her body.
But even as she came, he refused to stop, nor did she even want him to begin to consider coming himself. He lit into her harder and faster than ever, his balls signaling his rhythmic downward lunges and plunging strokes.
They swacked like a fist between the upraised cheeks of her jiggling butt. With one hand, he pulled her up higher, forcing her to lock her ankles more firmly around the small of his back. And when he had succeeded in pulling her up even higher, he rammed down as if his cock was an engine gone out of control.
"I ... I can't stop. I'm gonna get off ... is it all right?" he moaned, shuddering with joy as her cunt walls rippled deliciously around his burning quivering prong. He lashed up and down like a speed-freak, one tireless hammering stroke after another. His dick was a piston which burned every inch of her pussy and seconds after she had succeeded in milking a second orgasm from her youthful and salacious pleasure parts, Chuck fi nally joined her in the pleasure of her wanton and voluptuous release.
There was no stopping either of them after that.
He heaved down and stiffened, his eyes rolling up for an instant to display the whites like the eyes of a dead man. But dead was the farthest thing from reality, for he was more alive to himself and to the moment than ever before in his entire life.
"Oh now, now Amy. Oh I can't, oh it's happening, I'm coming, I'm coming!" he cried out, groaning as he fell against her and began to shudder and tremble with delight.
His balls seemed to cool and contract. Pulled back high up inside his scrotum, they seemed to clench an instant later, triggering his lusty and youthful climax. She held him tightly as she felt his cock seemingly exploding, sending out the first virile rushes of pent-up semen.
His load shot out with thick bullet-like wads, creamy gushes of gism splashing hotly inside of her shuddering muff. She could almost feel his come splattering against her cunt walls. Her vaginal muscles responded and she clenched them over and over again, nubile contractions which succeeded in arousing him beyond belief.
They worked to nip and milk his tool of its abundant load of semen and Chuck could hardly speak or see straight as his muscular prong ejaculated six, seven and then eight times in quick succession. He was left lying flat on top of her, his body warm and coated with a thin liquid sheen of sweat, his breath coming in sweet hot gasps of joyous fatigue.
Gently, she massaged his trembling back with her hands, comforting him as if he had undergone a successful operation and the prognosis was definitely a positive one. "You were wonderful," she whispered, licking his ear and then blowing a draft of hot air which made him shudder and then giggle with nervous relief.
He had had countless visions of being unable to perform, for it seemed as if he'd been trying to lose his virginity for years, ever since he had been able to come at the age of twelve and a half. But now there was no doubt in either his mind or Amy's that he had what it takes to turn a chick on and keep her turned on, at that.
Weakly, his cheeks flushed with delight, he lifted himself off of her. Then, ever so gently, as if he was afraid to uncouple and pull his cock out from the warm wet bath that was the inside of her muff, he slid his half-limp dong slowly out into the open.
It plopped loudly out, trails of come and cunt juice sticking to the wrinkled sides of his detumescent cock. Come was already beginning to ooze down the walls of her burning muff and her cunt still throbbed insistently, as if she was up for another randy bout of virile and masterful balling.
But once seemed all that Chuck could handle, perhaps afraid of overstaying his visit, perhaps anxious to get back to his room before his parents discovered his absence, should they still be awake. But whatever the reason, Amy didn't mind.
Her plan had gotten off to a marvelous start and if Chuck was in any way representative of his family, she knew that her stay with the Claytons was destined to become an experience which would undoubtedly change her entire life, not to mention her outlook, her future and, most and best of all, her range of sexual activity.
And the latter, in particular, was the one thing that mattered more to her than anything else in the world. "This'll be our little secret, Chuck," she said, adding a moment later, "At least for the time being, understand?"
"Yes, Miss Witney ... I mean, Amy," he replied, blushing as he slipped off of the bed and picked up his robe. He kept his eyes glued between her legs, as if he just couldn't get enough of her box, unable to stop staring.
"You know that a man never brags about the women he's been with, don't you?" she went on. "Only boys do things like that, putting down someone they've made love to. I hope you won't betray my confidence in you, Chuck. I'd be very unhappy about it, and I know it would be impossible for us to do this again if you told anyone about what happened here tonight. Need I say more?"
"No, Miss ... no Amy. Of course I won't tell anyone. Jeez, I'm not like that. Besides, I ... well, you know I like you, even more than just a
... I mean, as a person," he said, fumbling and trying to find the proper words to express his feelings.
She smiled and pulled the covers back over her flushed and naked body, not wanting to douche or dry herself off. She was on the pill, needless to say. But even more than that, she wanted to fall asleep with her box filled with Chuck's warm sticky load. It was a way of staying turned on, or just about, all through the night.
Chuck tied the robe around his waist, took a final heated glance at her and walked to the door. "Well, good night, Amy. And ... and thanks, thanks a lot."
"Let me thank you," she was quick to add. "After all, fucking never works for only one person. It's a give and take, two people enjoying themselves, together."
He nodded his head and opened the door, closing it softly and gently behind him. Amy lay there under the covers. She shut her eyes and reached out mechanically for the lamp. And as she switched off the soft gleaming light, a smile crossed her lips and stayed there, all through the night.
CHAPTER FOUR
Amy had almost forgotten the disgusting little ditty they used to taunt her with, "Amy loves it everyday; Amy loves it every way." The rest seemed unimportant, for what mattered at the moment was the old adage, like father like son. And since she had succeeded in seducing Chuck, Amy now turned her sexual attentions to the well-hung teenager's father, hoping that Blake Clayton would prove to be an even more virile and sexually sophisticated and responsive version of his son.
She would have enjoyed trying him out the following day, but as things turned out she had to wait until the end of the week. Blake was busy in the city with his agent for two days and during this time Amy got a chance to become better acquainted-emotionally, not sexually-with Joan and Cindy, his wife and daughter.
As for Chuck, a scheduled camping trip with two high school friends of his curtailed any additional "lessons" in bed, much to her chagrin. So by the time Blake was back to his normal working schedule, Amy was as horny as if she had been denied the pleasure of sex for weeks or even months.
She had a feeling that if he didn't make a move, or bring sex into the discussion and their workaday frame of reference, she would end up attacking him, unable to stop herself. She was a girl who understood the way her body worked, the way it responded to a man's sheer physical presence.
And having never lost out, having never failed to snare a man who turned her on, she didn't have any doubts that now, once she was alone with her new boss, she would win him over as she had won over men in the past.
It was, she would see later, even easier than she had dared to imagine. Blake was the kind of man who didn't like to be pressured or seduced. For him, women were meant to be more passive than aggressive. He was the king, the lion, the tiger. Women served to prove to him again and again his own masculinity, something of course which Amy hadn't doubted from the moment she had laid eyes on the man.
But he didn't get off when a chick was too pushy, throwing herself on him and demanding that he rape and ravish their bodies. Amy came to this conclusion within an hour after she had started her work, her duties having been carefully explained to her and mapped out the day she had been hired as research assistant.
Thankfully, Joan was off in her studio working on a batch of illustrations for the children's picture book they were in the midst of preparing. It was above the garage alongside of the house and she had learned Blake's wife's working habits well enough to know that Joan got so immersed in her work that she rarely if ever emerged from her studio for the bulk of the day, only quitting an hour or so before she had to start preparing dinner in the late afternoon.
And now that Amy was around to help her, as was Cindy, she was taking advantage of her lightened work load. Cindy was at a friend's house and Amy and Blake were alone in the study. He was dictating some dialogue with her and she sat on the couch with her legs crossed, trying to concentrate on taking down his words instead of staring too intently at his body.
She had made a point of not wearing panties or even stockings, affecting collegiate knee socks, but nothing in the way of confining or concealing undergarments. Beneath her tweed skirt her crotch was naked, her love nest rubbing against the nubby worsted material.
Her jugs were buoyed up by their own youthful firmness, pressing tautly against her cardigan, a bone-colored Shetland sweater she had buttoned up her back. Already, her body was responding, even as she was forced to concentrate on her work.
Her nipples had grown taut, swelling hotly in sheer response to Blake Clayton's mere physical presence, the close proximity of his body. She still thought he resembled, and remarkably and markedly so, the man she had often seen in her erotic dreams, but now he was becoming more of a real person, as opposed to a spectral visitation.
He had definite habits, a fondness for waving his hands about and gesturing with histrionic insistence, a fondness too for rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet when he spoke to her and recited the childish though skillful narrative she was transcribing onto her pad.
She didn't need shorthand to take it down, for he spoke slowly and distinctly, as if he was a frustrated actor, fond of reciting in public, revealing the ham that lurked underneath his fictional skin. Amy worked diligently, glancing up at him again and again, her eyes boring through his clothes to try to get at the very root of his being, right between his legs.
So what if I know what I want, she told herself. How many girls ever find that out, in their entire lives. I know what I like and I'm glad about it, too.
But there was no need for her to convince herself.
She had no qualms about her sexual needs and desires, no guilt feelings either. The torturing days of drudgery and snickers that had marked her four years at Delancey were behind her now. She was looking forward to the future, not turning her thoughts and metaphorical eyes back to the past.
And the future, at least for now, was with the Claytons.
With this thought in mind, having come to the realization that it was not up to her to make the first move, that Blake was a man used to doing things his own way and at his own natural rhythm, she crossed her legs even higher and slouched down against the back of the leather sofa.
Her skirt rose up above her knees, revealing her creamy-white and supple thigh flesh, shapely and voluptuous, to put it mildly. When does he get turned on? she heard herself saying inside of her head. She hadn't seen anything that even closely resembled a physical and sexual attachment between Blake and his wife since she had moved in. And she hadn't heard the telltale creak of bedsprings, the muted moans and whimpered grunts of sexual congress emanating from behind their bedroom door.
But then again, she realized that she hadn't been listening that carefully or closely, either. Now, she would just have to resort to her own innate feminine cunning and sexual wile. Thinking of this, she shifted position, her skirt rising up several inches higher around her legs. She hoped that if he took the opportunity to glance down, he might even be rewarded with a glimpse of her lush and naked pussy.
And the latter was juicy and twitching with the expectation of pleasure, anticipating the kind of frictioning pressure, the fullness that would be crammed inside of it. Her cunt walls burned with desire and she felt herself blushing involuntarily, barely able to hold the pencil steady, hardly able to concentrate on her work.
"That'll be enough for the time being, Amy," he finally said a few minutes later. "Let's take a coffee break. You take yours with," and he looked up at her even as he moved to the electric percolator plugged into a socket near his desk.
"Light and sweet," she told him as she put down her pad and pencil, stretching her arms above her head and yawning loudly. Her skirt quivered around her trembling haunches and when he moved back to her with a steaming earthenware mug in his hand, she reached out and accepted it with a broad and unabashed grin.
"Thanks a lot, sure could use it," she told him, sipping the coffee as he went to fill his own cup.
"Why, didn't you sleep well last night? Or is your bed lumpy? It's an old mattress, but if you find it hard to get used to I'll see to it that we buy you another one. Don't want you to suffer sleepless nights on my account."
"No, I slept all right, I guess," she told him, casting him an inquisitive gaze and wishing he'd just look down for an instant, just long enough to realize that she didn't have anything on underneath her skirt.
"It could be a low-grade flu, if you have insomnia that is. It's going around, so I've been hearing," he said to her and turned around to lean against the back of the desk, holding his cup in both of his hands.
Immediately, she thought of Chuck. But she couldn't believe the boy had told his father about what had taken place in her room, how she'd taken his temperature and then his virginity, all in one fell swoop.
Yet there was a curiously narrowed look about his eyes and she found herself returning his stare with open admiration, gazing into his dark and piercing eyes even as she sipped her coffee and leaned back against the couch, wishing she could just throw her legs up in the air and be as obvious as that.
Shit, men have all the luck, she thought to herself, for women in this society weren't allowed the pleasure of being aggressive, of taking a man the way men were socially permitted to seduce and take women.
If only she could ... but her thoughts were interrupted as Blake suddenly put down his mug of coffee and dropped down onto the floor. "Exercise time. It's part of my daily routine, since writing's such a sedentary pursuit. This way, I can still keep in shape, even if I have to be at my typewriter most of the day," and leaving her with a look of amusement and astonishment, he stretched out on the floor and began to do sit-ups.
"Need any help?" she asked, all innocence as the muscles swelled tautly beneath his ribbed cotton polo shirt.
"You could hold my ankles down, if you don't mind," he replied. "The carpet's clean, in case you're worried."
"I never worry about dirt. That's what a shower's for," she laughed, moving quickly in front of him. She got down on her knees and pressed her hands on his ankles. Just touching him got her excited and she stared into his eyes as he moved back and forth on the floor.
Each forward motion, his hands pressed firmly behind his head, brought his face ever closer to her head. She wanted him to take her, right then and there, but he must have counted off thirty push-ups before he suddenly winced and cried out.
"What's the matter!" she said in alarm.
Blake's face was contorted with agony. "My ... my back, pulled a muscle," he gasped.
"Turn over. I took a course in first aid," she told him, recalling with a silent laugh that she had given his son the same line a few nights before. Well, she thought, like father like son, urging him over onto his stomach.
Quickly, she moved up into a straddle, surreptitiously lifting her skirt up so that her naked ass rested lightly against the backs of his thighs. And then she leaned forward even as he moaned, her hands expertly kneading the muscles of his back.
He told her where he had pulled it and she worked on the area below his right shoulder, kneading and massaging his flesh, getting more and more turned on by just touching his body. "Oh yes, that's so much better. Beautiful," he whispered appreciatively, making no move to get to his feet.
Rather, he grunted with pleasure, enjoying the massage, the rubdown she was now giving him. And as she got the muscles back into shape, re leasing the cramp his vigorous exercising had caused, her hands began to slide down, even as she purposely rubbed her ass back and forth against his thighs.
He should be doing this to me, she told herself, and then it dawned on her, for she knew he would not tolerate her if she made the first move. Suddenly, she moaned and keeled over onto her side, wrapping one hand around her back.
"What happened?" she heard him say, looking up at her as she lay there with her knees curled up and a look of pain etched convincingly across her face.
"Me ... me too," she whispered. "Silly ... stupid of me, right there," and she motioned with her hand as he moved around without another word, watching her as she turned over onto her stomach, moaning with what sounded like rather convincing pain.
He assumed the same position she had taken, his strong firm hands working on her shoulder as she told him to move further down. He did precisely that, unable to see the smile she had flashed across her lips for a telling second.
"Oh, that's it, again, harder," she whispered, pushing her ass up towards his crotch.
He was straddling her, resting on the backs of his legs, both hands kneading the muscle she had supposedly pulled. But the sounds she was now making bore little if any resemblance to ones of mere muscular relief.
Rather, they sounded decidedly coital in origin and she started to pant, hoping she wasn't carrying on too much. But that answer lay with Blake and what Amy still didn't know was that the man had had his eye on her for just as long as she had wanted him.
He'd been afraid of seducing her with his wife around, afraid too that she might not be ready for the kind of vigorous and uninhibited sex he got off on. But now, he could barely control himself and despite his better intentions, he was fast losing the will power necessary to avoid entangling with Amy Witney.
Just working on her back was having the same effect it had had on her and when his hands slid lower, she smiled to herself and spread her thighs apart, rubbing her legs against his flanks. "Oh do that, yes, that's it, Blake," she whispered, closing her eyes and luxuriating in the forceful and stimulating pressure of his firm and manly hands.
His fingers itched and he glanced at her face. But she had closed her eyes once again and he could not tell what she was thinking. But then, a moment later, he felt the way she was thrusting her hips forward, the material of her tweed skirt clinging revealingly to the smooth rounded cheeks of her succulent rump.
Unable to resist, knowing that the worst thing that could happen was a negative reaction, a suitable rebuff, he moved his hands past her waist and down over the cheeks of her rump. He slid back at the same time, caressing both nether globes, reveling in their warmth and smoothness, despite the nubby worsted which clung to her butt.
And when she only whimpered with what seemed to him to be genuine and perhaps even considerable pleasure, he kept at it, unable and unwilling to stop. It was now or never and he was halfway home, or so he thought to himself.
His fingers probed the rounded swell of her ass and no longer in control of himself, remembering that Joan was in the studio, that Cindy wasn't at home either, he grew more confident and thus more daring, slipping his hands underneath the hem of her skirt to press down against her hot and naked thighs.
Amy knew exactly what had happened, the kind of thoughts going through Blake Clayton's mind. But she didn't want to blow it, and at such a crucial moment such as this. So she kept her eyes closed, whimpering softly, not being aggressive or obvious about her true feelings, the fact that what he was now doing to her was exactly what she had so fervently longed for, what she had lusted after, as well.
His hands slid up past the backs of her thighs, right underneath her skirt until all ten fingers were flat against her rounded buttocks. She trembled but held her tongue, lying there and afraid to look back at him, lest she reveal her own heated excitement.
As for Blake, he was beyond control, something even Amy was yet to discover. Having gone this far, he knew that he would be forced to go all the way, whether she liked it or not. He had to have her and now it had finally come out into the open. So he kept his fingers on her warm tender ass and gently yet insistently massaged her buttocks, rubbing his hands over every inch of her lush and jutting rump.
His fingers explored the narrow and damp anal furrow separating one cheek from the other and then he pulled one hand back and gently lifted up her skirt. It dawned on him then that she wasn't wearing panties, something he hadn't even realized the instant he'd felt her naked ass.
He did what amounted to a classic double-take, smiling lustily to himself and starting to put two and two together. But another furtive glance at her face revealed nothing. Her eyes were still closed, her lips pursed tightly together.
If a chick doesn't bother to put on panties, he thought to himself, trying to figure out what kind of broad she really was.
He didn't have to think too hard about it, either, for she was loving his very touch, moaning more energetically as he grew increasingly confident and sure of himself, certain that the last thing in the world she would now do was turn him away, asking him to stop and leave her alone.
He was absolutely correct in his assumptions.
Amy wanted him to do everything and anything he wanted. Blake kept at it, hauling her skirt slowly up around her waist until her ass was displayed in all its white and succulent beauty, the twin cheeks of her plump and almost juicy rump revealed to his wide and staring eyes.
Needless to say, his body was reacting just as heatedly and excitedly as Amy's was doing. Behind the front of his denim trousers his cock was already filled to the bursting point. It struggled as if it had a will and consciousness all its own, pouching out the front of his slacks.
She didn't dare open her eyes yet, so she was unable to see how turned on he had fast become, struggling to control his raging and animalistic sex drives. His fingers worked more heatedly with each passing second. They rubbed briskly over her buns and then he spread her thighs even wider apart, barely able to see the tuft of dark-blonde cunt fur which marked the bottom edge of her twat.
Her narrow pink outer lips were just about visible, the ragged edges of cunt flesh making his mouth water. Unable to stop himself, no longer in control at all, he suddenly thrust himself forward, grabbed hold of her buns and tore them wildly apart.
Before Amy could even scream out and acknowledge what had taken place in the last few minutes, her entire body convulsed. She shuddered as she felt his long raspy tongue sliding up and down her narrow and sweaty anal furrow, making her tremble with voluptuous and heated sexual desire.
"Ohh, my God, so good," she blurted out, un able to hold back the true state of her emotions.
But he barely heard her, feasting his thick sensual lips upon her scrumptious bum furrow. It gave off a sweaty and musky scent, not at all sour with excrement or gamy in the least. The odors mingled with the aroma of her cunt and the soap she had used to shower with that very morning.
But it was to her unopened blossom that he now directed his feverish touch, licking and circling her bud-like anal aperture with his long and outstretched tongue. To get -rimmed like this, the first thing he had consciously done to her, only made Amy all the more turned on and determined to have him, and in every way imaginable.
She thrust her buns towards his warm wet mouth, his hands clutching her nether globes for support, pulling them as wide apart as he could. His tongue swooped up and down, lavishing her bum furrow and her tight little anus with all manner of affection and attention.
And Amy loved every moment of it, thrilling to the way his tongue felt like a file, rasping up and down, circling her anus and lubricating it with an abundant amount of spittle. This, as it turned out, was only a preamble, a foretaste of the things yet to take place.
For once he had succeeded in loosening her instinctive muscular restraint, once he had moistened and lubricated her asshole until it was fairly swamped with saliva, he tried to drive his tongue right inside the narrow slit-like opening.
It was time for Amy to let him know how much she was getting off on what he was doing, though for the time being she didn't want her boss-and perhaps her soon-to-be lover, so she thought to herself-to think that she was a girl of considerable sexual experience and sophistication.
"Oh, don't, don't do it," she whispered, clenching and then relaxing her ring of anal muscles as he pulled her buns even farther apart, stretching the crevice between them so that he was finally able to see the slick dark-red flesh of her perianus, right at the opening that led down into the depths of her poop.
Her seemingly honest words of protest only fanned his passions and more aroused than ever, he thrust agilely down. Holding his tongue as firmly as he could, he tried to stuff it right inside of her poop, prodding and palpitating her bottomhole and then pistoning his tongue as hard as he could.
Ever so slowly he gained headway, his tongue digging deeper and deeper inside of her hot dry ass. She shuddered as she felt a fresh gush of vaginal dew sluicing down her rippling cunt walls, lubricating her pussy and oozing out to drip onto the carpet, right where she lay stretched out on the floor.
He could sense her excitement and this only made him all the more confident and determined to keep at it, rimming her out, eating out her lush and plump little bottom. Her sweet anal flesh made him drool and he belabored her asshole with his tongue until he had it stuffed inside of her poop-chute as far as it would go.
When he felt her using her sphincter muscles, contracting them tightly and energetically around his tongue, he smiled to himself. He held his tongue steady and jabbed it in and out, one hot pistoning stroke after another. And each time brought her ever closer to a climax, able to feel the pistoning prodding motions of his tongue reverberating all along her vaginal sheath.
Her words of protest turned to hisses and grunts of excitement and after he had eaten out her ass for what seemed to be hours on end, he slowly pulled it out from its delicious confinement. But that was only the beginning. Without saying anything else and he had, in fact, been silent all this time, he slid his tongue down past the bottom edge of her anal crease, past the tiny slit of her piss-hole and farther still until he was slurping against the lowest edge of her muff.
Amy's response was even more heated than he had dared imagine.
She tried to pull her knees up to her chest and when she couldn't do it, she thrust her buns back at his mouth, lifting her crotch up off the carpet at the same time. He pushed his face lower, his nostrils fluttering, inhaling deeply and savoring the spicy scent of her pungent and musky trench.
The tip of his tongue slurped along the bottom edge of each ruby-red cunt lip, tickling them and pushing forward with one heated slurp after another. The very sounds he was making, the way he was slobbering and drooling with excitement, all added to her pleasure.
She could think of nothing else but turning over, letting him cram his tongue and then his cock right inside of her shuddering hole. And this, despite the fact that she sensed aggressiveness on her part would not be particularly appreciated, was exactly what she found herself doing a moment later.
Unable to bear it much longer, she suddenly twirled around with a convulsive shudder, landing on her back and spread-eagling her naked and tawny thighs. "Oh, so good. I can't ... can't stop you," she murmured, hoping her words would be sufficient reason for him not to think ill of her.
But he was too far gone by then to worry about how she had taken it upon herself to tell him what to do next. His eyes opened even wider than before, as if he couldn't get in enough of her pussy. The plump meaty pouch, all covered with fleecy ringlets of honey-blonde pubic hair, made him pant loudly and like the stud, the savage sexual animal she had imagined him to be, he literally pounced and sprung down at her, pawing at her muff with his trembling fingers.
He ripped her cunt flaps wide apart, splaying them like reddened dripping wings, only to lash out with his tongue, stuffing it right inside of her musky trench. Her pussy made him growl and he slobbered and drank her juices down, coating his tongue with her oily and womanly secretions.
Capturing her clit, he tightened his tongue around it, squeezing the life out of it and making her claw at his shoulders, her hands pressing down against the top of her head. She held his face between her legs and rocked back and forth, letting him take his pleasure by eating her out.
But pleasure was exactly what he was giving her in return, her cunt on fire by then and her orgasm about to engulf her in another minute or so. Babbling and ranting incoherently, she trembled and burned, so aroused that she could hardly believe it was finally happening to her, finally and at long last.
But that sense of ecstasy and disbelief still didn't negate the reality of the situation. Because at that very moment, just as she got over the edge and screamed out that she was coming, he was only getting started, warming up to her, so to speak.
Her first orgasm however took him by surprise.
Joan never got off half as quickly, especially just by being eaten out. He marveled at her sexual response and worked on her cunt like a madman, stroking his tongue in and out eagerly and hotly. She twisted and bucked from side to side, holding his head in place, refusing to relinquish her grip.
"Do it, more, eat me, oh it's good, I can't stop, I'm coming, coming!" she screamed out, writhing on the floor. She was consumed with delight and the room spun around her. Her thoughts reeled in confusion and the pleasure engulfed her, the friction and pressure of his tongue digging its way in and out of her box making her convulse with maniacal intensity and sexual fervor.
But the more she got off, the harder she reacted so to speak, the more aroused Blake became as well. He didn't stop until she had reached the peak of her orgasm, slowly coming back to her senses. Thick rivulets of murky sap drooled down her vaginal walls, only to be sucked down his throat as he lapped like a kitten hunched over a saucer of cream.
But when she slumped back on the floor, now experiencing the after-throes of her volcanic and exhausting release, it was finally Blake's turn to get his own rocks off, now that he had seen to it that Amy Witney had achieved the first of what undoubtedly would be several more climaxes, before the afternoon's sexual banquet had reached its just conclusion.
With this thought first and foremost in mind, he staggered like a drunken man to his feet, towering over her and smelling her body as if she was an animal in heat, giving off a heavy and cloying rutting odor.
A steamy scent of sex and physicality hung in the air and he savored the pungent perfume of desire and looked down at her, realizing how intently and piercingly she was now staring at him, mentally undressing him in her mind.
What she had tried to see before and what she had failed to discover, had now made its appearance for the first and hopefully, so she thought to herself, not the last time. She couldn't stop gaping, able to see the thick distended pouch bulging out at her, tenting up the front of his denim slacks.
It gave every indication of being the masterful and swollen member she'd hoped it would be and now she waited, breathless with the expectation of what was soon to come. Lustfully, as if she was a conquest and he was a Roman legionaire about to rape her lush young body, she watched him as he licked his lips, ogling her and unable to conceal his rampant state of sexual excitement.
Nor did he want to conceal what she was begging to look at, her eyes still staring between Blake Clayton's thighs. He didn't know what to say to her, but words were of no ultimate importance, at least not now, not when she was panting, half-naked and lying there on the floor waiting for him to make his move.
Almost as if he was teasing her, toying with her head by his slow and sensual motions, he slid his hands to his crotch and took hold of the zipper to his fly. She watched him, all eyes to his torrid display, having never met a man who didn't want to grab her and cram his cock into place without a moment's hesitation.
But Blake was the man she had hoped he would be and he was enjoying himself too much to want to rush heedlessly into things. This way, he had a chance to stare at her body, to admire her lush and curvaceous figure.
"Take off your clothes, Amy," he whispered.
"All of them. Now."
The tone of his voice left little if anything to the imagination. He's going to rape me, Amy thought to herself. She nodded her head, going along with him, with the rules of his game. She would have torn her clothes off in a flash, even before he said the word, but now she pretended to be awed by his virility.
Trembling visibly, she reached back and unzipped her skirt and then unbuttoned her cardigan sweater, pulling it off of her arms and shoulders. She tossed it onto the floor, allowing him to see each ripe cone-shaped breast for the first time.
"Very pretty," he whispered, dry-mouthed, her disrobing almost a ritual which he could not interrupt.
She blushed, but it was a blush of excitement not embarrassment. She'd never come to doubt her own physical being and without even getting up off the carpet she pulled her skirt down, kicking off her penny loafers at the same time. She put the skirt next to her sweater and the shoes right alongside of them.
"Everything," he told her, and that meant her dark-green knee socks as well.
She peeled them off, acting out her part to the hilt. It seemed to her that he wanted her to be docile and afraid and so she kept on trembling, feigning fright as she pulled off her socks and lay there on the carpet, stark and utterly naked, completely at his mercy.
Mercy however was not what she wanted from Blake at that moment.
She wanted him to take her with every ounce of pride and lust he possessed and as soon as she had completed her disrobing, he pulled his cotton polo shirt out from around the waistband of his slacks and then tugged it up over his head. He tossed it onto the floor, allowing her a moment of worshipful awe as she took in the hairy planes of his muscular chest, each pectoral muscle fully defined, bulging out with brawny vitality.
A thick carpet of jet-black hair fanned out across his chest and up to his neck, tapering to a thick line which nearly obscured his navel from sight, then disappearing below his waist. He kicked off his shoes and then rapidly unbuckled his belt, his eyes never leaving her body, hardly blinking, for that matter.
His very silence hypnotized her and she shuddered genuinely now, almost as if she really was frightened. Never before had she been with a man of Blake Clayton's sheer sexual appeal. And she didn't know what to expect of either herself or him, for that matter.
His belt unbuckled, he yanked down his fly, never moving his eyes off of her. He was wildly aroused now, perhaps more aroused than he'd been in months. He hadn't balled anyone other than Joan for nearly a year and now he knew that raping Amy Witney had perhaps always been in the back of his mind, from the moment he'd spoken to her on the telephone when she'd called from Delancey to see if the position was still unfilled.
I need this, he thought to himself, needing the release, the sheer physical and emotionally detached pleasure of ramming his hard-on between her legs, taking her and giving her as much sexual delight as he was certain she would be able to give him in return.
That she knew the moves was something he didn't doubt and now he smiled, the grin of a champion seducer, a stud who always and inevitably got his way and met with success, even if other men met with failure. "Stay right where you are. Don't move until I tell you to," he whispered, licking his lips once again as his pants opened and he pushed them down, shucking them off of his waist and hips and letting them fall in a heap around his ankles.
Without bending down he kicked them off, first one leg and then the other. The slowness added incredibly to her sexual appetites, fanning the smoldering flames of passion he had kindled, ignited as well by the use of his long and agile tongue.
She wanted to burn all over again. Only this time, she wanted his cock to start the erotic fires going, not his tongue. And he fully intended to give her that, for as his trousers dropped to his ankles, her unwavering and piercing stare was finally rewarded.
Behind the urine-stained fly of his tight white boxer shorts she was able to see the outline of his hose, tenting up the front of his briefs. His cock was pushed to the side, but even before he skinned down his shorts, she could see the huge throbbing outline it made behind the thin cotton cloth.
The rounded swell of his nuts could be seen as well. Just staring at the silhouette of his still hidden dick made her pant and more and more sap streamed down the shuddering walls of her muff. It was as if her body was getting ready, preparing itself for the assault, the sheer throbbing attack of his dong, lubricating her vaginal sheath so that when he took her-brutally she hoped-he wouldn't rip her sensitive vaginal flesh with his massive arm of cock-flesh.
That it was massive she could no longer doubt, for what she was able to see told her more than enough. This was the man, the well-hung stud she had long imagined in her dreams. But now she wasn't asleep. She was wide-awake and she waited there for him, breathless with expectation.
"I hope you don't break too easily," he told her then. "It took my wife Joan nearly a month to get used to me, if you know what I mean, Amy."
She wasn't sure, not until he hooked his thumbs underneath the elastic waistband of his shorts and skinned them down. Only then did Amy Witney understand what Blake had said, not doubting the truth of his statement.
She looked at him with absolute shock, knowing precisely what it was that had taken Joan Clayton four weeks to grow accustomed to. But as far as she was concerned, she would get used to it within the hour. And that, she thought to herself, is something not even Mr. Blake Clayton could dare hope to believe possible.
For what she now stared at seemed too big to be real, the mammoth column of flesh like the arm of an infant, the head like a fist or a ripe peach. It arched out from his hairy stomach at a forty-five degree angle, his heavy nuts swinging pendulously between his brawny thighs.
Nine inches at the very least, she surmised, and as thick around as my wrist. She gaped, totally in awe of his potency, the sheer physical dimensions of his massive penis. And then his lips parted and his tongue snaked out at her. "It's time we got better acquainted, my pet," he whispered hotly.
All Amy could do was nod her head up and down, again and again and again.
CHAPTER FIVE
It seemed as if he came to her in a dream.
It wasn't real and long after she felt drugged and in a daze from that first incredibly satisfying bout of pleasure. But now she could only lay there like a zombie, mouth agape and eyes stuck open like those on a broken doll.
He towered before her, his massive cock arching out like an arm, the rounded circumcised head beginning to leak pearly drops of pre-seminal fluid, pre-come which glistened on his pisshole and then overflowed, drooling down along the underside of his muscular rod.
She imagined the kind of load he would ultimately give her, as if the size of his balls were somehow an indication of his additional potency, the fact that they seemed to be filled with more cream than she could imagine.
Just lying there and looking up at him made her tremble and her cunt began to dilate, the floor of her box widening and dropping down in involuntary reflex, prepared to accommodate Blake's enormous penis, prepared to stuff it all the way into place and ride it until she was drained and exhausted and filled with pleasure that would know no bounds or limitations.
"You just have to work with me," he told her then. "I'll go slow, I promise."
She nodded her head, knowing she could handle it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. On occasion, she had tried dildos when all else failed. They had proven a temporary relief, but had served to accustom her to the same kind of bulky and cumbersome dimensions as those of Blake Clayton's oversized hose.
It was not a horse cock by any means, but nine inches couldn't be looked lightly upon, especially when the length of his dick was matched by the incredible width of his sturdy poker. "I want it," she told him then.
And as if to emphasize her desire, she reached down with both of her hands and took hold of her cunt lips, pulling them back to reveal the pulpy and swollen inner flesh of her vulva. Her clitoris burned on its narrow stalk, wiggling hotly in sheer response to the visual stimuli of Blake's body.
His eyes opened even wider, taking in every detail. The lush swell of her plump and meaty box, the tender hillock of her belly, her tits capped by firm distended nipples and her svelte and ivory form, all made his mouth water. His chest rose and fell as he breathed deeply, slowly dropping down to his knees to lean still closer to her spread-eagled and trembling legs.
She quivered and the silence was uncanny, as if they were both fully capable of telepathy, of reading the other's thoughts. But there was no reason to speak, not now, not as he rubbed his pre-coital fluid up and down the length of his bobbing cock-shaft.
The tightly stretched skin glistened, its blue veins bulging out and reminding her of braids of rope. And when he had fully rubbed his natural lubricant up and down along the entire length of his dick, he leaned forward and pressed one hand flat on the carpet, right alongside of her.
"Better lift your legs up, over my shoulders," he instructed her. It was, they both knew, a most delicate operation. But it was also a procedure they both wanted to see to its logical end, success and not failure.
So Amy lifted her legs up and hooked her knees over his wideset shoulders. Her ass and box were thus raised off the carpet and she rested on her shoulders and the back of her neck, all eyes to his virility, to the way he was taking the situation in hand, as if he was in far more control than even she dared to imagine.
Once her legs were up and her cunt raised into a provocative and accessible position, he gripped his dong with his one free hand and pulled it down until it was making a right angle from his hairy crotch and stomach, the head swelling visibly as he leaned towards her.
He pressed the rounded bulbous glans, its leaking tip the shape of a huge mauve mushroom cap, right against her gaping cunt furrow. The raggedy-edged outer lips seemed to flutter like the wings of a butterfly settling on a blossom and she held her breath, too delighted and too turned on to say a word.
He didn't waste much time after that.
The initial contact having been made, Blake pushed forward. He held his pecker as firmly and steadily as he could, trying to cram the wickedly wide and bulky head of his cock right inside her undulating vulva.
Just touching her cunt like this made her tremble and she felt like bouncing up and down, gyrating her hips, riding his meat and stuffing it completely into place. "Slow," she cautioned, as if this single word would bespeak her innocence and thus arouse him even more.
But he didn't need additional encouragement or advice. He was almost there, scott free, almost home. He centered his weight on his hips and thrust down and Amy took hold of her cunt lips and held them back as far as she could, widening the entranceway that led down into the hot and fluttering depths of her swampy muff.
"Beautiful. Steady, hold on, sugar, here we come," he moaned, his lips curled back in a snarl of excitement as he tried to cram the unwieldy head of his dong into place.
He could feel the liquids streaming down her cunt walls, collecting in the basin that was her reddened and inflamed vulva. The pulpy inner folds of flesh, her clit, her nymphae, all seemed enervated with blood, livid with desire. He pushed harder, wanting to go slow but finding it nearly impossible to take his time and control himself.
"Yes, it's okay, more, slow but more, all of it," she whispered, her lips dry, her mouth parched and her breath coming in gasps of incredible desire.
Never, absolutely never ever before, not even considering the pleasure and delight she had shared with Blake's son Chuck, had Amy ever felt so much a woman, so turned on and aroused by his sheer display of physical and sexual bravado. She wanted him to horse himself right up to the root, to stuff his nuts into place if he could, to plow into her as she had never been balled before.
And Blake, beyond a shadow of a doubt, was exactly that man to fit the bill. He was just as turned on as Amy and he felt cunt juice slopping around the head of his half-buried tool. He thrust down once again and this time managed to push the entire glans into place, holding it down so that the neck of his cock was flat against her hairy opening, his cock-head completely hidden from sight.
It filled her meaty vulva like a drooling fist and she gasped from the sweet cloying pressure, his physical presence making her head spin. Fucking had always been the be-all and end-all of her existence, but she realized then, even before he began to try to hammer the rest of his dick into place, that she had somehow always been cheated, that she had gone on thinking things were good when, in reality, they were only second-rate.
But no more, no longer, she told herself, straining and grunting, heaving her hips forward as he wiggled tantalizingly and thrust agilely down, his cock like a gigantic battering ram of manflesh, piercing her vaginal gates and pounding its way deep inside her mushy hole.
"That's it, now again, oh slow, slow baby," she whispered, staring down between her spread-eagled thighs. The blood rushed to her head and she felt a little dizzy, both with excitement and the anticipation of all the pleasures and orgasms she was yet to experience.
He braced himself and panted, thrusting down yet again. And now, slowly but surely, as if there was no way to prevent him from making headway, she began to see and feel how his cock was moving forward, tunneling its way down into her pussy.
The head was like a fruit, stuffed inside of her, exerting unbelievably delightful pressure and friction all along the sides of her muff. And following it was the rest of his shaft, wide and burning against her vaginal walls.
No one spoke after that, not until he had managed to enter her as she had never dreamed possible before. Or, actually, as she had only dreamed and never experienced in her life. But today fantasy and reality were merging, becoming one and she clung to him like a woman obsessed, all eyes to his remarkably hot-blooded display.
Having expected him to act like a madman, to stuff his dick inside of her without any thought of gentleness and consideration, she was doubly pleased by the care he was taking, the way he was working his cock inside of her by degrees, not rushing her, not hurting her in the least.
"You okay?" he asked then, once again seemingly capable of reading her mind.
She nodded her head and thrust her hips forward, meeting his next downward plunge. It was getting easier to handle the more he churned her insides, the more he crammed his dick into place. Her vaginal walls were stretched to the breaking point, but not painfully so, unless of course pleasure was sometimes pain, so unbearable she felt like screaming out with excitement.
But she held her tongue, watching the steady downward progress his tool was making. By now, more than four inches of hard meaty dick had pierced her to the quick. But Amy Witney was greedy and she demanded more, all of it, in fact.
"Keep going. It doesn't hurt. It's so wide, so big," she panted, tossing and turning before him as he smiled with excitement and grew more daring and more heated, stroking forward swiftly and hotly now, no longer worried that the size of his cumbersome dick might be more painful than pleasurable to his research assistant.
This too was research, but of a category she would have enjoyed pursuing day and night. It was all that mattered now and perhaps always and Amy pushed towards him, all eyes as he rammed down and suddenly made it, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Her breath seemed stuck in her lungs and the back of her throat. Her eyes bulged out and she held herself steady, unmoving as she felt what had happened and saw that now he had horsed himself completely. Not an inch of cock was visible, not even the hairy base. His wiry pubes seemed to completely obscure her own straw-hued cunt thatch and his nuts were flat between her buns, tickling the sensitive flesh of her moistened anal furrow.
"I can't move," he said, laughing nervously, not believing he had been able to do it, and without too much difficulty at that.
But he had, no doubt about it.
Even now he was groaning, savoring the incredible searing heat, the burning tightness of her girlish quim. Her pussy was so much more gripping and narrow than his wife's that the pleasure he felt seemed boundless, limitless to the extreme. He wanted to take no chances now, not wanting to blow it so to speak, now that he had gotten his way.
Which was only a way of saying that Blake was already imagining other moments such as this, coffee breaks that turned into fuck fests, one day after another. "Is it good, is it real good, Amy? It doesn't hurt you, does it, kiddo?" he whispered, all eyes to the expression on her face.
"Oh, it's so good, it's ... it's better than ever, ever before," she whispered, wondering if what she felt was love, or if her passions were simply too overwhelming, running away from her and leaving her exhausted and perfectly content, even before they began to move together in earnest.
He smiled, his consideration still surprising and amazing her. But perhaps, she thought to herself, that was what made Blake Clayton so much the man, the fact that she mattered to him, that she was somebody other than a cunt, an opening between her legs.
Other guys had only been interested in cramming their cocks into her snatch, but he was different and now she was loving it more than she would have dared to dream possible. It was happening, her box stuffed and filled to the breaking point with nine throbbing inches of hot and burning meat.
He pulled his tool slowly back, scraping the tightly stretched skin along his cock-shaft, rubbing it raw against her quivering and stretched and distended vaginal walls. The backward motion made her pussy convulse and her vaginal muscles underwent convulsive throes, clenching and unclenching, squeezing hotly against the rounded sides of his pecker.
He swore beneath his breath, lowered his head and even as he thrust down back into place, he stretched his tongue out and lashed it over each ruby-red and taut nipple. The pleasure was too good to be true.
Amy shuddered and clung to him, reaching up to hold him around the waist, afraid to let go, perhaps forever. "Faster, harder," she whispered and the two words spurred him on so that he pulled nearly the entire length of his dong out, only the head still hidden from sight, only to plow forward and cram it into her with a single skillful and well-aimed stroke.
She could feel his hips banging down against her pelvic horns, her cunt lips squishing loudly, embracing and gripping the sides of his shaft like tightly stretched elastic bands. There was no need to try to get off, to concentrate on achieving her climax. For within another moment she was there, her clit unable to endure the repeated barrages, the burning pressure of his pole.
"Oh yes, make me come. Oh it's happening, so fast. I can't stop it, Blake," she cried out, whimpering with delight as he kept licking her tits, each stroke of his tongue matching the strokes of his hard and throbbing pole.
He couldn't believe she was coming so quickly. But that didn't stop him from giving Amy what she wanted. In fact, it only served to add to his own excitement and he began to tear in and out with one jabbing plunge after another, his nuts whacking between her buns like the fist she had imagined them to be.
The hairy wrinkled sac tickled her anus and she quivered and flowed with her climax as it bore down on her like a tidal wave, inundating her body, flooding her muff with thick gushes of oily and musky sap.
"Oh baby, do it, fuck me, more, more," she begged. "Oh shit I need it, I need it bad. It's the best, the best ever. I can't breathe, all this cock, cock everywhere."
Her words made him grin and he sucked one stiff nipple between his lips, belaboring it with the edges of his wide white front teeth. The dual pressures, teeth and dick, made her tremble and she corkscrewed her hips from side to side, feeling increased pressure along one vaginal wall and then the other.
And then it happened, like fireworks, sparks igniting inside of her. She lost all sense of time and place, flowing with the burning searing pleasure of her release. Her climax made him grunt savagely and as she clung to him he held both hands down alongside of her, palms flat on the floor, legs extended out behind him.
It seemed then as if only the center of his body was moving, his muscular buns dimpling each time he speared his pole down into her pussy. He jerked and quivered as she cried out, coming with convulsive force, clinging to him as he plowed in and out, one swift thrust followed quickly by another.
There was no stopping either of them now and the more he hammered away, the closer Blake got as well. Her cunt remained as tight as a virgin's, burning and searing his shaft raw. But the flickers of pain he felt were drowned in the sea of ecstasy which was swiftly engulfing the two of them.
And as more cunt juice spilled down her vaginal walls to further lubricate her sheath, the pain lessened and he was able to slide in and out with a minimum of effort, ramming as hard and as fast as he could. He could feel the head of his dick hitting against the back of her womb, tipping her cervix and causing her to claw at him, to rake her fingernails down along his back and burly shoulders like the vixen she truly was, the tigress he had enleashed in her.
"Oh God!" she suddenly screamed out amidst her tortured groans and whimpers of excitement. "I'm coming ... again, oh again, do it, more, fuck me, Blake, fuck me with everything you've got. You're a stud, a fucking stud!"
She tossed and turned against him, writhing on the carpet, her body glowing and her skin suffused with red. He was almost there now, unable and unwilling to hold back any longer. His cock was on fire and the more she worked her vaginal muscles around his pecker, the more turned on he became.
Even his nuts were responding to the pressure, banging against her bum furrow and sensitized from the volley of shuddering strokes which rippled throughout his body. He hung on as if for dear life, feeling more sap streaming down, her cunt walls rippling as she got off for a second time in a row.
And then he let out a bellow, a roar like a rutting bull. She saw him stiffening and knew, seconds before he began to unleash his pent-up load, that he was going to get off and come. "Yes, do it, together, fuck me and come, pour it into me. Give me your load, all that good hot cream!" she squealed, clinging to him as he shuddered and fell against her.
His hairy chest burned and scratched against her tits, his thighs doing the same thing to her legs. But she loved his sweaty hairy weight pressing down, his body stretched out as he suddenly trembled violently and went hurtling over the edge.
"Yeah, now, here comes, oh shit, feel it, fuck what a cunt, what a fucking tight little piece you are," he panted as suddenly the first hot ejaculations of semen poured into her box, his dick like a fire hose gone out of control.
She held onto him, stretched out flat on her back, feeling the way his cock was tearing inside of her muff and his cream like bullets, thick wads of gism splashing against her vaginal walls. "Do it, come, shoot you prick, you fucking bear," he heard her growl as he quivered like a taut bow, sending out wad after hot gushing wad of semen.
There was no end to it, his balls feeling as if they were contracting, squeezed and forced to squirt out his come. "You're beautiful, shit so tight, so fucking hot and beautiful," he whispered, clutching her in his arms, devouring her the way she had always imagined it would be.
And all she could do was smile, still trembling, her body caught up in rhythmic contractions so that she was still coming, hardly aware of where or even who she really was. But that was just the way she'd always wanted and imagined it to be.
Slowly, he began to calm down. His cock sent out a last thick dribble of cream and he gasped, pressing his face down in the hollow between her neck and shoulder. Life father, like son, Amy thought wearily and pleasurably to herself.
She had known he would be this good all along, instinctively no doubt, a woman's intuition or premonition. And now she wanted him again, wanted him to keep at it, never to tire out or stop, to fuck her until there was not a drop of energy left in his body.
She tightened her vaginal muscles around his prong, feeling the way it was getting limp, still buried inside of her. He murmured in response and then she whispered, telling him to stay there, to do it all over again, not to pull out until he was good and hard.
"That's the way I like my men, always hard, really hard and hot for me," she told him, licking his ear and using her cunt muscles once again.
He stirred, savoring the mushy lubricity of her box, her cunt now flooded with his copious and sticky load. Semen dripped down around the gaping opening of her snatch, coating his crotch and belly with his load.
That she was this responsive and receptive to him, this aroused and sexually turned on, made Blake smile to himself. He wiggled his limp dick back and forth, not pulling it out, as she had instructed him.
It wasn't as if he was taking orders from a woman and he didn't mind the encouragement she gave him. Rather, it somehow turned him on all the more, knowing that she was digging this, getting off as no one, not even his wife Joan, had gotten off in the past.
He put aside all other thoughts, the fantasies he'd had about deflowering his daughter, taking Cindy's cherry, savoring the tightness of her girlish and virginal snatch. He had someone as good if not better to contend with and within a few more minutes the fullness returned and he was erect all over again.
The second time was even better than the first.
The come he had poured down her snatch only served to heighten the lubricity of her box, making it much easier for him to slide his dick in and out of her pussy. Come sprayed and splashed like foamy whitecaps over their thighs and bellies. But the two of them were lost to their pleasure, oblivious to all and everything else.
When it was finally over, when he told her with a laugh that it was time to get back to work, he helped her to her feet and she felt dizzy, staggering as come dripped down along the insides of her thighs. She excused herself, snatched her clothes up off the floor and hurried upstairs to take a quick shower.
But not before she'd seen to it that he didn't even need a towel to wipe himself off with, for she used her tongue and lips and mouth to suck his cock clean, loving the taste of his salty semen as she swallowed it down, inhaling at the same time and drinking in the sweaty musky aroma which permeated his manly crotch.
When she got back downstairs he was dressed, once again pacing the study as if nothing had happened. She moved back to the couch, refreshed from the shower, picked up her coffee mugnoticing he had filled it once again for her-and continued where she had left off.
But, needless to say, it was considerably difficult for Amy to concentrate on her work, in light of what had transpired just a short while before.
* * *
"I'd like to talk to you, Amy," Joan Clayton announced. "Alone, if I might, upstairs in your room, if that's okay with you."
Amy looked up with a start. She had been transcribing some of her notes, the dictation Blake had given her, onto the typewritten page. Blake was in the city working out a deal with his agent and publisher and she and Joan were alone in the house, the children off somewhere and up to their own devices.
"Why, why sure," Amy said as Joan Clayton stood by the sliding French doors that led in and out of the study. She wondered why they couldn't talk right here, right where they were. But she refrained from asking Joan why they had to have a private discussion upstairs in her room.
It had been more than a week since she and Blake had had sex together for the first time. And in the few days that followed they repeated their coffee break, their torrid and sensual lovemaking becoming more vigorous and varied with each successive episode.
As far as Amy knew, Joan hadn't discovered what was going on between her and her husband. Certainly, she didn't worry about Blake, though when Chuck returned from his camping trip and made a nocturnal visit to her room, she didn't turn the boy away, either. After all, having an affair-for want of a better word-with the father, didn't mean she still couldn't enjoy his handsome and studly young son.
So now she turned off the electric typewriter and the instant it stopped humming a veil of silence, ominous and foreboding, seemed to descend in the room. Feeling awkward and even a little bit on the defensive, she got up from the typing stool and followed Joan out of the room, up the stairs to the second floor of the house and then down the hall to her room.
Amy never kept the door locked and now Joan waited, exercising all the proper social amenities. She turned the knob and stepped inside, beckoning Joan to follow. They had said nothing all the way upstairs and now she felt herself growing more and more alarmed with each passing second.
This can't be an ordinary chat, she thought to herself as she sat down on the edge of the bed, watching Joan as she stood by the door, her features set in what appeared now to be a cold and calculating grimace of contempt.
"Take off your clothes."
Amy looked up with a gasp. The words reverberated in the air, echoing loud and shrill in her ears. She recalled instantly that Blake had used those very same words on her, the day they'd had sex together for the first time. But this wasn't Blake who stood before her. It was his wife, a woman in her early thirties, with curly brunette hair and a figure that was still holding its own, though more mature, more womanly and fleshy than Amy's voluptuous figure.
"What?" Amy whispered weakly, though she knew she had heard Joan exactly, not misinterpreting the woman's brief expletive.
"You heard me. I said to get undressed. Now, Amy," Joan Clayton said, smirking and crossing her hands in front of her. She leaned against the door, her eyes narrowed and blazing, her lips parted slightly in what appeared to Amy to be a look of smug condescension.
"You ... you must be kidding," Amy told her.
"Kidding?" Joan repeated, and she moved forward, lifting her hand so that Amy winced involuntarily and hung back, but not back far enough so that Joan wasn't able to bring her hand down against the side of her face with a loud and resounding slap.
"Stop!" Amy screamed, flinching from the pain, holding her cheek with one hand as suddenly Joan began to laugh, a maniacal cackle that made the hairs stand up along the back of her neck. She leaned forward even more and took hold of Amy's madras blouse, pulling at it with vicious determination.
Amy started yelling, begging her to stop. But Joan only laughed, tearing at her blouse, not content until some of the buttons popped off and the thin cotton material began to shred, tearing and ripped right off of her. "You'll do as I say, you little tramp, you disgusting nympho," Joan yelled and Amy found herself nodding her head, too frightened to protest any longer.
When Joan let go of her blouse she meekly hung her head down in shame. Her fingers trembled spasmodically and she undid the rest of the buttons and slowly pulled her blouse out from the waistband of her skirt.
She slid her arms out of the half sleeves and took it completely off, blushing as she sat there on the bed, her naked tits swaying from side to side, the nipples taut, though firm from fear, not sexual arousal. Joan stared with wide and delighted eyes, admiring the young woman's firm rounded jugs, her breasts smaller than hers, but no less of a turn-on, either for a man ... or for a woman like Joan Clayton.
"Go on, your skirt, kiddo," the older woman snapped and Amy slid her fingers back to the zipper of her skirt.
She pulled it down, afraid to look up at Joan, still not understanding what was taking place. But, if anything, it was obvious to her that Joan knew everything that had happened between Amy and her husband, perhaps even her son Chuck.
She got up off the bed just long enough to pull the skirt down past her hips and ass. Then she sat down again and pushed it down to the floor. Joan bent forward and snatched it up, throwing it to the far corner of the room.
Luckily, so Amy thought to herself, she was wearing panties today, her naked cunt shuddering as if with fear. "The socks, baby love," Joan giggled, able to see the lush triangular shadow of the young woman's pussy, visible behind the front of her skimpy and narrow bikini panties. They were a mere slip, like a handkerchief, barely covering her meaty crotch.
Amy pulled down her knee socks and pushed her loafers off as well. And then, when all she had on were her panties, she looked up at Joan, realizing that this had gone far enough, too far in fact. "Why, why are you doing this to me?" she asked.
"Why?" Joan repeated with a smirk. "Isn't it obvious, Miss Witney? Isn't it obvious to you by now that I'm not the fool you seem to take me for? What did you think, I'd be blind, ignorant of what you've been doing behind my back?"
"What have I been doing for God sakes?" Amy exclaimed.
"As if you don't know, you little piece of trash," Joan hissed. "I know all about your tricks, kiddo, what's been going on in this house. But don't think you can get away with it. Blake's mine, do you hear. He's just using you, just the way you're using my son Chuck!"
"Your son!" Amy said loudly, as if denying her sexual involvement with the boy would somehow alleviate some of her difficulties, at least the difficulties now presented by Joan's announcement that she knew what was going on during their coffee breaks.
"You bet your sweet hot nympho ass my son!" the woman shrieked. "It's not good enough for you, corrupting a boy. No, you have to seduce his father, too, you little shit. Well, I'm going to show you exactly what happens when you come into a home and try to corrupt it, to break up a marriage after more than sixteen years of happiness."
"You're crazy. You're out of your mind, you know that," Amy told her. She started to get to her feet. But before she could make a move, Joan lunged forward and threw her down on the bed. Quickly, with more strength than Amy would previously have imagined, she pushed her over onto her stomach.
She was leaning over the foot of the bed when suddenly she cried out as Joan's hand descended against her rump, spanking her with incredible force and malice. "Stop, stop it!" Amy yelled, shuddering and trying to release herself, even as the woman's hand came down a second time, the blow directed with even more force and vengeance.
Besides the pain there was the humiliation, forced to kneel over and admit what she had done, forced to submit to a spanking such as she hadn't received since she was a little girl. She writhed in protest, but Joan seemed possessed of unnatural strength.
Holding her down, she lashed out with the flat of her hand, searing Amy's trembling buttocks with one fierce burning blow after another. Amy finally stopped moving. She froze on the bed, tears welling up under her lids.
She had no idea of what to do and less of an idea of what to say, as well.
CHAPTER SIX
Resolved then to take her punishment in silence, not knowing if Joan would then order her to pack her things and leave the house, she hung her head down in shame as her ass was delivered with a volley of stinging blows, spanked and battered so that her bottom cheeks felt on fire.
She bit down on her tongue, refusing to cry out or scream, refusing to give Joan Clayton the pleasure of hearing her moan with pain. But pain was only half of it, for her embarrassment was far more agonizing.
Her silence seemed to unnerve the woman and her hand came down like a scythe, slicing through the air, lashing down against her trembling quivering buttocks. But Joan held her tongue the way Amy was doing, no longer saying a word. Had Amy any idea of what the woman was thinking, she would have lost all sense of fear and regret.
But for the time being, Joan's true motivations were still a mystery. That they were grounded upon jealousy Amy could understand. But it was the kind of jealousy, the parties involved, which would have amazed and surprised her to no end.
For Joan was not in the least bit anxious about losing her husband, nor did she even think Blake would want to leave her to go off with Amy. She knew well enough his predeliction for young women and she had made good use of his letches, though not in the recent past, not for more than a year, she recalled.
No, it was not Blake's attentions she feared the loss of, only jealous of Amy, wanting the girl as well, now that her husband was fucking her every day, now that her son as well was taking to knocking on the door to her room late each evening, there to perform with Amy until the wee hours of the morning.
She had caught Blake and Amy a few days before, having come into the house to speak to him about the book they were working on. She'd heard the telltale sounds of sexual congress emanating from the other side of the tightly shuttered sliding French doors and instead of barging in on them, instead of trying to peek in and see what they were doing, she had waited outside the door, content to listen, confirming her first suspicions and then returning to her studio as silently and surreptitiously as she had first come.
As for her son's involvement, that was even easier to unearth. She'd gone to his room to speak to him about something, only to discover his absence. And when she stood there in the hall, rather perplexed, for she hadn't seen or heard him going downstairs, once again she found herself listening to the most familiar of noises, rutting grunts and sexual moans which now came from behind Amy Witney's bedroom door.
This time, however, she'd gone to investigate. Putting her eye to the keyhole, she stared inside, amazed at what she found herself confronting, proof of what was happening under her very roof. And, even more than that, the scene triggered a response she had rarely if ever dared to accept, for she found herself staring even more heatedly at Amy than she did at her handsome and well-hung young son.
Having never felt any incestuous yearnings for Chuck, that didn't surprise her as much as the fact that she looked at Amy Witney's body with far more than just passing notice. So now, as she spanked the girl, it was almost as if she was releasing her hostilities, hostilities borne out of the sense that Amy was turned on to her husband and son, but not the least bit interested in her.
Joan couldn't have been farther from the truth.
Although she had rarely-in fact, only twice before-had sexual contact with another woman, Amy was the kind of girl who was versatile, and in more ways than just positions. Not exactly ambisexual, she nevertheless had nothing against making love with a member of her own sex, though if the truth be known she didn't get off on it nearly as much as she did with men.
But she had no qualms about trying anything, no fears of latent lesbianism, female homosexuality and the like. Sex was sex and the body was a vehicle of pleasure. What mattered was that, not whom she was deriving her sensual delights from.
Had she known what was going through Joan's mind as she submitted to the spanking, she would have been greatly relieved. But Joan wasn't able to voice her true feelings, not until she saw how the entire surface of Amy's backside was now suffused with red.
Her buns were blotchy and swollen, hot to the touch, the red visible through the tightly stretched surface of her clinging nylon panties. Amy had been able to endure the punishment by concentrating on pleasure, not pain. For as Joan Clayton's hand had descended, she'd managed to rub and friction her crotch back and forth against the very edge of the bed.
So by now, her cunt was hot and damp, flooded with oily sap which oozed down to dampen the front of her briefs. But before Joan could even see the effect her vigorous spanking had had on the girl, she suddenly dropped down to her knees, unable to stop herself, to hold back any longer. It had reached the point of no return and she threw herself into the act without thought of the consequences of her hasty and impetuous desires.
Either Amy would cry out with horror, or else she would submit to this indecency as well, Joan thought to herself.
But it was not an indecency in the least. The moment Amy felt the woman's warm breath and lips sliding over her backside, she trembled and then relaxed, slouching down on the bed. She smiled to herself, able to put everything together in a single instant. Now, she understood why Joan had spanked her, what the woman had truly felt.
She shivered, allowing Joan the rare delight of rubbing her lips over Amy's panties, caressing her blistered and stinging buns, soothing them as she thrust out her slim raspy tongue and licked up and down, drawing her tongue down along the sweaty bum furrow between her nether globes.
And when she took hold of the waistband of her panties, Amy continued to smile, whimpering in positive response. Joan couldn't tell if the young woman liked it or not, or if she was merely doing this so that she could continue fucking her husband and even her son.
Actually, it was a combination of the two. Amy didn't want to be asked to leave and, in addition, she had nothing against being the recipient of Joan's frenzied caresses and sensual desires. For that was what she felt, pleasure now instead of pain, searing delight instead of searing agony.
She murmured with growing ardor, rapidly aroused by the way Joan was using her tongue to probe up and down the length of her bum furrow, pulling her panties right into the narrow cleft of her ass even as she tightened her grip on the elastic ringing her waist.
It was as if she was afraid to open up to Amy and reveal the true state of her feelings, afraid to admit what she wanted. She held onto the top edge of her undies as if for emotional and physical support and Amy murmured again and again, encouraging her without words, wanting to feel the woman's hot sensuous tongue spearing in and out of her ass, her cunt, anywhere she wanted to thrust it.
She remembered what had taken place with the two young women she had had sex with in the past and the memory was far from an unpleasant one. Two women in bed usually drove a man crazy, but even more than that, two women making love together became a symbol of all that was gentle, delicate and torturously sensual about sex.
She wanted it to happen, no two ways about it.
So she continued to shudder and Joan gathered her confidence, realizing that Amy would have stopped her by now. Even if she didn't like it, she seemed to be accepting what was happening and so she now began to pull the girl's panties down, wrenching them hotly off of her waist and then the padded meaty horns of her hips.
Her crimson-hued butt jiggled invitingly, revealing itself as her undies were skinned down off of her, falling in a crumpled heap to the floor. She kicked them off impetuously, only to glance back and see Joan snatching them up off the floor and pressing them to her flaring nostrils.
She inhaled greedily, savoring the hot spicy odor of cunt which permeated Amy Witney's bikini briefs. And when she felt the way the front of the girl's panties were damp from her abundantly flowing secretions, she grew even more confident and subsequently, even more daring as well.
Her hands grasped each rounded swollen but tock and she pried them gently and lovingly apart, holding onto them firmly and, at the same time, bending her head forward and thrusting her tongue out once again. Amy trembled with " genuine excitement.
The situation was a turn-on, to say the least, their contact almost forbidden and thus even more arousing than usual. And the moment Amy felt Joan's tongue licking down along her bum furrow, she shivered with voluptuous abandon, as if to say she was giving in, throwing herself into the act with everything she possessed.
She trembled violently and thrust her buns forward, pressing them back against the woman's slim and eager tongue. The odor of her rump and pussy made Joan pant and her tongue slid up and down, lubricating the pink and naked sphincter ring, dabbing saliva on Amy's anus and sucking up and down the entire length of her crevice.
"Ohh do it, yes, do it, anything you want. I love it. I love your tongue, it's so hot, so ticklish," Amy murmured, begging for more, encouraging Joan to lose control.
And that was precisely what was taking place.
For the more she speared her tongue up and down, trying to cram it right inside Amy's backside, the more turned on she became. Behind the front of her skirt her cunt was aflood with womanly dew, tingling and itching in response to what she was doing to the young woman who was leaning before her on the bed.
Her hands held onto Amy's buns as tightly as she could and her tongue lashed up and down, moving past the bottom edge of her anal groove to taste a hot and spicy droplet of cunt juice which oozed down the lowest edge of the girl's box.
Amy panted, her cunt lips fluttering heatedly. She tried to pull herself higher up on the bed, clawing at the covers until she was resting on her knees, her ass and cunt making a triangle the bottom edge of which was bisected by her pussy.
She shoved her ass back towards Joan's hungry slobbering mouth and felt the woman's tongue digging down. Joan lowered her head, sank down to the floor and buried in between Amy's legs, lashing out and tasting more and more hot pungent cunt juice dripping down to coat her lips and pistoning probing tongue.
It was better than she had dreamed, better than any time in the past. Amy wasn't the least bit inhibited and as Joan began to think that the girl was genuinely liking it, not responding this way so that her sins-if indeed they could still be called that-would be forgiven, she became more confident of herself and thus more passionate in addition.
Her tongue roamed up and down, licking the bottom edges of each drooping outer lip, trying to slide right inside Amy's pulsating and dripping wet vagina. And then she pushed Amy over, making her do a half-somersault to land on her back.
In less time than Amy could say Jack Robinson, Joan Clayton was stretched out between her legs, her face lowered and her tongue digging right inside her gaping split. "Oh God, oh yes, oh do it, eat me, eat me," Amy begged, writhing with pleasure, shuddering as the woman's tongue scaled the walls of her snatch, licking and slobbering with heated abandon.
The slim raspy tongue moved in and out, coiling around Amy's clit, squeezing and then releasing it. It pistoned almost violently, angrily perhaps, digging in and out as Joan's fingers moved up to caress the insides of Amy's thighs, then took hold of the outer lapels of puffy and swollen cunt flesh.
The heavy musky odor which assailed her nostrils made her head spin and she rubbed her crotch against the foot of the bed, her cunt on fire and her breath coming in gasps of unendurable excitement. Unable to speak, Joan could only communicate through the agile use of her lips and tongue.
But her amazingly overheated and deliciously stimulating performance said more to Amy Witney than words could possibly have communicated. She gave in to her excitement, flowing with the pleasure and finally, when Joan backed away and staggered almost drunkenly to her feet, Amy looked up at her with genuine desire, not feigning her response in the slightest.
"You ... you want...." Joan started to say, suddenly embarrassed and unsure of herself, not knowing if Amy was laughing at her or hiding her disgust.
"I want you to get undressed," Amy said in a low-pitched and husky voice. She pulled herself up on the bed to rest her head against the pillows, all eyes as Joan Clayton now began to rip off her clothes with undeniable impatience.
She pulled her sweater up over her head and tossed it to the floor, quickly unhooking her bra a moment later. And when she had freed her breasts from their haltered and tight confinement, it was Amy's turn to look up with delight.
The woman's jugs were round and heavy, the aureoles prominent like miniature saucers, their centers filled with the rounded swell of each long finger-like nipple. Joan pulled her skirt down and kicked off her shoes. She wasn't wearing stockings, only panties beneath her skirt.
But even before she could hook her thumbs under the edge of her panties, Amy's eyes opened even wider and she knew she was in for a most pleasant and diverting afternoon. For the lush rounded swell of Joan's pubic mound gave every indication of being even meatier and far more developed than her own succulent box.
The dark shadow of her love nest made an indelible impression. Joan cast the last of her garments off, casting off her doubts and inhibitions alongside of them. For she had seen the look which had come over Amy Witney's face, a look she had seen when the girl was getting fucked-and royally so-by her son Chuck.
It said more than words could ever have begun to describe and she peeled her undies down and stood there, stark and unequivocably naked, as bare and lush as Amy could imagine. The two women confronted each other, but Amy wasn't looking up, wasn't staring into Joan's eyes.
Rather, she was boring down between the woman's shapely thighs, staring heatedly at Joan's lush and naked box, the reddish-brown fur dense and wiry, as thick as her husband's coarse black pubic bush. Even each outer lip was barely visible, concealed beneath the heavy damp pelt of musky-scented cunt fur.
Joan's wide hips and jutting rump were additional features which Amy admired and as she kept on staring with wide and unblinking eyes, wondering too what would soon be taking place, how they would manage to consummate their raging lusts. Joan moved slowly but deliberately back to the bed, sliding up and inching forward on her knees and the backs of her legs.
"Swing around. I want to taste you ... I want to eat you out like you were doing to me," Amy whispered, the words stuck in her throat. She was still a wee bit anxious and apprehensive.
But Joan alleviated her fears by hurriedly swinging around on the bed and moving onto her side. She pushed her face down between Amy's legs, lifted up the top thigh and wrapped it around her neck. And the instant she buried her mouth against Amy's box, Amy took the hint and imitated Joan's frenzied motions to the letter.
She didn't have to do anything, for Joan had managed to spread her legs apart, the hairy triangle of her box leading Amy's eyes down. And as she felt the first deliciously hot and pleasurable swipes of the older woman's tongue, she responded in kind, needing no additional encouragement.
It was amazing to her how she could be doing this. First the son, then the father, and now the wife and mother. All that was left was Cindy, but she put that quickly out of her mind, at least for the time being.
Her tongue thrust out and she slurped around the border of Joan's pussy, licking across the top below her navel and then along each side of her muff. Joan's response was instantaneous. The instant she felt Amy's tongue lashing around her hairy turf, she shivered and dug her own tongue deeper inside the girl's dripping wet pussy, splaying the outer lips back as if she was peeling a fruit.
Her tongue skidded in and out, darting and weaving like a striking asp. And as for Amy, the more she licked, the more she was licked in turn, the more aroused she fast became. There was no sense holding back now, no reason to, either.
She liked what was happening, and that was for damn sure.
So she went at it with gusto and delight, her tongue moving around and around in ever narrowing concentric circles. And then her fingers came up to rub against the thick gristly outer lips of cunt flesh which effectively bordered the woman's split, a parenthesis of ragged vaginal tissue, swollen as if with trapped blood.
She held each slippery lobe, one in each hand, her tongue prying open the narrow wet gash that led down into Joan's pussy. The hairs which grew over her furrow were long and darker than the others, as was the case with Amy's box, but she had little trouble licking them down so that she could get at Joan's muff.
She gently eased each thick swollen lip farther and farther apart until she could stare down into the deep wide cavity that was Joan's vulva. And when she caught sight of the woman's clitoris, her mouth dropped open with pleasure.
For what she looked at was more like a large pulpy pea than anything else. As developed as the rest of her pussy, it wiggled enticingly, drawing Amy on, goading her on so that she pushed her tongue down, lashing it over the pulpy head of the woman's unhooded clit.
Joan responded in kind, scraping the edges of her front teeth over Amy's clitoris, making Amy tremble with rising pleasure. Her tongue moved more frenetically, licking up and down, splaying the outer lips wider apart and digging deeper and deeper inside.
By now there was no stopping either of them.
The loud slurping sounds they made were a symphony of sexual music and the women panted and shuddered with delight, each one eating out the other's box and loving every minute of it.
For Amy, it was more novel than anything else and she tasted the murky secretions which flowed down the undulating walls of Joan's pussy, collecting like rain in a barrel in the vestibule of her box, her vulva soon overflowing with spicy and delicious cunt juice.
The mucoid and syrupy secretions were lapped up with her tongue and lips while Joan did precisely the same thing for her. By now, both women were oblivious to anything else but their raging pleasure. Each fresh gush of cunt juice was accompanied by a fresh rippling surge of erotic bliss and Amy could already sense that Joan was well on her way to getting off, coming merely by having her cunt eaten out the way Amy was rather efficiently and expertly doing.
But if she was doing a good job, Joan was doing one even better. Alongside of her probing tongue now slid her extended index finger, creating additional pressure, pressure which frictioned along Amy's cunt walls and made her rub her body up against Joan's lush and curvaceous figure.
Their arms and legs were tangled and wrapped together and their mouths flat against each other's cunts. Each one murmured as the other licked in and out. And when Amy stuffed one finger into Joan's box, lubricated it until it was literally coated with a thin layer of slippery cunt juice and then proceeded to palpitate the woman's anus, Joan knew she would get off in no time at all.
She shuddered, her sphincter muscles going haywire, her cunt muscles exercising an amazingly powerful grip around Amy's jabbing darting tongue. But when Amy labored her asshole and then slowly succeeded in stuffing her index finger into place, Joan's response was even more heated than Amy had imagined it would be.
Her buns jiggled like jello, heaving up and down, left and right. She panted and groaned and cried out, ramming another finger inside of Amy's muff, two fingers and her tongue lashing in and out so that Amy felt herself about to go over the edge. She finger-fucked Joan harder than ever, feeling the tight spongy and dry walls of the woman's rectum, the way her muscles rippled and tightened their hold around her probing pistoning digit.
"Yes, make me come, make me come," Joan mumbled, slurping like a wild woman, unable to stop herself as she suddenly cried out and went flying into the abyss, the pit of pleasure.
It was an orgasmic response which needed no words of explanation. Amy knew what had happened and she sucked and licked with everything she possessed, trembling as Joan's cunt became hot and frothy with thick rivulets of sap. She was about to get off as well and when the woman thrust in a second finger, two fingers forming a scissor-like V to capture and frig her clit, the moment was finally and at long last at hand.
Amy stiffened and then crashed against Joan, coming with the same kind of randy and volcanic feminine force. The two of them moved as one, sucking and lapping each other's cunt, shuddering violently as pleasure consumed them and made their skin glow with the color of sexual combat and erotic fervor.
It was good, as good as it had ever been with a woman and Amy was pleased with the way things had turned out. From what had been a spanking of seeming retribution had emerged a bout of lovemaking and sex she had totally and completely enjoyed.
But it wasn't over so quickly, not by a long shot.
They still trembled as cunt juice sprayed into their mouths, their bodies convulsing from the nervous tremors which shot through them. Amy's mouth was stuffed with cunt and she could feel her finger moving on the other side of the distended septum, the divisional membrane separating Joan's box from her rectum.
She pushed it in and out as swiftly as she moved her tongue, triggering fresh gushes of sap which coated her lips, streamed down her throat and down her chin as well. The overflowing dew was hot and spicy and she drank as much as she could swallow, even as Joan responded in kind, working on her muff as her body trembled with ecstasy.
But at last the convulsive tremors were replaced by shudders of release and they fell against each other, panting and gasping for breath. Amy closed her eyes and pressed herself against the full length of Joan's hot and sweaty body, her mouth glued to the older woman's pussy.
Had someone told her her job at the Claytons would have encompassed such various and vigorous pursuits, she would not have believed it possible. But now she knew what Blake had seen in Joan, why they had first been attracted to each other, enough to get married and stay married for more than sixteen years.
The woman was as eager for sex, as hot-blooded as Amy was. Only her tastes were a little bit more diverse perhaps, but not that unusual that Amy still couldn't partake of them, enjoying Joan's caresses as much as Joan enjoyed her own eager and lascivious sexplay.
They lay there, tangled together, their tits rising and falling as they both breathed deeply and tried to return to their senses. They'd gotten so involved they hadn't even had a chance to fondle each other's jugs, to explore every nook and cranny of their bodies.
But there would be time enough for that, for Amy Witney knew then that the last thing Joan would do was ask her to leave. How could she, when she had a resident sex partner, right under her very own roof, and a sex partner who lacked every conceivable inhibition, able to get off on the most varied and diverse of sexual pastimes.
Confident that her job was secure, that she could continue to enjoy the attentions and increasingly stimulating performances of Blake and Chuck, Amy murmured her contentment and closed her eyes. But her daydreams were soon to be interrupted, although not rudely so.
For at that very moment, even as she and Joan lay there, head to toe on her bed, Chuck Clayton was unlocking the front door. He knew his father wasn't at home, knew too that Amy was supposedly at work in the library and his mother painting in her studio. And so he thought it would be a most perfect opportunity to break up her working day with a little bit of pleasure, pleasure he was finding it increasingly difficult to live without.
But when he slid the library doors open and found the book-lined study empty, he turned to the stairs and moved up to the second floor. He didn't hear anything, for by this time Joan and Amy had exhausted their climaxes and now lay gasping on the wrinkled sheets of the old wooden bed.
Chuck turned down the hall, his rubber-soled sneakers treading silently on the strip of Persian carpet that covered the hallway. When he got to Amy's room he knocked softly, hoping she was inside, hoping too that she was as turned on to having sex with him as he was aroused just by thinking about it.
"Amy?" he called out.
On the other side of the bedroom door Joan did a double-take. She sat up and made a move to silence Amy by pressing a finger to the young woman's lips. But what she hadn't reckoned on was the degree of inhibition and the degree of imagination Amy Witney possessed. For before she could even caution the girl not to respond, Amy smiled to herself and called out to Chuck in what was later described as a most loud and ringing voice, inviting him right inside.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The first word out of the teenager's mouth was rather predictable. "Mother!" he exclaimed, opening his eyes wide with genuine disbelief. He stood there, frozen and unmoving, staring down at the naked bodies of Amy Witney and his mother.
"Get out of here!" the woman exclaimed, trying to pull the covers up around her and finding it no easy task, for Chuck was able to see the very parts of her body she was trying so desperately to conceal.
"Lock the door, Chuck. Your mother and I were just discussing you," Amy said in a cool and even voice, flashing a warning at Joan, as if to say, Open your mouth and I'll tell him more than you'd ever want to know.
Chuck was trembling, but his insatiable and adolescent sexual appetites took control of him. With numb and tingling fingers he shut the door behind him, locking it slowly and methodically, almost as if he was afraid to look back and confront the twin naked visions of his mother and Amy Witney.
That he was turned on, as well as surprised, could not be denied. Amy, intent upon gaining sexual control over the entire Clayton family, had already thought up some un-likely combinations and now she was anxious to prove her general thesis, that incest was far less of a taboo than most people thought and that sex between consenting blood relations need not be shrouded with an aura of perversion and abnormality.
On the contrary, for she had seen the way the boy had stared at his mother, a look that had told her everything she'd wanted to know. Now, just imagining, picturing what the three of them-not to mention the addition of Blake and even Cindy to the menage-could do in bed together got her hot and bothered and fired up in no time at all.
Joan held her tongue, as frightened of having her lesbian tendencies revealed to her son as she was of Chuck himself. That she and Amy had been naked in bed together left little if anything to the imagination and now, perhaps the only way to convince the boy that she was "normal," was to prove to him that she was capable of being just as aroused by men as she was by women.
By this time the color had drained from her cheeks and she lowered her eyes, unable to look up at her son, unable to see the slowly rising and distended bulge visible now behind the front of his tight-fitting faded blue jeans.
"I ... I don't understand, Amy," he whispered, dry-mouthed, beside himself with a mixture of sexual excitement and rampant confusion.
"There's nothing to understand, Chuck. My goodness, isn't it obvious to you that we were waiting here in bed for you to come up to my room. I just know you like the back of my hand and I knew you'd take advantage of your father's absence to be alone with me," she said, covering for Joan and putting the woman slowly at her ease.
"Then ... then why did you tell me to get out, mom?" he whispered, still not sure, not certain of what he had seen a moment before.
"I ... I was still a little uncertain if it was the right thing to do," Joan stammered. But when the boy smiled and nodded his head, filled now with trust and total belief, she smiled too in relief and found herself catching sight of the outline of his rigid and swollen member.
The image of Chuck and Amy fucking in bed together flashed across her mind and she knew he wouldn't be disappointing in the meat and potatoes department. But the very notion of having her cunt filled with her teenage son's thick and sturdy young dong was still something she found virtually impossible to conceive of as actually happening.
But Amy was intent upon getting her way, as per the usual.
The fact that she hadn't failed so far only impressed the challenge upon her and now she beckoned Chuck even closer, flaunting her lush nude body before his wide and staring eyes. "You certainly can't expect to have a good time with us if you persist in staying in those clothes of yours, Chuck," she told him with a laugh, anxious to get started, knowing how arousing it would be to watch the boy cramming his pecker right inside his mother's hot and dripping cooze.
Chuck was thinking exactly that. The fact that it was his mother somehow had no bearing on the situation. If anything, Amy had taught him that sex was the one thing in the world never to take for granted, to get as much of it as he could and from as many people as possible, sharing the skills she had taught him and sharing his firm and athletic body as well.
So now, he no longer hesitated.
Joan was silent, unable to say anything, glad that Amy had gotten her off the hook, but just as apprehensive as she had been when the boy had entered the room. Nevertheless, she found herself unable to resist watching him as he hurriedly skinned off his clothes, rushing to undress and join them on the bed.
And as he stripped down to his birthday suit, Amy threw aside the blankets and pushed Joan onto her back. "Take a good look at your mother's cunt, Chuck. I know how hot she is for your cock, but I think she'd really appreciate having your tongue inside her pussy first, more than anything else," Amy announced with a smug and self-satisfied little grin.
Chuck blushed, but that didn't mean that he hadn't listened to every word she had said. He dropped his jeans without feeling any self-consciousness and then his briefs came off with a snap of elastic so that his mother was able to see what she'd caught glimpses of several nights before.
His hard-on rose straight along his stomach, leaking pre-come and quivering with excitement. Amy pulled Joan's thighs apart and before the woman could say or do another thing, Chuck was bounding onto the bed, kneeling down right between his mother's legs.
He gave a frenzied groan of excitement, ignored the worried look in his mother's eyes and pressed his flushed and eager face down, right against her snatch. The instant his tongue thrust forward to lash across her muff, Joan trembled violently and cried out. But it was a cry of pleasure and not of panic or pain.
The boy was maddened with excitement, having seen his mother naked once or twice before, when he'd spied on her outside the bathroom. And now, he was able to put everything Amy had taught him to good use, and immediately, at that.
His tongue thrust out hotly and he slurped up and down, tasting the thick oily droplets of cunt juice which sluiced down the shuddering walls of Joan's box. She trembled, moaning with pleasure, not believing what her son was doing, but not wanting him to stop doing it, either.
That, needless to say, was not about to happen.
The heavy and pervasive odor of her muff made his nostrils flare and he drank her sap as greedily as he inhaled the spicy perfume of her box. His fingers grabbed hold of the twin outer lips, lips he saw as being much thicker and plumper than those bordering the opening into Amy Witney's pussy.
His mother's meaty trench entranced him and he dug his tongue deeper inside, hitting against her swollen and pulpy clitoris, refusing to let go of it as he held it tightly between his juice-smeared lips. The friction of his mouth, his lips and the edges of his front teeth, all combined to send a fresh hot gush of sap drooling down her fluttering vaginal walls.
Beside herself with pleasure, pleasure that only mounted with each successive stabbing pistoning motion of the teenager's long and agile tongue, Joan Clayton gave in to the needs of her hot-blooded body, unable to deny the ecstasy she was well on her way to experiencing.
Her eyes were shut and so she failed to see the way Amy now swung around on the bed, not about to remain a passive witness to these torrid incestuous rites. She had her eyes on the root of pleasure and now she wiggled down on the bed, perpendicular to Chuck's kneeling body.
He saw her approaching him and made room for her, knowing what she would do seconds before she reached out with one hand and grabbed hold of his meat. She pulled it down towards her gaping mouth and he panted loudly, feeling her gluing her thick sensual lips around the leaking head of his penis.
Unable to speak, he could only respond by lapping away more frantically than ever, slurping in and out of his mother's hot and itching muff. And as he licked and sucked her juices down, Amy was stuffing more and more of the boy's pecker right between her tightly fastened lips.
She was absolutely delighted with the way things were progressing and she worked on Chuck's cock with gusto and excitement, thrusting her mouth down over inch after thick hot inch of his meaty prong, stuffing it right up inside of her mouth.
His excitement, so young and overheated, communicated itself to all of them. For Joan, it was a moment of mindless pleasure and she flowed with it, ignoring the fact that she was Chuck's mother, that her teenage son was now hunched down between her legs, sucking avidly and skillfully on her cunt.
He smeared his lips with her murky juices, nuzzled her wiry reddish-brown pubes and growled with excitement, hissing under his breath. His tongue nipped along the pulpy inflamed walls of her vulva and his pleasure was boundless.
And between Chuck's legs was Amy, now able to take in the entire length of the boy's dong. She smacked her lips and felt the bulbous cock head bending her tonsils back, hitting the back of her throat as well.
Then, pulling in her cheeks and creating additional suction, she used her tongue like a paddle, licking up and down his throbbing shaft. He moaned louder then, trembling as he felt her mouth enveloping his dick. Her tongue seemed to be everywhere at once and then she pulled back and began licking his cock as if she was sucking on an ice cream cone.
Her tongue skidded all the way down after circling his glans, farther still until she was slurping over his balls and making him moan and pant with incredible delight.
She tongued each stone-like testicle, his firm rounded nuts crinkled with fur, a tight sac that swayed gently as his head bobbed up and down between his mother's thrashing and shuddering thighs. Amy was groaning now as loudly as they were and what she wanted to see, what she knew would really turn her on, was to watch mother and son fucking, balling together and going at it hot and heavy.
She hardly had to verbalize her thoughts or suggest that they start balling. Chuck couldn't take much more. He didn't want to come, didn't want to shoot his load down Amy's throat. Rather, he could think of one thing and one thing only, ramming his dong all the way down his mother's hot and fleshy muff, there to savor the indescribably delicious warmth of her pussy.
Her cunt was so hot it could have melted butter and it was so wet and syrupy that it almost seemed as if she had stuffed a stick of butter down her cooze moments before he'd entered the room. So instead of asking permission, words being more difficult to master than the acts themselves, Chuck finally pulled his tongue back and reared up between his mother's legs.
There was no need to stuff a pillow underneath her ass. Her pussy was meaty enough, perfectly aligned so that he would have no trouble at all making contact, inserting and then penetrating her to the best of his abilities, to the length of his dick in fact.
And this, needless to say, was precisely what the horny young man now commenced doing. Without saying anything he took hold of his poker. Amy stared hotly, all eyes to his lurid incestuous display. Just watching the two of them, the close proximity of their naked bodies, the way Joan's eyes were stuck open, glazed over, reddened and staring, delighted her to no end.
As for Chuck, he was trembling as if he had a fever, clutching his straining boner with one hand and pressing his palm down right next to his mother's side to support his weight. With bent knees and trembling dick he surged forward, thrusting down with his weight centered at his hips.
An uncanny and inhuman sound escaped his mother's lips. She gurgled as if in terror and then slumped back on the bed, panting loudly as she felt and watched the way her son had managed to wedge the head of his leaking tool right inside her meaty vulva.
"Oh mom, mom it's so hot, so wet mom, I can't help it, can't stop," he stuttered, hammering down and giving it everything he had.
Joan was too far gone; she made no move to stop him, much to Amy Witney's delight, if not her relief. But she hadn't thought Joan would cop out this far into the game. That was one way she saw it, a delicious little forbidden sexual game, a romp between and upon the sheets, mother and son fornicating like beasts in the field.
Chuck was bestial at the moment, driven wild by the thought of fucking his mother, by the fact that her plump and meaty box was more developed, lusher than Amy's. Not nearly as tight, it still afforded sufficient friction as he thrust agilely forward and half the length of his rigid staff slid right down into place, down into the wet undulating depths of her muff.
"Oh baby, baby don't, don't," she whispered, but her words only made him move all the more eagerly, pushing forward, not content until he had completely and irrevocably succeeded.
This he managed to do within another minute. He wiggled hotly and probed the creases and dripping wet folds of her vaginal sheath, digging down into place, not stopping until he had buried himself to the root. Completely ensheathed in the hot shuddering depths of her vagina, he let go and lay upon her, pressing his flushed and eager face between her heavy jugs.
His tongue lapped against her cleavage and then using both of his hands, he pressed her heavy tits together and began to kiss them with boyish passion and enthusiasm. And all this time his cock was throbbing and hidden from sight, deep within her rippling trench.
That she was liking it could not be denied. Joan hardly believed this was all happening, but there was no way to refute the fact that there was a pecker inside of her pussy, and that it was attached to her son's studly and athletic young body.
It filled her comfortably, not tight and burning the way Blake's cock often felt when he slammed it into her. Amy sat on her haunches and watched, smiling to herself, loving the way mother and son were joined together, coupled at their roots, their searing genitals.
The contrast between middle-aged Joan and teenage Chuck also was a delightful one, inspiring her to begin instructing the boy, telling him to brace himself with his hands outstretched, palms flat on the bed, legs extended back as well so that she had no difficulty seeing the way he was plowing in and out of his mother's cooze.
This he did as well, afraid to look Joan in the eye. He slid his dick back to the head and then crammed it forward again, stuffing it down into place. Suddenly, her hands flailed out in the air and she gripped him right below his armpits, holding on as if for dear life.
Her body took on a fresh glow of sexual ardor and she panted, clinging to her son as he now began to ball her in earnest. He stroked feverishly, eagerly, ramming down as hard and as fast as he could. Each fresh pistoning stroke, each forward bucking motion of his lunging body sent chills up and down her spine.
"Yes, that's it, oh good, more, again my darling. Oh it's so good, I can't believe it's so good you're going to make me come, you will, you'll make me come!" Joan squealed, giving in to her baser instincts.
She gave in to her body as well, to the needs of her voluptuous and womanly self. And as they moved as one, each downward stroke accompanied by an upward thrust from Joan, Amy now moved around and got behind the teenager's body.
She had lots of choices, enjoining Chuck to go a little slower, to take his time. Then, gripping his tight dimpled buns she pulled them gently apart, staring at the pink folds and puckers of his virginal bottom-hole.
She wanted to tickle his prostate and made no bones about it, not even taking her time to fully lubricate his bum furrow. Rather, she licked circles around his clenching hole, the folds contracting each time he thrust down and rammed his pecker inside of his mother's hole.
Chuck felt her warm breath on his asshole and he trembled, the pleasure he was experiencing beyond belief, defying description. His mother's cunt was incredibly hot and wet and it seemed to squirt juice out around his prong each time he slammed it down inside of her. She held him tightly, looking down between their legs and watching the way his penis was moving in and out, his motions slower now, but no less arousing or stimulating.
Behind him, Amy licked his asshole and then held her tongue as stiffly as she could. She pulled his buns farther apart, exposing the dry red flesh of his perianus. And then her tongue crept forward, sliding into place.
He whimpered, loving the way she was rimming him, loosening and relaxing his ring of sphincter muscles so that with a minimum of effort Amy managed to immerse her tongue right inside of his tight hot rectum. And the instant she felt the nodular swelling of his prostate gland, licking against it with her slim and raspy-edged tongue, he screamed out as if she had burned him, as if she had touched off a raw nerve of searing and ecstatic pleasure.
He knew what she was doing, though he'd never experienced it before. But as her tongue moved against the swelling out of his prostate gland, his balls seemed to tingle and he panted, loving the way she had her tongue stuck right inside his shuddering rump.
If Chuck was loving what was happening, so was Amy. She wasn't that selfish that she couldn't enjoy giving someone eles pleasure, even if she wasn't being given pleasure directly in return. And so she worked on the boy's asshole with her tongue, slurping loudly, her strokes deafened by the loud squishing sounds his cock made each time he rammed it down into his moth er's trench.
As for Joan, she was almost there, unable to stop herself. She babbled incoherently and clutched her son against her, feeling the way his shaft frictioned and rubbed against her shuddering vaginal walls. Her cunt muscles went into action, milking and nipping at his prong, adding to his excitement as the two of them moved as one.
And from his asshole Amy's tongue crept finally out, only to slide down the length of his bum furrow. She slurped over his nuts, licking and fondling them with her tongue, sliding down on the bed so that her legs hung over the side and her chest was flat against the wrinkled sheets.
She had an incredibly exciting bird's-eye view of the proceedings, able to see the way his penis was fitting itself right between his mother's vaginal lips. The cunt lobes were gripping the rounded sides of his meaty shaft tightly and Joan's body bucked and undulated, heaving up against her son's sweaty torso.
His balls banged along the bottom of her pussy, right next to her hidden asshole. Amy wiggled closer, letting go of his nuts, but still keeping her tongue extended. She sucked around the swiftly moving shaft of the young man's penis and he moaned with additional pleasure, savoring the way her tongue dipped down each time he rammed his cock into his mother's pussy.
Joan too could feel Amy's tongue licking around the outer edge of her sopping wet muff. She trembled more violently and suddenly and without warning, went tumbling over the edge. Hot rivulets of musky sap drooled down and she shivered and came like a bronco, bucking up and down against her son's battering ram of a cock.
That he had succeeded in getting his mother to come delighted him to no end. He labored her cunt harder then, watching the way she moaned and trembled, her cunt burning, the muscular walls shuddering tightly around his meaty staff.
Amy dug her tongue right underneath the boy's dick, slipping it into Joan's pussy. She tasted the oily droplets of cunt juice which were now streaming down in hot profusion and she knew, even as she licked with her tongue, that she couldn't waste much more time.
Chuck was almost there. Even as Joan screamed and threw herself up towards his heaving body, the teenager was on the verge of getting off as well. Amy's tongue only intensified his pleasure, but she finally and rather abruptly slid it back and squirmed out from between his muscular thighs.
Quick as a wink she got back on the bed and moved around, hurrying to sit on Joan's face, to squat there with her cunt pressed right over the woman's wide and gaping mouth, soundless screams now emerging from the very depths of her being.
She caught sight of Amy moving around, but made no attempt to stop her. After all, she had proven something to Chuck, if not herself, for there was no way to deny the excitement she was still feeling, her release joyous and intensified by the way the boy was skillfully wielding his penis and giving her maximum pleasure by its expert use.
"Oh soon, mom soon," he panted, lashing in and out, the bedsprings creaking rhythmically in time to his heated and surging cock strokes.
And then he saw Amy moving around, pushing her cunt right over his mother's face. The sight drove him wild and when Joan made no bones about wanting to dig her tongue right inside and sample the accumulation of syrupy juices which flooded Amy's pulpy vulva, Chuck cried out with excitement and began to move like he was obsessed, crazed by the very sight of the two women making it together.
"Do it, eat her, lick her cunt, lap it up," he moaned, all eyes as Amy wiggled and corkscrewed her hips from side to side.
She thrust down, obscuring Joan's view. Joan asked for nothing other than a chance to work her magic, her tongue sliding right inside Amy's box. Amy held her cunt lips wide apart, allowing both mother and son to feast their eyes on her lush and throbbing box. And then she began to quiver as her clit was strummed by the tip of Joan Clayton's tongue.
"Do it, more. Oh yes, make me come, too," she wailed, shaking with delight. She turned her head up and watched the way Chuck was searing his mother's cooze with one hot stroke of his joystick after another, never stopping to catch his breath.
He crammed his pecker in and out, panting, about to get off. But he couldn't pull his eyes away from what Joan was doing, the way she was wiggling her tongue in and out, spearing it down into the wet and overheated depths of Amy Witney's muff.
It was a scene out of a book he used to jerk off with it and that he was now seeing it happening in real life made his eyes bug out with astonishment and lust. He couldn't hold back any longer. His cock seemed to burn inside of his mother's heaving throbbing hole and his balls swayed back and forth between his thighs.
"Oh yes, oh now, now it's happening. Oh mom feel it. Oh shit, now!" he screamed out, heaving forward and failing against her. He stuffed his mouth with one hot nipple, nipping at it with the edges of his front teeth while his other hand pawed his mother's other heaving and melon-shaped gourd.
And then his semen rushed out of the head of his burning tool, a thick spurt of viscous slippery come which splashed against her burning cunt walls. She could feel his cock ejaculating, his wiry pubes tangling and matted with her own copious cunt fur.
Unable to speak, her mouth filled with Amy's burning twat, a twat that was about to spill its own brand of come down her throat, she could only signal her delight by working her vaginal muscles, frenziedly nipping them and squeezing the very life out of her son's poker.
More and more cream gushed out and he was shuddering, convulsing on top of her, his body shivering and stiffening as his muscles went through one palsied contraction after another. And all this time his penis was sending out bolts of gism, hot wads of come which poured like froth down into his mother's quivering trench.
Drained and exhausted by his vigorous workout, he fell against her, still sucking on her nipple like a baby suckling at his mother's breast. That he had done too, but many years before. Now, he still kept his eyes open, for Amy was almost there, about to join them in their threeway and tumultuous release.
"Do it, eat me, eat me you bitch!" she squealed as Joan wrapped her tongue around her clit, squeezing it tightly and hotly, lapping up the warm sudsy juices which rippled down the walls of Amy's succulent and hot young box.
Finally, a minute or two later, Amy went tumbling over the edge. She joined mother and son in the pleasure of their heated release, squatting down on top of Joan Clayton's face. She closed her eyes and flowed with her orgasm, moving with her release and letting Joan do the work of sucking down her free-flowing juices, murky rivulets of syrup which smeared over her lips and chin and dribbled right down her chest.
Chuck licked them up as well, letting go of his mother's tits to lean forward. He bent his head down, trying to work his tongue inside of Amy's pussy. But by this time she was over the hump and she fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath.
Her pleasure had not been monumental, not nearly as stimulating or even as long-lasting as when Blake and Chuck balled her. Nevertheless, she had no complaints, having enjoyed Joan's attentions, no two ways about it.
For awhile there was no movement on the bed, no sounds other than the three of them breathing heavily. Finally, Chuck pulled his dick back until it plopped out into the open. Once again he saw how it was covered with the foamy white residue of his abundant spend. Come drooled out like white spittle from between the dilated and puffy outer flaps of flesh bordering his mother's meaty trench.
He didn't think twice about sliding down on the bed and stretching out once again between her legs. And when she felt his tongue working on her muff all over again, licking up the mixture of cunt juice and semen which now filled her twat, her eyelids fluttered open and she smiled, glancing down at her son with a look that was a mixture of motherly love and sensual delight.
He had given her pleasure, pleasure she knew she would want from him again. Even if they were of one flesh, even if they had committed what in some circles was and perhaps always will be considered the cardinal sin, she still couldn't stop thinking of the pleasure she would have with him, pleasure that her husband rarely gave her, for he was into a more violent and selfish form of sexual release, more interested in his own pleasure after all these years of marriage.
But Chuck was different, holding himself back until she had gotten off. She couldn't nor wouldn't ever forget that. Behind her, her legs touching her sweaty sides, lay Amy, panting and smiling with the remembrance of the pleasure she had received.
Her thoughts flashed from Joan and Chuck to Cindy and Blake, and then the four-no, the five of them, together, writhing in one tangled heap of shuddering arms and legs, an orgy of licentious and volcanic proportions.
This was her goal. She wasn't about to say let it happen and then I'll go onto other challenges. Far from it, for she liked her work and she liked living with the Claytons. They were giving her the kind of family life, and in more ways than conventional ones, she had not enjoyed in her youth.
Yes, she would have all of them, one by one and then all together.
* * *
Who was Cindy Clayton, anyway? After all, attention must be paid, as our famous playwright once dramatically enjoined. And since we have had ample opportunity to meet every other member of the Clayton household, why then have we withheld perhaps valuable information about their youngest child, fifteen-year-old Cindy.
No, she was not dying of an incurable disease. If anything, she was incurably our typical American teenager, her taste in clothes and music reflecting the current pop fads, her annoyance with her brother visible more times than not and her lack of communication, generational or perhaps merely the result of an Electra complex of emotional proportions, with her mother evident in the daily events of the household.
She was daddy's little girl, despite the fact that she looked like her mother and her side of the family, with the same tawny complexion and reddish-brown hair, as opposed to Blake and Chuck's darker and more latinate features.
She accepted Amy Witney's presence into the household with good-humor, relating to the recent college graduate as one would to an older sister. For what we haven't told you is that Amy had begun to have "long" talks with the girl, exchanges of confidences as it were.
Within a month after her arrival she had successfully seduced three of the Claytons, leaving Cindy the sole survivor of her sexual schemes. But not for long, as things turned out, needless to say. Amy, as you will remember, loved sex everyday and in every way, and Cindy was not going to remain a statistical but noticeable exception too much longer.
What Amy had learned was basically the existence of Cindy's infatuation for her father, an infatuation that was perhaps rather normal, though one that figured prominently in her daily life. She judged her dates and boy friends by whether or not they were like Blake and there existed an unconscious rivalry for him between her and her mother.
What she didn't know was that Blake had long fantasized, or at least as long as Cindy had reached pubetry and had begun the transformation from caterpillar child to butterfly beauty, having sex with the girl. This sense of incestuous desire, realized fully by Blake and only imagined on a subconscious level by his daughter, intrigued Amy considerably.
It had been one thing to match up mother and son, even though neither Joan nor her son had ever seriously entertained incestuous fantasies about each other-though Chuck sometimes wondered what it would be like to ball his sister. But it was a horse of an entirely different color in terms of Blake and Cindy.
Nevertheless, Amy accepted the challenge.
It gave her a great sense of accomplishment, as well as erotic excitement, just dreaming up ways to get the two of them together, knowing that she would ultimately succeed, ultimately witness the two of them having sex together.
Just picturing what it would be like, Blake's incredible delight, the way he would stuff his cock down into his daughter's pussy like a battering ram, made her cunt get wet with expectation. And when Cindy told her that she was no longer a virgin, that she had allowed one of her former steady boy friends to take her cherry, Amy knew that half the work had already been done for her, and for Blake as well.
She began to bring up the theme of incest each time she spoke to the teenager, changing Cindy's views on the subject from initial feelings of disgust and abhorrence to a growing sense of curiosity. Afraid to tell her what had taken place between Joan and Chuck-at least for the time being-Amy resorted to drawing graphic word-pictures, turning Cindy on by degrees with her torrid descriptions of incestuous affairs between fathers and daughters, affairs that gave each partner more pleasure than either of them would have ever dared to dream possible.
As for Blake, the same went for him.
Now that he and Amy made no bones about enjoying each other's bodies each and everyday, she was able to play with his head, to get him out of his shell so that he began to talk about himself. And when she struck up the familiar chord concerning Cindy, a week went by before he was willing to admit the true state of his feelings.
She told him that she had spoken to Cindy, under the most innocent and unpremeditated and unrehearsed guises of course, and that the girl felt very much the same way her father did. And when she finally revealed the menage a trois that had taken place between her, Chuck and Joan, Blake's initial gasp of horror was almost immediately replaced by an animalistic and wolfish look of cunning and secret delight.
Whatever she was doing to the family, no one was about to call it destructive, nor did she even think of it in those terms herself. She saw herself as a missionary of sexual freedom, bringing an air of enlightenment to the Clayton household. And so it was that she was the guiding force, the matchmaker for want of a better description, behind the scenes, behind the eventual and perhaps-at least in her estimation-long overdue tryst between her boss and his curvaceous and inquisitive teenage daughter.
It was all planned in advance, though neither participant-except Amy of course-knew what was going to take place one evening when Chuck and Joan were not at home, the boy at a movie with his friends, Joan attending a lecture at a nearby college.
That left Cindy, Blake and Amy alone in the house.
And Amy knew that the time was right and ripe and that her head would not hit the pillow that night until she had witnessed the lusty fruition of her long-planned and feverish sexual schemes.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Your father's waiting for you downstairs in the den," Amy said. She stood by the threshold to Cindy's room, watching the girl look up at her and close her book. She'd been reading a romantic novel about nurses and doctors and the sense of unvoiced intimacy and torrid lovemaking behind the scenes had turned her on, getting her mind onto the theme of her father's affections.
"Waiting for what?" she asked.
"Why don't you just play it by ear? Remember what I've been telling you? Well, now's your chance, kiddo. I'd suggest though that you get out of those ratty jeans of yours and put on something ... how shall I put it? More appropriate, yes, that's the word. Like those sexy little shortie pajamas you were showing me the other day."
She wouldn't have minded standing there and watching the girl get undressed, for she had been able to see for weeks before how nicely developed Cindy's body really was, lithe and firm, her pear-shaped jugs and tight boyish ass inclined to swish and heave whenever she took a step.
So she closed the door behind her, having seen Cindy get up off the bed, taking Amy's advice and changing her clothes. That task successfully accomplished, she now hurried down the stairs, past the library to the den, a family room with overstuffed chairs and a down sofa, a television in one corner, the walls paneled with cherry and the floors covered with Early American hook rugs.
Blake was sitting in his chair, nursing a drink and idly watching a comedy show on the tube. He affected the casual dress he usually wore when supper was over and the day's work successfully met, backless slippers and a gray flannel bathrobe with red piping and his monogram on the breast pocket.
Usually, he wore pajamas, or at least pajama bottoms, underneath the robe. But tonight his hairy calves stuck out in front of him, stark and undenably naked, as was the rest of his body beneath the warm heavy folds of the robe.
"Joan and Chuck are both gone for the evening, you know," she told him when she came into the den.
He looked up and smiled, eyeing her hotly, giving her the same sexual glances he always made when they were alone together. "Yes, I know," he said simply, not suspecting what she had arranged for his and her amusement and delectation.
"Just wanted to remind you, that's all," she said, smiling slyly to herself. She glanced at the promising and suggestive bulge now visible behind the folds of his robe. Even when Blake's cock was in repose, as it was-or almost so-at the moment, it was still a hunk of meat, some thing to contend with and not the easiest cock to stuff into his pants.
She knew it would be getting a hell of a lot larger than it was at that moment, for a few minutes later Cindy came downstairs from her room, flushed and appreciative, but excited about what she thought might take place that evening.
Amy had given her the courage to conquer her initial fears and doubts. But now, when she entered the room and found Amy holding onto a drink she had made for herself and sitting on the sofa, and her father watching the television from his armchair, she wasn't at all sure that she had made the right decision.
"Chuck and your mom won't be home for hours. Might as well enjoy the solitude and make yourself comfortable," Amy giggled, glancing over at Blake just as he looked past the t.v. set and up at the figure of his teenage daughter.
A look came over his face when she stood there, smiling at him, her body all but naked, revealed behind the lacy folds of her diaphanous shortie pajama set. And she hadn't even bothered to put on panties underneath the bottoms, something she always did when she wore the outfit.
So neither Amy nor Blake had any difficulty making out the contours and outlines of the girl's narrow and fleecy twat. A suggestive and highly arousing dark shadow was visible at the cleft between her legs, a narrow mane that gave every indication of being the tight and succulent pussy he'd long imagined his daughter possessed.
He didn't need Amy after that, or not as much as she was ready and willing to prove, both in the way of moral as well as actual physical support. "Hi there, sugar. Come and give your ole man a kiss and a hug. You look lovely tonight, ravishing," though he bit down on his lower lip a moment later, afraid he'd overstepped his bounds and made his true feelings more obvious than he was willing to admit, both to himself as well as to Cindy.
But her initial reaction could only be termed positive as she flashed him a broad toothy grin and scampered towards the chair. She threw her arms around his shoulders and he pulled her down to him. But instead of kissing him on the cheek as was her practice, she turned her face directly at her father and pressed her lips flat against his mouth.
For an instant he hung back, afraid of responding.
But it seemed to Amy at that moment that Cindy was being even more aggressive and open about things than her father. She clung to him, trembling as he finally felt himself responding, pressing his lips back against her mouth.
He had an urge to thrust his tongue right inside her mouth, not to mention an even more heated urge to rip her sexy little pajamas off, but he refrained from being more aggressive and finally let go of her.
But Cindy however was not about to give up so easily.
Amy had told her how her father felt just the way she did and she recalled each and every word of the young woman's glowing description of incest between father and daughter. So now, she snuggled up to him, ostensibly turning her head to the television as she quickly got up on his lap.
He wrapped a hand around her waist and glanced over at Amy. But when she winked and slowly got to her feet, he didn't know if he was angry or pleased, delighted with what she had obviously arranged, or annoyed at her for butting into his personal life.
"I'm going to freshen my drink," Amy announced. "Need a refill, Blake?"
"No thanks," he murmured, glad she was leaving the two of them alone together. His embarrassment was evident in the blush which had come over his cheeks. Now, he waited until Amy had left the room before pressing his hands around his daughter's waist and holding her even more firmly and securely than before.
She murmured with delight, afraid of looking back at him. But his firm manly grip pleased and excited her and she was content to sit on his lap and feel his body protecting her in a secure and loving embrace.
Secure and loving was one way of looking at it, but Blake had his mind on other things, namely having sex with his hot-blooded and lissome daughter. Despite himself and his best intentions, he was already well on his way to becoming aroused.
Just having her sitting there on his lap, her ass rubbing against his crotch, was getting him off in no time at all. He could feel his cock beginning to throb and fill up with blood, blood that was trapped inside and which caused his dick to slowly lengthen and thicken and assume an erection of massive proportions.
He wondered if Cindy knew what was happening, for if she did, she still said nothing. He was underestimating her innocence though, for it dawned on her that the softness of his lap was now assuming a definite shape and rigidity, a long feeling of hardness, as if she was sitting on a pipe or a hammer, the shaft of the instrument rubbing right up between the cheeks of her ass.
Not knowing what to say or do, she wiggled gently, barely noticeably. Sure enough, she began to realize what had taken place, how she was now feeling her father's hard-on against her rump. And what a hard-on and what a feeling it was, too!
She could hardly believe it was happening, now and at long last. She was her daddy's little girl and he was going to love her, just as he made love to her mother. She turned her head to the side and giggled playfully as he held her on his lap. Then, opening his robe across his chest, she teased him by pulling out a few of his black and wiry chest hairs, giggling all the while.
"You have such a hairy chest, daddy, not like Chuck's at all," she commented.
"I never thought you'd notice," he smiled, looking up at her and wondering what she was thinking, if he was going crazy or if he was sensing the truth, that she was as turned on to him sexually as he was to her.
And when she leaned forward and suddenly kissed his chest, he shivered and thrust his hips forward, unable to stop himself. Forgetting about Amy, about everything and anything else except Cindy and the fact that Joan had had sex with their son, he pushed up against her ass and felt his hard-on rubbing hotly along her narrow bum furrow.
She felt it as well and wiggled her buns provocatively, afraid of looking into his eyes. His hairy muscular body excited her wildly. Her youthful snatch was already heating up and getting wet, moist with her free-flowing sap.
Ever so slowly, afraid that she'd be skittish and get easily frightened, he slid one hand down from her waist, letting it fall gently on top of her nearest thigh. She didn't fail to see and feel what he'd done and she pulled his robe even wider apart until she could see one of his brown and inverted nipples beneath the carpet of chest hair.
Taking courage by the fact that he was now rubbing his hand against her thigh and, in fact, inching it ever so slowly and delicately up towards her quivering pussy, Cindy shivered involuntarily and pressed her hot and parted lips right over one of her father's nipples.
Blake was a man of countless, or seemingly so, erogenous zones. And when he felt his daughter's lips and teeth sucking down around one nipple, he shivered with pleasure, his titties growing taut, perking up between her lips just as her own small rounded nipples were fast growing firm and taut behind the lacy front of her pajamas.
He moved his hand higher still and then pressed it lightly against the jutting swell of her youthful bush. A gasp went through his body and out his lips when he felt the way the front of her panty bottoms were soaking wet, wet with one thing and one thing only.
So the little minx is getting hot, he said to himself, shivering as she used her tongue to lick and tickle his nipple. She kept pushing her rump down against his cock and by this time it was so hard and stiff that he couldn't even think straight or bear the pressure of his trapped and unrelieved poker.
He began to probe her narrow split, now able to feel her pubic hairs rustling against the tips of his fingers. She held her tongue, trembling with excitement, loving the way he was tickling her box and now sliding the tip of his middle finger up and down the narrow crease that marked the opening which led down into her pussy.
He was just as aroused and when Cindy pulled back, he thought it was all over, that she didn't want him to do anything more to her. He couldn't have been farther from the truth, however. She swiveled around, her parted thighs pressed over his legs, her crotch poised inches away from his still unseen hard-on.
Hardly expecting her to act like this, it came as a complete surprise when she seemingly surrendered herself to him. Blushing hotly, Cindy now gathered her courage, recalling Amy's words. That the young woman was now watching, standing unnoticed by the door, would have meant little to her, for by this time she was thinking of one thing only, getting her father to fuck her and fuck her royally.
So when she took hold of the tie around his waist and rapidly undid it, he stiffened and glanced down, eyeing the shadowy outline of her muff seconds before she pulled his robe wide open, having slid back far enough to release his dick.
And when she found herself ogling his huge throbbing hard-on, staring between his legs and watching the way his monstrously swollen arm of meat rose out at her from its wiry forest of black pubic hair, she could hardly believe her eyes.
Speechless, she glanced up at his face and he winked at her and smiled with pleasure, sliding his arms out of the sleeves of the robe and deftly pulling the top of her pajama set right up over her head. Her tits were naked and the nipples stiff and tight, crimson against the creamy-white of her pear-shaped boobs.
Both hands pressed down on them and she trembled, whispering to him, "Daddy, it's ... it feels so good. And it's big. I never ... I never saw anything like it before. Oh daddy do it to me, please. Do what you do to mommy."
Her words reverberated in his head and his face took on a look of sexual excitement that seemed boundless and to the extreme. Without needing a word of encouragement, Cindy now reached down, marveling at the sheer size and thickness of her father's penis.
That he would soon be stuffing it into place between her legs and the lips of her snatch was something she no longer doubted and she grasped it tightly, pressing her eager fingers around the middle of his shaft, barely able to get her hand completely around his meaty and throbbing tool.
Slowly, even as he hooked his thumbs underneath the waistband of her pajama bottoms, she slid her hand up and down the length of his pole, milking a trickle of opalescent pre-come which leaked out of the head of his turgid and meaty boner.
"You sure you want me to?" he whispered, trying to peel her undies down even as she stroked his cock with one rapidly frigging hand.
She nodded her head up and down. And as if this wasn't enough to convince her father of what she wanted from him, she slid off of his lap and got to her feet. Quickly she skinned down her pajama bottoms, baring her naked and reddishhaired pussy to his wide and staring eyes.
All-consuming, they bored into her and he could see how the fleecy mane of fur which marked her twat was all wet, glistening with cunt juice. "Let me lick my little girl's pussy first," he told her, getting slowly up from his chair.
Amy held her breath, delighted with the way things were progressing. The contrast between young and old, smooth-skinned and hairy, father and daughter, turned her on incredibly and she too was fast getting hot, just spying on them and watching their uninhibited display of incestuous sexuality.
Naked and ecstatic, so turned on by her father that she could barely control herself, Cindy got down on the floor and spread her legs apart. "I ... I want to do it to you, too, daddy," she told him then, not content until she had feasted upon his huge throbbing joy-stick.
She wanted to stuff it down her throat before stuffing it down her twat and he wasn't averse to the notion, getting down on the floor and quickly swiveling around. Instead of straddling her to sixty-nine, he moved onto his side, pressing his hairy and throbbing crotch right alongside of her flushed and eager face.
Before he could even bend forward and press his lips to her succulent and juicy little trench, she had grabbed hold of his cock with one hand, wrapping her fingers around its hairy base. Her other hand tried to lift up his pendulous nuts, marveling at their size and weight, knowing too that they were surely filled with come, good hot come he would soon enough be pouring down to flood her pussy.
Cindy opened her mouth seconds before she stiffened and felt her father's tongue licking hotly up and down her tender and narrow vaginal furrow. Her cunt lips were thin, rising up not more than a quarter of an inch on either side of her vaginal opening. How he would manage to get his cock inside was something else altogether, but Blake refused to think about the inherent difficulties of stuffing his tool into his daughter's tight and virginal pussy.
And that she was no longer a virgin was something he discovered a moment later, even as he moaned and felt her parted lips endeavoring to wrap themselves around the bulbous plum-shaped head of his pulsating cunt-rammer.
He panted as her tongue licked across his blood-engorged glans and then he took hold of each tender petal-thin outer flap of cunt flesh. He gently eased them back, widening her opening, able to see the ruddy-hued flesh of her narrow vulva, her little bud-like clitoris staring him right in the eye.
Hot for her, he sucked it between his lips and she thrust her crotch flush against his face, panting loudly as she felt him licking and tonguing her clit. And when he shoved his probing tongue down even deeper, he didn't hit against a cherry, a hymen barring his path.
At first, he was almost annoyed that someone had gotten to her first, having no idea when and with whom she'd lost her virginity. But then these thoughts passed as pleasure rapidly engulfed him. By now, she'd managed to get the head of his cock into her mouth, her lips stretched wide and her jaws aching from the pressure.
But his hot fleshy staff delighted her to no end and she pushed down on it, taking in inch after hard bulky inch of burning meat between her gaping lips. He moaned louder, sucking and slobbering over her pussy. Its narrowness, its tight warm embrace, made him pant and shudder and the pleasure she was giving him was just as heated as the delight he was giving her.
She felt his tongue pistoning in and out, his fingers grasping her narrow cunt lips and his mouth hot and wet against her pubes. To be doing this with him, at long last, couldn't have delighted her more and she pushed her head down between his thighs, wrapping her lips as tightly as she could and sucking in even more of his tool.
Cindy was unable to stuff it entirely down her throat, for she started to gag soon enough when the leaking head of his cock hit against the back of her throat. He didn't push his hips down either, allowing her to take her time and do things at her own rate. That she was rather adept at cocksucking amazed him as well and his tongue shot down as far as it could until his lips were smeared with her abundant feminine vaginal juices.
The more they sixty-nined, sucking each other off, the more aroused and turned on they each became. Amy, unbeknownst to either of them, had stepped back from her vantage by the door that led into the den. Quickly, she skinned off her clothes, trembling with excitement, with the vision of pleasure that would soon be hers to share with them.
But first, she wanted to make sure they were into each other, figuratively as well as literally. So when she had completely undressed, her clothes piled by the edge of the door, she pressed one trembling hand down between her legs, rubbing the tips of her fingers against her wet and jutting pubic mound.
Her cunt rippled waves of pleasure through her loins. Her eyes were opened wide to the torrid scene now being enacted inside the den. Cindy and Blake moaned and panted with rising fervor, arms and legs tangled together as they sucked each other off.
Blake ate his daughter's pussy as if he was drinking down nectar of the gods. And as for Cindy, even the cumbersome and bulky dimensions of her father's penis didn't stop her from slobbering hotly, licking up and down as much of his tool as she could cram down her throat.
She pulled back and then used her tongue to slide circles around his shaft, tonguing his balls as well, lifting up the heavy wrinkled sac and licking the underside of his scrotum. And then she grew even more inquisitive, wanting to know every part of her father's body.
Accordingly, even as girlish whimpers of excitement escaped her parted lips, her tongue was thrust out and she pulled one of his hairy thighs up over her neck and shoulders, burrowing down in search of pleasure.
Her imaginative excesses got him going and he knew he had to get her cunt to accommodate his tool. So he now removed his tongue, only to replace it a moment later with two fingers, both of them thrusting down and wiggling in and out of her trench.
Her body quivered, glowing with sexual color and she took hold of the hairy cheeks of his muscular and manly rump, prying them apart and using her tongue to lick up and down nis black and coarse-haired bum furrow.
She's gonna rim me out, he thought delightedly to himself, marveling at her degree of sexual sophistication and imagination. And, sure enough, anilingus was precisely what Cindy now began to perform, despite the fact that she'd never done such a thing to anyone before in all of her life.
Her father's crotch exuded an aroma of soap and sweat. Uptight was the last thing in the world she was and her tongue dabbed at his brown puckered asshole, watching the way it quivered in immediate response.
By now her cunt was burning, overflowing with juice and when he thrust in a third finger, right next to the two already pistoning in and out, she quivered like a taut bow, about to release its arrow of orgasmic fulfillment.
"Don't come yet, baby," he told her then, sensing how turned on she had fast become. "Oh God, it feels so good, having my little girl's tongue licking around my asshole. Why don't you stick it right inside, sugar? I like that, I really do. It makes me get really hot, hotter than I am right now," he told her, pushing forward so that even as her face was hidden, trapped between his bucking thighs, he was able to maneuver his cock right between her tits, breast-fucking her even as she pushed her tongue right against the narrow slit that marked the entrance to his rectal passage.
She didn't stop until her tongue slid right into place, licking all the way down along the dry spongy walls of his shuddering rump. The swelling of his prostate gland was the size and shape of a chestnut and when her tongue hit against it, he thought he'd shoot his load, right then and there.
He screamed out, begging for more of the same, his body rubbing up against her and his cock leaking more pre-seminal fluid than he'd ever noticed before. It ran down like drool, lubricating his burning shaft. But he was able to exercise control, to hold back shooting his wad. He wiggled the three fingers around in circles, gently stretching her vaginal sheath, scissoring them open and shut so that her resilient and elastic cunt walls were pulled back and forth, growing used to the pressure being placed against them.
And all this time she was jerking against his sweaty body, sucking on his asshole and holding onto his nuts and the base of his cock with one of her hands. She didn't want to stop for all the tea in China, as the saying goes, but when he slowly worked a fourth finger inside, she stopped abruptly, a flicker of pain making her whimper plaintively.
"Relax, just relax my darling. You know your daddy doesn't want to hurt you. But if you don't get used to this, you won't be able to take my cock, understand?" he told her gently.
She nodded her head and slid her tongue out of confinement, gasping for breath. Then, falling back on the floor, she lay there as he kept all four fingers in place, barely moving them until she had gotten used to the way her cunt was now being stretched, and stretched considerably wider than ever before.
He swung around, kneeling between her spread-eagled thighs, working his fingers slowly in and out as more and more sap streamed down her stuffed and burning cunt walls. "Is it okay?" he whispered, barely able to contain himself, to hold himself back.
"Yes, it doesn't hurt now, daddy. Oh, it feels so good, but your cock is going to feel even better, isn't it, isn't it, daddy?" she asked him, looking down between his legs and staring heatedly and fixedly at his randy pecker.
Blake knew it was time and he released one finger after another so that the rim of her pussy snapped shut when the last finger was removed. He thrust all four of them into his mouth, sucking on them and tasting the coating of cunt juice which adhered to his fingers.
Then, lifting her legs up, he told her to hook them around his back, her body raised up off the rug. Spitting into the palm of his hand, he added saliva to the slobber that coated his dick, making sure his pecker was good and wet before beginning this most difficult of operations.
Amy kept rubbing her palm against her crotch, trembling with excitement. It was far more arousing than when Chuck had balled his mother, for Cindy seemed so much more innocent and unsure of herself. And Blake was so very much the man, the stud who had everything needed to turn a woman on and keep her glowing for hours at a time.
"Oh daddy, do it. Oh, I can't wait. I want to feel your cock filling me, stuffed all the way down inside my pussy," she whispered as she locked her ankles behind his back and he leaned forward, holding onto his dick as if for support.
Slowly, knowing that he must take his time and exercise extreme control as well as caution, Blake Clayton stared down between his fifteenyear-old daughter's spread and quivering thighs. Her mossy cleft enticed him and he felt the blood pounding inside of his dong, his nuts tingling in response to the stimuli of the girl's lush and succulent young body.
Slowly, watching the look on her face so as to stop when he hurt her, he gently thrust forward, rubbing the leaking head of his massive penis back and forth along her narrow gash. She cried out with delight, oblivious to all and everything else, including the figure of Amy Witney.
She was still standing by the door, frigging herself, finger-fucking her pussy as she watched what Blake was attempting to do. His heavy balls nearly touched the floor as they swung between his bent and hunched over thighs. He kept rubbing the head of his penis back and forth, further lubricating Cindy's cunt furrow.
And then he pushed forward, stiffening as he wiggled against her narrow and tight little opening. She held her breath, feeling pain but afraid of crying out for fear her father would stop and put an end to these difficult proceedings, an operation which was harder to consummate than either of them had taken into consideration.
But both were determined to succeed, to see it through until they came in a burst of rare and exquisite sexual fervor. So Blake kept thrusting down, watching the way the tender petal-thin outer flaps of cunt flesh slowly but inexorably splayed wider and wider apart, allowing his glans to make contact, to tickle the head of her clit and try to wedge itself right inside her narrow and juicy vulva.
The pleasure was exquisite, masking the flickers of pain which tore through her loins. She knew that only by practice could this take place without a single moment of discomfort and more determined than ever, Cindy pushed forward, wincing as suddenly the head of his cock slid inside, trapped tightly and searingly within the narrow basin that was her vulva.
He stopped then and waited for her to grow accustomed to the burning pressure. Luckily for both of them, his cock and her cunt were dripping wet and well-lubricated. Otherwise, the friction would have rubbed each of them painfully raw.
"Just tell me when to stop," he whispered.
"Go on, oh it's so good, it's better than anything," she told him hotly, swiveling her lush little body from side to side and thus managing to alleviate the pressure of his pulsating dick.
He pushed gently on, prodding her vagina, sliding down so that the neck of his cock disappeared, followed by the first inch or so of hard burning manflesh. Once the head of his tool had passed the narrow opening of her vagina, it was easier for her to handle what was happening.
Her cunt walls were slowly stretched wide, the shaft of his dick pressing down against them, the friction produced making her scream with such ecstasy that he took confidence from her pleasure and moved a little bit more rapidly, churning her insides and panting as he thrust down yet again.
"Yes, that's it, more, more," she begged, clutching his shoulders for additional support.
Her incredible searing tightness, the way her cunt walls clung to his pole, made him cry out and groan with devilish delight. This was what he had long dreamed of doing and now it was happening, happening beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Amy panted as well, two fingers tightening into a V around her pea-shaped and wiggling clitoris. She jerked herself off more energetically, knowing she could make her presence known in just a few more minutes, as soon as Blake had suceeded in housing the entire stiff and cumbersome length of his marvelous pecker right inside his daughter's tight juicy little snatch.
Tight and juicy it certainly was and her skin was glowing red as she thrust her hips forward, watching the inexorable progress of her father's penis. The more he prodded her virginal trench, the more turned on and more comfortable she began to feel. The pain was lessening, swamped by such eddying currents of pleasure that she was fast losing muscular control of her lush young body.
"Okay?" he asked and she nodded her head, thrusting her hips down against his massive dick. He pushed forward, watching the progress of his penis, delighted that she was responding so adeptly, growing used to the way her cunt was being ravished, plundered and stretched by his dick.
"More, yes, more, all of it," she gasped, spreading her thighs even wider apart to alleviate some of the incredible searing pressure of her father's penis.
He rammed down then, wanting to horse himself completely and as the last hot inches slid into place, she felt the head of his cock tipping her womb and cried out in alarm, forcing him to stop with less than an inch of dick visible between her legs.
The outer lips of her snatch were pulled thin and taut, almost stretched and distended so much that they seemed translucent rather than fleshy and opaque. They were tight around the rounded sides of his prick and he slid his cock halfway out and thrust down again, the stroking motion making the two of them tremble with convulsive delight.
"Oh baby, it's so nice, being with you like this, inside of you," he told her and leaned down to kiss and caress her pear-shaped boobs with his lips and outstretched tongue.
Cindy was nearly incoherent, driven mad by what was taking place. Never had she felt so completely blocked and filled, almost afraid to move her legs lest his cock rip right through her stretched and tingling vaginal walls. But that wasn't about to take place, for he pistoned slowly, angling his hose down at a straight angle, rather than pushing against one cunt wall and then the other.
The more he stroked, the more turned on the two of them became. Seeing how he had just about succeeded, Amy now made her move, not about to wait much longer. She wanted to feel Blake's long raspy tongue working over her cooze and she moved back into the den.
Cindy caught sight of her and gasped with alarm. But before her father could turn his head back, Amy deftly straddled Cindy's body and thrust her crotch right against Blake's mouth. "Get the fuck out of here!" he snarled, outraged that she would barge in on them like this.
"You've gotta be kidding," she replied. "Who do you think arranged this little number?"
Ruefully, unable to resist the sight let alone the very taste and embrace of her cunt, he thrust his tongue forward, lashing it over her ruddy-hued lips and dripping wet turf. She panted and pushed against his mouth, aware of the way Cindy was gasping, obviously turned on even more by the fact that here she was, getting fucked by her father while he ate out another chick's box at the same exact time.
She has to learn about life sometime, so why not now. After all, the sooner the better, Amy thought to herself, all eyes to the way Blake was still stroking, ramming his hard-on in and out of his daughter's tight and juicy quim.
Within a few minutes he had shed the last of his inhibitions, sorry he had snapped at Amy, for there could be no doubt that he was glad to be of service, to have her around and have her cunt in his mouth, to be more exact.
His tongue moved at the same rhythmic pistoning rate as did his cock and Cindy was almost there, about to come in no time at all. Her father's nuts swung rapidly, striking against her up raised bum furrow, tickling her rump and making her pant and beg for more and more of his gigantic and tunneling dick.
"Yes, now, it's gonna happen," she promised, quivering against him as he stroked more forcedly, quick darting jabbing motions that made her bones rattle.
The three of them were so involved that nothing else but the pleasure of the moment mattered. But Amy was alert to all and every situation and possibility and when she heard the door being unlocked, she was glad that Cindy was now screaming, coming with delicious intensity and youthful abandon.
"Do it, fuck her, give her everything, baby!" she called out to Blake, all eyes not between their legs but to the doorway. She wondered who it was, Chuck or Joan and a moment later had the answer as she put her finger to her lips, winking conspiratorially at Chuck Clayton.
Amazement was an understatement. He looked at what was taking place in the den and couldn't believe his eyes. There was his sister, flat on her back, moaning and screaming as she came while on top of her, his huge penis buried and barely visible, was his father, fucking the shit out of his sister.
And Amy rubbing her cunt over his father's mouth, on top of everything else that was taking place. The boy didn't need an invitation. Shit, he thought to himself, things have certainly changed around here since Amy arrived. But man, that's just the way I want it to always be.
He silently and quickly began to get undressed, anxious to show his father his own brand of youthful sexual pyrotechnics. Cindy was coming a second time in a row and Blake was almost home when he heard his son's footfalls echoing behind him. He jerked his head over his shoulder, his mouth dropping open with alarm.
"It's okay, dad," the boy said good-naturedly.
And as for Cindy, she was too far gone to even care or be embarrassed. Still coming, she kept her eyes between her legs. Amy moved away from Blake and he pressed his palms flat on the floor alongside of his daughter's trembling shoulders, pounding in and out with one hard burning stroke after another.
"I'm coming, sweetheart, soon, real soon," he told her, ignoring Chuck, not watching the way his son and Amy were already getting into position on the floor.
Amy grasped the boy's hard-on like a handle. It was a jutting ivory-white horn and he quickly got into position between her legs. "Your mom's in for a big surprise," Amy giggled, her words suddenly drowned out by the bull-like roar that escaped from between Blake Clayton's lips.
For even as they turned to watch, they could see what had happened. He stiffened and had fallen against Cindy, crushing her down, a thick hot gush of semen exploding from his cock and drenching her stuffed and burning vaginal sheath.
She was driven wild, incoherent, hugging him and kicking her legs out spasmodically as he poured an amazing amount of cream down her hole. Chuck got so turned on by the sight that he slammed his hard-on right into Amy's cunt with a single impetuous though well-aimed stroke.
And as they began to fuck in earnest, the door could be heard opening a second time. It was Joan Clayton who now let herself in and as soon as she stepped into the hallway, she could hear the loud frenzied sexual groans and whimpers of pleasure which echoed from the den.
Nothing could surprise her, not after what had taken place with Amy and her son. But when she moved to the den and stood by the door, even she had to stop, stiffening with shock and not believing her eyes. "Five's a crowd!" Amy Witney called out with amusement.
Even Blake, the man of the hour, didn't give two shits if his wife was watching them or not. He and his daughter had been successfully innoculated, infected with Amy's brand of sexual diversity and gross lack of inhibition.
And as for Amy, she knew even before Joan dumbfoundedly began to remove her clothes, that her stay with the Claytons was destined to only get better. After all, she thought to herself, look what I've accomplished in five or six weeks. Who knows what'll happen next month.
It was, needless to say, something worth thinking about.
